The Wall of the Sky, the Wall of the Eye
Page 22
The leader pulled open her robe and tore away her panties. They were old and ripped easily. He hurled the rent garment at the sleepy man, and it spread like a butterfly across his stomach and the arm of his chair. “Wake him up,” said the leader. “Make him watch.”
The sleepy man’s head was to one side, his jaw slack. His right arm was still curled up beside his shoulder where it had held the cardboard tube. Judith wondered if they could sense the peacefulness that came from him. She saw in the corner of her vision that someone had knocked over the cactus, and it lay beside its pot in a sprawl of pebbles and dirt. She tried to struggle, but her arms were pinned back.
“Wake him up,” said the leader again. He unfastened his belt and knelt between Judith’s legs on the sofa. He didn’t have an erection.
Judith tried to say, “He’s asleep” but couldn’t make a sound, and the effort drained her of air, so she had to focus on breathing again. Her entire head felt hot with blood, and her body felt cold and numb. The dinosaur’s hand was on her chest, pressing her down as she tried to breathe. She imagined that her head was bright red and her body white and empty, sagging like the deflated growths of the cactus. She couldn’t feel her body, just her bright hot head and the burning hand of the dinosaur against her chest.
“Wake him.”
She saw that one of the dinosaurs, the eye poker, was slapping at the sleepy man now. Another was behind him, lifting the back of his chair, then jolting it down on the floor. She could barely hear the sounds over the noise of the television.
“Fuck, man.”
“Is he dead?”
“Dead to the world.”
He’s only sleeping, thought Judith.
The leader made a disgusted sound and awkwardly got himself free of the sofa and the tangle of Judith’s legs and robe. Judith felt his handprint fade from her chest. He went to the sleepy man and lifted his right eyelid, carefully, like a doctor. The other dinosaurs all watched. Then he buckled his belt and buttoned his pants. The television still blared, but it was the only sound. The girl released Judith’s arm. Judith tugged the duct tape away from her nose. One of the dinosaurs that had been trying to wake the sleepy man was in the kitchen now, eating something. Another was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth with Judith’s toothbrush. Judith pulled her robe closed.
The leader picked up the mailing tube and broke it easily over his knee. The halves didn’t separate, but remained bound by a flexible curl of cardboard. The dinosaur who’d been in the kitchen emerged, chewing, and holding a big piece of bread. The leader slapped it out of his hand, and it landed on the sleepy man’s lap, with the panties.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Can I take a shower?” said the tooth-brushing one from the bathroom.
Judith tore the patch of tape clear of her mouth. “It’s okay,” she said.
“Shut up,” said the leader, pointing at her, but his heart definitely wasn’t in it.
Judith cleaned up the mess and put everything that wasn’t broken back in its place. She repotted the cactus, which didn’t seem any the worse for wear, and put it on the kitchen windowsill where it had been before. Let the new growth take care of itself one way or the other, she thought. She didn’t really need a bigger cactus.
Then she moved him from upright in the chair to supine on the sofa. She realized now how much better that was, how much less pretentious. She considered putting him out on the porch, but that seemed a little extreme. What happened wasn’t his fault. The television went back into the closet; she didn’t know who she was fooling with that one. She missed falling asleep to the sound of his breathing anyway.
At work the next morning she was alone in the office, wondering what had happened to Tom and Eva, and whether she would always be alone here now, when she thought to check a calendar and discovered it was Saturday. She wasn’t supposed to be at work.
The militia came the following day. It had been raining through the night, and the air smelled washed. The sky was gray. They massed on her porch, admiral, lieutenant, sergeant, general, and others. They all wore baseball caps or hunting hats. Quick’s son was along, carrying a pair of sagging duffel bags. Perhaps he’d been deputized, Judith thought. If that was the word for it. They knocked on her door, and when she came out, it was the admiral who addressed her. He carried a walking stick, and he gestured with the end of it.
“They raped you, didn’t they?” he said.
“Not really,” she said.
“Brave girl,” said the admiral, shaking his head. Then he raised his stick and turned to the others. “They must be stopped,” he declared.
“I don’t think they’re around,” Judith said. “They went away.”
“We’ll find them,” said the admiral.
“They can feel us breathing down their necks,” said the sergeant, chuckling.
Judith had heard of this, of militias going mobile all of a sudden.
“We’ve come for Danny-boy,” said the lieutenant. There was a note of sympathy in her voice, but Judith couldn’t read her eyes, which were shaded with a green acetate insert behind her glasses.
“He’s asleep,” said Judith.
“R and R is over,” said the sergeant.
“Besides, his mission’s accomplished,” said the admiral. “This position’s no longer useful—it’s behind us.”
How did you know it was in front of you before? Judith wondered. But the sergeant and Quick’s son were already past her and inside. They went to the sofa and took him by his arms, the sergeant saying, “Now is the time for all good men—”
John, Judith’s former husband, stood a little behind the others, on the porch steps. The younger woman in the overalls stood with him. Judith looked at him. Suppressing a smile, he held out his hands and said, “It’s true, Judith. A good scout has to stay ahead.”
“I don’t think he came here to scout,” she said.
The sergeant and Quick’s son had him up and walking, sort of. His head was drooped forward, and Judith could see that if they let go, he’d crumple. Yet he was planting one foot after another, moving forward. She felt a little proud, oddly enough. They got him through the door and across the porch, where John and the younger woman helped him down the steps and held him while Quick’s son retook his duffel bags. No one but Quick’s son had to carry any luggage, which testified to his low status within the militia. If he could even be said to be a part of it, Judith corrected. The sleepy man might only be a scout, but he was obviously crucial to them.
The admiral poked the end of his walking stick at the mat in front of her door. “What’s this?”
The sergeant turned his head. “It says welcome,” he said.
“That’s hardly advisable,” said the admiral.
The sergeant lifted the mat. “Might make a heck of a chest protector,” he said, sizing it across his stomach. “May I?”
“Go ahead,” said Judith.
The sergeant tucked the edge of the mat into his belt, so it projected like a section of cone from his waist, terminating at chin level. “Hey hey!” he said, beaming.
“We’re off, then,” said the lieutenant, moving aside to let the admiral use the steps. She clasped Judith’s hand in both of hers. “For everything, thanks.” Judith nodded, and the lieutenant turned away.
John and the younger woman had walked the sleepy man out to the curb. The rest of the militia trickled across the yard and bunched around them. Several of them put a hand out to help support the sleepy man, and they began to advance along the pavement. The sleepy man looked conspicuous among them without a hat, Judith thought. She hoped they’d find him one.
She stood and watched them from the porch. Soon they were at the end of the block, just a little black knot headed into the mist. She couldn’t make out the sleepy man, couldn’t distinguish any of them. God help him, she thought, then corrected it to, God help them. But that wasn’t right either. God bless them? God bless us all? Just before they were completel
y out of sight she narrowed it to a curt God bless, as though someone had only sneezed.
About the Author
JONATHAN LETHEM is the author of six novels, including Motherless Brooklyn, The Fortress of Solitude, and Gun, with Occasional Music. He lives in Brooklyn.