A Date with an Old Man (1)
"So what kind of item are we hunting for today?"
"Starting today... I want to get my hands on things that are hard to find underground. Intel, too."
"So you're shoving an old man with one foot already in the grave into a radioactive mess, is that it?"
"Th-that's not—"
"I'm joking."
I'd heard plenty of grandmothers and grandfathers trading jokes with their peers about how they were living day to day, one foot already out the door. Every time, I never knew whether to laugh or cry. Even at funerals they'd sit there and ask, deadpan, whose turn was next. Honestly.
"But you're really going aboveground?"
"There are people who'll go up for us. They charge steep, though."
"And where do you find those people?"
"There's a... separate way to contact them. First we'd have to secure the nearest exit from here, and we'd need people or gear to keep the camp safe..."
"That kind of preparation."
"Yeah. That kind of preparation."
At any rate, this new place we'd settled into was far more peaceful than where we'd first set up. Judging by the size of the King of Rats, it wasn't just the settlers from Warehouse D-10 who'd gotten swept up—every other living thing around there must have gone down with them. In a way, it made perfect sense.
"Still... it's bitter, you know."
"What part?"
"Think about it. My youth and my health got smashed to pieces on the battlefield. My son's marriage, which should have been happy, has been stained for years under the names of duty and sacrifice. I wanted at least my granddaughter to live in peace—but something in me, in my son, in our blood keeps shouting for us to defend the country. I almost lost her to the army too."
Curtis rested a custom four-round shotgun on his shoulder and stuck a cigarette between his lips. I pulled out a match and lit it for him right away.
"...Thanks. So. I fought the Nazis with my own two hands. Then my comrades and the kids after me went and fought those red bastards, the communists. After that my son went off to the Middle East shouting about justice while he fought the terrorists. If my granddaughter had enlisted like the plan, she'd have fought the communist countries that got a taste for money all over again, all in the name of justice."
Cigarette smoke as white as his hair drifted up into the air.
"I spent a lifetime fighting for justice, or so I told myself—but in the end, what I wanted was an ordinary life. A son born of the woman I loved. A granddaughter born of that son. Everyone living happy, without a care in the world... But ordinary life was always the first thing the country took away, piece by piece, in the name of justice. And now look at us. Wouldn't that leave a bitter taste in your mouth?"
The tip of the cigarette glowed red. Through another exhale of smoke, the old man's face held only a faint smile.
"Did you love your country?"
"...I don't know."
The last time I'd looked around places other than the game gallery, all I'd seen were people cursing the country out.
"Nothing in this world is a given. Always question it, at least once."
"Says the man who never stopped spinning war stories."
"Because that was my life."
He took one last drag. The cigarette fell to the floor.
"...That's what an old man's complaints are. The more time passes, the more your head and body stiffen up until you're trapped in the past. And when you've been through a war that breaks body and mind—how was I supposed to keep moving forward?"
The last glowing ember was crushed quietly under an old combat boot.
"The officers kept their heads on straight, so they went into politics and proudly ran their mouths about stories written in the blood of the soldiers under them. But me—us—we were just soldiers. More than being glad we'd won that day, we were just relieved the fighting was over."
"..."
"In the end it's just an old man's sermon. New people have to keep going their own way."
"Right... yeah."
I nodded, though I had to fight back a laugh remembering how he'd insisted on telling the story even when his son tried to stop him.
"Which brings us to the new person's story."
"...Go ahead."
"You've got quite a lot of energy in you, don't you?"
A palm tapped my lower belly. I jumped.
"W-where do you think you're—"
"German women are famous for being fierce. And you've got even my granddaughter head over heels."
"Head over heels?!"
"Oh, don't play dumb. Or are you actually that dense? Let's see—better check whether those little jewels of yours are still attached."
I recoiled from the reaching hand and scrambled away, and the old man—no, the geezer—coughed and laughed until tears ran down his face. A moment ago he'd almost earned my respect. How could one person be this impossible to pin down?
"I'm curious, that's all! Honestly, I'm jealous of a guy who can reel in two women. A lion that walks around with a pride of lionesses is bound to earn respect, isn't he?"
"What lionesses, what lion—am I an animal?"
"Or are you not doing your job? Ah, poor Sarah..."
"What job...! Everything's working fine!"
"If everything's working fine, why aren't you using it? You're a young man in his prime—no, wait. These days the young ones go on about 'enjoying youth' and all that... Tch. You're not one of those hippie freaks, are you?"
"Sir."
"The question started a little loud, but I'm being serious, so answer properly."
His hand tightened on the gun. The smile settled, bit by bit, into something quieter.
"You know Sarah likes you, don't you?"
"...I do."
"And Dietrich? The doctor?"
"That one... maybe?"
"'Maybe,' he says. Hell if I know why anyone would like a jaundiced monkey like you. But looks aside... yeah. You're brave, you've got guts—and you're sharp. On top of that you're a manly engineer. That's a solid husband material right there! What's the salary?"
"Salary...?"
"Hahahaha!"
Serious one second, joking the next. What was he even trying to do?
"Anyway, both of them are in their prime. The Newmans already have each other, so as long as they aren't a pair of completely addled hippies they won't be sniffing around anyone else. My son got himself traumatized after failing to keep his own wife in check, so he won't go near a doctor. So, to put it another way—"
"I... have to take responsibility..."
"Whoa there. Who said I was giving you Sarah?"
A hand clamped hard on my shoulder and forced me to stoop. Standing beside Curtis in something closer to a headlock than a friendly arm around the shoulders, I kept walking at an awkward pace.
"Of course, there's no business ethics left and no law either, so bigamy isn't illegal anymore. Heh... what a beautiful age. If I were just a little younger—ah, no, if Mary heard me say that she'd come thrash my backside, so forget I said it. Still. Still... even without law and ethics, there are lines you have to keep."
I'd gone and gifted him a shotgun and even engraved a nice mark on it. Now the cold flank of the barrel pressed against my stomach. My gut was already rolling from the greasy food; I felt like I might throw up. This was not why I'd brought Curtis along.
"If—if—the day ever comes that Sarah cries because of you..."
The gun tilted. It didn't quite level at my head.
"You're the one who saved my granddaughter, so your life is safe. Instead, I swear on my life I'll make you beg so hard you'll wish you were dead. Understood?"
"...Of course."
"Ah, and I'm not telling you what to do about Dietrich. If you've got the chops for it, carrying a flower in each hand is a fine thing too. You know. Like those Muslim fellows. As long as you can handle it, and if the wife allows it? Those terrorist types are always going on about how if you blow yourself up, seventy-two virgins are waiting in heaven or whatever..."
Laughing again, Curtis slapped my backside a couple of times and finally let me go.
"The choice is yours. I don't know what the rules were where you came from, but... this is America. Land of the free. And now there's no law either."
He stretched luxuriously, stopped in front of the closed steel door, and shot me a wink.
"Do your best. Alpha male."
I had the distinct feeling I'd walked into a thoroughly tangled situation.
— Creeeeak.
Beyond the door I pulled open by the lever was a space packed with wooden crates... most of them weapons, no doubt.
"Not this one."
"...I went and struck a pose telling you to open the door, and for this. Tch."
He dropped the dramatic stance, shuffled along in a stooped walk, and opened the second door.
"How about here?"
"If we're looking for a military radio, we should head somewhere that looks packed with electronics."
"A military radio? Hoo... and where do you find one of those?"
"If there's something like a broadcast room, we could just strip the whole thing out."
"Broadcast room, broadcast room... Hmm. Either way, searching the rooms thoroughly first isn't a bad approach."
Curtis took a fresh flashlight in hand and jerked his chin toward the open doorway—then stopped.
"Ah, right. You're the alpha. Of course. The 'lady' should go first."
"What...?"
"They say old men start producing female hormones. I've got more of them than you, surely."
"..."
"Khahahaha!"
...Why had I agreed to search with this old man again?