Hieroglyphs_of_Blood_and_Bone

by Michael Griffin

  After, Lily is first to speak. "I wonder what you came here wanting?"

  She stands, and I think I've never seen her like this since the beginning, naked and upright. I see her better now. The light has changed, or she's allowing me to see. She crosses to the table, picks up loose pages as if she doesn't recognize them.

  I remember her question. Does she require an answer? I consider.

  She brings back a different book, shows me. "Maybe what you found isn't what you wanted."

  Pages decorated with calligraphic symbols, anatomical diagrams of non-human skeletons, angry ink gestures approximating letterforms. This time she lets me linger, doesn't flip past each page too soon. This extra time to look and consider doesn't matter, though. The words are impossible to read. The characters must be foreign, or so small I can't focus in this light. Some of the animal shapes seem familiar, not from anything I can name, but maybe repeated from the other book she showed me before.

  "Don't worry," I respond, trying to reassure. "Everything you've shown me is beautiful."

  Then I remember where else I've seen some of these designs, shapes and runes. Not here in her books, but outside. Smeared blood on the rocks, lines carved into tree bark. Constructs of bleached bone, mobiles dangling from brown strings resembling dried sinew. These patterns, a common visual language. What does it tell?

  She takes back the book, sits with legs crossed, waiting until my eyes return to hers. "Will you stay? Do you have to leave?"

  I sense her effort at control, not directing me with words, but exerting nonverbal pressure, power simmering beneath the level of the audible. Also, there's the book which, even after she's drawn it away, seems to echo in my awareness. Contents both long-familiar and frighteningly new, tugging at my desires and what I assume to be my native intention. How long have I been under the sway of her influence?

  I glance at the book resting shut in her lap, and want to snatch it back. It doesn't matter that I don't understand what the pages contain. My certainty that it explains something, offers answers to questions I don't yet fully grasp, doesn't depend on my speaking the language. Its contents, expressive art and indecipherable text, entice in the same way as Lily herself. I comprehend, even without understanding. How much certainty is needed to grasp desire? A little mystery is allowed.

  Of course there's my usual need to categorize all I encounter, and I do feel uncomfortable, allowing loose ends to spin untethered to anchor points in my mind. How long can I let the unknown and unknowable ricochet around my subconscious, triggering dreams and desires beyond my awareness? I wonder, will I obsess on Lily's pages, the way I was obsessed with the woman herself from the moment I saw her, even before I knew her name, or anything about her art or her body?

  "I must have come looking for something," I admit. "You're right, but I'm not sure exactly what it was." I sit up, and realize I've been prone for... How long? Feels like weeks since I've stood up, months since I've been outside. No food or drink, no sunlight, just this room. The two of us lying here together. Lily and me.

  That need to categorize and explicate has been part of me much longer. But I'm trying to find a new way to live, different rules. A new map. I need to focus on telling, instead of asking.

  Start with myself.

  "My roommate, Karl, we're very different. He's tough, and simple, for better and for worse. He says I should be more like him. Lately I've wondered if he's right."

  Surprised, Lily laughs, the sound an unexpected brightness. "Try to be Karl?"

  I shrug, realizing that's what Karl would do.

  "He laughs about my name." I imitate Karl's drawl. "You're the least guy-ish dude I know, Guy."

  "I'll make a new name for you." Lily closes her eyes.

  This eases me toward sleep.

  When I'm awake, I wonder about time again. The barrier between here and there seems thin, almost nonexistent. Sleep is such an effortless thing, it's hard to imagine I ever experienced trouble. When I want it now, I allow it to happen. Together with Lily we pass back and forth. In between, we talk or we move together, bodies shifting from one state to another, an autonomic cycle without striving. With any passing of time, the hunger recurs.

  Later I wake to find her kissing my chest, my shoulder. Her lips softer than skin, so impossibly subtle, luminous in the dark. When I shift, she senses I'm awake too. Her eyes smeared darker than blood, shadowed the black of dead coals. Like slashes of warning on a stone face overlooking the river.

  I feel no pain.

  Into another strange dream, and out again. I open eyes, certain it's over. I'm home again. This never really happened.

  But Lily remains beside me. I'm still in her place, have remained so long, I'm sure it must be real.

  So quiet. I'm used to trying to sleep on the rolling surface of the Columbia. This river is narrower. The sound of its rushing is faint, maybe inaudible from here. Sometimes I believe I hear water moving, other times I dismiss it as only memory. A different place. Life is always a cycle, absence and recurrence, day and night, sleep and waking, breaking and rebuilding. Loneliness seemed to last forever, but was it really so bad? Now that it's long ago, the pain has shifted, become someone else's burden. Poor bastard.

  I watch her sleep, hold my breath watching her breathe. Sometimes her movements are so subtle, I'm afraid her exhalation is nothing but illusion. That she's not really alive here beside me, and only the inevitability of my own respiration convinces me she must possess the same need.

  Just as often I come awake to find Lily watching. What else does she do to pass time while I sleep? Sometimes I discover her up, moving around the room. Then she glances over, catches me watching, and I fall away again before I can speak.

  Forever night. When we're both awake, connection is inevitable. Bodies always hungry again.

  Sometimes she watches me for such a long time, I feel I should offer words. "I feel happy," I tell her.

  "What do you think is happening?" Lily asks.

  "Everybody wants something," I say. "Some needs, only others can answer."

  "You're happy because I gave something you wanted?"

  "No, because I finally decided. Then as soon as I acted, I found it. Found you."

  She glances away, toward the papers on the table. Her hair falls, a wave of incredible blackness spilling over her shoulder and down her back.

  Another sleep.

  For the first time in forever, I remember my work. For centuries, nothing has seemed to matter but the two of us, here. But I know if I miss work, Constant will make trouble. Though what I have with Lily seems enough, seems like everything, I know that other world hasn't stopped existing. I still need my job. Have to eat, pay bills.

  Though Lily says nothing, her eyes tell me she understands a shift has occurred. She sits up, watches me dress. She listens to me promise I'll be back, assure her that all I want is to be here with her again. As soon as I can. I want her to speak, tell me she understands, but she offers only touch. No words.

  "I have to," I say.

  Then I'm walking, looking back, too dark to see. I've stayed here all day, into the night. Maybe more than one day. I have no idea what time it is. So much remains unknown, even more than I realized. My old life comes into view again, I can't believe how far away I've been. This world still exists. All I left behind.

  The canopy of pines and firs over Cayson's house and driveway seem fake, props set up by some designer trying to ease my transition from one place to another. I find the yellow gate, stare at my car, waiting for all this to snap into clearer awareness. Some indisputable signal to convince me I'm back, this is real. After waking from such a lengthy dream, I find the other world hasn't completely disappeared, still lingers like a fog. Half-drugged, I struggle to remember. Where did the time go?

  I don't know what day it is, whether I have to work tomorrow.

  But this is my car. Keys are in my pocket. I remember this began with my plan to go fishing, but that's something I never ended
up doing. There was the river, and I walked through the trees, found Lily and then—

  Fell together, learned her name, and much more. Now I'm here. It seems ridiculous, trying to add up how much time passed. Between intimacy, sleep, and moments of talk, too much to measure. An accumulation of time, sensation and meaning impossible to quantify. Yes, it was better than I could hope. I hold it in the front of my mind, feelings and smells alive and brilliant in memory. I don't care what else happens, what I have to sacrifice. I'll pay any price. I'll go back.

  The drive home is tinged with that presence, another world overlaying this one. Sensations so vivid and pleasurable, I question why I'm heading home at all. Remember my car, the road ahead. Try to focus.

  Her skin, texture of darkness. Touch of delicate lips and tongue. Lily's sounds, light and deep, the grasping of fingers. An endless loop runs in my head, becomes narrower as I focus on favorite details.

  By the time I reach the Columbia River, this world still appears dark, but I can barely tell if that's real. Most of what I see is not my solid surroundings, but her phantom left behind. I may have to go, but of course I also have to return.

  Chapter 13

  Now that I know her name

  I've slept all the sleep I'll ever need. Now I'm home, another bed, a different river. Only a few hours until I return to work, but I'm free of my usual worry about what's to come. Whatever I require will come to me. Now that I hold her name, have felt her, known her, slept beside her, everything is changed. Everything.

  I remember her name.

  Lily.

  So effortlessly I slip between dreams, one to another and back out again. Alone here, now, I feel her. Even in her absence, I retain this newfound calm.

  This is something Michelle could never feel, or even comprehend. With Michelle there were no wild cries, no commingled sweat. Only constant reproach, the droning hum of indifference, the soft violence of unspoken disappointment.

  My hunger returns but Lily isn't here. The wanting within me rises, a brand of desire so intense, so vividly present, it is almost painful. Feeling of such potency is undiminished by her absence, but only hides within a mind's inner folds.

  Trying to wake.

  Eyes closed, I see red, imagine blood where none exists. Jagged red smears on gray stone, configurations of shattered bones piled, living heat pulsing within veins. Life spurts from urgent fissures, drips from fevered lips, vacates without warning. A form slumps, grows cold, waiting again.

  Where am I?

  Chapter 14

  Speculation on the value of a gift

  In the morning, my mind is focused like never before. My surroundings resemble the life I used to live, but the anxiety so long carried is gone. I feel capable of facing anything, unworried by all the burdens that made stress seem a necessary, constant state. A job where I don't fit in, a roommate who expects me to emulate him, even an ex-wife who only chips away at me. Everything remains the way it's always been, but the person at the center is stronger now, more self-assured.

  Already since waking, my emotions are ranging all over the place. Excitement, relief, worry. A persistent nagging urge to keep looking out my bedroom window, over and over, to confirm I'm still on the Columbia River and not elsewhere. Sunlight streams through thin curtains, the first daylight seen in forever.

  I get up, find Karl's door standing open, his bedroom empty. There's no sign he's been here at all since last time. How long ago was that? I'm accustomed to being unsure how long it's been since Karl last returned home, but now I'm similarly unsure of my own timeline. I don't remember what day it was when I left.

  Fed up with Karl's patronizing, and twisted up in envy and frustration amplified by yet another of Michelle's manipulations, I finally gave in to becoming myself. I haven't done as Karl suggested, but something better. Haven't toughened up, or tried to become more mindlessly simple. It's hard to believe I was so upset. Michelle getting remarried takes nothing at all away from me. She's the last person I desire. She possesses nothing at all that I want, except maybe my books.

  What I believe led to this change in me, this fresh start, was simply the decision to start over. I bought new music and books, along with tea and some pleasant-smelling things, selected elements intended to form the foundation of a different self. All it took was to hold in mind what I desired, take a few steps toward it, and everything fell into place.

  No question, I have to go back to work. I don't know if it's Wednesday, Tuesday or what, whether I missed one day or maybe two. Better if I just shower, get dressed, and go in. Whatever clownish bullshit Constant hits me with, I'll deal with it. He's the boss.

  One thing, though, I need to stop driving myself crazy trying to understand Lily. There's no reason she has to tell me everything about herself all at once. A little mystery won't hurt me. A few unanswered questions. Of course I feel a little exposed. That's fine. It's better than where I was before.

  Much as I want to return to her immediately, some part of me wants to stay away, to wait until she misses me enough that she's willing to grant more of what I ask. The side of me that doesn't care, that wants to hurry back, is stronger. Whatever Lily's past, however different we might be, she's worth the risk. If I wanted to play things safe, I could find someone like Michelle. Look where that got me. My earlier, more fretful mind keeps speaking up, urging me to stick to what I know. But that fear is poison. I have to be willing to break myself down a bit if I'm ever going to take on a new shape.

  All my strange insomniac fantasies drove me to that field, as if I knew Lily was perfectly designed from my imagination. Wild and mysterious, passionate as a force of nature. What is she? Forest witch? Elemental of the trees? Shapeshifting pagan goddess, or succubus built from dreams? I don't care, don't need to know, and refuse to be afraid.

  I want more.

  This goes beyond personal evolution. Something weird is happening, not just changes in myself. The world outside is shifting. Lily's doing things already, casting spells from her pages, or working occult experiments beyond my understanding. I think maybe her book contains the blueprint of everything that will ever happen. At least all the details of my life, past and future.

  All right, that really does sound crazy. I've got to get moving, jump in the shower. None of these details seem real any more. A job, an office. It's all absurd. I can't believe I'm even bothering to pretend. It should be enough just to say, I get it now, everything's been fake all along. I disbelieve. Now go away.

  Still, I dress for work, drive in, park, go inside. Jeannine and Tammy seem barely to notice my arrival, like I've never been away.

  Constant bursts out of his office. The women flinch, duck their heads and won't look at me. I still don't understand what's going on. Constant hurries up to confront me, shouting.

  "What the fuck, office girl, just who the fuck do think you are?" Constant shouts, red-faced and bug-eyed, hands trembling.

  "Seriously, boss? I..." I think this must be a joke, can't stop myself. I laugh, just briefly, then catch myself.

  He's not joking, not at all. He's literally spitting mad. Saliva shoots through gaps in his teeth and streaks his lips and chin. "No show, no call, no explanation? Then you just stroll in here like the cocksucker you are. Then you laugh at me? Just disappear, long as you want? Then just strut on in here and laugh?" Still gesturing wildly, nose reddening until it appears ready to pop, like an overheated thermometer in a cartoon.

  "I'm sorry, I—"

  "I own this place, you know that? And you're laughing in my face." He stops, breathing hard through his mouth, hanging slack, then licks spittle from his lips.

  "I didn't mean to laugh. I thought you were mad about Karl, getting us mixed up."

  "Not Karl, dumb ass. You! What do you think, you can just check out, check in, like this is some hotel, except here you get paid? No big deal, huh? You know it's my money that pays your check, right? You think you just pop out, pop in? Fuck you." He hunches over, out of breath, then ab
ruptly returns to his office and slams the door.

  Jeannine and Tammy go back to work. I plan to ask them what went down when I was gone, but I'll wait a while. Sometimes I wonder if it bothers them, Constant referring to me as "office girl," as if comparing me to the two of them is the worst insult he can think of. It seems like the definition of a hostile workplace, the kind of thing an HR or payroll professional ought to stop.

  I sit by myself, not working, just glaring at the cubicle wall, becoming angrier every minute. There's no way for me to fix this. I want to talk to someone, but I have no allies here, especially with Karl gone. I'm afraid what I might say if Constant confronts me again. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself it's better if I get out of here for the day, that none of this is my fault.

  I log off my computer, push in my chair. "I'm out for the day. Tell Constant he can write me up if he wants." I start for the door.

  Part of me wants to stop, ask for a sanity check, but what would be the point? How much time have I missed, really? A day or two, after so many years of showing up, doing a job nobody else knows how to do. But I don't actually care about the answer, can't even guess what day it is. It has no relevance to the world I live in. Also, I know from Karl's example I could miss a lot more time than I have and still not lose my job. Maybe that's what frustrates Constant into acting like a lunatic all the time. The realization he's running an operation out of control. Nobody has any idea what's going on, who's coming in, who's suspended, written up, or what.

  Neither Jeannine nor Tammy says a word as I head out, less than five minutes after I arrived.

  Briefly I consider going up to the Kalama. Not yet. I spin my tires out of the parking lot, turn onto Marine Drive toward home.

  There's still no sign of Karl's truck in the parking lot, of course, so I take his parking spot. The walk down the stairs, gangways and ramps to the dock is so long, almost nobody ever comes to our door. Karl's house is moored at the end, beyond all the other places near shore. The advantage is that beyond my window, there's nothing but open water, nothing between me and the opposite shore.