14
Lost in the mighty unison
His body jerked erect. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,’ he said.
‘It’s OK,’ she said.
‘Was I out for long?’
She consulted the dashboard. ‘Maybe twenty minutes. A catnap. At first, I figured you were deep in thought.’
He checked the view through the side window, then faced front. The landscape looked exactly the same as when he’d nodded off.
‘Not much to look at, I know,’ said Grainger.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘I just haven’t been sleeping well.’
‘Happy to help, go right ahead.’
He examined her face, trying to judge whether she was annoyed with him, but she’d put on dark glasses at some point during the drive, and her whole head was ablaze with sunlight.
‘Your lips,’ she said, ‘are too dry. You’re not drinking enough.’ Keeping one hand on the wheel, she used the other to fetch up a water bottle from the floor between her legs. She handed it over to him, only momentarily taking her eyes off her driving, and fetched up another bottle for herself. Hers was already opened; his was still sealed.
‘Remember to keep drinking,’ she said. ‘Dehydration is a killer. And be careful in the sun. Don’t get burned like last time.’
‘You’re talking like my wife,’ he said.
‘Well, maybe between the two of us, we can keep you alive.’
He uncapped the bottle and drank deep. The colourless liquid was chilled and it tasted harsh – so harsh that he almost coughed. As discreetly as he could, he glanced at the label, which read, simply, WATER: $50 PER 300ml. She was giving him an expensive imported gift.
‘Thank you,’ he said, trying to sound chuffed, while actually thinking how strange it was that someone who’d lived on Oasis longer than him could fail to appreciate the superiority of the local water. When his mission was over and he had to return home, he would certainly miss the taste of honeydew.
Near the end of the long drive, Peter decided that the Oasan settlement deserved a better name than C-2 or Freaktown. He’d tried to find out what the Oasans themselves called it, so he could refer to it by that name, but they appeared not to understand the question, and kept identifying their settlement, in English, as ‘here’. At first he assumed this was because its real name was unpronounceable, but no, there was no real name. Such marvellous humility! The human race would have been spared a great deal of grief and bloodshed if people hadn’t been so attached to names like Stalingrad, Fallujah and Rome, and simply been content to live ‘here’, whatever and wherever ‘here’ might be.
Even so, ‘Freaktown’ was a problem, and needed fixing.
‘Tell me,’ he said, when the settlement was within sight. ‘If you had to give this place a new name, what would you call it?’
She turned towards him, still wearing her dark shades. ‘What’s wrong with C-2?’
‘It sounds like something you’d see on a canister of poison gas.’
‘Sounds neutral to me.’
‘Well, maybe something less neutral would be an improvement.’
‘Like . . . let me guess . . . New Jerusalem?’
‘That would be disrespectful to the ones who aren’t Christians,’ he said. ‘And anyway, they have a lot of trouble pronouncing “s” sounds.’
Grainger thought for a minute. ‘Maybe this is a job for Coretta. You know, the girl from Oskaloosa . . . ’
‘I remember her. She’s in my prayers.’ Anticipating that Grainger might have trouble with this, he immediately lightened his tone. ‘Although, maybe this isn’t a job for Coretta. I mean, look at “Oasis” – it has two “s”s in it. Maybe she’s really hooked on “s”s. Maybe she’d suggest “Oskaloosa”.’
The joke fell flat and Grainger remained silent. It seemed his mention of prayer had been a mistake.
Abruptly the wilderness ended and they were driving into the town’s perimeter. Grainger steered the vehicle towards the same building as before. The word WELCOME, in man-sized letters, had been painted afresh on the wall, although this time it read WEL WEL COME as if to add emphasis.
‘Just drive straight to the church,’ said Peter.
‘The church?’
He doubted she could have failed to notice the construction site last time she picked him up, but, OK, fine, she needed to play this game and he would indulge her. He pointed towards the horizon, where the large, vaguely Gothic structure, still lacking a roof or a spire, was silhouetted against the afternoon sky. ‘That building there,’ he said. ‘It’s not finished, but I’ll be camping out in it.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘But I still have to do my drug delivery.’ And she jerked her head towards the paint-daubed building they’d just left behind.
Glancing backwards, he noted all the vacant space in the rear of the vehicle, and the box of medicines in the middle of it. ‘Sorry, I forgot. Would you like some moral support?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘I really don’t mind staying with you for as long as it takes. I should have remembered.’
‘Not your job.’
She was already steering the car across the scrubland towards the church. There was no point trying to persuade her to turn back and get her drug delivery over with first, even though he was convinced she’d be less stressed if she had company, less spooked if someone of her own kind was at her side. But he couldn’t push. Grainger was a touchy character – and getting touchier the longer he knew her.
They slowed to a standstill, alongside the western wall of the church. Even without the roof on, the building was big enough to cast shade all over and around them.
‘OK, then,’ said Grainger, removing her sunglasses. ‘Have a good time.’
‘I’m sure it will be interesting,’ said Peter. ‘Thanks again for driving me here.’
‘All the way to . . . Peterville,’ she quipped, as he unsealed the car door.
He laughed. ‘Out of the question. They have trouble pronouncing “t” sounds too.’
The humid atmosphere, kept at bay for so long, swirled gleefully into the cabin, licking their faces, clouding the window, slipping into their sleeves, stirring the locks of their hair. Grainger’s face, small and pale inside her swaddle of headscarf, was balmed over with perspiration within a couple of seconds. She frowned irritably, and sweat twinkled in the lush brown hairs where her eyebrows almost met.
‘Are you really praying for her?’ she said abruptly, just as he was about to climb out of his seat.
‘You mean Coretta?’
‘Yes.’
‘Every day.’
‘But you don’t know her at all.’
‘God knows her.’
She winced. ‘Can you pray for one more person?’
‘Of course. Who?’