Free Neal Barrett Jr. by Dawn's Uncertain Light Page B

those.”
    “I ain’t much on meat,” Howie said.
    “Not a bad idea,” Jones said. “The price has sure gone out of sight.”
    There was wine, which Howie didn’t like, and a soup of some kind that tasted good. When the main course arrived, he tried to ignore the preacher’s steak. The dark crust sizzled and the plate ran bright red with juice. The smell made his stomach turn over; for a moment he was sure he’d be sick. He concentrated on the fish, forced himself to eat. He didn’t want anything now, but hunger overcame the other sickness inside.
    Jones was too busy with his meal to notice Howie’s discomfort. When the meat was all gone, he mopped up the juice with his bread, then asked for peach pie for them both. Howie ate a little, and the preacher finished off what he left.
    “Well now,” Jones said, leaning back with a sigh, “to my way of thinking, this is somewhat better than camping out beneath a tree. Praise God for the comforts of civilization—though of course there is much to be said for the glories of the outdoor natural sort of life.”
    “It don’t seem right,” Howie said. “Not to me it don’t.”
    “What doesn’t, boy?” Jones tapped both sides of his mouth with a white napkin.
    Howie felt his face grow hot. He hadn’t meant to voice his thoughts aloud.
    “The—the food, and this here place,” Howie said, trying to put the words together. “Everyone eatin’ all they want. And most of the country flat starving. I’ve seen it. I’ve been one of ’em, too. That’s what I’m saying. It don’t seem right.”
    “It is not right. Cory.” The preacher’s eyes grew solemn. “It is not right at all. The Lord wants all of His children to have plenty. He wants an end to privation, suffering, and hunger in the land.”
    “The poor folks out there would like that too,” Howie said bluntly. “Look’s to me like God’s spendin’ too much time in hotels.”
    “Now that’s no way to talk.” Jones wagged an admonishing finger in Howie’s face. “Sometimes the Lord’s ways seem to—”
    “Hell, where’s all this food come from?” Howie wasn’t finished. “I know it didn’t grow around here. The farmers can’t remember seem’ rain.”
    “California, Jones said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean a great deal of what you’re eating now was shipped in from California. Those ships you saw out by the docks—they’re sailing back and forth from California all the time. Bringing in food. California’s a vast garden, Cory. Everything grows out there. ’Course, it’s too far to send fresh foods, most of your vegetables and fruits. But onions and potatoes ride well, and some other things too. And there are new ways of drying and bottling foods now.
    Jones shook his head. “The sad truth is, you’re right in what you say. With the war going on, there’s simply not enough to go around.”
    “It’s like them horses, I reckon,” Howie said, the bitterness clear in his voice. “The army’s going to get everything first. Soldiers are going to eat, even if their folks back home have got to starve. And if they win out there and make it back, what are they goin’ to find? Dust farms, and maybe half their family gone. What’s the war good for? I ain’t found anyone able to tell me that.”
    Jones looked startled, an expression that grew into a smile so radiant Howie could feel it across the table.
    “Cory, for a moment I saw the Lord come and stand right beside you. I swear this is so. Why, I could see your face ringed in the Light!” He shook his head in wonder. “And you know why this happened to you, boy? I’ll tell you why for sure. Because the words you spoke just now are the very words of Lawrence himself. Exactly his words—how suffering and pain have got to vanish from the land. How this terrible and hopelessly futile war must come to an end. What’s the war good for? That’s what Lawrence said. The same as you, Cory, God bless you, son.” He reached