Had anyone still been alive to see us, we would have been quite a spectacle, dozens of human figures, some more animated than others, trudging down the middle of the highway, past broken down, dirty cars and the detritus left by mass exodus.
The quiet crowd accompanying Walter was disturbing. They looked like normal people, but they were so quiet. They produced perfunctory responses to direct questions on occasion. Usually, if addressed, they would look away and continue walking down the road.
At first it seemed to be some kind of collective trauma response. It didn’t seem to affect Walter, though. That was suspicious, but Evelyn told me to keep an open mind about him.
“We don’t know what these people have been through,” she said. “Don’t assume you know the answer.”
But I did know the answer. So many broken people and one unbroken one was impossible. He did something to them.
And yet, I couldn’t ask him directly. I hate myself for admitting it, but I think I was afraid of Walter. I am bigger than him, and I have no doubt who would be victorious if it came to violence. But I was afraid. Maybe, uneasy is a better description. I couldn’t have been afraid of that pathetic man. It must have been unease. Maybe it was fear, a little.
I guess I don’t remember how I felt toward Walter, after that first meeting. It was complex. Evelyn insisted he was okay, that the people were adjusting to trauma. Their adjusting seemed to cohesive and consistent. I am not a psychologist, but I don’t think it works that way.