Genesis Again

by Brian Dae

  “I don’t understand the circumstances myself but the government is looking for me. The agency contacted me directly so there must be an emergency. I need some time to learn about the situation.”

  “Need a place to sleep for the night?”

  “If I can borrow some money I’m sure I can find a hostel to stay in until I can reconnect with the agency. I don’t know if the security forces have tied me to you but it’s probably best if I don’t stay here too long. I have already intruded far more than I should have.”

  “Let’s talk about this in the car.”

  “It’s safer if I walk.”

  Paul ignored him and walked out the backdoor facing the parking lot. An unbearable calm dictated Paul’s movements as he gingerly strolled up to his car as if he were off to buy groceries; carrying nothing with him besides his keys and wallet, not bothering to take a heavier coat. Edward meekly followed after and shut the door behind him. Once Paul pulled the car out onto the street he carried on the conversation.

  “I can put you in a hostel overnight and maybe with a friend next week. I don’t think it’ll bother him too much so go ahead and visit his apartment after I tell him,” Paul said.

  “Is your friend involved as well?”

  “No he’s not. I don’t think that will really matter,” Paul said.

  “I will be sure to inform the agency about how much you’ve helped me here. If there’s any chance that I’ve implicated you, I’m sure they will assist you.”

  “Don’t worry Edward, just tell Lhenkov I said hello and to enjoy his retirement.”

  Leaving the Seventh District they entered the Sixth District where the immigrants were newer and poorer. Spillover existed between the delineation lines and Edward was unsure where one began and the other ended, but over time one recognized the changes: holiday decorations started to fade away, streets looked less maintained, and people in greater numbers wandered about. Buildings here looked many decades older in both style and from lack of upkeep, a consequence of age. The original city limits ended in the Sixth and expanded outward as the population grew. Success drove people to live further within The City or further away.

  Parked outside a quaint little hostel, Paul handed Edward every single bill he carried in his wallet. Edward did not bother to protest and took the money with both hands, thanking him in a monotone voice.

  “I’ve written his address here on this paper. Just ask the residents for Cassidy’s room, I’m sure they’ll know who you’re talking about.”

  “Are you sure he won’t mind?”

  “It’s better to be around others during the holidays, isn’t it?”

  Watching Paul drive away, Edward waved goodbye and went inside.

  ***

  Cassidy sat hunched over his desk chewing a biscuit as he read the novel. His roommate’s anxious demeanor made pleasure reading feel distasteful. Besides sleeping and eating, he lacked alternatives in passing time and avoided talking, believing that it might make his guest’s anxiety worsen. Playing host for a single evening drained him and became absolutely exhausting over multiple days. Ironically having the guest be a complete stranger lessened the impact as Cassidy learned to ignore Edward presence to avoid succumbing to self-conscious thoughts.

  “I have to let them know I’m safe,” Edward said.

  “Aren’t they expecting you to be in hiding right now?”

  Edward levitated on his toes as he paced about the kitchen, unable to keep his bare feet pressed against the cold tiled floor for long.

  “Enough time should have passed by now. It was unreasonable of me to intrude on you this long.”

  Cassidy scratched the back of his neck out of habit. “There’s no point pretending I’m not an accomplice at this point. Besides, if anyone should feel responsible I’d place it entirely under Paul. How did he get involved in this without anyone of us knowing anyway?”

  Edward turned to face Cassidy.

  “We didn’t ask Paul to join us. He came for his own reasons—reasons I’m not sure I understand. He visited a cultural event and started asking questions to the right people; a good listener as well, I enjoyed the conversations we had together. But I’m rambling here, maybe he found us by chance. I’m not really sure.”

  The sun was rising and it seemed there would be a break in the clouds ending the overcast weather. Days like these were rare during the winter season and locals took full advantage, running household errands and soaking in sunlight while they could. Office workers who could not limit their exposure to freezing winds and icy pavement appreciated the change heading off on their morning commutes. As the holidays came to a close, people began to repopulate the streets. Edward stared down at them and massaged his ears, still unaccustomed to the stinging pain which made his nose numb. Compared to Hon Hei’s balmy warm days, this short respite remained cold to his skin. Living abroad from childhood made it what he grew most accustomed to. He thought about home walking to the telephone.

  “Can I make a call?” Edward asked.

  Cassidy gave him a thumbs-up in approval.

  Edward began to dial the number halfway but set the phone back down on the receiver. He mulled over something and turned to ask Cassidy if he wanted to meet with the agency. Participating in espionage never entered Cassidy’s mind; a suggestion evoking black-and-white movies with agents running around airport tarmacs and down dark alleyways. The nonchalant way it was offered to him, like being asked to attend a concert, killed whatever romanticism it possessed. Treating it as a regular business meeting he leaned forward and weighed the decision colored in treason.

  “Are you trying to recruit me?” Cassidy asked.

  “I thought you deserved the choice, officially.”

  Crossing his legs and arms in a meditative position, Cassidy pondered the offer. He lacked an interest in overthrowing the state or working for foreign powers—any grand ideals died in war. Monetary rewards struck him as equally unenticing considering his moderate expenditures and the tradeoffs of losing a peaceful unemployed lifestyle. In the end, achieving greater things belonged to other people’s aspirations and living aimlessly suited him just fine. All things considered it made no sense for Cassidy to be recruited but somehow Paul was. Not by force but by his own volition.

  “I don’t intend to join but I might as well get the chance,” Cassidy said.

  “Just to tell you in advance, I don’t think he’ll like that answer,” Edward said.

  Edward redialed and cupped his hand around the transmitter repeating a code verbatim to the listener, saying nothing besides “yes” or “no” in response to a series of questions. When he ended the call a minute later, he told Cassidy the rendezvous point was near the old theatre on Brokaw Street. Souray Theatre evoked childhood memories in Cassidy from when he took daytrips to The City with his father. Their subway stop exited from the street opposite the theatre and its outstretched facade was the first thing he would see emerging from below, advertising programs in large bold fonts overlooked by a row of circular windows in old world style. Back then an unassuming clientele of working-class regulars frequented the establishment to watch classic films—veritable epics performed by hundreds of actors filled with romance and humor. Even then considered classics. Returning at night he would see the building lit up with hundreds of bright yellow bulbs, spitting out throngs of laughing couples. Being a young boy it conjured fantastical imagery in his imagination. One wondered now how they remained open when the neighborhood changed and their viewers left, leaving fewer than ten patrons at any screening. Whatever purpose it served today to stay in operation escaped him. If they reused the location as a spy hideout the development would have been fitting.

  Unfortunately it was not the case. Edward revealed how operatives never divulged this information in calls, using general landmarks to contact one another. Once they reached the destination some signal would alert each other to the final meeting point. As an interloper, Cassidy would not be privy to these signals. Still
, Cassidy interrupted him and suggested he guide the way there, confident in his ability to recognize the neighborhood and bus stops. Edward shrugged and agreed. With their trip set, Edward borrowed an old coat and let his long bangs fall over his eyes, obscuring his thick emotive eyebrows. The two looked an odd match standing at the bus stop.

  Having missed the bus early on, they had to wait a full rotation. Often times Cassidy’s father would hum to pass time when they arrived late. Forgetting the song lyrics and singing off-key, he would repeat the chorus indefinitely until the bus came back. Cassidy tried to whistle along from memory and the words failed him, even the parts his father knew. Once transported to Brokaw Street, the two meandered aimlessly, misled by identical streets and a series of unhelpful signs. Cassidy felt maligned. New properties minted out by unknown investors changed the landscape to accommodate their client’s tastes. Construction crews surrounded old buildings with scaffolding and chain-link fencing while they drilled on, building houses with a new aesthetic—kitschy takes on the original with more colorful palettes. This translated into townhouse-styled apartments with small cafes built into the bottom floors, their seating and handwritten signs expanding out onto the sidewalk. Impressively a few young espresso drinkers managed to stave off the cold sitting there with their thick winter jackets and shades, managing to import café culture to this part of town.

  Here the spacious walk areas allowed crowds to stand abreast, shielded by bare trees hung overhead and spaced evenly apart to keep their young branches from overlapping. City workers must have swept the leaves daily as the streets looked clean and orderly. Cassidy surmised that the buildings and roads both appeared foreign. Looking lost, an older woman approached them and offered to give directions. She carried her pet dog and expressed delight about the weather, complaining how people were unappreciative of the sunlight. Happy to help the lost pair, she led them forward and remarked how nostalgic the building looked despite moving in a year prior. Back in the southeast such buildings were common and it reminded her of home. After chatting with her for a spell, they spotted the theatre from a distance and thanked her for the help. Walking toward the building, Edward tapped Cassidy’s shoulder.

  “Let’s head into the pizza parlor across the street.” Edward said.

  Cassidy had been there before and upon opening the door he found its interior unchanged after four decades and two generations. The smell of burnt flour and baked bread saturated the poorly ventilated room—cramped and overwhelmed, having been a residential living room in an earlier iteration. Older men who appeared to be owners or at least related stood around a balding man who lamented over his marriage as his pizza turned cold, their nephews tossing dough and answering the phone all the while. Edward led Cassidy past fridges stocked with specialty sodas and shelves lined with ancient candies toward the counter. A gaunt gritty septuagenarian swung open the counter door and stepped out telling the customer to bring his pizza home; he ignored Edward while they crossed over and hugged the wall behind the hard-working teenagers, reaching a near vertical flight of stairs. Disappearing overhead, the two stood facing a makeshift office with two desks set side-to-side in the center while a domestic bathroom, complete with bathtub, opened next to them. An older woman sitting at a desk nodded at Edward and ran her fingers across a depression in the wall, feeling for two notches where one could pull horizontally. This hidden door took effort to bulge and they joined her in pushing it aside. After seeing the kitchen below in passing, one inferred that something must have sat overhead. She stepped inside the darkness and flipped a light switch, revealing bare emptiness except for a glass cabinet with an extensive display of liquor. Familiar labels adorned them, fine old-world vintages differing in national origin and age. Edward opened the case and picked up two shot glasses, peering inside to see if any dust settled inside. After wiping one with his shirt, he handed it to Cassidy and suggested he have a drink. Originally the collection belonged to a retired ambassador who left them to the embassy; his replacement proved too prudish to keep them. Their host closed the hidden door and returned to her desk.

  Happy to oblige with a drink, Cassidy chose a worn old bottle with wilted paper surrounding its base and poured it tenderly. Among the varied assortment those with mysterious backgrounds proved most alluring. To savor the amber liquid, he sloshed it around his mouth and rolled his tongue back, taking it in sips, hitting his chest with a soft rolling burn. Edward stood by and played sommelier, selecting through an undisclosed pattern, interested in seeing how Cassidy reacted to each new bottle. This game went on for some time before being interrupted by the door jutting aside. A pot-bellied man wearing a three-piece suit entered and strode forward on thin legs, introducing himself as Viktor.

  “It’s good to see that you’re safe Edward, this must have been a trying time.” He turned to Cassidy. “Thank you for sheltering him, I presume you are Paul’s friend?” Viktor asked.

  “A good friend, yes.”

  “We are always open to new friends.”

  Viktor smiled briefly and handed Cassidy a business card offering moving services. Judging by the listed telephone number and area code it was registered somewhere within the city. He put the card inside his pocket.

  “If you ever have questions, call the number on my card and ask for me by name,” Viktor said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Cassidy said.

  “Protocol requires me to ask you to leave but I’ll put it to your decision whether you’d like to stay and listen to our conversation or leave.”

  Cassidy had drunk six shots of whisky; the thought of descending those steep stairs made him grimace at the challenge. He mused over the thought of resting there for the afternoon and returning home when he felt more sober, though it seemed an incredible request. Looking at Viktor’s serious demeanor made him feel slightly embarrassed about his rationale but Cassidy decided to stay.

  Viktor removed a city map from his jacket and spread it across the floor, struggling to keep it from refolding itself. Using a red pen, he started to scribble circles and letters.

  “The security forces raided your dorm at Tiver but we haven’t seen much movement beyond that. We will prepare you for exfiltration and arrange for a new host country. Hon Hei can’t shelter a suspected terrorist when they’re already responsible for the exiles; the political ramifications would be too great,” Viktor continued.

  “My brother spoke about an attack they were planning. Do we have anyone on it?” Edward interrupted.

  Viktor shook his head. “Your brother was our only contact within the organization. By now it’s probably too late to prevent it from happening. We’ll just have to deal with the fallout.”

  “Maybe I could gather more information.”

  “Through your brother’s contacts? Forget it. They’re not sloppy enough to recruit someone this late into the operation. Let’s assume the shooting was meant to send a message, did your brother mention anything beforehand?”

  “Nothing concrete. Anti-government, anti-Westwards, some stuff related to arms companies.”

  “We’ll instruct our friends in those companies to take vacations or call in sick. That’s going to raise suspicions but we’d lose good will if we weren’t forthcoming,” Viktor said.

  The two stared at the map as if trying to decipher some hidden pattern. Cassidy stood over them absent-minded, unable to confront the severity of the situation as a complete stranger to their world.

  “So you’re going to have to learn a new language and live in a new country now?” Cassidy asked.

  Edward looked up from his knees.

  “It’s not unusual for employees to relocate abroad nowadays. Besides, what can I do?”

  “Speaking of which, the car should be waiting for us. We’ll have to take our leave now,” Viktor interrupted.

  He folded the map and rearranged his jacket.

  “Mr. Cassidy, I apologize if this request offends you but we need you to give us a head start. The driver would
be jeopardized if we risked having you identify the car. If you could wait a half hour or so, that would be much appreciated.”

  Without hearing his reply the two opened the door and wandered out. Cassidy watched them go with equanimity, eager to recoup his bearings and stop spinning. To pass time, he looked over the cabinet once more and discovered another facet to its design. Hidden behind the back lay an inscription obscured by its position. Cassidy pushed out the cabinet slightly and shuddered when the motion made the bottles shake in their stands though they settled and remained upright. He turned behind to look, the inscription read: “Property of the Karkovian Embassy.” Whoever served as ambassador then had moved it before the war.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cassidy woke to a woman’s gasp, her shrill voice piercing through his bedroom wall. Her husband shouting obscenities reverberated in dull procession, giving levity to an otherwise frightening sound. The first week of the New Year was a stressful period so he thought little of it and fell back asleep, eager to reclaim his morning. When it drew closer to noon he turned on his side and groaned, waking with a depleted grogginess. Outside the sight of gray skies and light sprinkling stalled any effort at rising, causing him to turn the opposite direction and close his eyelids. Unable to sleep he faced the ceiling.

  Speaking honestly, he abandoned his responsibilities and became unemployed. Days stretched and nights disappeared, a phenomenon apparent in the passing weeks and disheartening when viewed in years; whereby vivid aspirations arose late at night while he succumbed to procrastination and sleep, something he only experienced during youth. Overall his existing comfort, however bare it was, outweighed the effort of moving on and doubt kept moving the date further. Decades of hard work trailed behind and vanished into nothingness. Free time allowed him to question whether there was a purpose in fighting for what he possessed when it felt like he could make do with so much less. If not for an endemic fear in life to avoid being left behind things might have been easier. Self-reflection led him nowhere so he turned on the television.