The ax was old, dull and rusted, and the head was loose on the handle so that after every few strokes it was necessary to drive it back on by butting it against the trunk of the tree; each blow hurt Morris’s already scraped hands. By the time he had made a small notchmost of his swings missed the point of aim and fell uselessly on either side of ithis arms and wrists were aching. Paul had not come down or even looked out one of the windows.

  “I’m going to try climbing again.” He laid down the ax, looking at Russell. “Do you have a longer ladder than this one?”

  Russell nodded. “You’ll have to come over and help me carry it.”

  Russell’s wife stopped them as they crossed Russell’s patio and made them come inside for lemonade. “My goodness, Morris, you look as if you’re about to have heat prostration. Is it that warm out?” Russell’s house was air-conditioned, too.

  They sat in the family room, with lemonade in copper mugs meant for Moscow Mules. The television flickered with scenes, but Russell’s wife had twisted the sound down until Morris could hear only a faint hum. The screen showed a sprawling building billowing smoke. Firemen and soldiers milled about it. Then the camera raced down suburban streets and he saw two houses very like his own and Russell’s; he almost felt he could see through the walls, see the two of them sitting and watching their own houseswhich were gone now as police fired up at the windows of a tall tenement. Russell, winking and gesturing for silence, was pouring gin into his mug to mix with the lemonade now that his wife had gone back to the kitchen.

  He felt sick when he stood up, and wondered dully if Sheila were not looking for him, angry because his breakfast was getting cold. He steadied himself on the doorway as he followed Russell out, conscious that his face was flushed. The heat outside was savage now.

  They moved cans of paint and broken storm windows aside to uncover Russell’s extension ladder. It was as old as the ax, dirtied with white and yellow splashes, and heavy as metal when they got it on their shoulders to carry outside.

  “This’ll get you up the first twenty feet,” Russell said. “Think you can climb from there?”

  Morris nodded, knowing he could not.

  They hooked the two sections together and leaned them against the tree, Russell talking learnedly of the proper distance between the bottom of the ladder and the base of the object to be climbed. Russell had been an engineer at one time; Morris had never been quite sure of the reason he no longer was.

  The ladder shook. It seemed strange to find himself surrounded by leaves instead of looking up at them, having to look down to see Russell on the ground. At the very top of the ladder a large limb had been broken off some years before and he could look straight out over the roof of his own home and all the neighboring houses. “I see smoke,” he called down. “Over that way. Something big’s burning.”

  “Can you get up to the boy?” Russell called back.

  Morris tried to leave the ladder, lifting one leg gingerly over the stub of the broken limb. Giddiness seized him. He climbed down again.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “If I had a rope,” Morris gestured with his hands, “I could put it around my waist and around the trunk of the tree. You know, like the men who climb telephone poles.” Sirens sounded in the distance.

  “I’ve got some.” Russell snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute.”

  Morris waited. The noise of the sirens died away, leaving only the talk of the leaves, but Russell did not return. Morris was about to go into the house when the truck pulled up at the curb. It was a stake-bed truck, and the men were riding on it, almost covering it. They were white and brown and black; most of them wore khaki shirts and khaki trousers with broad black leather belts, but they had no insignia and their weapons were clubs and bottles and iron bars. The first of them were crossing his lawn almost before the truck had come to a full stop, and a tall man with a baseball bat began smashing his picture window.

  “What do you want?” Morris said. “What is it?”

  The leader took him by the front of his shirt and shook him as the others circled around. A stone, and then another, struck the ground, and he realized that Paul was throwing them from his treehouse trying to defend him, but the range was too great. Someone hit him from behind with a chain.

  St. Brandon

  St. Patrick’s Day

  We had fish and roast beef, and I think I remember green beans cooked with mushrooms. After the pie I was sent away again, but Doherty had unsaddled Lady, and he said it was too dark for me to ride anymore. I suppose I whined at that, as small boys will, because after showing me the puppies a second time he began to tell me a story he said he had from his grandmother, “the old Kate.”

  “It was when there was kings in Ireland. There was a man then named Finn M’Cool that was the strongest man in Ireland; he worked for the High King at Tara, and he had a dog and a cat. The dog’s name was Strongheart and the cat’s was Pussy.”

  I laughed at that, causing Doherty to shake his head over the unseemly merriment of the young generation. He was sitting cross-legged on top of an empty apple barrel. “Why and from where do you think the name come, for all of that?” he said. “Did you ever know a cat in your life that hadn’t a sister of the name?

  “Well, upon a day it happened that Finn M’Cool was bringing in the cows, and the High King at Tara said to him, ‘Finn, there’s a job of work I have for you,’ and Finn answered him, ‘It’s done already, Your Majesty, and what is it?’ ‘It’s the king of the rats, that’s aboard St. Brandon’s boat gnawing at the hull of it and doing every kind of mischief.’ ‘I’ve heard of that boat and it’s stone,’ says Finn, ‘he’ll not get far gnawing that.’ ‘’Tis wicker,’ says the king, ‘like any proper boat, and if you’ll not be moving those lazy feet of yours soon Brandon’ll never be reaching the Earthly Paradise at all.’ ‘Well, and why should he, now,’ says Finn, ‘and where is it, anyhow?’ ‘That’s not for you to ask,’ says the High King at Tara, ‘and it’s to the west of us, as you’d know if you weren’t a fool, for the other’s England.’

  “So Finn walked every mile of it to Bantry Bay where Brandon’s boat was, and the boat was that large that he could see it for five days before he could smell the sea, for it was so long it looked like Ireland might be leavin’ it, and the mast so tall there was no top to it at all, it just went up forever, and they say while Brandon’s boat was docked there an albatross hit the top of it in a storm and broke her neck, though that was all right, for the fall would have killed her anyway, for she fell three days before she hit the deck, and the deck so high above the water she fell three more after Brandon kicked her overboard.

  “But when he could get sight of the water around her, Finn said, ‘That’s the good man’s boat as I breathe, and she’s about to sail, too, for there’s a rat as big as a cow gnawing the anchor cable, do you see.’ And the dog agreed with him, for dogs is always an agreeable sort of animal, and that one would have had this tale if you hadn’t laughed at the cat. Then the dog drew his sword (and a big one it was, too, and the blade as bright as the road home) and lit his pipe and pushed his hat back on his head and said, ‘And would you like that rat dead now, Finn?’ And Finn said, ‘I would,’ and they fought until the moon come up, and then the dog brought Finn the rat’s head on the end of a piece of stick about this long, and never told that it was because the cat had come up from behind and tripped him, for the dog’s the most honest animal there is or ever was except when it comes to sharing credit, but Finn had seen it. Finn winked at the cat then, but she was cleaning her knife and wouldn’t look. The next day they went out to be seeing the boat again, and sure there was two old men on the deck, each of them with a beard as white as a swan’s wing and leaning on a stick taller than he was, alike as two peas. Then Finn scratched his head and said to the cat, ‘As sure as it rains in Ireland, I’ve looked at one and the other until I’m that dizzy, and the devil take me if there’s a hair of difference between them; how can you tell which is Brandon?’ And the cat said, ‘Faith, I’ve never met him, but the other one is the king of the rats.’ ‘Which?’ says Finn, to make sure. ‘The one on the right,’ says the cat. ‘The ugly one.’ ‘Then that’s settled,’ says Finn, ‘and you’re the girl for me.’ And he picked up the cat and threw her aboard and went back to the High King at Tara and told him the thing was done.

  “But the cat lit on deck on her feet as cats do, but when she stood up the king of the rats was gone. Then Brandon said, ‘Welcome aboard. Now we’ve captain, cat, and rat, all three, and can sail.’ So the cat signed the ship’s papers, and when she did she noticed the king of the rats was down for quartermaster. ‘What’s this,’ she said, ‘and is that one drawing rations?’ ‘And don’t you know,’ says Brandon, ‘that the wicked do His will as well as the just? Only they don’t like it. How do you think I could have weighed anchor, a sick man like me, without the rat gnawed the rope? But don’t worry, I’m putting you down for CAT, and the cat’s above everyone but the captain.’ ‘When do we sail?’ says the cat. ‘That we’ve done already,’ says Brandon, ‘for the cable parted yesterday and our boat’s so long the bow’s in Boston Bay already, but there’s an Irish wind ahead and astern of us—that blows every way at once, but mostly up and down—and whether our end will ever make it is more than I could say.’ ‘Then we’d best go for’rd,’ says the cat.

  “And they did, and took a lantern (like this one) with them, and it was a good thing they did, for when they got to the Earthly Paradise it was as black as the inside of a cow. ‘What’s this?’ says the cat, holding up the lantern though she could see in the dark as well as any. ‘If this is the Earthly Paradise, where’s the cream? Devil a thing do I see but a big pine tree with a sign on it.’ The king of the rats, that had joined them on the way for’rd, says, ‘And what does it say?’ thinking the cat couldn’t read and wanting to embarrass her. ‘No hiring today,’ says the cat. ‘Well, no cream either,’ says the rat, and Brandon said, ‘It’s two o’clock in the morning in the Earthly Paradise. You don’t expect the cows milked at two o’clock, do you?’

  “Then the cat jumped off the boat and sat on a stone and thought about what time the cows would be milked, and at last she said, ‘How long until five?’ and the rat laughed, but Brandon said, ‘Twenty thousand years.’ ‘Then I’m going back to Ireland where it’s light,’ says the cat. ‘You are that,’ says Brandon, ‘but not for some time,’ and he jumped off the boat and set up a cross on the beach. Then the boat sank and the king of the rats swam ashore. ‘‘Twas stone all along,’ said he. ‘That it was,’ says Brandon, ‘in places.’ ‘Shall I kill the cat now?’ says the king of the rats, and the cat says, ‘Here, now, what’s this?’ ‘It’s death to you,’ says the rat, ‘for all you cats are fey heathen creatures, as all the world knows, and it’s the duty of a Christian rat to take you off the board as may be, particularly as it was for that purpose I was sent by the High King at Tara.’ Then the two began to fight, all up and down the beach, and just then an angel—or somebody—come out of the woods and asked Brandon what was going on. ‘’Tis a good brawl, isn’t it,’ says the saint. ‘Yes, but who are they?’ ‘Well, the one is wickedness,’ says Brandon, ‘and the other a fairy cat; and I brought the both of them out from Ireland with me, and now I’m watchin’ to see which wins.’ Then the angel says, ‘Watch away, but it appears to me they’re tearin’ one another to pieces, and the pieces runnin’ off into the woods.’”

  Beautyland

  Earth Day

  The first time I saw Dives he was down on the sidewalk coughing his lungs out; an old lady had his mask up on the tip of her umbrella, and a kid, a tall, pimply kid with bushy hair and thick glasses, had been tripping him every time he tried to grab it from her. I went over to them and said, “You better give that back or he’ll die,” and the old woman was going to, but the kid grabbed it from her and threw it down in the gutter; I couldn’t give it to him to put back on with that stuff on it, but I kicked the kid and managed to flag a T-E-E aircab, and once I had him in there he was all right. I took off my own mask and told the driver to cruise; like all of them the windows showed the city the way it’s supposed to look after it’s rebuilt, so that if you believed it you’d give your ass to be born a hundred years from now.

  Dives (I’m going to call him that because his mother didn’t) thanked me and tried to give me some money. I didn’t take it—there was quite a bit of it, and I figured if he let go of that much that easy the thing to do was get close to him, not piss it away for a few lousy Cs.

  The first thing I noticed about him was that his nose had been broken a lot, like an old fighter’s; and there were a bunch of little scars on his face. I found out afterward that they were from surgery to erase bigger scars, and one of his eyes was solid state. After a while he said, “Where are we going?” and I said anywhere he wanted to, that I figured he might be a little shaky yet and I’d drop him off. Naturally I was figuring he’d want to go home, and then since I’d pulled him out of trouble and turned down his money he’d have to have me in for a drink and we’d be buddies.

  He said, “Why don’t we go to my apartment for a drink?” and gave his address to the autodriver (a Park Avenue address that sounded like a million) and the funny thing was that I could see him seeing through me and not caring. He was thinking: This guy sees I’ve got money; so he figures he’s going to be my friend—okay, that’s the only kind I’m ever going to have, and maybe he plays pinochle. I didn’t like it but I figured I’d better go along.

  He bought a new mask from the driver, but it turned out he didn’t really need it, because it was a million-dollar address like I thought, and we could jump right out of the totally enclosed environment of the aircab into the big one of his building without even putting anything on. “Neat,” I said, looking around his private lobby, and it really was neat, all hologram walls, real as hell, a big valley way up in the mountains somewhere, where you couldn’t see a road or a house or anything at all, and the trees and bushes and weeds and everything were all green, like nothing was killing them.

  “A piece of property I used to own,” he said.

  I said, “I bet it don’t look like that now.”

  Then he said, “No, it doesn’t… when I was trying to promote it I called it Beautyland—ever hear of it?” and when I shook my head one of the biggest damn androids I ever saw came out of the wallpaper—that was what it seemed like—and shook me down. He was brand new and his platinum trim said he had all the gadgets and he moved in that easy, gentle way they do when all their skin’s two-centimeter armor plate.

  I stayed mighty still, believe me, until he was finished; then I said, “That was some kind of password, huh? I should of said I heard of it.”

  Dives said, “Have you?”

  “Like I said, no. But if you want me to lie a little that’s okay.” Then I thought it might be a good move to remind him of what I did for him, so I said, “Listen, why don’t you take the big guy here with you when you go out, then you wouldn’t need me,” and the android nodded and said, He is right they have hurt you again, Master. He had the kind of deep voice they always give them.

  The rich guy (that was a two-grand suit, by the way, if I ever saw one) just shrugged and said, “I think I owe them a chance at me from time to time. Come on in and we’ll have that drink.”

  It was real class. The android took our verbal orders and relayed them to the Barmaster, then served them on a tray. Dives had brandy and I had vodka on the rocks, and when I picked it up he said, “You’ve been in prison, haven’t you?” I nodded and told him they were called Social Reorientation Farms now and asked him how he knew, and he said he had spent some time on one himself. Naturally I asked him where, and when he had got out.

  “Over a year ago. I was only there for six weeks—I had tried to kill myself, but it passed pretty quickly.”

  I told him that was lucky—I’d tried to make a killing and spent over eight years.

  He wasn’t paying much attention. He said, “I saw people drinking like that there. They fermented mash in the back of the laundry, but ice was nearly impossible to get, and when they had it they drank the way you do—holding the biggest piece in their mouths and drawing the liquor past it. That was why you didn’t know about Beautyland; you were in prison.”

  I said I’d never try to defraud anyone else again; they’d gotten all that out of me.

  “And I’ll never try to take my own life again, either. At least, not directly.” He pulled out a remote control for the android and hit the OFF button. I could see the thing turn off all right, and after a minute he threw the control into a far corner of the room. “That wasn’t my only defense,” he said, “but it was my principal one, and I won’t use the others.”

  I said that was okay by me, but if someone came busting in I was going to make a dive for the control and turn it right back on again. I would have done it too—I’ve never had that much muscle on my side and I would like just once to see how it feels.

  He said, “I don’t think you’ll want to turn him back on after you’ve heard me; I want to tell you about my valley.”

  I said, “Suppose after I’ve heard you I don’t want to break your neck.”

  “Then we’ll play chess. Or whatever you want. That valley belonged to me, and I loved it. You saw it.”

  I said, “Sure.”

  “But I couldn’t live in it—to live in it would be to spoil it, to ruin it. You saw that. I thought of selling it to the government, but you know what has become of the national parks; developers offered me a lot of money for it—at least, what I thought was a lot of money then—but I knew what they were going to do if I sold my land to them. Meanwhile I had to take a job in a factory to live.”