Chapter 7

When Farrell was small, she attended a grammar school set near the side of the hills at the end of the Watchung Mountain range. What was odd about the place was that the end of that range loomed over a city set in a valley. Much of what the students saw from the school windows was a mix of houses and factories.

Every now and then Farrell would see stream rising from behind the houses. Being only nine years old, she wasn’t inclined to wonder which factory the steam came from. She would remember watching a television program about volcanoes down in Mexico and have no doubt that a volcano was forming in her city. She was a little scared at the prospect, but she trusted that it was natural and that her parents and all the other adults would take care of things and things would be all right. In time, she forgot about the volcano. She would remember only that she once thought the thing was there, and she would giggle to herself, and she would let herself be astonished at her imagination.

She doesn’t consider that her childish musings could have been mental training-wheels for what Tom Von Aldo imparts about the volcano taking shape in close proximity. There is no sense of “here we go again.” Farrell’s mind fills with possibilities. The Fair Mantle volcano might not have breached soil, but it will. Soon. And when it does, the event will look like slow-motion film of a bullet exiting a body part, splattering the vicinity with the earth’s equivalent of blood and guts, disfiguring the map for miles around. She and Tom and Bruton will be obliterated where they stand, blown to Kingdom Come in pieces so small that they’re one with the elements.

Farrell notices that Tom and Bruton don’t appear to share her expectations. They wouldn’t, she reasons. They’re leaders. Leaders aren’t supposed to act scared. And they sure as anything don’t want people to think they’re scared. Their demeanor inspires her to talk herself out of her own fear. She needs to act unafraid. Act unafraid, and she will be unafraid. It’s no different than speaking to someone on the phone with a smile on her face. The smile makes her sound happy. The longer she smiles, the better she feels.

She smiles now. “That sounds pretty amazing, Tom. But volcanoes just don’t pop out of the middle of a forest.”

“That’s right. That’s why I said, ‘Something’s hatching.’ My people in Trenton tell me it’s pushing through the tectonic plates around ten miles north of here.”

Farrell peers through the beechwoods to the sky. How quiet everything is. How clean. She smells the steel-fresh scent of chill, damp earth and leafless trees. There is no trace of gases that could denote the presence of a volcano. “What direction is the wind blowing today?”

“Probably away, which is why we don’t smell anything,” Bruton says.

“Smell what?” Toms wants to know.

“Sulfur,” Farrell replies. “Do you ever smell it?”

“A little,” Bruton says while Tom concedes, “I don’t notice.”

Bruton amplifies. “Some people have reported seeing what they describe as a column of steam and ash. Not much. The thing is just developing, remember.”

Farrell thinks of Mount Etna, Mount Vesuvius, and unnamed volcanoes on the shores of Iceland and Hawaii. “It’s good we’re not dealing with something fully formed, that could blow its top.” She turns to Bruton. “Do you have evacuation plans?”

“For the historic collections here? The state historic preservation office is working with the state police on that one. If anything, time is on our side, precisely because we’re not dealing with something that could blow.”

“When does the state plan to make the announcement?”

Tom chimes in. “The announcement is pending further investigation by state geologists.”

“What’s the mood in town? Are people aware of what’s going on?”

“Not that we can tell. Right, Brut?”

Bruton claps his hand on Farrell’s shoulder. “It’s good you’re asking all these questions. You’re thinking ahead, anticipating people’s reactions. Meantime, we’ve got a business to run. We need to convince people that Fair Mantle Village is safe.”

For the first time, Farrell feels a twinge of disbelief. “That’s a tall order, Brut, considering they’ll be sticking their snoots into the mouth of a volcano growing in their backyards.”

“Which is why we have a duty to prevent mass panic. We have to convince the people that the new mountain doesn’t pose any danger. Fair Mantle Village is a symbol of longevity and tradition. We want people to continue coming here for as long as we can stay open, We want them to know our buildings and grounds are safe.”

Farrell stopped listening after the second sentence. “The new mountain? Is that what you want to call the volcano, the new mountain?”

To Farrell, Tom has the stiff sociability that people exude while unsuccessfully hiding acute impatience. “Isn’t that what a volcano is, a new mountain? Come on, Farr, work with us on this. Think of the service you’ll be doing.”

Farrell has no time to reply. Bruton is saying that the village is prepared to put her up locally, so she won’t have to commute every day. “In fact, it would best if you stayed with me and my wife Elizabeth.” “My wife Elizabeth” emerges as if he keeps more than one spouse at home.

“What about pay? I’m already renting an apartment. I can’t break my lease.”

“We’ll give you a small stipend, but we’ll also feed you and cover your lease. Sound good? Now go home, get your things together and meet us back here this afternoon.”

Bruton returns to the path that will take him back to the visitors center. His gait is brisk and so firm that Farrell and Tom hear his footsteps on the hard, pebbly dirt long after he disappears around the bend and amid the trees.

Farrell again looks to the sky. All she can see is the stripped, silvery blue branches of the beachwoods and sycamores. A crow caws. The sound reminds her of something. “How are the animals reacting?”

“Hard to tell,” Tom admits. “We haven’t seen woodland mammals. Either they’re coming out at dark only, or they’ve fled the area.”

Farrell knows which animals the rangers should have no trouble spotting. “Francis Hume’s horselets. What about them? How have they been acting?”

“I haven’t asked.”

“That’s neighborly, considering the farm is within the state park.”

“It’s cautious. He doesn’t know yet. I’ll tell him right before the state makes the announcement.”

“But you don’t know when that will be. Tom, he’s your tenant. He has livestock. He has the right to know as soon as possible. The animals will have to be moved. He’ll have to be moved! You have to give him time enough to move the horses plus himself.”

“No, no, no,” Tom says at each point of her argument. “You don’t understand, Farr. This isn’t Hawaii or Iceland or wherever people are used to fiery things coming out of the ground. The people of New Jersey are not going to take kindly to news of a volcano developing here. Can’t you imagine what’s going to happen? People are going to treat it as a natural disaster, not as a natural phenomenon. They’ll go out of their minds with panic. They’ll horde all the food and drink and necessities they can get their hands on. They’ll throw whatever they can take into their cars or minivans and clog the roads in a brainless attempt to drive to safety. Most likely, they’ll resort to violence if they can’t get what they need or go where they want to go as fast as they think they should. The situation is going to be so bad, neither local police nor state troopers will be able to help anybody. The army will be sent in to keep things under control.

"The sad fact is, we won’t have time for Francis and his horses. They’ll just be specks amid the thousands. They’ll have to fend for themselves, like everybody else.”
Farrell seethes with distaste for something she can’t identify. “Enough of the Doomsday scenario, Tom. The sad fact really is this: once people learn about the volcano, they won’t think once about Fair Mangle Village, let alone twice. All the publicity in the world won’t save you.”

Tom smacks his thickly gloved fists together. Is it in anger or the despair of resignation?

“You’re wrong,” he says. “There will be an interest. People will come here from all over the world to study the volcano and report what’s happening. The museum may be run by a non-profit corporation, but the grounds are part of the state park. The corporation and the state both operate in the public interest and have a duty to preserve what they can for as long as they can.”

“That’s very noble, but if things are going to get as bad as you say, then I really don’t believe your stand will be known or appreciated.”

“Yes, I’ve considered that. We all know we could be forgotten here, consigned to a kind of internal exile while the public we serve indulges in its own survival.”

“How do you feel about that? Are you scared?”

Tom smiles. “Listen to you. We give you Armageddon, and you shift into reporter’s mode, like you were developing a story. Or inventing one that wouldn’t be there otherwise. We all used to say you could make story out of paint drying.”

“Old habits are hard to kill.”

Tom’s manner is subdued. The tone of his voice becomes low, yet intense. His eyes glow with a rare light. “Let me tell you something, Farr. What’s happening here is beyond all that I ever hoped to see in my lifetime. But it’s something I always felt was due me. It’s straight out of college aesthetics. Most of the stuff we read had to do with the early nineteenth century perception of nature, with a capital N. The concept most often used to describe nature was that of the sublime. Nature was a wonderful thing but a terrible thing. The thing that inspires you yet leaves you groping for words to fulfill that inspiration. The thing that awes you but terrifies you.

“I never really understood the concept of the sublime. Not matter how often it was explained to me, I simply didn’t get it. It was an idea to be felt, not known with your brain. Well, as I stand here and think of everything around us and everything that’s going to be, I have to admit, as scary as our big, new neighbor is, there’s only one word to describe it: sublime. It awes me. It terrifies me. How can anyone not be terrified? There’s too much at stake: lives, homes, businesses. It’s true, we have a duty to the public. But it won’t take much for us to screw up and betray the public’s trust.”

For the first time since hearing about the volcano, Farrell warms with the insidious thrill that comes with being part of an extraordinary event. But she senses what is happening to her and refuses to be carried away. She remembers what Napoleon liked to say “From the sublime to the ridiculous is only a step.”

She has a feeling that she and Tom and everyone else will be stumbling all the way.