Roland was getting slowly to his feet. He still looked to Eddie like a man using the rungs of an invisible ladder to make it. Eddie felt an angry sort of pity, and this was a familiar emotion, oddly nostalgic. After a moment he understood. It was like when he and Henry used to watch the fights on TV, and one fighter would hurt the other, hurt him terribly, again and again, and the crowd would be screaming for blood, and Henry would be screaming for blood, but Eddie only sat there, feeling that angry pity, that dumb disgust; he’d sat there sending thought-waves at the referee: Stop it, man, are you fucking blind? He’s dying out there! DYING! Stop the fucking fight!
There was no way to stop this one.
Roland looked at her from his haunted feverish eyes. “A lot of people have thought that, Detta.” He looked at Eddie. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
They went on.
Around ten o’clock Detta began rubbing her temples with her fingers.
“Stop,” she said. “I feel sick. Feel like I goan throw up.”
“Probably that big meal you ate last night,” Eddie said, and went on pushing. “You should have skipped dessert. I told you that chocolate layer cake was heavy.”
“I goan throw up! I—”
“Stop, Eddie!” the gunslinger said.
Eddie stopped.
The woman in the chair suddenly twisted galvanically, as if an electric shock had run through her. Her eyes popped wide open, glaring at nothing.
“I BROKE YO PLATE YOU STINKIN OLE BLUE LADY!” she screamed. “I BROKE IT AND I’M FUCKIN GLAD I D—”
She suddenly slumped forward in her chair. If not for the ropes, she would have fallen out of it.
Christ, she’s dead, she’s had a stroke and she’s dead, Eddie thought. He started around the chair, remembered how sly and tricksy she could be, and stopped as suddenly as he had started. He looked at Roland. Roland looked back at him evenly, his eyes giving away not a thing.
Then she moaned. Her eyes opened.
Her eyes.
Odetta’s eyes.
“Dear God, I’ve fainted again, haven’t I?” she said. “I’m sorry you had to tie me in. My stupid legs! I think I could sit up a little if you—”
That was when Roland’s own legs slowly came unhinged and he swooned some thirty miles south of the place where the Western Sea’s beach came to an end.
RESHUFFLE
reshuffle
1
To Eddie Dean, he and the Lady no longer seemed to be trudging or even walking up what remained of the beach. They seemed to be flying.
Odetta Holmes still neither liked nor trusted Roland; that was clear. But she recognized how desperate his condition had become, and responded to that. Now, instead of pushing a dead clump of steel and rubber to which a human body just happened to be attached, Eddie felt almost as if he were pushing a glider.
Go with her. Before, I was watching out for you and that was important. Now I’ll only slow you down.
He came to realize how right the gunslinger was almost at once. Eddie pushed the chair; Odetta pumped it.
One of the gunslinger’s revolvers was stuck in the waistband of Eddie’s pants.
Do you remember when I told you to be on your guard and you weren’t?
Yes.
I’m telling you again: Be on your guard. Every moment. If her other comes back, don’t wait even a second. Brain her.