Parable of the Talents - Octavia E Butler Page 0,45

bread, lit into it, and chewed slowly. First he looked delighted, then tears began to stream down his face. I gave him a napkin and a glass of what had once been a favorite morning drink of his—a mug of hot, sweet apple juice with a lemon squeezed into it. The apples we pressed in southern California were of a different variety, but I don’t think he noticed. He ate, wiped his eyes, looked around. He stared at Bankole as Bankole came in, then focused on the rest of his breakfast, all but huddling over it the way a hawk does when its claiming and protecting its kill. There was no more talk for a while.

When we had all had enough to eat, Bankole looked at Marcus and said, “I’ve been married to your sister for five years. During all that time, we believed that you and the rest of her family were dead.”

“I thought she was dead, too,” Marcus said.

“Zahra Balter—she was Zahra Moss when you knew her—she said she saw all of you killed,” I told him.

He frowned. “Moss? Balter?”

“We didn’t know Zahra very well back home. She was married to Richard Moss. He was killed and she married Harry Balter.”

“God,” he said. “I never thought I’d hear those names again. I do remember Zahra—tiny, beautiful, and tough.”

“She’s still all three. She and Harry are here. They’ve got two kids.”

“I want to see them!”

“Okay.”

“Who else is here?”

“A lot of people who’ve been through hard times. No one else from home, though. This community is called Acorn.”

“There was a little girl… Robin. Robin Balter?”

“Harry’s little sister. She didn’t make it.”

“You thought I didn’t.”

“I…saw Robin’s body, Marc. She didn’t make it.”

He sighed and stared at his hands resting in his lap. “I did die back in ʼ27. I died. There’s nothing left.”

“There’s family,” I said. “There’s me, Bankole, the niece or nephew who’ll be born next year. You’re free now. You can stay here and make a life for yourself in Acorn. I hope you will. But you’re free to do what you want. No one here wears a collar.”

“Have you ever worn one?” he asked.

“No. Some of us have been slaves, but I never was. And I believe you’re the first of us who’s worn a collar. I hope you’ll talk or write about what happened to you since the old neighborhood was destroyed.”

He seemed to think about that for a while. “No,” he said. “No.”

Too soon. “Okay,” I said, “but…do you think any of the others could have survived? Cory or Ben or Greg? Is it possible…?”

“No,” he repeated. “No, they’re dead. I got out. They didn’t.”

Sometime later, as we got up from the table, two men arrived by truck from the little coastal town of Halstead. Like Acorn, Halstead is well off the main highway. In fact, Halstead must be the most remote, isolated town in our area with the Pacific Ocean on three sides of it and low mountains behind it.

In spite of all that, Halstead has a major problem. Halstead used to have a beach and above the beach was a palisade where the town began. Along the palisade, some of the biggest, nicest houses sat, overlooking the ocean. On one side of the peninsula were the old houses, large, well-built wood frame structures. On the other side were newer houses built on land that was once a seaside golf course. All of these are…were lined up along the palisade. I don’t know why people would build their homes on the edge of a cliff like that, but they did. Now, whenever we have heavy rains, when there’s an earthquake, or when the level of the sea rises enough to saturate more land, great blocks of the palisades drop into the sea, and the houses sitting on them break apart and fall. Sometimes half a house falls into the sea. Sometimes it’s several houses. Last night it was three of them. The people of Halstead were still fishing victims out of the sea. Worse, the community doctor had been delivering a baby in one of the lost houses. That’s why the community was turning to Bankole for help. Bankole had been on good terms with their doctor. The people of Halstead trusted Bankole because their doctor had trusted him.

“What are you people thinking?” Bankole demanded of the weary, desperate Halstead men as he and I snatched up things he would need. He was adding to his medical bag. I was packing an overnight case for