Book 12 - Cruel Zinc Melodies Read Online Free PDF Page A

gone on forever. It defined generations. It bound men together where they had nothing else in common.
    ‘‘You Corps?’’ I asked.
    Handsome grunted an affirmative.
    ‘‘Me too.’’ He was way older so we had little else in common. But that was enough.
    Two minutes after you start boot training they convince you that Marines are a separate and dramatically superior species. And once a Marine, always a Marine. Rah!
    Marines are more family than most brothers and sisters. And so forth.
    You never get over it, either.
    We didn’t swap stories. You don’t do that, except maybe with the guys who were there with you.
    Me bringing it up was as good as a secret handshake, though. Handsome became confidential. ‘‘I don’t believe they’s really no ghosts. That’s crap. I never heard no music, neither. An’ I been here since the start. Somebody’s pulling some shit, maybe, trying to fuck up the program. Maybe kids. They’s kids around all the time. One day gang-type kids, the next day kids that look like they run away from the Hill. But they’s plenty a’ fucking bugs, I guaroontee you that. Bugs you ain’t gonna believe till they climb your fucking leg.’’
    ‘‘Tell me about the bugs.’’
    ‘‘They’re big. And bold as cats. You go on in there, cap. Prowl around. Won’t be that long afore you see.’’ He stepped aside.
    No one else challenged my right to visit the site.
    Actually, no one seemed to give a rat’s whisker, one way or another. Everybody but Handsome was trying to get some construction done.
    I went inside. It was warm in there. I saw no obvious reason why.
    My familiarity with the theater phenomena was limited. I went to a passion play once with a lost girlfriend, way back. Twice recently I’d gone with Tinnie, to a comedy and a tragedy, both historicals based on rulers from Imperial times. Neither play impressed me.
    Interior work on the World was just getting started. Most of the planking meant to become ground-level flooring remained to be pegged into place. No seating or stages or walls had gone up yet. A couple of carpenters pegged away. I strolled over. One worked an augur. The other sanded the head of a peg just driven into place. I peered into the lower-level gloom. ‘‘What’s the plan for ventilation down there?’’
    The carpenters looked like brothers separated by five years. The elder said, ‘‘I’m a carpenter, chief. You want to know something like that, ask the friggin’ architect.’’
    The other said, ‘‘Don’t mind this asshole. He married my sister. She sucked the nice out of him years ago.’’
    Not brothers, then. The sister must be a walking disaster zone, she had a brother who talked like that.
    The younger continued. ‘‘They’ll be louvered iron windows that can be adjusted from inside. And a stack in the center that’s supposed to draw hot, stale air.’’
    ‘‘Thank you.’’
    Something brown scooted through the lower murk.
    Carpenter the Elder failed to object to his companion’s remarks. I assumed the crab-and-grin was a regular act.
    Another something moved downstairs. Followed by a bunch of somethings. Rats? ‘‘You guys seen any ghosts?’’
    ‘‘Say what?’’
    ‘‘Ghosts. Old Man Weider said you construction guys can’t stay on schedule on account of ghosts and bugs.’’
    The crabby carpenter whacked a peg into place with a wooden mallet. ‘‘I heard the same shit, slick. But I ain’t never seen no spooks. Bugs, though? Shit. Yeah. We got them fuckers out the wazoo. Some a’ them big enough to rape a dog.’’
    ‘‘Not mosquitoes, I hope.’’ In the islands we’d joked about the skeeters being so big they’d hang you in the trees so they could snack on you later.
    ‘‘Nah. They’s cock-a-roaches, mainly. I seen some ugly beetles, too. Shit! Lookit! There’s one right over there.’’ He threw his mallet. He missed. The mallet bounced all the way to the wall. Which I noted only in passing. Because I was