Parable of the Talents - Octavia E Butler Page 0,133

true story of what had been done to me and to Acorn. Hell, I hadn’t even been able to get my own brother to believe me. What chance would I have to convince the cops if some of them were working for CA?

After dinner, after the sermon, I managed to make myself go up to one of the servers—a blond woman with a long red scar on her forehead. She was one of the few who laughed and talked with us as she scooped stew into bowls and passed out bread. I asked her to give my note to lay minister Marcos Duran. As it happened, she knew him.

“He’s not here anymore,” she said. “He was transferred to Portland.”

“Oregon?” I asked, and then felt stupid. Of course she meant Portland, Oregon.

“Yeah,” the server said. “He left a few days ago. He was offered a chance to do more preaching at our new center in Portland, and he’s always wanted that. What a nice man. We were sorry to lose him. Did you ever hear him preach?”

“A couple of times,” I said. “Are you sure he’s gone?”

“Yeah. We had a party for him. He’ll be a great minister someday. A great minister. He’s so spiritual.” She sighed.

Maybe “spiritual” is another word for fantastically good-looking in her circles. Anyway, he was gone. Instead of helping me find Larkin or even seeing me again, he had gone.

I thanked the server and headed out into the evening toward the home of the 88-year-old man where I was still staying. I had left my spare clothing and my sleepsack in his garage. For once, I was traveling light. My backpack was half-empty. I walked automatically, not thinking about where I was going. I was wondering whether I could reach Marc again, wondering whether it would do me any good to reach him. What would he do if I showed up in Portland? Run for Seattle? Why had he run, anyway? I wouldn’t have hurt him—wouldn’t have said or done anything that could damage his lay-minister reputation. Did he run because I mentioned Cougar? Maybe it had been a mistake for me to tell him what happened to us, to Acorn. Maybe I should have told him the same thing I had told the police. “Well, I was walking north on U.S. 101, heading for Eureka, and these guys…”

Was it so essential for him to be important in CA that he didn’t care what vicious things CA was doing, didn’t care even what CA did to the only family he had left?

Then there was a man looming in front of me—a huge man, tall and broad and wearing a CA Center Security uniform. I stopped just before I would have slammed into him. I jumped back. My impulse was to run like hell. This guy looked scary enough to make anyone run. But the truth was, I was frozen with fear. I couldn’t move. I just stared up at him.

He put a huge hand inside his uniform jacket, and I had a flash of it coming out holding a gun—not that this guy needed a gun to kill me. He was a giant.

But his hand came out of his jacket holding an envelope—a little white paper envelope like the kind mail used to come in. Back when we lived in Robledo my father sometimes brought home paper mail from the college in such envelopes.

“Reverend Duran said to give this to anyone tall and Black and asking for him by name,” the giant said. He had a soft, quiet voice that made his appearance less threatening somehow. “Looks like you qualify,” he finished.

I had to make myself reach out and take the envelope.

The giant stared at me for a moment, then said, “He told me you were his sister.”

I nodded.

“He said you might be dressed as a man.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t quite form words yet.

“He said he’s sorry. He asked me to tell you that you could get a bed at the Center for as long as you needed one. I’ll be around. He’s my friend. I’ll look out for you.”

“No,” I said, getting my voice to work at last. “But thank you.” I stood straight, never knowing when I had crouched in my fear. I extended a hand, and the giant took it and shook it. “Thank you,” I repeated, and he was gone, striding back toward the Center.

I didn’t stop to think. I tucked Marcus’s envelope into my blouse and walked on. You didn’t