by Iris Astres
He took a small step forward.
“You seem to think you can tell me how to feel about you. How much I should care for you and when and for what reasons. You’re wrong again. What I feel is not for you to say. I am separate and in love with you. My intention is to be here, caring for you, speaking to you. Send for me when you think you can listen.”
Chapter Thirteen
He stood outside the door, a witness to her wordless grief. The mournful ahs and ohs seemed to slice through his flesh down to the bone. “Oh God,” she said. Or else, “What have I done?” The hollow keening brought despair so deep she choked and gasped and couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Malcolm waited in those moments with his face pressed to the door, his hand gripping the handle, willing her to calm herself.
In time, the pain eased into sighs. Momentary silences lengthened into longer intervals of peace. When he’d heard nothing for more than an hour, Malcolm let himself believe she was asleep at last. He tore himself away from Dinah’s room and made his way downstairs.
It was three o’clock in the morning when he arrived at Amin’s home. Could he expect to be let in? He didn’t know. He didn’t care how long he had to wait. The Body House was gone, which meant there was one person who could truly help him, and he’d never needed help more badly in his life.
Amin looked remarkably awake. Solange, on the other hand made no attempt to hide the fact that she’d been fast asleep. She’d thrown something over her head, black velvet with gold trim. It looked to be an evening gown, evidently the first thing she’d found.
They offered him a chair, which he refused.
“I have to find a garden,” he said, coming to the point.
No one answered anything to that. After a prolonged silence Malcolm made himself stop pacing and went to stand before Solange. “Forgive the intrusion. Forgive my tone. Please help me.”
“I don’t mind your tone.” She pressed her palms to her eyes and yawned. “Or the intrusion really. I’m just sleepy, that’s all. Amin, do we own a garden?”
“Land,” Malcolm clarified. “Just a nice-sized piece of land that’s relatively safe.”
“Nice-sized,” Amin said with just a hint of sarcasm. His clothes had obviously been thrown on too: a shirt and slacks, no belt or shoes. He looked, as always, just a little less forgiving than Solange, and still he pressed his hand over a metal scanner and his workstation buzzed into full activity. “House and garden,” he commanded, falling heavily into the chair. Malcolm made himself wait where he stood, knowing better than to hover.
“You don’t look well.” Solange pulled at his hand until he sat beside her on a sofa. “It will be all right.”
He nodded, looked around him at the reassuring mess. Amid the shawls and pillows he could see a hodgepodge of worn books spread out along the coffee table. “May I?” He bent and picked one up. The book was covered in fraying red silk. Malcolm traced the pattern of a dragon with one finger. He flipped through pages written in a looping script. “What year is this one?”
“1970.” Solange peered over his shoulder. “The girl who wrote it was in college. In love, then not in love. Then finally in love again.”
“What do you do with all of these?” he asked, setting the journal down.
“Didn’t I show you?”
Solange got to her feet and looked around the room liked she’d misplaced something. “Here it is.” She pulled her electronic library from a small table by the door and scanned through several pages until she found the one she wanted. The Sentimental History of Women by Solange Clay.
He tapped his finger on the title, saw there were other volumes, and showed her with his eyes that he was quite impressed.
“You see,” she said. “Not just a pretty face.”
Something in the declaration made his eyes sting. Malcolm couldn’t have said why. He set the library aside and sat back quickly, drawing a slow breath.
“What’s happened?” Solange touched his face and made him look at her. “Have you fallen in love, like Raj?”
“I have,” he murmured. He lifted one hand to the bridge of his nose and pushed down hard, closing his eyes against the growing worry.
“Amin,” Solange called. “The Body House idea might not have been a good one after all. First lunatics set out to kidnap our Backusian guests; then they try to blow them up, and when that isn’t happening, they all seem to be taken down by love. Did this happen on Backus? The love, I mean.”
Malcolm shook his head.
Amin was now looking through his eyescreen, obviously intent on whatever he was viewing. The only answer Solange got was a short grunt.
“Perhaps we should get out of sexual services, Amin.”
He paused and turned to her. “Too late,” he said. “There are three spacetravelers on their way from Backus now. One Body House already built in Region four and two more near completion in Region two. What can I do?” He shrugged. “So many women want a turn it seems unfair to deny them.” He set his eyescreen down and came to join them. “Earth First won’t last. If anything, they’ve given the Outlands the bad name it deserves. The area will soon be reincorporated, and when it is, we’ll set the law on these radical groups. In the meantime, there’ll be first-class security. There obviously should have been from the beginning, but I had no idea such a small and specialized group of interplanetary visitors could cause Earth as a whole to lose its head. We’re forewarned now.”
“But, Amin, you’re not listening.” Solange had closed one hand on Malcolm’s arm. The other she stroked down his back.
“Am I not listening again?” her husband said distractedly. “Oh dear. What did I miss?”
“Malcolm’s lovesick, just like Raj. Your Bods are falling for Earth women.”
Amin gave Malcolm a questioning look. “It only happens when you sleep with the same woman more than once, isn’t that right?”
“I don’t know if we can be sure of that. It is what happened to myself and Raj, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only way it happens. Where is Raj, by the way?”
“He and Jane live at the Body House. The back rooms were undamaged. Raj is overseeing reparations, and I’m told Jane is now the cook and very happy too.”
“Malcolm isn’t happy,” said Solange. “And don’t forget Raj almost died. Those new Bods should be warned, in any case.”
Amin studied his wife’s face and quickly raised both hands in absolute surrender. “I won’t force anyone to take the risk,” he said. “But those Backusians have been in transit for nearly twenty months already. They’re coming. They need sex. They have their sacred mission to serve women. What am I supposed to do?”
Malcolm felt both faces turn to him.
“I’ve no idea,” he said. He felt exhausted. Demoralized. Doomed. For a moment all three of them seemed to retreat into their unconnected thoughts.
“Did you find it?” Malcolm finally asked.
Amin clearly didn’t catch the reference. He glanced at Solange who, with a puzzled look at Malcolm, finally remembered. “Land,” she said.
“Oh yes.” Amin verified he’d left the eyescreen on and handed it across the table. “It’s been vacant since just after the war. They say it’s still in good condition, but of course there’s no real way of knowing. You’ll have to go and see. On the plus side, it’s on a hill. Isolated. Easy to defend. A main house and guest house with two acres all around.”
“Can you buy it?”
“I just did.” He gave his wife a speaking glance. Malcolm felt a slight change in the air—the intimate connection between man and wife at just the moment when a challenge had been met and a reward anticipated. Solange shifted on the couch and tucked her feet up beside her. Her breathing slowed with a tinge of lust. He knew the pattern very well.
Malcolm stood. Solange grabbed his hand. “You can stay,” she said. “Come to bed with us. You did before.”
“I remember.” There was no chance he’d forget the night they’d shared. But th
at was in the past. The future was what mattered to him now. “And I would love to, but I’ve some worries to attend to.”
Amin had the eyescreen reattached, and he was pacing. Doing God knew what. Malcolm headed for the stairs with Solange trailing after him. “Where are you going?”
He stopped and looked at her. “I’ve no idea.” Dinah didn’t want him. There was nowhere else for him to be.
“Take our car. Amin will message all the information to the driver. You’ll need to go and get the keys so you can greet your bride. Stock the larder. Check for snakes and hairy spiders. It is a wilderness out there, you know.”
“That’s good,” said Malcolm. A wilderness was what she’d want. Another conversation with the world. He let himself hope that would be enough to make things right.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunrise came as a relief, although she didn’t really see it. Her room faced west, so all she saw was black turning to gray, then blue. A slow lifting of nighttime into light.
How many times had it been night, then day? Just once, or was it twice? Could it be more? However long it was, she hadn’t made much of a dent in her depression. It still had her in its painful grip. She’d dragged an armchair to the largest window and sat down. For however much time since Malcolm left, she stared out at the concrete shapes scattered like blocks across the landscape. Ugly. Pointless to repeat it, but it was a truly ugly place. Leaving was a certainty. She wouldn’t stay. Nothing else came to her mind. No plan. No dream. No comfort. Just not this. She might have money to last her three months, assuming prices here were on a par with where she’d been. There had to be safe rural places in the north. In Region two. The great northwestern coast. Or maybe four. Go there, and then do what?
She’d known this day would come. Or told herself it might in any case. And her big plan had been “I’ll think of something.” Okay, so think of something, then. She could go up north. Get a job as what? A gardener or as hospital assistant? Waitress?
She felt like she was picking cards out of Cy’s game. So maybe she should be a princess reunited with her prince.
Malcolm.
Once she’d started crying, Dinah hadn’t really ever stopped, but when she thought of Malcolm, at least the tears were different tears. Less panicky. Less painful. He was somewhere in this world and that fact strengthened her. Somewhere in this sea of concrete he existed. And she could see him again. That’s what she told herself. She’d just call the Body House and make an appointment. When time had passed and she was whole again.
She heard a sound behind her. A thump, a tap. She turned toward the door and there it was again. Dinah got out of her chair and winced. Her legs were stiff, and she was slightly dizzy. Today she’d really have to find something to eat. More tapping. She hobbled to the door. “Is someone there?”
“Dinah Kelley?”
She pulled her robe a little tighter and opened the door to find a beefy guy in a dark suit. She blinked and wiped her face. “That’s me,” she admitted.
“I’m here to help you move.”
“I’m moving?” That served her right. All that energy expended thinking how atrocious her new surroundings were. Now she wouldn’t even have that anymore, and she was frightened all over again. Evicted. That made sense. Why would Amin Clay bother to put her up for free? It appeared risking her life for Citizen’s Brigade was about equal to three nights free in a hotel. Whatever.
“Do I have to go right now?” She looked down at her robe and thought about the things that spilled out of her open suitcase.
The man’s posture was rigid, but his face was round and open with the unshielded expression of a well-loved child. “We’ll leave when you’re ready. How long do you think you’ll need?”
How long indeed. Again she looked around the room. A bath first. This place had a nice bathtub and who knew what lay in store for her wherever she was going. “Can I have an hour?”
The man smiled with relief. “Of course.” He paused, a faint look of alarm taking over where the smile had once been. She realized she was sniffling again.
“Don’t worry…what’s your name?”
“It’s Carl.”
“Don’t worry, Carl,” she said with a small, consoling frown. “Crying’s my new hobby. See you in an hour then?”
He nodded, and she shut the door.
She took her robe off, shoved it in the mess that was her suitcase, and fished out something she could wear. Somehow when she’d finished, she got the thing shut again. Naked, she walked to the bathroom.
Hot water helped. She should have tried it hours earlier. She thought of Cy’s great gift to her: the deep tub in the walled-in portion of the porch, the heated floor and towels. The windows looking out toward a summer garden washed in bloom. She’d had that. It had been so nice.
Now, like every other place inside her home, the tub reminded her of Malcolm’s body, but the memory wasn’t more than she could bear. She let her thoughts drift over all the things they’d done: that first harsh, biting orgasm, the aching thrill of sexual rebirth. She felt it still, the hum of longing for him.
Memory and sorrow eased a little. Dinah got out of the tub and fixed her face and hair as best she could. Her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks were gaunt, but she was finally dressed and ready. For what?
To be kicked out. Escorted to the lobby. Shown the door. Had Malcolm changed his mind about her? Had she been too foul? Had he just forgotten her?
It didn’t matter. Kicked out was good. Her brain needed a jump-start. And anyway, she had a plan. North, and then she’d look for work.
She had her suitcase by the door when Carl returned. He took it for her, and she didn’t protest. It might not be a bad idea for her to save her strength. Plus, this kid clearly had plenty.
“Do you know where the nearest public transport is?” she asked.
He looked at her with both brows raised like she’d just outed herself as a weirdo, after which, he shrugged and said, “I think the nearest would be Stonehead.”
That word meant nothing to her, and she let it show.
“About four miles east of here,” he clarified.
“Okay,” she said. “Is there some way I can get a car to take me there?” She felt a little better now. There should be maps and travel guides and information centers at the public-transport station.
The man opened the door. Another man in the same suit was rushing forward to grab Dinah’s bag. “Hold on,” she said, competing for the handle. “What’s going on?”
The two men gave each other an uncertain look. Carl pointed at the car. “This is for you,” he said.
It was an armored car. She’d never really seen one, but she knew that’s what it was. For something built for safety it was absolutely gorgeous: a sleek swoosh of silver with black trim. It somehow managed to look cozy, like a bulletproof cocoon. Dinah was confused and very tired. “What’s going on?” she said again.
“Amin Clay sent us to help you move.”
Amin Clay was not her friend. She should insist about the public transport. It was undoubtedly a noble impulse, but exhaustion shot it down. Something in the bath, the scare, the sleepless night: her body now felt limp with fatigue.
“Move where?”
The two men looked at each other. “Another place just out of town.”
“Another one of Amin’s places?”
“Yeah.” Both boys agreed on this.
She almost asked if Malcolm knew where she was going, if this was what he’d wanted for her. But these kids probably wouldn’t have a clue what she was asking them. And she was too tired to worry what the answers were.
“Okay,” Dinah said. “Tell dear old Amin I said thanks.” She slid into the dark interior, and it closed around her like an inky womb. They took care of her suitcase. Carl and the man sat up in the front.
“Both of you are coming?”
“Two’s better,” Carl said.
She didn’t ask him to explain. “So who’s your
friend?”
“Jason,” said the man behind the wheel. He smiled at her in the mirror and the car purred into motion. Once on the open road the two men shifted into happy, macho postures, clearly enjoying the thought of a drive. Whatever word meant the opposite of ominous, it applied to her companions. If something bad were going to happen, it would clearly be a big surprise to all of them. Thus reassured, Dinah kicked her shoes off, stretched out on the leather seat, and almost instantly fell sound asleep.
* * * *
When she woke up again, the road beneath the wheels had become bumpy and the bench seat she was lying on rolled underneath her. She pushed groggily back upright, slumping for support against the door, and peered out the tinted window. She saw a giant grove of citrus trees. Different species. Different shapes and sizes. Lemon, kumquat, tangerine. Others with the polished look of sturdy hybrids. This was more a business than a garden. She still tipped her hat to the workers who were tending all these trees. This was loved land. She could always tell.
It was a hopeful sight. Dinah scrambled awkwardly toward the other window and almost toppled over when the car took a sharp left.
“Are you all right?”
She laughed. The thrill of waking from a peaceful sleep and seeing something beautiful had made her giddy. “I’m fine,” she finally said. “Where are we now?”
“Almost home.”
Home? The thought made her heart race. Before she could respond, the car took on a steep incline, flattened out, and slowed down to a stop. Home? Not home. But someplace nice where there were trees at least. And dirt. Maybe they’d found her a job, working on a farm somewhere. That was a good idea. She hadn’t even thought of that.
Dinah ran her fingers through her hair and straightened up her clothes, taking a quick sip from the water bottle she’d found waiting for her. She felt a prickling in her arms and legs. A thickness in her throat. This was her conclusion then. Survivable. Definitely. With dirt, water, and air, she’d live.
And dream of Malcolm every day, instead of seeing him, instead of touching him. That had been her choice. At the time, she didn’t think she could have made another one. Which didn’t mean her strings weren’t still attached and pulling. They were pulling more than ever now.
