The Almanac of the Dead: A Novel

by Leslie Marmon Silko

  Awa Gee had kept his breathing slow and deep like the lion-fish sleeping in his tank. He had taken a leisurely look at the sky. No clouds for a hundred miles. Perfect weather for the solar war machine. Awa Gee squinted up at the sun and began to adjust the legs of the war machine’s tripod. The glass face of the lens remained hooded in black velvet. Awa Gee had sewed the cover himself. The lens had been a prototype—one of a kind—and Awa Gee wanted no scratches or dust to mar the surface of the powerful lens.

  Awa Gee had not worried about passing motorists or people on the sidewalk in Tucson. Because people in Arizona were generally ignorant and assumed that all Asians with video cameras were wealthy tourists. Awa Gee knew he was practically invisible to almost everyone driving by or sitting inside the coffee shop. He removed the velvet hood from the solar war machine and adjusted the angle of the tilt of the war machine’s lens until a tiny point of blinding white light light was focused on the windshield of the police car. Awa Gee had watched through the telephoto lens of the video camera and counted the seconds. Suddenly the point of blinding white light had been surrounded by a flash of red as the interior of the car burst into flames. Awa Gee had walked casually to the war machine and turned the lens away from the sun. He had kept the video camera recording as he carefully repacked the war machine on the back of his bicycle. The police eating lunch in the coffee shop did not emerge until a fire engine pulled up to the flaming patrol car. Awa Gee watched the motorcycle cops scramble to move their machines and wished he could have aimed for their gas tanks while he was at it. But that might have caused suspicion, and Awa Gee was no fool.

  English words that he had once studied and memorized to impress a lovely English teacher suddenly came to mind: Euphoria. Euphoric. Awa Gee had never felt anything so powerful sweep over his entire being. The fire had made roaring, popping sounds loud enough to be heard over the sirens’ noise and the shouts of firemen spraying water over the cop car. Awa Gee had visited the fat brown whores walking Sixth Avenue, but he had never confused trivial amusement with profound pleasure. He was the mighty author of the comedy scene that had played in the motel coffee shop parking lot. He was the sole author of the comedy’s opening lines: a series of small pops and explosions. The best part had been that the police and firemen had no idea what had happened. Awa Gee had zoomed the camera onto the faces of the cops just as the car’s gas tank had exploded. The brown whores were delicious, yet one visit didn’t last Awa Gee long; but the thrill of the burning police car did not diminish.

  TURN OUT THE LIGHTS!

  AWA GEE HAD FALLEN a little in love with Zeta. Zeta had always made it quite clear to Awa Gee that she was not interested in anything physical. Awa Gee felt both of them would remain quite safe this way. Awa Gee would act out his love for her through his work with the computer entry codes he cracked for her. There were always the ladies on South Sixth Avenue for sex. He loved Zeta because she understood what he could do with computers and numbers, and she had trusted him enough to pay for any experiments he wanted.

  Awa Gee had tinkered with the solar war machine in his spare time. War machines were his hobby. The war machines he was most interested in were the machines that did not require electricity or high technology. After hours and hours each day with computers, Awa Gee’s mind had been refreshed by the contemplation of wind machines and catapults. The giant had many vulnerabilities, but the greatest was the giant’s massive dependency on electrical power. The giant had made a great tactical error with electricity in the United States; all high-voltage transmission lines were unguarded in remote locations. The first strikes must be made against electrical power sources.

  Awa Gee knows he is not the only one who hates the giant. He knows there are others like himself all over North America; small groups but with unusual members who would bring down the giants. It is not necessary to know more than this, Awa Gee tells himself; there are others of us and we will know when the time is at hand. No leaders or chains of command would be necessary. War machines and other weapons would appear spontaneously in the streets.

  Zeta was always amazed at Awa Gee’s freewheeling discourses. His black, slanty eyes twinkled. He loved to go on and on about the computers he had “broken and entered.” “Arpanet, Internet, Milnet,” Awa Gee intoned. “Mean anything to you?” Zeta shook her head. “Well, don’t worry, my friend,” Awa Gee told her, “these names are just a sample of the connections I have !” Awa Gee was drunk. His face was flushed from the alcohol. Awa Gee bragged about his employment record: it read like a nightmare—beginning with the best university computer-science departments, but with a fast decline after the Stanford job. His last job had been at a photo-finishing lab where he had presided over simple button-pushing amid deadly chemical fumes.

  Awa Gee loved to brag about himself. Zeta had to smile and shake her head as he rattled on about the secret German computer hackers’ club that called itself Kaos. Awa Gee had been in regular communication with club members until he had broken inside their data storage systems. Awa Gee called this “ransacking”; he said he could confess to Zeta because she was a friend. All his life Awa Gee had not been able to resist snooping and peeking—of course he would never do such a thing to Zeta! Zeta had only nodded; she didn’t want to bet on it. Awa Gee’s first task had been to reroute phone calls to Max Blue’s home and to the pay phone at the golf course locker room. Awa Gee’s system had automatically put the calls through a special relay modum that recorded the caller’s number and entire conversations for later playback.

  As Zeta had suspected, the actual calls had been nothing. The calls had been taken by secretaries, who were merely told the day and time for golf at the Desert Golf Course in northwest Tucson. But mostly the information Awa Gee had gathered for Zeta had merely confirmed what Zeta had already suspected: the federal judge, the senator, and the police chief all got calls from Max Blue. Something had changed; Ferro had got reports from their people in Mexico.

  Awa Gee had worked for months with equations in which he had altered slightly the value of one factor consistently throughout the entire computation. Over time, the error would multiply itself, and the enemy would be far off course before he realized anything was wrong. Now Awa Gee was working to create little “leaks” in their shipment pipeline. Zeta could then make use of the “leaks and spills” as she wished. Awa Gee’s small, deep-set eyes glittered. He needed just a few more numbers, a clue from the wastepaper basket—old printouts or a floppy disk—then Zeta would see results! Zeta visualized the layout of Greenlee’s desk and computer terminal in the basement vault. She knew how to get a disk from Greenlee.

  If Zeta wanted to throw a monkey wrench into the computer networks of business associates, competitors, or enemies, then Awa Gee swore to see it was done! Zeta stood up to leave. She could not be sure how much of Awa Gee’s enthusiasm was due to the beer and how much was lust. The longer he had talked, the closer Awa Gee had inched toward her on the zebra-striped sofa. “You are a beautiful woman,” Awa Gee said, still sitting but staring up at Zeta’s breasts. “Never mix business with pleasure, Mr. Gee,” Zeta answered. “Business is my pleasure!” Awa Gee said, jumping up to walk Zeta to the door. They had not yet discussed his plans to divert electronic cash transactions before they infected the rival systems with the virus. But Awa Gee had saved that discussion for another day. Soon Zeta would have results; whatever network of traders Zeta wanted to sabotage, Awa Gee felt confident he could bring them down with his software.

  Awa Gee’s dream was to create the equivalent of a hydrogen bomb, a computer program that would destroy all existing computer networks. He dreamed of a series of secret “raids” into networks across the earth in which he would use computers to destroy other computers. Awa Gee realized computer time-bombs alone were not enough. Awa Gee had to watch and work and wait until other conditions were optimum. One person alone could do little, but Awa Gee knew if the timing was just right, then only a few warriors like himself could change forever the contours
of the world. When the time came, the people would sense it; they would feel it in their blood without recognizing what they were about to begin. They would seize whatever was at hand and they would bring down the giants.

  Awa Gee had to admire the arrogance of the U.S. government. They had not been able to imagine that emergency reserves or alternate power systems might be needed. Always the assumption was “everything would be all right”; no matter what had happened, Americans believed it could be rebuilt or repaired in a matter of hours or at most days. But Awa Gee had intercepted messages between individuals who traded maps and diagrams of interstate power-transmission lines. The maps and diagrams had not been in code, but the accompanying messages had been, and Awa Gee had been intrigued. He had easily deciphered the code.

  At first Awa Gee had thought the messages might be one of those government decoys; but after he had monitored the messages for a few weeks, Awa Gee had detected no traps. The maps located the high-voltage transmission lines; diagrams showed the concrete and steel towers that supported the huge high-voltage cables. The coded messages with the maps and diagrams outlined procedures for placing explosives to topple the high-voltage towers. Awa Gee had been elated! He had jumped up and down for joy. He had turned to the lion-fish in its tank and shouted, “Aiiii!” He had been right all along. Out there in the wide world there were indeed others, others like himself who were making preparations, secretly working until suddenly all the others realized the time had come. They would know the time had come by certain signs. The signals would be in the air—they would feel it! No organizations, no leaders and no laws were necessary; that was why success would be certain.

  Awa Gee was content to leave the dynamite and crashing steel towers to the mysterious group that used code names such as Earth Avenger and Eco-Coyote. He monitored their communications daily. They became his favorites. Someone called Eco-Grizzly had sent out long-winded, angry ravings in code, and Awa Gee had worked on the “memos” as if they were great puzzle games. Eco-Grizzly and the others practiced what they called “deep ecology,” and from what Awa Gee could tell, “Back to the Pleistocene” was their motto. Eco-Grizzly and the others genuinely wanted to return to cave living with the bears as their European forefathers had once lived. To Awa Gee, such a longing for the distant past was a symptom of what had become of the Europeans who had left their home continent to settle in strange lands. Awa Gee estimated it took two or three thousand years before migrant humans were once again comfortable on a continent. But Eco-Grizzly and the others were truly aliens because Awa Gee could always return to Korea, but they could not get back to the Pleistocene. Not unless something cataclysmic happened, and if something cataclysmic occurred, they would still not find the pristine planet their Pleistocene ancestors had enjoyed.

  Awa Gee had spent hours each day and many nights scanning thousands of transmissions. All his life he had seldom needed more than two hours of sleep, and this had enabled Awa Gee to accomplish a great deal with his studies and experiments in computer cryptology. No one could scan as fast as Awa Gee. But Awa Gee could only scan for a few hours before he needed a break to rest his eyes. Then he would get on his bicycle or if he felt tired, the little motor scooter, and he would take a ride at midnight or two A.M. to refresh his brain and stretch his legs. As he rode around Tucson, Awa Gee always marveled at the wastefulness. Everywhere on the northwest side of Tucson, Awa Gee saw acres of new buildings in so-called industrial parks. But the offices and warehouses had stood empty and unrented since completion. It was about time someone pulled the plug on the waste! The eco-terrorists were right about that. Awa Gee was not alone. There were others dreaming just like him.

  Change was coming! Awa Gee could fee it! Chills ran down his arms and back; he shivered, then laughed out loud. He was the only one on the street. He was the only one who knew about all the others. As he pedaled and coasted, his thoughts had soared away. All over the planet there were other small, secret groups; what they believed or what they grieved over was not important. All that mattered was these people burned with the blue flame of bitterness and outrage. They would not have to wait much longer. Awa Gee had intercepted a long memorandum from Eco-Kamikaze. In what appeared to be a farewell memorandum, Eco-Kamikaze had announced that “he was going out on a limb”: Machine-gun station wagons driven by pregnant mothers of five; build a wall across the U.S.’s southern border to keep out all the “little brown people.” Then Eco-Kamikaze had got down to the substance of his memorandum: don’t linger with an expensive, painful post industrial malignancy in your brain or liver; and don’t just swallow that handful of capsules or connect a hose to the auto exhaust; “contact us first!”

  Balls to the wall, U.S.A.! Awa Gee was gleeful. The eco-terrorists were recruiting the terminal and dying, the suicides and the eco-true believers who were fed up, who saw the approach of the end of nature and who wanted to do some good on their way out. The eco-terrorists were making final plans: kamikaze hang-gliders and kamikaze balloonists to bomb the White House; trained dogs with payloads of TNT strapped to their bellies; eco-kamikazes in wheelchairs wearing vests of plastic explosives outside the U.S. Supreme Court building. Awa Gee could hardly believe what he was reading. Political assassination was of limited interest to Awa Gee, although he thought the U.S. Supreme Court was a very good place to begin. Human bombs had been sent to great hydroelectric dams and electrical generation plants across the United States. The human bombs would leap at the most strategic points of the dam’s structure. All the interstate power transmission lines had been scheduled to go down simultaneously after the dams had been destroyed.

  Zeta had left Awa Gee hunched over a computer terminal muttering to himself. Zeta agreed with Awa Gee; they must secretly try to aid Eco-Grizzly and the others in their efforts to hit interstate power lines, dams, and power plants all at once. Awa Gee had developed a computer virus to disable the emergency reroute systems in computers of regional power stations so the U.S. blackout would be complete. But before Awa Gee could investigate any further the “cocaine for guns” transactions, he needed more numbers. Awa Gee didn’t try to weasel money from Zeta, only more numbers. Now Zeta would have to decide what to do before she visited Greenlee. She had thought about driving past Calabazas’s place to talk to him, but she drove back to the ranch instead; there were too many people coming and going at Calabazas’s place. Anyway, the decision didn’t really involve anyone but Zeta.

  FERRO IN LOVE

  FERRO HAD SPENT as much time as possible away from the ranch house since Lecha had returned. The bitch thought she could appear out of the blue in a taxi one day and pick up where she had left off. Ferro had never felt he had a mother; Zeta had always made it clear she was a stand-in for Lecha. He was not sure how he felt about either of them. Ferro had rented a town house on Ina Road after Lecha had returned. Paulie was left back at the ranch to sleep in Ferro’s room. Ferro drove to the ranch each morning. He could not sleep under the same roof with Lecha. Her sudden appearances and disappearances throughout his childhood had triggered nightmares and bed-wetting.

  Ferro had told Paulie nothing about Jamey’s moving into the town house with him, but Paulie had sensed a rival almost at once. Ferro hated the puffy, bloodshot eyes staring at him mournfully.

  Ferro had thought Jamey was too beautiful even to consider him. Ferro was thick around the belly and face while Jamey was lean and blond and perfectly proportioned.

  Jamey said himself he was no Einstein. The university was only a place he and friends of his had heard about for good parties. But even when Jamey did not bother to go to his classes, Ferro had not been able to get over the awful feeling Jamey would find a new lover on campus, someone who was as blond, slender, and blue eyed as Jamey. Ferro could not stop making comparisons between Jamey and a runt like Paulie. Paulie was rough trade; Paulie was a sucker. Whatever white powder or substance was put before him, Paulie had lapped it up. Paulie had a grimy face and the close-set eyes of a rodent. Paulie had wandered
up like a stray dog that got fed and had stayed. Ferro had never wanted Paulie. Paulie had only been there to work for the old woman, Zeta.

  Later Ferro recalled conversations with Jamey; and Ferro hated himself for not guessing Jamey’s secret then. Ferro blamed distractions for his lapse: Lecha’s unexpected return, the unrest and the U.S. troops along the border; Jamey himself had been a distraction. The mere sound of Jamey’s name had caused Ferro’s heart to beat faster and sent chills down his neck. Ferro had never been so in love before. He had been consumed with pleasure as long as Jamey had remained close by; but if Jamey was away, Ferro’s pleasure had suddenly given way to the most terrible sensations of doubt and fear that somehow Jamey and Jamey’s love for him were about to be lost.

  Ferro savored each moment and all the pleasure he got with Jamey. Jamey and Ferro. Ferro and Jamey. Ferro wanted to stop Jamey’s nights on the town without him. Ferro had offered to match whatever “Perry” paid Jamey for the drops and pickups, but Jamey had lightheartedly refused. Ferro was reacting to the stress and the pressure, Jamey said. There were important details Ferro could not work out when his mind was always whispering, “Jamey, Jamey.” It seemed funny how Jamey had eclipsed all the rest of it—the return of Lecha, the trouble with Max Blue, even the rumors of war in Mexico. Ferro was relieved he was about to retire. He did not want to take any chances of losing Jamey; all the nights Ferro had to spend with Paulie moving shipments might jeopardize their love. The reappearance of worthless Lecha was another sign it was time for him to retire with Jamey and enjoy life far from the dirt landing strips and desert jeep trails. Ferro wanted to escape the stink of women in the ranch house. Zeta had always said half was his. Half of all the gold and the guns Zeta had hidden in abandoned mine shafts on the ranch property. He would finance Jamey’s calendars, and later they might branch out and publish a men’s magazine. As magazine publishers, they would travel the world together. Ferro was glad to take his share before Zeta gave away all of it to the Mexican rebel Indians or worse, to the new religious cult founded by the twin brothers who took their orders from two blue macaws.