Not Skin Deep

159

Starsky and Hutch leave the commune on their own to find their way in the new world.

 

NOT SKIN DEEP is part of the Decorated for Death universe. Many authors and artists contributed to this universe. You can go to Fanlore and read about those here: Decorated for Death.

You can also read Decorated for Death here on the Starsky and Hutch Archive.

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It was quite a number of weeks before Evelyn felt that their injuries, particularly that to Starsky’s leg, were sufficiently healed for them to undertake what might well prove to be an arduous journey. They could, of course, have left at any time—they were free agents—but accepted his opinion, the more easily since it accorded with their own estimate of their fitness.

There had been many discussions about their destination. Conscience suggested that they return to the city and try to help the people there, as recompense for some of the harm that they had done. The advice of Blaydon Ellis, who had particularly befriended them, was that this was a task best left to others. Their reputations as the Champion and the Other would precede them, and provide a challenge or a threat, both to their erstwhile employers, and to the wretched creatures whom they wished to help.

Inclination certainly didn’t impel them in the direction of the devastated city, and, convinced by Blaydon Ellis that they really did not owe a debt to the place, and could, without guilt, travel in the other direction, they gladly acquiesced in plans for their journey east. The small, rural commune, which concentrated its resources on the rescue and rehabilitation of beings from the city, had few supplies to spare to them for their journey, but they had no hesitation in accepting what was offered, having in the latter part of their convalescence labored in the construction of buildings to earn their keep. And before they had been able to do that, they had helped with domestic and nursing chores. Such a radically different lifestyle had been beneficial in speeding their recovery—physical, and, in even greater degree, mental—so they had at last been pronounced fit to embark upon their odyssey to New York by way of Minnesota.

Their farewells were not protracted. The commune volunteers were busily working for the thousands who could still be rescued, and the two friends were eager to start their journey after the rather passive nature of their stay in the commune: they were ready to begin taking charge of their own lives again. They set out early in the summer morning, comfortably dressed and shod in the homespun clothing available to them, carrying enough food to last them for four days, with care. Most water was now uncontaminated, and certainly in the rural areas would be safe. Jayce had told them that they would have no trouble in picking up casual farm work in return for food and, usually, shelter, but to begin with, and for nights when there was no other alternative, they had been provided with a small tent and sleeping bags.

They were silent as they began their journey, each preoccupied with the ramifications of another new beginning. At least this time, they were together again, and would therefore be better able to cope with whatever happened to them.

“United we stand.”

Hutch’s thoughts so uncannily echoed his own that Starsky stared in surprise. “Just what I was thinking.” He paused. “We gonna have a lotta problems?”

“How can we tell? Jayce said there’s some law and order, government authority, but there could be places where it hasn’t reached, and some locals are operating their own ‘law.’ Could fall foul of them.”

“Yeah. We’ve no weapons, either.”

“I’m sick of weapons. Don’t want to ever have to touch another.”

Starsky laid a hand on his friend’s arm as they walked. “Sorry, know how you feel. Didn’t mean guns or knives. Just a stick, maybe.”

Hutch did not look convinced and the matter lay unresolved between them.

He was still suffering an extreme reaction to the killing that had been such a large part of his time as the Champion, and couldn’t bring himself to tolerate even the thought of taking the life of any creature. Now, released from the weird, drug-dominated existence, his guilt was still, at times, overpowering. All the time that they had stayed at the commune, he’d stuck to a vegetarian diet, while his more pragmatic friend had not.

Gratuitous aggression was no part of Starsky’s makeup, but he could see that though conditions here, outside the city, were immeasurably better, human nature could not have been changed all that much by the devastating wars, and that they could—indeed probably would—encounter situations where they might have to demonstrate at the very least a readiness for violence in self-defense. More realistic in this particular instance than his friend, he was prepared to do so if it proved necessary. There would be many such adjustments that they would have to make.

They hadn’t planned to go far on the first day. It was better to get used to this unaccustomed exercise, because although both were now fit, they would need to become accustomed to walking day in and day out; it was best to take it easy to begin with. Their plan, such as it was, included trying to get a few days casual labor occasionally, to earn food for the journey, and also, but less often, some rest days if they could manage that—all the while avoiding the larger communities, where panic had led to rioting and the ensuing destruction of property, and where the breakdown of civil amenities had allowed disease to run rampant. They were places best avoided for now. The vast East coast megapolis, stretching from north to south, was, according to Jayce, struggling back to viability and, as of old, harboring the seat of government.

After a couple of hours Hutch suggested a few minutes rest. “Good bit of shade over there, Starsk.”

“Could do with a break.”

They crossed over to the side of the dirt road and, after Hutch had carefully reconnoitered the area for dangerous wildlife, removed their packs and sat under a spreading tree. Long unused backwoods skills were returning to Hutch and now Starsky would need to acquire them, too, an opinion with which he was in agreement. “Gotta be independent, gotta know how to survive out here like I used to know about the streets before,” he said as they were settling comfortably.

“Keep still.” The urgency in Hutch’s voice as he interrupted silenced Starsky immediately. He froze, his eyes on Hutch’s face.

“Keep on looking at me, don’t look down, and don’t move.” With complete trust, Starsky did as he was bid. The few seconds that the situation lasted seemed like hours to both of them, then Hutch said, “Okay. Now get up quietly, and we’ll move nearer to the road.”

Starsky waited until they’d once again dumped down their packs and were sitting by the very edge of the road, in full sunlight. “What was it?”

“A very large spider, crawling near your foot. Know you don’t like ’em.” Starsky shuddered. “I didn’t know if it’d be dangerous, and I wasn’t going to take the chance.” Hutch paused thoughtfully. “There could have been some mutation of insects and maybe other wildlife. That’s something we’ll have to look out for.”

“How do we keep away from ’em?”

“Just have to be careful and hope we don’t meet many like that.”

“Read someplace that animals’ll generally keep away if you don’t threaten ’em.”

“Usually. Always told you that.” Hutch grinned. “Except bears, of course.”

Starsky grinned back, but nevertheless looked around nervously.

Hutch rummaged in Starsky’s pack. “Here, eat these.” He knew that the distraction of a handful of wild strawberries, carefully wrapped in leaves and placed in a drinking mug, would be successful.

“Hey! Where’d they come from?” Starsky offered him some.

“Picked just before we left. One of the nurses gave them as a parting gift.” He grinned again. “Another victim of the Starsky charm?”

Starsky looked smug, then changed to his neglected orphan expression. “She just knew that I needed taking care of.”

“Thought you wanted to be independent?”

“There’s limits, but yeah, you’re right.” He sighed. “We do both need to be able to manage out here. I’ll have to learn.”

The education began as they resumed their journey, and continued after they had set up camp in the middle of the afternoon by a small waterfall. Continued in fact until they went to sleep, Starsky inside the tent, where he felt marginally more secure, and Hutch outside, where he could see the stars. During the whole of this learning period there was not one mention of killing for food, neither was there any comment on the fact that Starsky had picked up a stout branch broken from a tree, had carried it with him all day and now had it with him inside the tent.

Next morning they took it in turns to use the waterfall as a shower, emerging chilly but refreshed to breakfast eagerly. Afterwards, before they packed up their camp and left, Hutch examined his own and Starsky’s feet carefully, declaring them both fit to walk.

“They sure gave us good boots.”

Starsky gazed down. “Mmm. Not elegant, but comfy.”

Hutch snorted. “Since when have you cared about elegant footwear? Your feet always looked like escapees from a refugee camp.” The bantering tone ceased abruptly as they looked at each other, remembering the dire circumstances that they had been very lucky to escape, while there were still poor, unfortunate souls condemned to the nightmare existence that they themselves left behind. The first miles of the second day’s journey were silent but by noon, when they stopped for a break, Starsky was getting very articulate about his various, minor discomforts, a sure sign to Hutch of his friend’s recovering spirits. His own had been calmed by the beauty and tranquility of their surroundings. Despite his protestation, Starsky agreed to carry on until late afternoon, now working hard at increasing his knowledge of the wilderness, and discovering that he in fact remembered quite a lot.

“All those vacations when you used to make me go fishing.”

“‘Make you.’ Admit it, you enjoyed it.”

“Sometimes.” Starsky smiled. “Useful now anyway.”

They again camped by running water, but made no attempt to catch fish.

“Jayce never talked about fish; not sure if they’re safe,” muttered Hutch.

Starsky thought that fishing had been mentioned, but let it pass. It had something to do with Hutch’s aversion to taking life—no need to push it now. “Have to find something tomorrow or the next day. We’re running low,” he answered as he rummaged among their provisions while Hutch erected the tent for his friend, who still needed its security, false or not.

Later on the morning of the third day, it looked as though the fish question were to be proved. As they followed the cracked and broken—though still walkable—blacktop, they came to a bridge across a stream, and looking down, saw two men fishing.

Starsky called and waved, and when the men looked up asked, “Good catch?”

‘Yeah, quite good,” one of them answered in a non-committal voice, then added, “Don’t see many strangers around here.”

“Just passing through,” Hutch hurriedly joined in.

“That’s good.”

“Are the fish all right to eat?” It was Starsky who made the inquiry.

“To eat? Some a bit bony, some a bit muddy, but they’re all okay.”

“Uh-huh. Good luck with it.”

“Thanks. Safe journey. Long one, is it?”

“Yeah, quite a way; better be off.”

They waved to the fishermen, both of whom were now standing, and who remained so as long as the travelers could turn and see them. Neither mentioned the fact that lying within reach of the silent, watchful fisherman had been a rifle, although Hutch subsequently glanced more than once at Starsky’s stick.

He thought it wiser to go a good few miles before they stopped. So after they had had a late lunch, eaten as they walked, they kept going into the early evening, and were beginning to think of stopping for the night, when they happened upon their first sight of inhabited property—farmed land. They followed the road as it skirted the cultivated fields, until they came to a track leading to a farmhouse, smoke curling from its chimney.

“Worth asking if there’s any work to be done?”

“Can only try.”

They went along the track, making sure that their approach was noisy and open. They were about halfway to the door when the top part opened. A giant of a man stood there; he must have topped Hutch by at least four inches.

“That’ll do.”

They stopped while they were inspected carefully, Starsky receiving slightly more attention than Hutch.

“You’re strangers around here. What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for a couple of days’ work, for food and a bed.”

“Fit, are you?”

“Fit enough.”

“Either of you able to drive?”

“Sure,” answered Starsky eagerly.

“Tractor?”

“Anything,” he stated confidently.

“You toss hay?” This was addressed to Hutch.

“Did when I was a kid.” The tall man looked inquiring. “On my grandfather’s farm.”

“How do you feel about haymaking?”

“Haymaking? This early?”

“Early cropping hay—special, government-issue seed.” He gave them another assessing look, this time returned by the two would-be farm hands. Both sides liked what they saw.

“Okay, you’re hired. Three days haymaking, start tomorrow; your food while you’re here, and some to take with you, if you do a good job. You can sleep in the small barn. Suit you?”

“Sounds fine.”

“Name’s Jethro Abbott.”

As they reached the house, Abbott held out his hand to the dark-haired man. “Glad to meet you, Hutch.”

“I’m Starsky; he’s Hutch.”

Abbott nodded. “I’ll show you the barn. Pump’s in the yard, for washing and drinking water.” As he moved out from behind the half door, the reason for their employment became obvious; his left foot was swathed in homemade bandages. “Had a bit of an accident with a scythe.”

“A scythe?”

“Only use the tractor on the biggest fields, when we’re short of time. Fuel’s running out, and spares’re hard to come by, too. Trying to get a couple of horses for the fall harvest, rig ’em up to the cutters.”

There were some old bales of straw stored in the small barn, and the farmer brought blankets when he came with their super. “My wife sent enough bread and some hard-boiled eggs for your breakfast, and there’s plum jelly.”

They thanked him and sat down, leaning against the door frame to eat their savory smelling stew with some of their bread. Abbott had also left them a bag of apples, and it was pleasant and restful sitting in the calm peace of evening, listening to the sounds of the farm settling down for the night.

“Time we turned in, too,” Hutch announced finally.

They stacked their dishes ready for collection next morning, and made up their blankets into beds. They were tired after their long day, so had no trouble in getting to sleep. Hutch certainly slept soundly, although Starsky woke a few times during the night and was up at first light, excited about the treat to come. He had roused Hutch, so both were washed, fed and ready by the time Abbott came down to the barn.

“Morning. Sleep well?”

“Thanks.” Hutch was not at his most conversational this early in the day.

“Can we see the tractor?” Starsky could hardly disguise the eagerness in his voice.

“Okay, gotta make sure you know how to drive it.”

Hutch had no worries on that score. His friend had always been able to drive anything that was ever built to be driven. “Long as it isn’t a candy machine.”

Abbott looked nonplussed, as well he might. After a few seconds bewilderment, Starsky grinned as another, long-submerged memory surfaced.

Starsky could and did drive the vehicle, hauling the harvesting machine, while Hutch followed behind, stacking the bales, ready for later transportation to the large barn. This took them most of the first day, with a short break at noon, and their supper was very welcome when Abbott brought it to them.

“Lotta rustling and moving in here last night.” Starsky was trying to sound nonchalant.

“Would be the rats. You’ve got a stick, kill ’em.”

“No!”

The farmer looked surprised at Hutch’s vehemence.

The blond said more quietly, “No, we’d be up all night rat hunting.” He looked across at Starsky. “It really worries you?”

“Yeah.”

“Could one of the dogs sleep here?” Hutch asked. “That’d keep ’em away.”

Abbott nodded. “Why not?” he agreed.

“Thanks.” Starsky smiled gratefully. He added, “They ordinary rats? Not mutations?”

“No, just ordinary rats.”

“You see many weird things, three-legged chickens or giant spiders or anything like that?”

Something, perhaps the tone of voice or perhaps the look of surprised concern that Hutch shot towards his friend, told the farmer that this was a serious inquiry, inspired by genuine apprehension.

“No, nothing like that round here. Heard tell there were strange things over the hills.” He nodded towards the west. “In the city, folks say, but not here.” He rose from the trestle where he’d been sitting to rest his injured foot. “Got to get my own supper now. I’ll bring the dog down later.” He picked up the box containing their breakfast. “I’ll not leave this here; dog’d likely eat it. Bring you something in the morning.”

He brought the animal, and once it understood that it was to remain on guard in the barn, it was no bother and certainly kept the rats away.

The first trouble came on the following morning, when they tried to leave the barn to get to the pump and the ancient outhouse that the farmer had said they could use. The dog, whose name they’d not been given, wouldn’t let them leave the barn.

“Stupid mutt, thinks it’s guarding us.” Starsky clicked his fingers. The dog stayed where it was. “Here, Fido.”

“Fido?”

“Why not? You suggest a name then.”

But Hutch came up with nothing better than Prince and the dog didn’t answer to that either.

“Bounder? Lassie?”

“You mean Laddie.”

Starsky cast him a long-suffering look. “Laddie? Shep? Rover? Scotty?”

Hutch eyed the dog critically. “It might be a lot of things, but I don’t think Scotty is among them. Try Heinz.”

This time the look was somewhat more scathing, but he tried nonetheless, to Hutch’s amazement and the dog’s complete indifference. “This is getting us nowhere. You try to get it to come to you, and I’ll come up and hit it from behind.” Starsky made to pick up his stick, which he had brought into the barn.

“No!” Hutch was very definite.

“Okay, okay. Probably wouldn’t work anyway.”

They moved again toward the door; the dog growled. They moved back; it sat down, facing them, with an air of satisfaction at duty well done.

Starsky tried more names, which the dog totally ignored. At last even he grew tired of trying. “Dumb animal,” he grumbled bitterly.

“That’s true.” The blond’s acquiescence made him cast a suspicious glance Hutch’s way, then suddenly he laughed, and Hutch, who had all along been amused by his friend’s efforts, joined him, as did Abbott when he limped down with their breakfast.

“Never knew he was such a good guard dog. Have to remember that. Here, Three.” He rubbed the dog’s ears, patted him, and sent him back to the farmhouse.

“Three? You call him Three?”

Starsky’s disgusted incredulity was too much for Hutch and he was laughing so loudly that he barely heard the reply.

“Always call ’em by numbers, saves trouble.”

Starsky stared at him.

“I’ll send One or Two tonight.”

Abbott must have forgotten, for no dog appeared, but after a day spent heaving hay bales and stacking them in the barn, both men were so tired that an army of rats, carrying out maneuvers, wouldn’t have awakened them.

The morning of the third day of their stay at the farm was spent completing the storage of the hay, and the afternoon in doing odd chores which Abbott had had to leave because of his injury. In the early evening, all three went fishing, with no objections from Hutch, whom Starsky hoped was coming to terms with killing for food; he’d eaten the stew and the ham provided by the Abbotts. They caught their supper, which was cooked in the farmhouse and delivered by the farmer as on previous evenings. Hutch started eating without apparent qualms; Starsky made no comment.

“You’ll be moving on tomorrow.” It was a statement. “I’ll bring you some food for the next few days when I bring your breakfast. You’ve done a fair good job for me. Anything else you need?”

They shook their heads, and he let it drop, but on the following morning he still seemed to think that he owed them more than their food.

“A dog might be a good idea, if you’re traveling far.” He didn’t wait for an answer but went on. “Haven’t got any pups just now, but I’ll give you a note to a neighbor up the road a piece. We trade. He might have one, if you’re willing to work for it.”

“Thanks, we’ll think about it.” Starsky’s happy smile was quite deceptive; he’d had his fill of dogs for the time being. Hutch was not deceived by his friend’s expression, so he kept his peace as they said their final farewells and left, Starsky’s pack filled once more with food prepared by Abbott’s wife, upon whom they had never laid eyes.

“Wonder why we never saw her?”

“Could be a lotta reasons; jealousy, shyness, anything. We’ve got other things to think about. Still got a lot to learn about surviving out here.”

“Mmm.” But Starsky was still abstracted. “He said he hadn’t seen any big spiders or anything.”

“You’re not still worrying about that? He said the mutations were in the city.”

“Where’d that spider come from then? The one that nearly got me.”

“It didn’t nearly ‘get’ you. Some spiders travel a long, long way, and we don’t know it was a mutation. It’s the only one we’ve seen, you know.”

“Can’t always see ’em.”

“We’ve not seen anything else weird either. Forget it, Starsk. Quit worrying.”

And as the days passed, Starsky’s fears did recede, helped no doubt by the fact that he was learning more about the natural life around them as they traveled, the city boy being educated into country ways as he’d once had to pass on his own street lore to his partner.

“Getting quite rusticated.”

“You mean rustic. Rusticated is something different.”

“Rusticated sounds better to me.”

Rusticated it remained.

As there was no possibility that Starsky would agree to their having a dog, they didn’t call on Abbott’s neighbor. Hutch decided that they could think again when they were sufficiently confident about their way of life to have time to train a pup, and when Starsky had had sufficient time to get over being bested by a canine that couldn’t even talk back to him!

They slipped easily into the rhythm of their journey and the next few days were happy, contented ones spent secure in each other’s company and friendship, but their complacency was rudely shattered late on the fourth day after they’d left Abbott’s farm.

Their provisions were getting low again even though they were beginning, tentatively, to eat whatever they could find edible, to supplement the food they carried. Consequently they were on the lookout for some place to stop and try to get work, so they were very relieved to see signs of habitation ahead—a pair of houses, in good repair, set back from the road, surrounded by an area of well-tended crops of fruit and vegetables. There were sounds which Hutch, after some thought, identified as the bleating of goats.

They approached the first house as they had Abbott’s farm, openly and noisily. The door was not as swiftly opened this time and they had to knock. They waited for a few minutes, then knocked again, and shortly thereafter a woman appeared around the side of the house and was taken aback by their presence. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“We made enough noise; didn’t want to startle anybody.”

“I was in back, that’s why. What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for a coupla days’ work, for our keep and a bit of food to take with us. You need any help?”

“Oh, no, my husband and my brother do all the heavy work that’s needed.”

All the time she was speaking, she kept glancing anxiously at the other house on the left. Looking at it to see what was troubling her, Hutch noticed a curtain twitching. He nudged Starsky, who also turned to look, and when the woman saw this, she started urging them away.

“Sorry we’ve got nothing for you; it’s best if you leave now. Try further along the road. Go on now, good luck.”

She started shooing them back to the road, but before they had time to reach it, a figure erupted from the other house, wildly brandishing a rifle and screaming. They stood rooted in surprise. As he got nearer, they could make out some of what he was saying.

“Evil monster! Work of the devil! Satan’s disciple!” The next words were one, long, jumbled shout, then, “Handiwork of Beelzebub! Return to the pits of hell!” By this time he had reached Starsky and had begun to hit him around the head and shoulders, using the rifle as a club. It had all happened so quickly that Starsky had not had time to evade his attacker nor Hutch time to overcome his antipathy to violence in order to help his friend.

“Grandpa, come on now, Grandpa.” The woman was trying to get the old man to calm down, while Starsky had both arms raised, trying to defend his face and head. Hutch tried to drag the old man away, but was almost impotent against the manic strength generated by the unreasoning fury.

“Thank God, here’s my husband.” He quickly joined Hutch, and between them they got the old man away from his victim and removed his rifle, but not before he had managed to hit Starsky hard enough to have caused a gash across the side of his forehead and down his face, which was now bleeding freely.

Hutch and the husband half-carried the old man back into his own house, where they settled him into a large armchair. He gradually quieted.

“Leave him to me now, he’ll be okay. You go see how your friend is.”

Hutch was only too glad to do so. He ran over to the other house and without even knocking went inside, calling Starsky’s name.

“In here.”

He followed the sound of the voice to the kitchen, where Starsky was seated by the sink, having the wound bathed.

Hutch went over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Sure.” But his appearance belied the mumbled word, and he was wincing at the application of the cloth to his face. The bleeding had stopped, but the swelling was becoming evident, and the bruises were beginning to show. His hands weren’t in very good shape either, having received most of the old man’s blows.

“Could we stay for a couple of hours, until he’s feeling a bit better?”

“A couple of hours? You’ll stay for a few days. I’m sorry about Grandpa.” She hesitated and then said softly to Starsky. “It’s your face, you see.” She gently touched the metal plate. “Things like this upset him.”

An unidentifiable series of emotions crossed the battered part-face, and Starsky sighed. Hutch’s heart ached for him. He knew how much his friend hated this so-far irremovable reminder of his past. I was able to get rid of my plaits and the drugs, but he’s stuck with that, he thought guiltily, and then this feeling increased as he considered that if Starsky had had his stick, he might have been able to defend himself. He left it behind at Abbott’s farm because he knew I didn’t like the violence it implied. Then: No time for that now. I need to look after him.

He took over the ministrations, bathing Starsky’s hands. Like his face, they were cut and bruised, but there didn’t seem to be any broken bones.

“I’m Clara de Sylva; my husband’s name is Joel.”

“Ken Hutchinson.”

“DUdStlssuh.”

“He’s trying to say David Starsky. Good of you to let us stay. Sure it won’t upset the old man?”

“It’s the least we can do. Here’s some cream; it’ll be soothing, and some bandages for his hands.”

Between them, Hutch and Clara tended the battered hands, while Clara continued, “He’s my father-in-law. Joel will settle him now, then my brother, Carl, will be back. He rode to the village to trade our eggs.”

“A village up ahead?”

She nodded. “Carl lives with Grandpa, but generally we all eat together. He’s usually okay, you know, he’s just got a bit eccentric in the last few years. It doesn’t do him much good to get excited like that. Well give him some herb syrup for the next few days, calm him down, and well keep him in bed until you go.”

“We can’t stay if it’s going to put you out.”

“Nonsense, you’ll stay until David can eat properly. He can’t now, can he?”

Hutch, looking remorsefully at the injured hands and the cut and bruised face, had to agree.

When Carl returned, he brought with him a miniature edition of Clara.

“This is my daughter, Sara, back from school. Sara, say hello to Mr. Hutchinson.”

“Hello, Mr. Hutchinson.”

“Hello, Sara. What did you do in school today?”

But Sara was too shy to answer. Her mother led her over to the other visitor, sitting in a fairly dark corner of the kitchen.

“Say hello to Mr. Starsky, Sara.” Sara took one look at Starsky’s face and buried her head in her mother’s apron, refusing to look at him again. It was evident that Starsky attributed this to his silver plate, rather than his injuries, and a flash of the kind of pain that had nothing to do with his physical hurts was clearly to be seen in his eyes.

Clara led her daughter into the other room. Returning a few minutes later, she muttered to Hutch, “It was the cuts and bruises that frightened her. Will he believe that?”

“Not easily.”

“I’ll talk to him. I promised Sara you’d go talk to her. She’s shy to begin with, we don’t see many strangers, but she does like new people when she’s had time to get used to them.”

The Hutchinson charm worked its usual magic, and he and Sara were soon on the best of terms, sufficiently so that he was able to explain to her how hurt Starsky was and that the best way to look after him was to help feed him. She found it quite funny to think that a grown man had to be spoon fed, and when the mealtime came, all her fear was lost in the fun of taking care of him. Nonetheless, the thought that his appearance might, indeed probably would, be frightening to children had taken root in Starsky’s mind.

He had too much time to think about it during the next few days, for it was a busy household. Hutch offered to help with any chores, and while Carl sat with the old man, took over some of his work. He made as much time as he could to talk to Starsky, generally at the midday meal, when they had some privacy, Joel being in the fields and Clara next door. But they always stopped any discussion of their private worries if any of the others happened to come in.

During one of their chats, Hutch, trying to snap Starsky out of his gloom, said, “Look, Sara feeds you breakfast and supper, she can’t be frightened.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Am I being a pain?”

“I can put up with it. You always had patience with my guilt trips. Still do, and you could usually get me out of them.”

“No use living in the past, Hutch, either past. They’re gone forever, what we were before and what we were in the city.”

“What are we going to do with our lives now?”

“Thought we were taking time out on this journey before we make any decisions. See how it is, what we can do. No more carrying your sins around with you, eh?”

“If I hadn’t been stupid about that stick of yours, you wouldn’t be in this state now.”

“Don’t start that. If I didn’t have this,” he fingered the silver plate, “I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in.”

“I made it worse than it might have been.”

“Hutch, I have to carry some of my past, can’t change that yet, but you don’t. We have to face —we might have to fight in self-defense.”

“I saw that when Grandpa attacked you, but it took me so long to make myself try to restrain him… Trying to protect him I made it worse for you.”

Hutch was adding a new guilt, getting even more depressed, Starsky realized. If he didn’t snap him out of it now, he could get so far into this ‘down’ that it might last for days. He changed the subject. “How long before I can eat properly? This liquid diet’s just not satisfying.”

“Nothing that didn’t burn the roof off your mouth ever satisfied you.”

That’s better. At least he’s making an effort to snap out of it.

Further conversation revealed another secret of Starsky’s. “When that old man was hitting me, I felt that maybe I somehow deserved it for looking so…”

“So what?” Hutch prompted gently.

Gazing at his still-bandaged hands, Starsky whispered, “Ugly.”

“Starsky, look at me.” Hutch laid a loving hand on the metal plate.

Starsky didn’t flinch.

“You’re not ugly. I don’t look at you and think that. I see my friend, always loyal, considerate, strong, dependable. Beauty’s only skin deep, Starsky. What’s inside you is what matters and that’s pure gold.”

Starsky looked at his friend. After a long, thoughtful pause he said, “That goes for you, too, Hutch, so no more guilt.”

Hutch absorbed that in the ensuing silence. He nodded quietly, then after a while grinned. “If you stop bothering about that plate, and,” he paused, “about giant spiders…”

Starsky laughed. “Ouch, that hurt. It’s a deal, partner.”

“Good to hear that again.”

On the third evening, Sara rushed in from school and kissed Starsky. “Mommy says it won’t hurt to kiss you better now.” She then rushed out to greet the various animals.

“At least I came top of the list,” Starsky murmured, looking pleased.

Hutch said, “See, she isn’t frightened by your face. It really was only the cuts and bruises.”

“She likes you, too, you know. You’re not a monster of evil; she sees the goodness in you.”

Hutch looked at him, and for the first time Starsky could see real hope for the future in his eyes. If his friend really had started to put his guilt behind him, it was worth all the pain. They hugged each other.

“We’ve got a long way to go, in a lot of ways.”

“But we’ve made a start.”

“No looking back?”

“Yeah, no looking back.”

Sara was upset the next day, when Starsky was healed enough for them to leave. School was out, so she was able to help her mother pack their food.

She kissed them both good-bye. “I won’t be able to take care of you now,” she told Starsky sadly.

Holding Sara’s hand, he put one arm around Hutch’s shoulders and said very gently, “We take care of each other, Hutch and me. Always have, always will.”

Hutch agreed. For the times that mattered, the times when they’d been their true selves, they always had. The city interlude could not be undone, indeed could not be forgotten, but must be put firmly in the past, as they resumed their long, long journey.

“Me’n’Thee.”

Starsky nodded.

Hutch turned to Sara. “We’ll take real good care of each other.”

The child and her mother watched them as they strode off down the road.