Coming Home

Twenty-one

The final version of The Grand Collapse reported only that Dmitri Zorbas was “believed” to be at the Prairie House when the decision was taken to shut it down. Whether they were “shutting down” a trove of artifacts or simply a communal establishment is left unclear.

“Do we head for the Aegean now?” I asked. Larissa was located north of the Pagasetic Gulf.

“I don’t know,” said Alex. “What do you think?”

That kind of indecisiveness was unlike him. “I assumed that was automatic. Why do you ask?”

“It doesn’t feel right. I can’t believe he’d have taken the artifacts to Greece. They wouldn’t have been any safer. And he’d already given up twice on the area.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time to go home.”

I can’t explain what happened next. I wasn’t ready to give up, but I was also inclined to agree that charging off to Europe with several truckloads of artifacts during a time of worsening instability didn’t seem like a smart move. On the other hand, what other course did we have? “Your call, Alex.”

“Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

He retired to his room, where I knew he’d go back to plowing through the library books, while I turned on the HV. I needed a break. I probably sat for an hour or so watching Last Man Out and The Harvey Gant Show. They’re pretty weak comedies, but I wanted something light. When they were over, I put on a talk show just as Alex, wrapped in a robe, came out of his room carrying his notebook and wearing a broad smile. “Chase,” he said, “did you look at either of the poetry books they gave us?”

“No. I never got to them. Why?”

“They’re both Marcel Kalabrian collections. I’d never heard of him before, but he was alive during the thirty-third century.”

“Okay,” I said. “Does he have anything helpful to say?”

The smile widened. He opened the notebook. “It’s called ‘Coffee,’” he said.

In the cold gray morning light,

They loaded our history into their trucks

And cars, and turned into the rising sun.

They drank their coffee

And rode out of town while the rest of us slept.

“That’s a bit of a coincidence,” I said. “Was he there when they took the artifacts out of Huntsville?”

“I don’t think he’s referring to Huntsville.”

“Why not?”

“Wrong image. The Huntsville transfer was made by plane.”

“Then you’re thinking Prairie House?”

His eyes met mine. “Kalabrian lived in Grand Forks.”