Roland took the hand, which was pleasantly rough. "I'm Roland Deschain, of Gilead. Long days and pleasant nights, John. "
Eddie put out his own hand in turn. "Eddie Dean, from Brooklyn. Nice to meet you. "
John shook with him easily enough but his eyes studied Eddie closely. When their hands parted, he said: "Young fella, did somethin just happen? It did, didn't it?"
"I don't know," Eddie said. Not with complete honesty.
"You ain't been to Brooklyn for a long time, son, have you?"
"Ain't been to Morehouse or tono house," Eddie Dean said, and then quickly, before he could lose it: "Mia's locked Susannah away. Locked her away in the year of '99. Suze can get to the Dogan, but going there's no good. Mia's locked off the controls. There's nothing Suze can do. She's kidnapped. She. . . she. . . "
He stopped. For a moment everything had been soclear, like a dream upon the instant of waking. Then, as so often happens with dreams, it faded. He didn't even know if it had been a real message from Susannah, or pure imagination.
Young fella, did somethin just happen?
So Cullum had felt it, too. Not imagination, then. Some form of the touch seemed more likely.
John waited, and when there was no more from Eddie, turned to Roland. "Does your pal come over funny that way often?"
"Not often, no. Sai. . . Mister,I mean. Mister Cullum, I thank you for helping us when we needed help. I thank ya big-big. It would be monstrous impudent of us to ask for more, but - "
"But you're gonna. Ayuh, figgered. " John made a minute course correction toward the little boathouse with its square open mouth. Roland estimated they'd be there in five minutes. That was fine by him. He had no objection to riding in this tight little motor-powered boat (even though it rode rather low in the water with the weight of three grown men inside), but Keywadin Pond was far too exposed for his taste. If Jack Andolini (or his successor, should Jack be replaced) asked enough of those shore-gawkers, he would eventually find a few who remembered the little skiff with the three men in it. And the boathouse with the neat green trim. John Cullum's bwut-huss, may it do ya fine, these witnesses would say. Best they should be farther along the Beam before that happened, with John Cullum packed off to somewhere safe. Roland judged "safe" in this case to be perhaps three looks to the horizon-line, or about a hundred wheels. He had no doubt that Cullum, a total stranger, had saved their lives by stepping in decisively at the right moment. The last thing he wanted was for the man to lose his own as a result.
"Well, I'll do what I can for ya, already made up m'mind to that, but I got to ask you somethin now, while I got the chance. "
Eddie and Roland exchanged a brief look. Roland said, "We'll answer if we can. Which is to say, John of East Stoneham, if we judge that the answer won't cause you harm. "
John nodded. He seemed to gather himself. "I know you're not ghosts, because we all saw you back at the store and I just now touched you to shake hands. I can see the shadders you cast. " He pointed at where they lay across the side of the boat. "Real as real. So my question is this: are you walk-ins?"
"Walk-ins," Eddie said. He looked at Roland, but Roland's face was completely blank. Eddie looked back at John Cullum, sitting in the stern of the boat and steering them toward the boathouse. "I'm sorry, but I don't. . . "
"Been a lot of em around here, last few years," John said. "Waterford, Stoneham, East Stoneham, Lovell, Sweden. . . even over in Bridgton and Denmark. " This last township name came outDenmaa-aaak.
He saw they were still puzzled.
"Walk-ins're people who justappear, " he said. "Sometimes they're dressed in old-fashioned clothes, as if they came from. . . ago,I guess you'd say. One was nekkid as a jay-bird, walkin right up the middle of Route 5. Junior Angstrom seen im. Last November this was. Sometimes they talk other languages. One came to Don Russert's house over in Waterford. Sat right there in the kitchen! Donnie's a retired history professor from Vanderbilt College and he taped the fella. Fella jabbered quite awhile, then went into the laundry room. Donnie figured he must'a taken it for the bathroom and went after him to turn him around, but the fella was already gone. No door for him to go out of, but gone he was.
"Donnie played that tape of his for just about everyone in the Vandy Languages Department (Depaaa-aatment), and wasn't none of em recognized it. One said it must be a completely made-up language, like Esperanto. Do you sabby Esperanto, boys?"
Roland shook his head. Eddie said (cautiously), "I've heard of it, but I don't really know what it i - "
"And sometimes," John said, his voice lowering as they glided into the shadows of the boathouse, "sometimes they're hurt. Or disfigured. Roont. "
Roland started so suddenly and so hard that the boat rocked. For a moment they were actually in danger of being tipped out. "What? What do you say? Speak again, John, for I would hear it very well. "
John apparently thought it was purely an issue of verbal comprehension, because this time he was at pains to pronounce the word more carefully. "Ruined. Like folks who'd been in a nuclear war, or a fallout zone, or something. "
"Slow mutants," Roland said. "I think he might be talking about slow muties. Here in this town. "
Eddie nodded, thinking about the Grays and Pubes in Lud. Also thinking about a misshapen beehive and the monstrous insects which had been crawling over it.
John killed the little Evinrude engine, but for a moment the three of them sat where they were, listening to water slap hollowly against the aluminum sides of the boat.
"Slow mutants," the old fellow said, almost seeming to taste the words. "Ayuh, I guess that'd be as good a name for em as any. But they ain't the only ones. There's been animals, too, and kinds of birds no one's ever seen in these parts. But mostly it's the walk-ins that've got people worried and talkin amongst themselves. Donnie Russert called someone he knew at Duke University, and that fella called someone in their Department of Psychic Studies - amazin they've got such a thing as that in a real college, but it appears they do - and the Psychic Studies woman said that's what such folks are called: walk-ins. And then, when they disappear again - which they always do, except for one fella over in East Conway Village, who died - they're called walk-outs. The lady said that some scientists who study such things - I guess you could call em scientists, although I know a lot of folks might argue - b'lieve that walk-ins are aliens from other planets, that spaceships drop em off and then pick em up again, but most of em think they're time-travelers, or from different Earths that lie in a line with ours. "
"How long has this been going on?" Eddie asked. "How long have the walk-ins been showing up?"
"Oh, two or three years. And it's gettin worse ruther'n better. I seen a couple of such fellas myself, and once a woman with a bald head who looked like she had this bleedin eye in the middle of her forread. But they was all at a distance, and you fellas are up close. "
John leaned toward them over his bony knees, his eyes (as blue as Roland's own) gleaming. Water slapped hollowly at the boat. Eddie felt a strong urge to take John Cullum's hand again, to see if something else would happen. There was another Dylan song called "Visions of Johanna. " What Eddie wanted was not a vision of Johanna, but the name was at least close to that.
"Ayuh," John was saying, "you boys are right up close and personal. Now, I'll help you along your way if I can, because I don't sense nothing the least bit bad about either of you (although I'm going to tell you flat out that I ain'tnever seen such shooting), but I want to know: are you walk-ins or not?"
Once more Roland and Eddie exchanged looks,
and then Roland answered. "Yes," he said. "I suppose we are. "
"Gorry," John whispered. In his awe, not even his seamed face could keep him from looking like a child. "Walk-ins! And where is it you're from, can you tell me that?" He looked at Eddie, laughed the way people do when they are admitting you've put a good one over on them, and said: "NotBrooklyn. "
"But Iam from Brooklyn," Eddie said. The only thing was it hadn't beenthis world's Brooklyn, and he knew that now. In the world he came from, a children's book namedCharlie the Choo-Choo had been written by a woman named Beryl Evans; in this one it had been written by someone named Claudia y Inez Bachman. Beryl Evans sounded real and Claudia y Inez Bachman sounded phony as a three-dollar bill, yet Eddie was coming more and more to believe that Bachman was the true handle. And why? Because it came as part of this world.
"Iam from Brooklyn, though. Just not the. . . well. . . the same one. "
John Cullum was still looking at them with that wide-eyed child's expression of wonder. "What about those other fellas? The ones who were waiting for you? Are they. . . ?"
"No," Roland said. "Not they. No more time for this, John - not now. " He got cautiously to his feet, grabbed an overhead beam, and stepped out of the boat with a little wince of pain. John followed and Eddie came last. The two other men had to help him. The steady throb in his right calf had receded a little bit, but the leg was stiff and numb, hard to control.
"Let's go to your place," Roland said. "There's a man we need to find. With the blessing, you may be able to help us do that. "
He may be able to help us in more ways than that,Eddie thought, and followed them back into the sunlight, gimping along on his bad leg with his teeth gritted.
At that moment, Eddie thought he would have slain a saint in exchange for a dozen aspirin tablets.
STAVE: Commala-loaf-leaven!
They go to hell or up to heaven!
When the guns are shot and the fire's hot,
You got to poke em in the oven.
RESPONSE: Commala-come-seven!
Salt and yow' for leaven!
Heat em up and knock em down
And poke em in the oven.