Z for Zachariah: Chapters 14–20

It was not much, and yet it seemed momentous. He could see, he could talk again!

On the fourth day, another milestone.

I walked down to the field. It still lay in furrows, looking rather desolate, and a few weeds had come up.

I walked down to the field. It still lay in furrows, looking rather desolate, and a few weeds had come up.

“When does the frost begin?” He sounded skeptical.

He seemed mollified. In a way, he even tried to explain. “I worry about food. I even dream about it.”

Even though the soil had set for two weeks—which it is not supposed to do—it broke up easily, and I watched the ugly corkscrew hummocks of the plow change into smooth, narrow ridges, looking the way a field ought to look.

I ran to the bedroom door and saw Mr. Loomis: he was on the floor, sprawled in an awkward heap, holding to the bed and trying to get up.

He did not mention the incident at all, but asked me if I could bring him the following things: some pencils, plain white paper, a ruler, a protractor, and a drawing compass.

His lunch finished (his appetite was not impaired!) he went on, sounding a little less unfriendly.

At the time, however, I changed the subject to something less controversial.

I had started to say that since I could only plant and cultivate so much, I had not included beets—and quite a few other things, like pumpkins, turnips, squash, and so on.

He went on: “I’ve been lying in the bed for a long time now, with nothing to do but think. And I realized that we’ve got to plan as if this valley is the whole world, and we are starting a colony, one that will last permanently.”

As I had said I would, I put a chair for him out on the front porch—a small upholstered armchair I got from my parents’ bedroom.

When he had first come, I had been so excited and apprehensive about the presence of any other person that I did not think too much about who Mr. Loomis was; he had seemed attractive and friendly.

In books and movies they say, “Let’s talk about you,” or, “Tell me all about yourself”—but that is when they first meet, and seems trite anyway.

He did not elaborate, and the conversation lagged since I knew nothing about Nyack, New York.

He did not elaborate, and the conversation lagged since I knew nothing about Nyack, New York.

“In a naval ordnance laboratory in Bristol, New Jersey. I was a chemistry major in college. The navy needed chemists. That’s where I got started in plastics. They use more plastics than anybody, and kept testing new kinds. For ship fittings, gun covers, frogman suits, even hulls. Plastics that wouldn’t chip, freeze, crack, corrode, or leak.”

“In a naval ordnance laboratory in Bristol, New Jersey. I was a chemistry major in college. The navy needed chemists. That’s where I got started in plastics. They use more plastics than anybody, and kept testing new kinds. For ship fittings, gun covers, frogman suits, even hulls. Plastics that wouldn’t chip, freeze, crack, corrode, or leak.”

“In a naval ordnance laboratory in Bristol, New Jersey. I was a chemistry major in college. The navy needed chemists. That’s where I got started in plastics. They use more plastics than anybody, and kept testing new kinds. For ship fittings, gun covers, frogman suits, even hulls. Plastics that wouldn’t chip, freeze, crack, corrode, or leak.”

I felt myself falling from the chair, falling toward him, and quite instinctively I threw my right hand up (he was holding the left one) to catch myself.

There is a telepathy that goes with such things. When he was holding my hand, I could tell that he was taking charge, or possession—I do not know how to put it.

All in all, I felt normalcy returning and then, turning at the end of a row, I glanced up at the house.

I concentrated on the rows, and watched the spreader and the gray fertilizer sifting down from the hopper onto the soil.

I concentrated on the rows, and watched the spreader and the gray fertilizer sifting down from the hopper onto the soil.

He kept this up, a sort of inconsequential chatter, and I joined in as well as I could.

Still, I knew of families who did read to one another as a regular pastime; perhaps it was not so strange.

First, I was tired, and piano playing is harder than reading. Second, I had to sit with my back to him, and I felt unreasonably wary about that.

It was ironic; as a child I hadn’t particularly liked working in the fields.

Faro seemed to feel the same way—at least he did not scurry around and sniff, but just plodded along quietly, his toenails clicking on the blacktop.

The next thing I knew, I woke up in pitch darkness; the candle had burned out, and Faro was growling. The growl changed to a short yip of surprise; his feet scuffled on the floor, and he ran out.

At that instant, pretense ended.

Poor Faro! He had never in his life been tied up. When he finished eating, he shook himself again, trying to get the collar off, and then trotted away. When he came to the end of the tether, his head snapped back and he fell down.

I had only a smattering of food supplies, but I opened the can of hash and ate it cold.

Faro, not used to being led, had a hard time at first—he kept trying to run and each time was brought up short. He learned quickly, however, and in a few minutes was walking along docilely enough, his nose to the road.

I felt very tired in spite of my nap; I was yawning continuously and realized there would be no staying awake that night. That alarmed me somewhat because sound asleep at night I was vulnerable.

The calf was almost fully weaned, and I had missed several milkings in a row, which had helped to speed the process up.

I stopped at the store to replenish my food supply.

After perhaps five minutes, I heard the churning metallic sound of the starter, and the sputtering of the engine, muffled because it was inside the barn.