I Live With You

by Carol Emshwiller

  I let her go. I think she’ll leave but she doesn’t. She sits back on the edge of the pool, hunched into herself.

  “I’ve believed in my uncle from the beginning.”

  She speaks softly and with lots of hesitations.

  “I was a private guard for him. Your people captured me. You almost killed him that time, too. You killed two guards but you took me for… other things.”

  I wonder why she’s telling me this. You’d think she’d be attacking me again.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  I want to comfort her. I reach to touch her arm. She flinches but then she lets me. Just touch. I don’t dare do more.

  “After I escaped I tried to assassinate your leader. I didn’t kill him, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. That’s why you cut me. Somebody else killed him later.”

  That was the beginning of our end—losing our leader. That sent me into the mountains to become a wildman.

  But at least she didn’t do it.

  “I was crazy when I came here. I’m not quite so crazy anymore. But I’m still crazy. I can’t look at you.”

  Though she’s looking.

  “You’re cold. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

  She tucks me in tighter. Holding the blanket with her fists. I feel bad that it’s so hard for her to do everything, even this pulling on my blanket. Her hands are long and slim and brown. They’re strong and beautiful at the same time. She’s kind, even to the likes of me.

  “Can I have some real clothes?”

  “Where would you go?”

  “Am I a prisoner? My door was locked.”

  She hesitates. Too long. Says, “No.” Then, “Of course not.” She’s decided to lie.

  Maybe this is an insane asylum. It is! Beth said she was here because she went crazy.

  I look around to see if the garden is walled but I can’t tell. There’s so many trees and hedges. There is a stream. I can see it shining in the distance.

  “Don’t lie. This isn’t a hospital, this is an insane asylum.”

  She doesn’t know what to say. “It is a hospital, but… and….” lust then the general comes again. You’d never know he was a general. He’s wearing a wine-colored shirt, sleeves rolled up and neck open. He’s striding along like he did on the trail.

  He hugs Beth hard. He’s no taller than she is. He looks at me over her shoulder as he does it. I feel he’s reading my thoughts. It doesn’t matter if he is because I’m glad to see him in spite of myself.

  Beth says, “This is Len.”

  “Ah hah.”

  He’s brought me a present. A basket of fruit. It’s a bribe. This whole place is. All these people being nice, as if trying to change my mind.

  He sits on the edge of the pool beside me, gets out his pocket knife and begins to peel an orange.

  We never were able to have much fruit up in our mountains. Even the aroma…. It’s a bribe that’s working.

  “Son.”

  Not that again.

  “Don’t you think it’s time for your friends to get out of those caves and start living their lives? Aren’t you tired of all this?”

  “This is a prison isn’t it? A place for all the crazies who won’t stop fighting.”

  He hands me sections of orange.

  “There are no more military prisons.”

  “I’ll believe it when you give me clothes and let me out.”

  “We will.”

  “Even Beth said she was crazy.”

  They give each other a look. It makes me feel even crazier.

  He goes on handing me fruit, not talking, just thinking hard. I can almost see him wondering how to make me give up my friends.

  “We’d go up together, just the two of us. After that you’d be free. I promise.”

  I’ll not fall for that. There could be troops coming up behind us. If there weren’t, maybe we could capture him. But I’m thinking: How about Beth and me going up together? What if I escape and bring her with me? Or, better yet….

  “I’ll do it if Beth comes with us.”

  “Done!”

  What have I gotten myself into? And my friends? Maybe I can go to empty caves and pretend they’ve left. Maybe we can overpower the general? Would they rape Beth yet again? They would if they had the chance. Would I?

  That cave life was all I knew for so long I forgot what life could be. We promised ourselves we would never stop, but I’m tired of it. I want to love the enemy. Marry the enemy. Forget the war.

  “Are you up for tomorrow? You can set the pace.”

  I feel strong. I have the rest of the day and night to think. Maybe gather up a weapon or make one. Even a fork might do damage if used properly.

  The general leaves, hugging Beth again and squeezing my shoulder. Beth takes me back and helps me into bed. She looks like a warrior woman but she’s so gentle. The gentler she is the worse I feel about her hands.

  I finally get clothes—clothes none of my companions would recognize me in. The shirt is much too bright a red. The hat is yellow. The general will be able to keep track of me. He and Beth, on the other hand, are dressed in earth colors. I wonder how I can make my friends understand it’s me.

  We’re traveling light. If the general has a gun, it’s hidden. I have an ordinary knife and fork. I’m sure they know they were missing from my supper tray.

  We cross the garden on a red brick path. Cross the stream by way of a Japanese bridge. There is a wall—much overgrown with vines. I could have climbed it.

  We spend the night at ten or so thousand feet, a few hundred feet below where our caves are. Our army was in shambles so only one cave was still occupied. I’ll go to that one last and only if I have to.

  It’s cold up there at night no matter how hot it was during the day. We huddle into one small tent. All this still seems like, if not the heaven, then a heaven, even though the general sleeps between us. What if she’d love me?

  I dream Beth’s hands are whole and mine are mutilated. Hard to tell if it’s a nightmare or a wishful dream to save Beth. Then I’m trying to comb her hair. I can’t hold the comb. I wake with the general shaking my shoulder. He’s calling, “Son. Len. It’s all right. The war is over.” He goes back to sleep holding my wrist. I feel anchored and safe but I don’t sleep right away. I listen to their breathing, Beth’s and the general’s. I must do something—for Beth. I don’t know what. I have to lead the way now. The general comes last. I hope for a time when he lags behind, but he sticks close to Beth. I want to tell her I’ll do anything for her. I want to tell her I love her, and I won’t let her be hurt again, but the general is always in the way.

  Twice I take them to empty caves and say, as if surprised, that our men have gone, but they see right away that nobody has used these caves for a long time and insist I go to a real site. But when we get to our occupied cave, there’s nobody there either. I whistle the secret whistle but there’s no answer. We go in. The fireplace is cold. It looks as if nobody’s been there for days.

  Beth and the general can see this really was our cave. There’s even food left here, half eaten by varmints. Now that I’ve been out of there a while, I can’t stand the smell. I’d not ever want to live there again or any place like it full of unwashed men.

  But they’re on the cliffs above us, my friends… my used to be friends…. I realize it the minute I hear the landslide coming down. I know them, they’d kill me without a second thought if they thought they could get the general, too. Besides, I did betray them.

  I try to pull Beth to the side, but everything happens too fast and I’m too busy trying to breathe.

  When things slow down… when the land slide’s finally just a trickle, I’m covered with gravel. I push myself out from under. I’m scratched and bruised, my clothes are shredded, and I’m practically back down into the foothills. All that hard climbing to get up and I’m down in a minute. But where are they? I try to climb again, straight up the scree, but that’s impossible so I climb beside it. Then
I try to cross to its other side and almost slide down it again. I hunt all day. At evening I find the general. I free him enough to see he’s dead. I can’t find Beth.

  I’ll go for help. If Beth is alive she’ll try to come back to the asylum. Maybe she’s back there already. I arrive at the fountain in the moonlight. It’s so beautiful. Everything is silvery: the apple trees, the ground littered with silvery petals. I sit on the edge of the pond next to the statue. It’s a cold place to sit. I’m shivering.

  I hadn’t realized before how much the statue looks like Beth, slim with small breasts, a young body. Beth is not that young, she’s more my age, but her body is girlish. My warrior woman.

  The one boy is on the right. I take my place on the left where there should be another. I make it symmetrical. It’s almost as if this spot was waiting for me. My feet are in the icy pond but I want to be there, anyway.

  The girl leans as Beth leaned. One hand towards the water as though to soothe the pain.

  My God, someone has broken off the thumb! Who would do such a thing?

  Her other hand is curled close to her, as though to hide her breasts. I lean up to check it. Someone has broken off that thumb, too.

  She’s so silvery and beautiful. So cold. I want to warm her. I put my arms around her knees. I look up into her face as the other boy does. I was cold to start with, now I’m colder but I no longer shiver. I won’t let go. I grow stiff. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I’m thinking how I’ve never been as happy as here in the garden. I hope they let me stay.

  SEE NO EVIL, FEEL NO JOY

  “Joy shines out only to reveal what the annihilation of joy will be like.”—COETZEE

  IT’S A BRIGHT, SUNNY evening. The view from our porch has clouds, pink and lavender, puffy, over purple mountains. I don’t look. I control myself. I keep my eyes on shelling peas. It’s against our vows to appreciate any such thing as views. You’d think we’d not have put our huts here on the side of the hill when enjoyment of a view is forbidden. You’d think we’d not have built porches in the first place. You’d think the windows of our huts would be smaller.

  I keep my eyes on my work or on the floor or the ground or my shoes. Proper shoes for our kind. Lumpy. As if I’d stepped in mud and it stuck. They’re just as heavy as if I had. That helps to make us strong, and we need to be strong.

  See no beauty, see no ugliness, see neither good nor evil. Nor hear. See nothing that will take you from your duty. Your simplicity. Nothing that might take your mind off this valley of tears, off this valley of joys.

  Keep away from joy or nothing will ever be enough. In any kind of happiness one wants more. There’s never enough of joy and beauty.

  Suppose we looked out across the valley, we might wonder: Does this beautiful view of ours suffice? Should we climb yet higher to get a better one? Move our houses up there? And then should we look day after day—every morning, every evening waste several minutes? Should we enjoy even the storm? Even lightning on the mountains across from us? Stand at the window as if something might happen even better than is already happening right here? Never get anything done?

  We wear black. Our hair is pulled back tight. Both sexes. Loose pants tied at the ankles. We keep our hats and bonnets on all the time. I suppose we take them off when we’re in bed, but I only know what I do.

  In the beginning was the word, but before the word there were no words.

  We’ve taken vows of silence. Instead of talking we leave notes on the door of our refectory. It’s been a long time since I spoke.

  Do not shake hands or pat shoulders. Touch nothing except your work.

  Twice I’ve seen someone panic. Scream and screech. I didn’t have to help. That’s a man’s job unless there’s no man around. Men are allowed to touch in emergencies. I don’t know what happened to her or who she was. We don’t have friends. When you’re not allowed to talk, you don’t get to know people. We don’t even know each other’s names or sexes.

  If we should fall in love then no end to it for desire breeds nothing but more desire.

  It’s unlikely that we will love. Our hats are always pulled low. Our bonnets might as well be blinders.

  But I looked down at the wrong time. Right into someone’s eyes. That’s all I saw—eyes, looking back into mine. It was a mistake. We were both innocent. We looked away quickly. Maybe not that quickly. We stared. I don’t know how long. He had brought a heavy pail of water in. Then he’d knelt and dipped himself a drink. I looked down and he looked up. It wasn’t our fault.

  I thought: My God, like a sunrise you’re not supposed to admire, like the sound of the stream you shouldn’t listen to, like the view across the valley to the other mountains. After, I could think of nothing but eyes—greenish gray ones. I could see my tiny self in his pupils.

  I peeked at him as he left. All I saw were the usual baggy clothes. Faded black. Whitish in the worn spots. I wondered all the things we’re not supposed to wonder: What is his name? What hut does he live in? Of course there’s no way of finding out.

  I wonder what he thought. Something passed between us. I think. I don’t know what.

  Live and do and be in the spirit of the land and with the labor of the land. Live and do and be as was done before and as we’ve done and will do.

  Do and be. And be in a place where no prying outsider ever comes.

  Disobedience… that one forbidden glance… has made me hum. Someone taps me on the wrist, hard, with a wooden spoon to remind me not to. I deserve that tap.

  Ever since that look I’ve been disobedient in both thought and deed. I’ve been looking—out from behind my big black bonnet. Which one is he? And will he be looking for me? Out from behind his wide brimmed hat?

  It is well known what happened to other sects with no sex. It has been decided that we have to have sex but best not to

  know with whom. And to only have it just often enough to make sure we replace ourselves.

  We won’t take in orphans as some sects did. Those children may have been spoiled for us before we get to them. Also it didn’t keep those other sects alive. We’ll grow our own.

  I’m to be the first. I don’t know why. Our leader has decided which of the men will combine with me to make the most eugenically perfect baby. I’m to go to the mating hut tomorrow night. They don’t want us to have time to think about it but I need to think. I’m not sure I want this. Especially not now.

  We live empty of desire. All pleasure is too much. It ties one to this world so that leaving it is a calamity.

  I run away. Not down to civilization, where all is evil and dangerous—people shoot each other, people fight, the air is polluted, it’s noisy, the streets are full of beggars—but farther up, into the wilds—the safe, soft wilds.

  When I get far enough away I hum—as loud as I wish. How good it is not to be working in the kitchen. How good to be able to look out at the view, to listen to the birds. At the banks of a little river I stop and sit and do that, just listen. I sit so still a bird comes right to me. A little gray bird with a black head. Almost as dull as all of us are. Yet he’s bright and chipper. One can be chipper even if one is nothing but gray and black.

  Eyes and hands…. I can bring back the vision of the moments we looked at each other. He was holding the edge of the pail with one hand and the dipper in the other. His hands were scarred and rough, as all ours are. His had little black hairs on the knuckles. He raised the dipper slowly. As if as stunned by the view of me as I was of him. I saw something of his gaunt face, the crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes, his beard, streaked with white.

  I spend the night lying against a fallen tree trunk. I didn’t bring a blanket or a sweater. I didn’t plan. I ran off too fast to think of anything even though I’m not to be mated until tomorrow night.

  Then I realize I can sneak back at meal times. Who’s to know? The way we live, one more black bundle gone off to sleep in the woods won’t be missed. Why didn’t I think of this a long time ago? I’m going
back to find those eyes. I’ll go where the men work.

  First thing in the morning, I find a bright blue feather. I think that’s a good sign. I pin it on my tunic. I must remember to take it off before I go back, though would anyone notice? And what would happen if they did?

  Life without words is peaceful. There are no disagreements. One is not led astray. No one mishears or misinterprets. And words can make one unhappy as well as happy. Also there are many words that should never be said.

  I practice talking just to make sure I still can. I don’t know why, there may never be anybody to talk to. I must be thinking I’ll talk to that man.

  I haven’t talked in so long I’d hardly know what in the world to talk about. There hasn’t been anything to say since… I can’t remember when.

  At first nothing comes out at all. Then it comes out suddenly, as a shout. No and then yes. After that a whisper. Yes, yes, yes. Finally I get it right. I say: Listen, look, see. Then I remember nursery rhymes. Deedle deedle dumpling; Higgledy piggledy; One a penny, two a penny, three a penny, four.

  Perhaps I would like a child. Perhaps, instead of staying up here, I will go to the mating hut tomorrow night. The male they chose for me has got to be for the best child possible. Probably better than anyone I’d choose for myself.

  Going back, I look down on our whole compound as if at a map. The people look like busy black ants from here. I can see good hiding places.

  When I sneak back for supper, I leave the blue feather on my tunic.

  Pins instead of buttons. Knives and spoons but no forks. Water but no tea or coffee. Oatmeal, corn… bread, but no butter. Butter is too blissful on the tongue.

  At supper I think how different the world is when one looks out at it. All these bent heads. I watch hands. A few have black hairs just as his did. I look out the window where the wind is blowing the bushes. Everybody leans over their trenchers. My blue feather is safe.

  Which of the men was meant for me tonight? I’m not to see him. We’re to be as anonymous to each other as we always are.