by James Hynes
“Come,” said Stanley Tulendij, and the old man beckoned him up the slope, slowly curling his hand. Paul could almost hear the bones clattering in those long, pale fingers. Olivia glowered at him, and Paul nearly said something inappropriate, like, “I thought you were dead.” But he didn’t, and despite the chill he felt, he started climbing the slick slope, up a series of narrow steps cut into the living rock. Near the top he looked back once more, and beyond the crowd of homeless men he saw the two smokers radiating trembling waves of heat and breathing black smoke like a pair of idling locomotives, the door of each firebox outlined by a seam of red flame. To the right he saw the cubescape under the fluorescent lights, which were suspended by a tangled web of wires from the ceiling of the cave. Under the lights Paul saw one pale man walking through the labyrinth of cubicles, and while he couldn’t be sure from this distance, Paul thought it was Boy G. Nearly lost in the glare, the figure came to a cube at the center of the labyrinth and stooped out of sight.
At the top of the slope Stanley Tulendij hooked his fingers through Paul’s elbow and settled the younger man on the ledge between himself and Olivia Haddock. Olivia gave him a cold, sidelong glance, looking him up and down.
“You’re alright then?” Paul murmured.
“No thanks to you,” said Olivia.
“I tried,” protested Paul, struggling to keep his voice down. “Didn’t you feel me grab your ankles?”
Olivia shushed him with a red satin finger to her lips. Stanley Tulendij was stepping to the front of the ledge. He threw his arms wide. “What is the law?” he cried, his hollow voice reverberating the length and breadth of the cavern.
Next to Paul, Olivia clasped her hands before her and blew out a sigh, but below them, the crowd of homeless men swelled forward to the edge of the water, Colonel and Bob Wier at the front. The mouths of the pale men opened wide like hymn singers, their pointed teeth gleaming.
“When the going gets tough,” they chanted, “the tough get going. That is the law. Are we not men?”
“A quitter never wins, and a winner never quits. That is the law. Are we not men?”
“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing. That is the law. Are we not men?”
“Don’t mess with Texas. That is the law. Are we not men?”
The men below swayed from side to side, clapping once when they came to “That is the law,” and the resounding slap of their hands rang around the cavern like feedback. Colonel and Bob Wier swayed right along with the others, though Bob Wier was now openly crying. Beyond the fringes of the crowd, J.J. swayed and dipped his shoulders in place, while to Paul’s right, Stanley Tulendij waved his bony hands in the air like a conductor. To Paul’s left, Olivia blew out another sigh and rolled her eyes. Paul wasn’t sure what to do, so he just swayed feebly, pretending to clap, but not bringing his palms together.
“It ain’t over till it’s over,” chanted the men. “That is the law. Are we not men?”
“Never let the bastards grind you down. That is the law. Are we not men?”
“Remember the Alamo! That is the law. Are we not men?”
“Let a smile be your umbrella. That is the law. Are we not men?”
“And this above all!” cried Stanley Tulendij, lifting his arms higher. Under the momentum of their chant, the men continued to sway for a moment longer, but then steadied themselves at the cry of Stanley Tulendij. As the reverberation of their clapping and chanting died away in the recesses of the cavern, Paul saw Boy G returning from the cubicles bearing a large, blue sack over his shoulder.
“In the daylight world,” Stanley Tulendij called out, his voice ringing round the rocks of the cave, “the rule is, ‘To thine own self be true.’ But here,” he cried, the men below moaning in expectation, “the rule is, ‘To thine own self be . . .’ ”
There was a long, breathless pause, during which Paul heard only the plink! ploink! of dripping water. Boy G advanced on the crowd with a noiseless tread, bearing his burden closer. Olivia Haddock rolled her tongue around in her cheek.
“Enough!” roared the crowd of pale men. “To thine own self, be enough! That is the law. Are we not men?”
Stanley Tulendij threw his arms in the air, and the men cheered and whistled. They stamped their feet and shook their fists in the air.
“Finally,” breathed Olivia Haddock, restlessly tapping her foot.
As Boy G reached the back of the crowd with his burden, they parted to let him through. The closer ones reached out to stroke or caress the bundle over his shoulder as he passed. The ones at the rear of the crowd lifted themselves on tiptoe and ran their tongues over their jagged teeth. Only now, as Boy G came closer, did Paul realize that his burden wasn’t a sack, but the backside of someone’s pair of jeans. Boy G was carrying a person, doubled over at the waist, with her head and shoulders dangling behind him and Boy G clutching her legs in front. Stanley Tulendij caught Paul’s eye and winked.
“Enough, my boy! It’s a word of shattering power!” He clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Make it your battle cry!” He glanced past Paul, his eyes brightening at Olivia. “Isn’t that right, my lovely queen?”
“Whatever,” said Olivia.
Now Boy G was stepping across the pool on the flattened stalagmites, his tread making a moire of intersecting waves on the surface of the water. He bent slightly under the weight of the woman as he started up the steps carved into the rock. Suddenly Paul realized that he knew that backside, and all the breath was sucked out of him. At the same moment he heard the brisk, rhythmic scrape of metal against metal, and he looked over the heads of the crowd to see J.J. stroking a long-bladed knife against a sharpening steel. The murmur of the men below grew louder, saying a single word, and it wasn’t until Boy G had reached the ledge at the base of the column that Paul realized what they were saying.
“Meat!” they murmured. “Meat! Meat! Meat!”
Boy G stooped to one knee and tipped the woman off his shoulder onto the rock, where she stood unsteadily for a moment before sagging to her knees, her hands bound before her and her chin drooping to her breastbone. Her mouth was gagged by a handkerchief tied behind her head. Boy G backed away from her, swiveling his wide, cannibal smile past Stanley Tulendij and Paul and Olivia, and then he turned to descend the rock. Olivia glanced sidelong at the bound woman, then at Paul. Her lips were pursed, and Paul realized that she was trying hard not to smile.
“Think you’re better than us,” Olivia said, sotto voce. “We’ll just see about that.”
“Behold!” cried Stanley Tulendij, startling Paul, who turned to see the old man grasp the top of the kneeling woman’s head and tilt her face up for all to see. “See what Paul has brought us!”
At the base of the formation, the men were chanting louder, “Meat! Meat! Meat!” Colonel was chanting along with them, his eyes shining with an unholy light. Next to him Bob Wier didn’t chant but only stared into the clear cave water at his feet, lifting his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Across the cave J.J. stropped his knife with a brisk, professional rhythm, faster even than the beating of Paul’s heart. Only when he had no place else to look did Paul lower his eyes to the face of the woman at his feet. Her eyes were wide and frantic, her skin very pale. Her freckles were like flecks of ash across her cheeks; the gag cut into the corners of her mouth. Paul’s heart stuttered and he nearly fell to his knees himself, for he was looking at the face of his Oklahoma lover, Callie.
THIRTY-NINE
“OKAY, I’VE HAD ENOUGH,” said Paul in a loud voice, to no one in particular. “I want to wake up now.”
This only provoked a grumble of laughter from the crowd of men below and even a hollow chuckle from Stanley Tulendij. Olivia issued an exasperated gasp. “Very droll, Professor,” called out Colonel from the edge of the pool.
“No, seriously,” said Paul. Callie looked up at him beseechingly, and Paul looked away, unable to bear it. “This isn’t funny anymore. I’m not enjoying this.
”
Stanley Tulendij, his lipless mouth fixed in a cadaverous grin, bent close to Paul. “She won’t feel a thing,” he said with an avuncular wink. “Not for long, anyway.”
The murmuring from below—“Meat! Meat! Meat!”—grew even louder, and Paul looked down to see the crowd parting for J.J., who approached the pool ceremoniously bearing the big knife across his upturned palms. At the edge of the pool, he handed it off to Bob Wier, who grimaced and handled the blade as if it were red hot, immediately passing it off to Colonel, who took it solemnly. He held the handle with one hand and laid the gleaming blade lightly across his other palm. He stepped across the trembling pool on the stepping stones and started up the slope, his shining eyes fixed on Paul.
“Wait a minute.” Paul backed up against the base of the big, sagging pillar behind him. “Let’s just stop for a second.” Callie was trembling. The soles of her sandals were bent back as she knelt on the sweating stone. She wore the same clothes she’d had on when she’d left his apartment—jeans, a man’s old Oxford shirt—and she’d left his apartment, Paul thought, before he had started dreaming. Maybe, he thought frantically, her presence in his apartment had been part of the dream as well, and he began desperately to wonder just how far back it went. Had his affair with Callie been a dream all along? Had his wooing by Colonel and his cronies been a dream? Maybe all of it had been a dream, he thought, feeling the sweat pouring down his temples: his job at TxDoGS, his life with Kymberly in the suburban ranch house, maybe even his whole experience in Texas. None of this ever happened, he thought. I never lost my teaching job, I never got divorced. I never drowned a cat in a bathtub. This is a fantasy, a cautionary tale, and I’m fast asleep in Iowa, with Lizzie snoring beside me and Charlotte, dear, sweet Charlotte, purring happily at my feet. He glanced all around him for some definitive sign of unreality, but all he saw were the wide eyes of the pale men watching him from below and the dripping stalactites above, pointing at him like spears.
By now Colonel had reached the ledge, and he knelt on the top step and fixed Paul with his gaze and lifted the knife towards him.
“What about her?” cried Paul, pointing at Olivia. “I mean, I gave you her already, right?”
The crowd of murmuring men gasped as one, and Olivia dropped her jaw and goggled at Paul. Colonel sighed and looked exasperated, but before he could speak, Olivia had placed her clenched fists on her hips.
“Outrageous!” she cried. “Outrageous!” She swung her ferocious gaze from Paul to Stanley Tulendij, who grinned weakly.
“Now, dearest,” he said, waving his wobbly palms at her.
“Stanley,” said Olivia, her lower lip trembling, “are you going to let this, this person speak about me in that manner?”
“Now, sweetness,” said Stanley Tulendij, and he crossed in front of Paul to comfort Olivia. His arms curled around her; his pale fingers twitched on her bare shoulders. Olivia pressed herself against the wide, blue lapels of his garish tux. “Outrageous,” she sniffled.
Below, the pale men shuffled in place and mumbled to themselves. At the front of the crowd J.J. bobbed anxiously from foot to foot, while Bob Wier clutched his own elbows, looking nearly as pale as the cave dwellers pressed around him. Colonel hissed at Paul to get his attention, and Paul came warily forward, crouching next to Callie, whose eyes darted frantically in every direction.
“Suck it up, Professor,” Colonel whispered. The knife quivered in his hands, casting its gleam across Paul and Callie’s faces. “We’ve all done this. J.J. gave them his girlfriend, and believe me, J.J. doesn’t come across a girlfriend very often. Hell, Bob here gave up his wife.”
Callie groaned. At the foot of the slope, Bob Wier looked up as if he’d heard his name. His eyes widened, and his face paled even more. Suddenly he turned away from the pool. J.J. grabbed at him, but Bob twisted free and pushed back through the crowd towards the rear. J.J. shrugged and faced front again.
“But you didn’t,” whispered Paul, “give up your wife.”
Colonel’s bright eyes narrowed. “You ain’t the only one, Professor, who’s ever had a wild little mustang. Yasumi never knew about her.” He lifted the corner of his lips in a lubricious grin. “You know how it is.”
Callie was watching Paul now, sidelong.
“About cheating on my wife?” said Paul, struggling to control his voice. “Or human sacrifice?”
Colonel shrugged and said, “Call it whatever you want, Paul. We all do it.” He grinned again. “Are we not men?”
“Alright, that’s it!” barked Olivia, and everyone turned to see her push out of Stanley Tulendij’s embrace. She loomed over Paul with one fist balled against her hip, while Stanley Tulendij dithered behind her.
“Are you going to let this slacker, this Yankee get away with this?” she declared, sweeping the crowd below with her furious gaze. “Because correct me if I’m wrong, but these other three losers have already done it.” She gestured with her free hand, her red glove taking in Colonel and J.J. Bob Wier was across the room, doggedly stuffing more wood into the firebox of one of the smokers.
“So what makes Paul so special? Is it because he has a pee aitch dee?” She waved her long, red, satin finger in the air, sistah style. “Puh-leeze. He’s here, he’s accepted the benefits y’all have offered him, and now it’s time for him to do his duty.”
The crowd below was rapt. Their mouths hung open, their teeth glistened, their eyes shone with something like adoration. Even J.J.’s eyes were twinkling. Olivia drew a breath, then she stooped and hooked the satiny fingers of one hand through the collar of Callie’s shirt, and the fingers of her other hand through Paul’s collar, and hauled them both to their feet. Colonel stood, too, under his own steam. Paul felt something smooth and cool and hard against his right palm, and Colonel closed Paul’s fingers around the handle of the knife. Olivia lifted Paul’s left hand around Callie’s shoulders and placed his palm under her chin. Callie flinched at the touch. She had squeezed her eyes shut, and Paul could feel her shuddering.
Olivia stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “So get with the program, mister,” she declared, “and cut her throat.”
Paul’s hand trembled under Callie’s chin, so he dropped it to her shoulder. She flinched again; her breath hissed in hot bursts through her nose.
“It’s okay,” Paul whispered. “This isn’t really happening. This is a dream. You’re not even here.”
“Mmm mmm mmm!” Callie said through the gag.
“I’m waiting,” said Olivia.
“Now, Paul,” said Colonel, holding up his palms and rocking on the balls of his feet, “each of these gentlemen behind me is crazier than a jaybird and hungrier than a coyote. They’re fixed to eat something tonight, and if it’s not her, well, then, we go to Plan B.” He glanced back at the crowd. They were pressing forward, licking their lips, gnashing their teeth, drooling. “Let’s just say,” Colonel said in a low voice, “we’re having you for dinner, Professor, one way or the other.”
Paul could scarcely see six inches beyond his nose; everything else was washed out of all recognition. His mind raced as if he were a dying man reliving his life in an instant. Behind his eyeballs he saw an almost comically speeded-up highlight reel of every bad decision he’d ever made, in glorious, unfaded, mid-fifties Technicolor: himself at his computer, not finishing his book; himself and Kymberly, cheating on Lizzie in his marriage bed; himself cheating on Kymberly with Oksana, et al.; himself lowering the howling Charlotte in her cat carrier into the bathtub and turning the taps on full blast; himself sprawled uselessly on the bed, listening to Callie drive away. . . .
His heart twisted with regret, and his vision was further blurred with tears. The humid, smoky air around him seemed to cool for a moment, as if he stood in the doorway of a freezer, and for one, delirious instant he swore he felt the smooth, sidelong brush of a cat winding a figure eight between his legs. Then the silky pressure faded and the cave’s dankness once again clung to his skin.
His vision cleared as if someone had wiped his eyes, and one thought somehow rang as clear as a chime at the center of his head: If this is a dream, if none of this really matters, then why not be a hero?
“I won’t do it,” he breathed, and he tightened his arm around Callie’s shoulders, pulling her closer. She tensed under his grip, but he held on tightly. Colonel edged towards him, reaching for the knife. Olivia vibrated with fury a few feet away, while Stanley Tulendij, his eyes alight, twitched behind her. The crowd below strained forward, nearly pushing J.J. into the water. Across the cave Paul saw Bob Wier pushing one more log into the blazing firebox with the iron poker. The smoker was overheating; smoke gushed from the chimney and puffed from the seams of the doors.
“No,” Paul said louder, “I won’t do it.” The knife trembled so violently in his hand that Paul was afraid he was going to drop it, but he waved it unsteadily at the Colonel.
“Mm mm!” said Callie through the gag. “Mm mm!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, we’ll be here all night,” said Olivia. “I’ll do it.”
Paul turned to fend her off, but Colonel grabbed his wrist in a crushing grip. Callie struggled in Paul’s grasp; Paul tottered at the edge of the stony ledge; Colonel squeezed his wrist ferociously, and the knife loosened in Paul’s grip.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” bellowed Bob Wier from across the cave. Reflexively everyone turned to see him heaving on the wooden handle at one end of the smoker. He had kicked the chocks away from the front wheels, and slowly the smoker started to roll forward down the incline. Grimacing and white-faced, Bob dug in with his loafers and pushed the handle from behind, and the smoker picked up speed across the cave, its wheels squealing, its metal panels rattling. Bob had opened the door of the firebox at the front end, and as the smoker rolled faster, flames streamed backwards out of the box, scorching the sides of the drum and sending hot sparks and glowing embers bounding along the cave floor. “ ‘I will pour out my wrath upon you,’ ” cried Bob Wier, banging the long iron poker on the drum of the smoker, “ ‘and breathe out my fiery anger against you!’ ”
