The Long Walk

Walkers were tired and hollow-eyed and barely conscious of the cheering and the waving signs and the constant hoorah as people cheered on their favorites and those on whom they had wagered. His father told him later that day that people lined the roads from Bangor on. Up-country it wasn’t so interesting, and the road was strictly cordoned off—maybe so they could concentrate on being calm, as Barkovitch had said. But as time passed, it got better, of course.
    When the Walkers passed through Freeport that year they had been on the road over seventy-two hours. Garraty had been ten and overwhelmed by everything. The Major had made a speech to the crowd while the boys were still five miles out of town. He began with Competition, progressed to Patriotism, and finished with something called the Gross National Product—Garraty had laughed at that, because to him gross meant something nasty, like boogers. He had eaten six hotdogs and when he finally saw the Walkers coming he had wet his pants.
    One boy had been screaming. That was his most vivid memory. Every time he put his foot down he had screamed: I can’t . I CAN’T. I can’t. I CAN’T. But he went on walking. They all did, and pretty soon the last of them had gone past L.L. Bean’s on U.S. 1 and out of sight. Garraty had been mildly disappointed at not seeing anyone get a ticket. They had never gone to another Long Walk. Later that night Garraty had heard his father shouting thickly at someone into the telephone, the way he did when he was being drunk or political, and his mother in the background, her conspiratorial whisper, begging him to stop, please stop, before someone picked up the party line.
    Garraty drank some more water and wondered how Barkovitch was making it.
    They were passing more houses now. Families sat out on their front lawns, smiling, waving, drinking Coca-Colas.
    “Garraty,” McVries said. “My, my, look what you got.”
    A pretty girl of about sixteen in a white blouse and red-checked pedal pushers was holding up a big Magic Marker sign: GO-GO-GARRATY NUMBER 47 We Love You Ray “Maine’s Own.”
    Garraty felt his heart swell. He suddenly knew he was going to win. The unnamed girl proved it.
    Olson whistled wetly, and began to slide his stiff index finger rapidly in and out of his loosely curled fist. Garraty thought that was a pretty goddam sick thing to be doing.
    To hell with Hint 13. Garraty ran over to the side of the road. The girl saw his number and squealed. She threw herself at him and kissed him hard. Garraty was suddenly, sweatily aroused. He kissed back vigorously. The girl poked her tongue into his mouth twice, delicately. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he put one hand on a round buttock and squeezed gently.
    “Warning! Warning 47!”
    Garraty stepped back and grinned. “Thanks.”
    “Oh . . . oh . . . oh sure !” Her eyes were starry.
    He tried to think of something else to say, but he could see the soldier opening his mouth to give him the second warning. He trotted back to his place, panting a little and grinning. He felt a little guilty after Hint 13 just the same, though.
    Olson was also grinning. “For that I would have taken three warnings.”
    Garraty didn’t answer, but he turned around and walked backward and waved to the girl. When she was out of sight he turned around and began to walk firmly. An hour before his warning would be gone. He must be careful not to get another one. But he felt good. He felt fit. He felt like he could walk all the way to Florida. He started to walk faster.
    “Ray.” McVries was still smiling. “What’s your hurry?”
    Yeah, that was right. Hint 6: Slow and easy does it. “Thanks.”
    McVries went on smiling. “Don’t thank me too much. I’m out to win, too.”
    Garraty stared at him, disconcerted.
    “I mean, let’s not put this on a Three Musketeers basis. I like you and it’s obvious you’re a big hit with the pretty girls. But if you fall over I won’t pick you up.”
    “Yeah.” He smiled back, but his smile felt lame.
    “On the other hand,” Baker drawled softly, “we’re all in this together and we might as well keep each other amused.”
    McVries smiled. “Why not?”
    They came to an upslope and saved their breath for walking. Halfway up, Garraty took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. A few moments later they passed someone’s discarded sweater lying on the road. Someone, Garraty thought, is going to wish they had that tonight. Up