“Listen,” he said, giving her his hand. She quickly cupped it with both of hers.
“Listen,” he said again, catching his breath. “I think we’ll have to move out of Plissbury.”
“Out of Plissbury?” she said, leaning away from him. “What are you talking about?”
“You just need to listen, OK? Just listen. Things aren’t going terribly well, and there’s reason to believe that--”
“Things? What things? Noah, what is going on?”
“Julia, I need--”
“I have my shop here, Noah.” She let go of Stone’s hand. “You have your job. I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand. Not yet. We just need to get away.”
“I’m not moving one inch until you tell me what all this is about.”
Stone sighed, giving up. He knew that if he started talking that everything would follow. She would hear the impossible, and that wasn't something he could live with.
“You can’t explain, can you? You’ve never been able to explain a damn thing. And now, out of the blue, you come asking me to leave Plissbury?”
“It’s not like--”
“It’s not like what?” Julia’s eyes widened. Stone had never seen her face look like that before.
“You never tell me anything, and at times I wonder if what you do tell me is the truth or not.”
Stone remembered Eckleburg’s pleading eyes and the gun that he had held towards his own temple, and how the gun had distorted his face into that of a melting ghoul.
“There are times when I don’t know if I can trust you or not… if you’re even the man I think you are… the man I hope you are.”
Stone remembered how Messenger had looked the last time he’d seen him, and how angry he had been, an anger not solid like in the center of the boxing ring, but an anger spilled, wasted.
“Noah, listen to me. I can see that there’s something troubling you, but it’s so deep that I’ll never know unless you tell me.” She put her hands back on the table. “I’ll go with you to the end of the world, but only if I know that I’m going there with you. The real you.”
Stone remembered Grundy’s face when he saw the slaves come walking across the hall, and then he remembered the face he saw afterwards; the one that didn’t belong to Grundy, but to a man called Solomon, and Stone wasn’t sure if he had just buried Grundy or Solomon. He didn’t know whose dirt was on his knuckles; he barely knew whose blood was on his own shirt.
“You’re not at all listening, are you?” asked Julia.
Stone looked up, his mouth open.
“Not at all, are you?” she asked. She swallowed and the bottom of her eyes started to tremble. “Noah, what’s wrong? What’s wrong, Noah? What is happening inside of you that you won’t tell me? Why is it so hard for you?”
Stone looked at Julia, but he didn’t see her. He saw his mother and he saw his father; he saw a burning plantation and pillars of smoke rising; he saw a staircase where five children died, and in front of him, shrouded in his very own darkness, his own shadow, he saw their faces like blinks:
Thomas, Paul, Grundy, Frank.
“Why is it so hard?”
“Because we killed those five children!” screamed Stone, jumping up from his chair. He was pointing down at the newspaper, his entire body shaking.
There was a silence, Julia not understanding what she’d just heard. She kept looking at the newspaper and back at Stone and back at the newspaper.
“Noah?” she whispered. “What are you saying?”
Instead of answering, Stone grabbed the gun from his holster and dropped it on the table. He then unbuttoned his coat and displayed the blood on his shirt, but he regretted it the moment he had done it.
Julia’s eyes were wide for a second, but then collapsed into nothing. She gave off a metallic screech and stood, gagging as she staggered across the room, and reaching the door at the end, she began vomiting down the wall.
Stone tried getting to her, but she shoved him away. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.
“There is none of this that I can’t tell you about; that I can’t explain.”
Julia’s mouth was crooked, lumps of vomit down her chin. “There…” she muttered softly, her voice as if moving across the edge of a sharp, trembling razor. “There is none of this… none of this that I ever want explained.” She kept crying as Stone held her, and he felt her melting from his grip.
“Let go of me,” she begged, and he did.
She stepped backward, her face distorted. She turned and started down the stairs. Stone wanted to follow but he didn’t; he merely let her walk down the stairs, and as she reached the end, he once more imagined how it would be to see her collapse down the stairs, breaking her neck. He wondered if her death would be a relief or not.
He touched the bannister, wanting to feel her through it, but she had already let go, already on her way out of the shop, and all the mannequins seemed to be turned towards her as she opened the door and left, the bells chiming softly upon her departure like brittle pieces of broken glass.
CHAPTER 35
The waves splashed against the jagged rocks, and the water was sent in big gulps up the rising cliffs that overlooked the far, stretching sea. The sun was strong and hot, and the cliffs and rocks were warm and felt brittle except where the waves had hit them over and over again.
Two silhouettes of men, mere dark shadows against the vast landscape of brightness with their dark, brown clothes and sun-kissed skin, shimmied down the cliff along a narrow trail that led well into a little indent in the formation of stones, where a small cave had been formed by millennia of waves and crashing rocks. They walked well above the waves, but single drops of salty water still reached the bottom of their trousers and they looked down, as if surprised, when splashes of water reached all the way up to their face.
“It’s a mystery to me,” shouted Frank, his voice competing with the crashing of the waves. “Why you wanna go all the way down to this godforsaken place?”
“What are you afraid of?” shouted Noah.
“That the rock’ll crumble beneath our feet. It’s a fucking narrow road!”
“I thought we could spend the night here!”
“Spend the night?! Are you insane?”
A particularly big wave hit the cliffs beneath them and it sounded like thunder exploding.
They moved on, and as they reached the mouth of the cliff, the trail widened. The cave was dark and deep.
“Will you take a look at that,” said Noah.
“It looks pretty deep.”
They continued inside, and they were soon so far in that the sun couldn’t reach them anymore.
“No reason to go farther than this,” said Noah, but Frank went on. He bent his neck backward to watch the stalactites above him. He walked on, not looking ahead of himself, when he banged his shin into something in the dark.
“God damn it!” he screeched.
“What is it?”
“Just banged my leg into something. Can’t see what it is.”
“Well, what is it?”
There was a groan in the darkness. “I can’t lift it, it’s too heavy.”
Noah walked in to help Frank. He walked awkwardly walked around the edge of the object, feeling it like a blind man would.
“There’s a handle here by the end. Maybe there’s one by your side, too.”
Frank found it and grabbed it. They both lifted and hauled the object towards the light, its bottom still scraping against some rocks.
“Good Jesus, it’s heavy!”
“It’s heavy as hell!”
When they came far enough into the light, they let the box fall down just as another wave crashed into the cliffs outside. The box was made of a light wood and the hinges were rusty.
“Will ya look at all these stamps,” said Noah.
Frank grunted skeptically. “Try opening it,” he said.
Noah jittered
a bit with what was supposed to be the lock and it quickly came loose. He opened the lid and both he and Frank stepped back.
“Holy Mary of Jesus,” said Noah. Frank looked just as surprised.
The wooden box was filled with rifles, sabers, and other weapons. On the top of it all, squished by the lid, were two brown, worn-out fedoras. Frank picked up one of them and put it on his head, not moving his eyes from the contents of the crate.
“I think this is a weapon cache from the war,” he said. “Must’ve never made it to Europe. Or maybe it came back recently.”
“Think someone stole it and put it here?”
“No doubt they did. Look at all these.” Frank knelt before the crate and picked up one of the rifles. It rattled in his hands. “Do you imagine what these are worth? I mean, look how many there are?”
“Yeah,” said Noah, crouching beside Frank. “They sure are something.” He took the other fedora and put it on his head. “The hats are nice too, huh?”
Frank smirked, and Noah realized that he hadn’t seen Frank smile in a long time. Noah stepped back from the crate and turned against the mouth of the cave. He kept looking at the light outside and he wondered if this was what they had been waiting for. He turned around. Frank was still kneeling by the crate, looking like a priest at an altar.
“How about we pack away the rifles and get ourselves something to eat?” asked Noah.
The rocks were hard against Noah’s cheeks. He was trying to sleep, and even though he’d paved the rock floor with every piece of cloth from his backpack, the jaggedness of the rough cave ground still protruded well through. He turned and he kept hearing a rustling sound in the dark and he couldn’t fall asleep. He looked down at the mouth of the cave and he saw a little light as if coming from a faraway lighthouse or a firefly. The light was lighting up Frank’s silhouette; he was still wearing the fedora and his shoulders were moving up and down rapidly. Noah wanted to get up and ask him what he was doing, but changed his mind. He put out his hand as if to comfort his friend from afar, but he was all too aware of the bitter sweetness one felt when being alone in the dark and a part of him didn’t want to intervene. Then the sound of ripping and Frank’s shoulders moved faster, his arms followed. Frank stood, and Noah quickly lay back down. He could hear Frank’s footsteps behind him.
Noah waited until Frank had fallen asleep, and it happened fast, as if the rocks somehow didn’t affect his body. Noah slowly got up and walked to the edge of the cave. The waves had gotten lower and less aggressive and they carried the soft glaze of the rising moon. Noah saw little bits of paper scattered all around; some of them flew out towards the sea. He picked up one that swirled by his feet and put it in his pocket.
Frank couldn’t sleep for the cold that the wind swept in from the sea and into the cave. It had chilled him, and every dream that had entered his mind had been swiftly cleared away by the encroaching cold. He still felt it, sitting by the edge of the cliffs, legs dangling, waves splashing. The sun seemed to be far away, as if behind a pane of tinted glass; its light came in blurs, and Frank felt that he could look directly at it without hurting his eyes.
When Noah finally woke up, he staggered out to join Frank. They looked at each other, and Noah sat down next to Frank.
“The sun’s pretty sharp today,” said Noah.
“You think?”
“Yeah, nothing like I’ve ever seen before.”
Frank grunted. “You think we should’ve stayed in Plissbury?”
“Why you ask?”
“I don’t know. It feels like we made a choice.”
“We did make a choice.”
“I know.”
“We’d gone back a long time ago if we felt like we needed going back. I’m glad we took out like we did. I didn’t leave anyone to miss, you know.”
“I know,” said Frank. “Me neither.”
Noah moved his hand through some of the pebbles at the edge of the cliff. He picked one up and looked at it; it was like a little crystal, shiny and rugged. He threw it out to sea, and a wave crashed just as the pebble hit the water. He put his hand in his pocket and felt the many paper fragments from the night before. He wanted to ask Frank about the letter, and why he had torn it apart, but he couldn’t; there was something between Frank and the letters that he couldn’t understand, but didn't really want to know.
“You ever missed anyone?” asked Noah. “In your life?”
Frank shook his head. “Like you said… No one left to miss.”
“But ever? Not ever?”
Frank kept shaking.
“You never had a mother, did you, Frank?”
“No. She… she died in childbirth.”
“Thought so. Just that I never heard you talking about a mother or anything. You don’t talk much as it is, so it’s kinda hard, you know? Hard knowing.” Noah grinned. “Even this past year, away from it all.”
“You don’t talk much yourself,” said Frank.
“Well, no, but that’s just because you never ask me anything.”
“Well then, what about you? Do you have a mother? A father?”
Noah took up another pebble; it was black and with coarse edges, and he thought it might be a good stone for skipping.
“I had both,” answered Noah. “We lived on this plantation that my father’d made.”
“How come you ended up in the city then?”
Noah swallowed. “We… The plantation burned down one day… all of it, and… my mother died falling down the stairs when she tried to run out. My dad grabbed me and took me out. We came to Plissbury and found a little apartment to live in, but my dad never really found a real job after that.”
“Well, what happened? He dead?”
Noah found another rock and, turning it in his hands, he found that it was white on one side and black on the other. He threw it in the sea.
“He died too, yeah.”
“Long time ago?”
Noah looked at Frank. “The day your letter flew in my face.”
This time, Frank picked up a rock. He looked at it for a long time, and Noah wondered if he was deciding if he would throw it in the sea or not.
“Do you feel strange?” asked Noah. “Telling someone else things like this.”
Frank nodded. He was still busy inspecting the rock. “I’m not used to people asking me anything,” he then said. “So I might as well answer.”
“Makes sense,” said Noah.
They were silent for a while as the sun crept on upwards.
“It’s green,” said Noah.
“What?”
“That rock you got there.”
Frank was still holding the rock in his hand. He looked at it, as if only now noticing its color.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
They were wearing the fedoras. Frank knelt by the wooden crate and checked out some more of the weapons. He had taken out each and every piece, meticulously investigated it, and put it back again.
“I really think we could do it,” he said.
“You do?” said Noah. He was walking by the edge of the cliffs, outside the cave. They had to yell to hear one another.
“I mean, yeah. Imagine selling each of these. We’d have the chance of getting somewhere.”
“And where’s that, exactly.”
“I dunno, but somewhere. We can’t keep living in the country forever. There’s a limit to how many barns I can paint.”
“You wanna go back to Plissbury?” asked Noah.
“I think we could do it,” he said.
“Isn’t it illegal as hell, though. Selling weapons?”
“Of course it is. But I think it’s the only chance for a couple of guys like us. It’s not like anyone will get hurt.”
A couple of waves began crashing violently into the rock side.
“Why you suddenly want back?” asked Noah. He put his hands in his pocket, feeling the letter fragments in each one. “Just as late as last week, you were talking about going somew
here else entirely, starting over.”
“This is starting over… But we both know Plissbury. It’d only make sense.”
“I know,” said Noah. “I know… But we have to do it together.”
Frank stood. He took out the green rock from inside his pocket and said, “We’ll make this…” A wave crashed on, deafening Noah.
“What?”
Frank lifted the green rock above his head. “We’ll make this our promise!”
He threw the rock to Noah, but Noah, having his hands in the pocket, wasn’t quick enough to catch it, and the rock flew by him, hitting the edge of the cliff and fell all the way into the sea.
Frank shook his head. “God damn it, Stone,” he said. “A bad omen was just what we needed.”
CHAPTER 36
De Gracy's hands were sweaty against the brass bannister of the bed. His body was moving in soft rhythm with the repeated force from behind him, thrusting into him and moving away. The man behind him grunted, but De Gracy tried to stay quiet. He closed his eyes, sending him into a faraway world. Through a crack in the darkness, he saw him moving up and down and De Gracy held his breath and he imagined pulling his hand backward and touching his leg.
De Gracy opened his eyes and saw the flaking wallpaper, a shade of purple peeling off battered wood and hollow walls. There were moans in the building all around him, moving like ghosts through the thin walls and floors, and for a second De Gracy forgot what floor he was even on. The man behind him stopped moving, and De Gracy stepped out of the bed.
“You wanna turn around this time?” asked the man. De Gracy didn't look at him.
“No.”
“You still got ten minutes on the clock.”
“I don't care.”
“Fine, suit yourself.”
The man moved away. He picked at a neat pile of clothes and began dressing himself. De Gracy still sat on the bed. The man turned around, halfway through putting his pants on.
“You can't stay here.”
De Gracy nodded, but still didn't show any signs of leaving. His clothes were scattered around him. He looked at them as in a sequence, a specific pattern, imagining each piece leaving his body and revealing a little part of him. It was like walking down into a cold lake, he thought, and he imagined how the cold water would envelop his body from the bottom up. He imagined going outside, down the pier, and into the sea.
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