Theory of Bastards

by Audrey Schulman

  AFTER THE STORM: DAY 5

  Forty Three

  In the morning, they ate the rest of the food: all the cereal, the crackers and bread, the canned tomatoes and sardines and every one of the 15 containers of baby food.

  Sitting on the counter Frankie asked, We can’t stay here, can we?

  Stotts snorted and looked around. The kitchen ransacked, the cupboards open and emptied, the water in the toilets gone. The stench of feces and urine was pungent. All around them were the windows where it was possible at any moment the chimps would appear.

  Before they left, Frankie called the bonobos upstairs. She dumped all the clothes she could find onto the floor and let them take what they wanted. She assisted those who couldn’t dress themselves, helping them layer the clothes on for warmth. Goliath pulled on a spaghetti-strap dress over his ConAgra sweatshirt. He patted the sequins on the bodice and cooed. Frankie tugged hats onto their heads, zipped jackets and buttoned sweaters. None of the gloves—not even the stretchy ones—would fit over their huge hands.

  She and Stotts also changed out of their very soiled clothes. Their choice of what to wear was restricted to what remained. She tugged a pink terrycloth bathrobe on over two button-down shirts and a pair of very large jeans. In order to keep the pants on, she had to use a belt and poke a new hole in it with scissors. Stotts wore an oversized antique tux over a sweatshirt and a pair of overalls. Shoes were more difficult. She chose a pair of Timberlands two sizes too big, had to wear several pairs of socks and yank the laces tight. He pulled on old sneakers. From his slightly mincing step, she guessed they were at least half a size too small.

  Stotts packed a knapsack with a gallon of Fanta and a bag of marshmallows, then shouldered it. He moved from room to room inside the house, staring out the windows, searching for any movement before easing himself silently out the back door. They watched him through the windows. He circled the house, occasionally stopping to listen, looking for movement. The tails of his tux flapped in the wind.

  When he signaled the all-clear, Frankie opened the door and motioned them forward.

  On the porch, she left a bag of dog food ripped open for the beagle, hoping the food would persuade the dog to stay behind. However halfway through the day, the beagle reappeared behind them again, padding along, closer than yesterday. Anytime it got within 100 feet, Adele or Marge would charge and it would flee, howling.

  The bonobos continued to drag Mama’s body. Each time one of them put the body down, tired of carrying it, the others would cluster around, patting it, until another picked it up.

  Stotts had no compass, but walked in the direction of the rising sun. She followed him and they followed her. (Later on, during the middle of the day he would begin to walk with the sun more to his right and then, once it began to set, he’d walk with his back to it. Probably throughout the day, their tracks curved all over the place like the tracks of any animal, but the overall direction was always east, in the direction of his daughter.) He had his head tilted up a lot of the time, watching the sky. Sometimes he turned around as he walked to scan the sky there too. His expression intent.

  Regularly she tugged her eyes away from him to look around for danger. Then let her eyes slide back. She didn’t like it when he got too far ahead of the rest of them.

  By midmorning, he was 20 feet or so ahead. To slow him up, she called out, It’s beginning to freak me out. Where is everyone?

  He turned, startled.

  Evacuated, he answered.

  How big was the evacuation zone, she asked.

  Five counties.

  How far do we have to go to get out of it?

  He looked around thinking, 100? 150 miles?

  She blinked, How far have we come?

  Yesterday we wandered all over the place. As the crow flies, we’re probably only three miles from the Foundation, maybe five.

  Where are the sand-plows? What the hell’s happened?

  He held his hands out palms up, watching the sky, moving a little faster with every passing hour.

  *

  In the early afternoon, they found an orchard that still had a few apples, some in the trees and some on the ground, smeared with mud from the dust and rain. The bonobos scrambled through the trees, peeping as they ate, while Frankie and Stotts ate the bag of marshmallows he had packed.

  In another field, they found a few corncobs and spent time searching for more, bonobos and humans shucking corn and eating.

  There was always one of them standing up and looking around, keeping watch. Frankie listened also, her head cocked like a dog. She swiveled at the slightest noise, the distant rumble of thunder or the rising rustle of wind, knowing even as she turned that this was not rescue.

  Stotts seemed to recognize the sounds faster. His eyes roved across the horizon and sky, searching for the glint of metal, a wispy contrail or the blurred dot of a rescue drone.

  When they started moving again, he got ahead of them, wanting to go faster. However the bonobos didn’t move quickly. Carrying Mama’s body, chasing the dog, following the lay of the land and investigating anything that might result in food or water, they were not a species that marched.

  Partway through the afternoon, they heard gunshots, the echo faint, at least a mile away. All of them paused. Listening, exposed in a field, no shelter in sight, the sound such a final one. Houdina galloped forward to jump into Stotts’ arms, whining there until the sounds had stopped.

  *

  By late afternoon, she and the bonobos were trailing so far behind Stotts, she called to him to wait. He looked back, as though surprised to see them. She didn’t like the distance in his expression at all. She ran to him, taking his hand to slow him down, looking back at the bonobos who trailed behind, peeping with exhaustion.

  Behind them came the dog, sniffing the ground for scraps.

  Forty Four

  Mama’s body gradually looked less and less like Mama, or like a bonobo, or actually like anything except a battered grey doll made of meat. By the middle of the day, whoever was carrying it would occasionally put it down to search for food or to drink some water, wandering 10 or 20 feet away, then abruptly would turn, chirping with distress and rush back to pick it up.

  *

  That afternoon, stepping past some trees, they came upon a driveway and mailbox. Hanging from the bottom of the mailbox, swaying lightly in the wind, was a steel sign saying COEXIST. In New York, Frankie had seen this sign before, the letters formed from different religious symbols. With this sign, the letters were constructed out of the silhouettes of handguns, rifles, bullets and the NRA logo.

  Frankie looked at the sign only for an instant before she clicked her tongue at the bonobos and began backing up.

  Stotts however stayed still, staring at the sign and then up the driveway, his eyes narrowed.

  With a serious expression, he pointed at her and circled his finger in the air to add all of the bonobos in as the subject of his silent sentence. As the verb, he gestured emphatically twice toward the shelter of the trees. He tapped his wrist to indicate time and held up five fingers.

  This, she understood, was commando speak. She however did not want to wait anywhere near this house, not even for a moment. She shook her head No.

  He nodded at her—Yes—his gesture firm.

  She held up her middle finger and shook her head again.

  Glaring, he pointed at her and at the trees and then turned and trotted up toward the house.

  She stared. The beagle bounded after him through the shrubbery, off to the side, giving the bonobos a wide berth.

  The bonobos started to knuckle after Stotts, but she clicked and motioned them back into the trees. They looked from her to Stotts, then moved toward her. She stared after him, her breathing loud.

  As he got closer to the rise, Stotts began to run, bent over, using bushes and trees as cove
r. The dog ran beside him, wagging its tail. Stotts stopped, crouched behind a shrub and the dog slid to a stop, rump in the air. It kicked off to gallop around in a tight figure-eight, then paused in front of him, panting.

  Stotts ignored the dog. He sprinted forward 20 feet to flatten himself against a tree trunk. The dog ran too, but when Stotts stopped, the dog trotted on, disappearing over the rise. Stotts didn’t move for several minutes. Frankie could see the tail of the dog waving as it wandered by a few times. Stotts occasionally glanced around the trunk in the direction of the house.

  The dog came back, something in its mouth. It lay down with a thump near Stotts to gnaw on the object.

  Stotts crouched down and ran forward to disappear from sight.

  Frankie looked at the spot where he’d disappeared, then at the bonobos, then back. All sound seemed to have disappeared except her breath. What she felt at the moment was no longer anything like a gentle ache in her gut. Instead the feeling was piercing, like glass working its way into her lungs.

  She tried to tiptoe away from the bonobos, sneaking up through the trees. They watched with interest, chirped and began to follow. She flapped her hands at them, waving them back, but they continued to amble after her.

  Still she couldn’t stop herself, running up the rise until she could see the house, pausing there to stare. The bonobos did not pause, but knuckled forward through the trees toward the lawn. Still no movement came from the home.

  The bonobos stepped out onto the lawn, blinking in the sun. From the far side of the house came the sound of glass shattering.

  Sweetie and Houdina climbed onto the swing set and began pumping their legs, trying to remember this action from long ago. The swing squeaked noisily.

  Frankie watched the bonobos and the windows, her mouth open. Listening for a gunshot.

  Instead a few moments later Stotts opened a window on the top floor and waved them inside.

  Seeing him—framed in the window there, healthy and alive—was the moment when things shifted for her. His wife and child no longer mattered, or the possible pain she risked.

  She ran across the lawn and in through the back door, the bonobos filing in behind. She ripped open a box of Oreos and a canister of oatmeal, tossing the food across the floor for them, then bolted upstairs to find Stotts.

  He stood in front of the gun cabinet. Unhurt. She slammed into him from behind and wrapped her arms around him. Jesus, she said, Don’t do that again.

  He froze, his body breathing, not moving away or turning to face her.

  She paused, allowing herself to feel the balance of their bodies together. Then let go and backed up.

  He watched the floor. In his hand was a small metal sculpture—a reproduction of a Degas ballerina. Visibly he refocused himself on the gun cabinet and tapped the sculpture’s head through the glass, running the shoulders round the frame to clear it of shards. He reached in to open the cabinet from inside.

  He stood there, considering the different guns before selecting a smaller rifle and a box of ammo. His breath was steadier by now.

  He cleared his throat before speaking, Night scope. Lightweight. Fast action.

  He slid a clip in. It clicked into place. The way he handled the rifle, she saw he had had a whole different life before her.

  He asked, Want one?

  Hell no, she said.

  They left the house, too uneasy to stay the night there, even when it was deserted. He wore the rifle around his chest, the clips of ammo tucked in his pocket. They ended up in the next house down the road.

  Houdina slept with her arms around Stotts; she would never steal from him. Still Stotts unloaded the rifle before lying down, sleeping with one hand on it, the ammo inside his shirt.

  That night each time the dog bayed outside, they woke up and breathed there quietly. Stotts stood up to peek out the window, loading the rifle.

  Frankie watched, staring at the silhouette of his exposed head.

  AFTER THE STORM: DAY 6

  Forty Five

  The next morning, Frankie arranged Mama’s body outside on the porch in a rocking chair, a blanket around it. Bye bye, she said, Bye bye. She waved to it and backed away.

  The body didn’t look like Mama anymore. It no longer smelled like her. Gravity was flattening it bit by bit, its joints sprawled, its flesh slack.

  Most of the bonobos paid no attention. They knuckled outside, narrowing their eyes into the sun, then headed off after Stotts. Only Marge, Adele and Tooch stayed, looking from Frankie to the body and back. They prodded the body with their knuckles and grunted low in their chests.

  Looking back and forth from the body to the others who were ambling off, Marge abruptly got angry. She charged and slapped the body hard in the chest, knocking it out of the chair. It hit the ground with a thud.

  Together she and Adele barked and displayed, kicking the body, the chair and the porch railing.

  Their rage abruptly spent, they sat down to groom the body.

  Bye bye, said Frankie and picked up Tooch. He stared dully at Mama.

  Frankie walked away a few feet, then a few more. She said, Bye bye.

  Marge knuckled after her, Adele following. They loped back to touch the body, before following Frankie farther away, looking back and whining.

  They turned back many times to see Mama still sprawled there, her head to the side. Her body getting smaller.

  Finally the house was out of sight.

  *

  This morning Stotts seemed more anxious. He would march forward at a fast walk, until almost out of sight, in order to see over the next ridge. Waiting there, he’d glance back for the bonobos, impatient, scanning the landscape and sky for planes or vehicles.

  Holding the hands of different bonobos, she urged them on, watching to make sure he didn’t step forward over the rise and disappear.

  *

  Late that morning, they drank the last of the water they carried. Houdina was still thirsty, kept shaking the bottle and raising it to her lips as though there was the chance it might fill itself on its own.

  A few minutes later they came upon a line of utility poles, extending into the distance. Frankie tapped Goliath on the shoulder, looked him in the eye and then pointed her eyes to the top of a pole. For clarity, she repeated her eye movements and added the gesture for please.

  Goliath followed her gaze and grunted, obligingly wrapped his large hands on either side of the pole and shouldered his way up, his feet ascending as easily as up a ladder. The rest of the bonobos sat down and began to groom each other. Ahead of them, Stotts leaned against a fence, keeping watch, one leg jittering. At the top, Goliath paused and looked around, admiring the view. She watched to see if he stared in any direction for a beat longer. He did keep his face turned for a moment in one direction, but when she stepped back a bit, she noticed his face was tilted to the sun and his eyes closed.

  Once he descended, she asked him, Water? Which way?

  He wrapped an arm around her and rested his head on her shoulder, sighing with happiness.

  She touched his chin and looked into his eyes. She cupped an imaginary drink to her mouth, her eyebrows raised to show a question. She wished she’d paid more attention to the avatar so she knew more signs.

  Drink, she asked, Where? Water?

  Happy with her attention, he stood up with an erection and waggled it around in front of her. Obediently, she patted it.

  She asked, Which way? Water?

  She stood up and took his hand, waiting for him to lead. He shambled downhill toward some trees. It wasn’t to the east, the direction Stotts wanted. She didn’t know why Goliath chose this direction, but had to hope he was answering her question and not just wandering off.

  She kept watch over her shoulder to make sure Stotts followed.

  A few minutes later the dog bolted past them, 20
yards away, thrashing through the undergrowth until they could hear it lapping up water. The bonobos followed and they emerged on a small lake. Wading in to drink, the bonobos slapped at the surface to scare the beagle away, claiming the lake as their own.

  Frankie stood on the shore, amazed. Stotts stepped through the underbrush to pause next to her. The sun shimmered on the waves. It had been over a week since either of them had showered.

  Stotts said, I’m stripping down and getting in. I really need to get clean. I’ll be fast.

  His dignity complete, he said, Please look away.

  She turned away, but could hear every rustle of his clothing being tugged off. The tuxedo jacket, the overalls, the sweatshirt.

  There was the sound of him sloshing forward into the water, then the splash of him diving in. Surfacing, he coughed at the cold.

  She turned. Twenty feet out, he was standing, the water to his chest, scrubbing his face, no soap except motion.

  She said, I’m coming in too.

  The splashing stopped. He said, No you’re not.

  Fuck you, she said, I’m smelly. You don’t like me getting in there, you get out.

  She stripped, head down. Her body hadn’t been interesting to her for years, tendoned and bony. It was an envelope that had been poked and prodded by so many medical personnel, each of them labeling it faulty. Her belly and thighs were still red from the boiling water. Naked, she splashed forward to her thighs, then dove in, the water startlingly cold and black. Her heart shh-thumped shh-thumped in her ears. She swam underwater—a background hiss and the clink of pebbles shifting. Then she exploded out, sucking in air and slapping forward into a crawl to keep warm.

  Only as she turned around, heading back, did this begin to feel different. Drawn to him.

  She stopped five feet away and stood there. Neither of them said a word, her head turned precisely. As with a wild creature, she did not look.