.' of dust.
"Why you asking?" He looked a little suspicious.
"I dunno. Just curious. It doesn't look like the other places I've been to. This wall..."
He scowled. "Damn wall." Then he shrugged. I thought that was all he was going to say.
Then he went on.
"These people, we look out for 'em, you hear? Maybe we don't go for what they're doin'.
But they got it rough, you know?" He looked at me, expecting something. I never did get the knack of talking to these laconic Westerners. I always felt that I was making my sentences too long.
They use a shorthand of grunts and shrugs and omitted parts of speech, and I always felt like a dude when I talked to them.
"Do they welcome guests?" I asked. "I thought I might see if I could spend the night."
He shrugged again, and it was a whole different gesture.
"Maybe. They all deaf and blind, you know?" And that was all the conversation he could take for the day. He made a clucking sound and galloped away.
I continued down the wall until I came to a dirt road that wound up the arroyo and entered the wall. There was a wooden gate, but it stood open. I wondered why they took all the trouble with the wall only to leave the gate like that. Then I noticed a circle of narrow-gauge train tracks that came out of the gate, looped around outside it, and rejoined itself. There was a small siding that ran along the outer wall for a few yards.
I stood there a few moments. I don't know what entered into my decision. I think I was a little tired of sleeping out, and I was hungry for a home-cooked meal. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. The land to the west looked like more of the same. If the highway had been visible, I might have headed that way and hitched a ride. But I turned the other way and went through the gate.
I walked down the middle of the tracks. There was a wooden fence on each side of the road, built of horizontal planks, like a corral. Sheep grazed on one side of me. There was a Shetland sheepdog with them, and she raised her ears and followed me with her eyes as I passed, but did not come when I whistled.
It was about half a mile to the cluster of buildings ahead. There were four or five domes made of something translucent, like greenhouses, and several conventional square buildings. There were two windmills turning lazily in the breeze.
There were several banks of solar water heaters. These are flat constructions of glass and wood, held off the ground so: they can tilt to follow the sun. They were almost vertical; now, intercepting the oblique rays of sunset. There were à few trees, what might have been an orchard.
About halfway there I passed under a wooden footbridge. It arched over the road, giving access from the east pasture to the west pasture. I wondered, What was wrong with a simple gate?
Then I saw something coming down the road in my direction. It was traveling on the tracks file:///G|/rah/John%20Varley%20-%20Persistence%20Of%20Vision.txt (4 of 24)
[2/17/2004 11:43:29 AM]
Page 5
quiet. I stopped and waited.
It was a sort of converted mining engine, the sort that pulls loads of coal up from the bottom of shafts. It was=
battery-powered, and it had gotten quite close before I heard, it. A small man was driving it. He was pulling a car behind -
him and singing as loud as he could with absolutely no sense of pitch. _
He got closer and closer, moving about five miles per hour, one hand held out as if he was signaling a left turn.: Suddenly I realized what was happening, as he was bearing. down on me.
He wasn't going to stop. He was counting fenceposts with his hand. I scrambled up the fence just in time. There wasn't more than six inches of clearance be~: tween the train and the fence on either side. His palm-' touched my leg as I squeezed close to the fence, and he-r stopped abruptly.
He leaped from the car and grabbed me and I thought I, was in trouble. But he looked concerned, not angry, and felt'
me all over, trying to discover if I was hurt. I
"Why you asking?" He looked a little suspicious.
"I dunno. Just curious. It doesn't look like the other places I've been to. This wall..."
He scowled. "Damn wall." Then he shrugged. I thought that was all he was going to say.
Then he went on.
"These people, we look out for 'em, you hear? Maybe we don't go for what they're doin'.
But they got it rough, you know?" He looked at me, expecting something. I never did get the knack of talking to these laconic Westerners. I always felt that I was making my sentences too long.
They use a shorthand of grunts and shrugs and omitted parts of speech, and I always felt like a dude when I talked to them.
"Do they welcome guests?" I asked. "I thought I might see if I could spend the night."
He shrugged again, and it was a whole different gesture.
"Maybe. They all deaf and blind, you know?" And that was all the conversation he could take for the day. He made a clucking sound and galloped away.
I continued down the wall until I came to a dirt road that wound up the arroyo and entered the wall. There was a wooden gate, but it stood open. I wondered why they took all the trouble with the wall only to leave the gate like that. Then I noticed a circle of narrow-gauge train tracks that came out of the gate, looped around outside it, and rejoined itself. There was a small siding that ran along the outer wall for a few yards.
I stood there a few moments. I don't know what entered into my decision. I think I was a little tired of sleeping out, and I was hungry for a home-cooked meal. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. The land to the west looked like more of the same. If the highway had been visible, I might have headed that way and hitched a ride. But I turned the other way and went through the gate.
I walked down the middle of the tracks. There was a wooden fence on each side of the road, built of horizontal planks, like a corral. Sheep grazed on one side of me. There was a Shetland sheepdog with them, and she raised her ears and followed me with her eyes as I passed, but did not come when I whistled.
It was about half a mile to the cluster of buildings ahead. There were four or five domes made of something translucent, like greenhouses, and several conventional square buildings. There were two windmills turning lazily in the breeze.
There were several banks of solar water heaters. These are flat constructions of glass and wood, held off the ground so: they can tilt to follow the sun. They were almost vertical; now, intercepting the oblique rays of sunset. There were à few trees, what might have been an orchard.
About halfway there I passed under a wooden footbridge. It arched over the road, giving access from the east pasture to the west pasture. I wondered, What was wrong with a simple gate?
Then I saw something coming down the road in my direction. It was traveling on the tracks file:///G|/rah/John%20Varley%20-%20Persistence%20Of%20Vision.txt (4 of 24)
[2/17/2004 11:43:29 AM]
Page 5
quiet. I stopped and waited.
It was a sort of converted mining engine, the sort that pulls loads of coal up from the bottom of shafts. It was=
battery-powered, and it had gotten quite close before I heard, it. A small man was driving it. He was pulling a car behind -
him and singing as loud as he could with absolutely no sense of pitch. _
He got closer and closer, moving about five miles per hour, one hand held out as if he was signaling a left turn.: Suddenly I realized what was happening, as he was bearing. down on me.
He wasn't going to stop. He was counting fenceposts with his hand. I scrambled up the fence just in time. There wasn't more than six inches of clearance be~: tween the train and the fence on either side. His palm-' touched my leg as I squeezed close to the fence, and he-r stopped abruptly.
He leaped from the car and grabbed me and I thought I, was in trouble. But he looked concerned, not angry, and felt'
me all over, trying to discover if I was hurt. I
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