The Knife of Never Letting Go
“Noise,” I say.
She nods. “And the aliens?”
“There ain’t no more aliens.”
She nods again. We sit for a minute, ignoring the obvious till it can’t be ignored no longer.
“Am I going to die?” she asks quietly. “Is it going to kill me?”
The words sound different in her accent but they mean the same damn thing and my Noise can only say probably but I make it so my mouth says, “I don’t know.”
She watches me for more.
“I really don’t know,” I say, kinda meaning it. “If you’d asked me last week, I’d have been sure, but today–” I look down at my rucksack, at the book hiding inside. “I don’t know.” I look back at her. “I hope not.”
But probably, says my Noise. Probably yer gonna die, and tho I try to cover it up with other Noise it’s such an unfair thing it’s hard not to have it right at the front.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She don’t say nothing.
“But maybe if we get to the next settlement–” I say, but I don’t finish cuz I don’t know the answer. “You ain’t sick yet. That’s something.”
“You must warn them,” she says, down into her knees.
I look up sharply. “What?”
“Earlier, when you were trying to read that book–”
“I wasn’t trying,” I say, my voice a little bit louder all of a sudden.
“I could see the words in your whatever,” she says, “and it’s ‘You must warn them’.”
“I know that! I know what it says.”
Of course it’s bloody You must warn them. Course it is. Idiot.
The girl says, “It seemed like you were–”
“I know how to read.”
She holds up her hands. “Okay.”
“I do!”
“I’m just saying–”
“Well, stop just saying,” I frown, my Noise roiling enough to get Manchee on his feet. I get to my feet as well. I pick up the rucksack and put it back on. “We should get moving.”
“Warn who?” asks the girl, still sitting. “About what?”
I don’t get to answer (even tho I don’t know the answer) cuz there’s a loud click above us, a loud clang-y click that in Prentisstown would mean one thing.
A rifle being cocked.
And standing on a rock above us, there’s someone with a freshly-cocked rifle in both hands, looking down the sight, pointing it right at us.
“What’s foremost in my mind at this partickalar juncture,” says a voice rising from behind the gun, “is what do two little pups think they’re doing a-burning down my bridge?”
“Gun! Gun! Gun!” Manchee starts barking, hopping back and forth in the dust.
“I’d quieten down yer beastie there,” says the rifle, his face obscured by looking down the sight straight at us. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to it, now wouldja?”
“Quiet, Manchee!” I say.
He turns to me. “Gun, Todd?” he barks. “Bang, bang!”
“I know. Shut up.”
He stops barking and it’s quiet.
Aside from my Noise, it’s quiet.
“I do believe I sent out an asking to a partickalar pair of pups,” says the voice, “and I am a-waiting on my answer.”
I look back at the girl. She shrugs her shoulders, tho I notice we both have our hands up. “What?” I say back up to the rifle.
The rifle gives an angry grunt. “I’m asking,” it says, “what exactly gives ye permisshun to go a-burning down other people’s bridges?”
I don’t say nothing. Neither does the girl.
“D’ye think this is a stick I’m a-pointing at ye?” The rifle bobs up and down once.
“We were being chased,” I say, for lack of nothing else.
“Chased, were ye?” says the rifle. “Who was a-chasing ye?”
And I don’t know how to answer this. Would the truth be more dangerous than a lie? Is the rifle on the side of the Mayor? Would we be bounty? Or would rifle man have even heard of Prentisstown?
The world’s a dangerous place when you don’t know enough.
Like why is it so quiet?
“Oh, I heard of Prentisstown, all right,” says the rifle, reading my Noise with unnerving clarity and cocking the gun again, making it ready to shoot. “And if that’s where yer from–”
Then the girl speaks up and says that thing that suddenly makes me think of her as Viola and not the girl any more.
“He saved my life.”
I saved her life.
Says Viola.
Funny how that works.
“Did he now?” says the rifle. “And how do you know he don’t aim to just be a-saving it for himself?”
The girl, Viola, looks at me, her forehead creased. It’s my turn to shrug.
“But no.” The rifle’s voice changes. “No, huh-uh, no, I’m not a-seeing that in ye, am I, boy? Cuz yer just a boy pup still, ain’t ye?”
I swallow. “I’ll be a man in 29 days.”
“Not something to be proud of, pup. Not where yer from.”
And then he lowers the gun away from his face.
And that’s why it’s so quiet.
He’s a woman.
He’s a grown woman.
He’s an old woman.
“I’ll thank ye kindly to call me she,” the woman says, still pointing the rifle at us from chest level. “And not so old I won’t still shoot ye.”
She’s looking at us more closely now, reading me up and down, seeing right into my Noise with a skill I’ve only ever felt in Ben. Her face is making all kindsa shapes, like she’s considering me, like Cillian’s face does when he tries to read me to see if I’m lying. Tho this woman ain’t got no Noise at all so she might be singing a song in there for all I know.
She turns to Viola and pauses for another long look.
“As pups go,” she says, looking back at me, “ye are as easy to read as a newborn, m’boy.” She turns her face to Viola. “But ye, wee girl, yer story’s not a usual one, is it?”
“I’d be happy to tell you all about it if you’d stop pointing a gun at us,” Viola says.
This is so surprising even Manchee looks up. I turn to Viola with my mouth open.
We hear a chuckle from up on the rock. The old woman is laughing to herself. Her clothes seem a real dusty leather, worn and creased for years and years with a rimmed hat and boots for ignoring mud. Like she ain’t nothing more than a farmer, really.