Rory turned away from the house, and shuffled forward first, intent on exploring the lost blocks.
17
Flames had completely engulfed Anna’s building. She slept in the rubble. Once the fire crews saturated the brownstone with foam, gel, and sand, even the smallest embers were soaked, posing no more danger than the dirt at Anna’s feet. So she had carved a circle of softness where only the sand touched her. She left slivers of sight, holes in the makeshift walls where at near every height between lying and standing she could see what might approach.
The rest of the city still stood around her, but the ruins of her building seemed safer than the buildings and parks so recently, or perhaps only partially, deserted. The birds kept her company. She slept in fits and starts, waking to the sound of breaking glass, distant shouts, and alarms going off all over the city. She wrapped her arm around the bag that held the swans safely inside, and leaned against the remnant of an unscorched wall. Anna tried to pass out just long enough not to wake exhausted.
It had been years since she slept outside. The morning came strong and not so gradually as she remembered. First just twilight in the east, and then the next time she noticed, glaring daylight beat red behind her closed eyelids. The smell of smoke had lessened in the night and turned to that of char. She woke again coughing from what had built up in her throat. Her stirring set the swans to moving and, slowly, she stood up and looked around from behind her makeshift fort. McClaren Street looked beaten. The street was empty. The other residents in her building had left with relatives or friends, made their way to the city-appointed temporary housing, or wandered away into the night. Just down the block, Logi’s windows had been smashed, and the Municipal Rest on the corner also seemed to have lost a few of its own windows to bricks, and Anna hoped nothing worse. Guns were not permitted in Leiodare—of course, neither were birds.
Anna readjusted the small stun stick she’d kept in her inner pocket last night and scanned the streets, checking in all directions. She slowly looked around the block once more. Down near the Municipal Rest building she spied a pair of people approaching from the west. She crouched down behind the half-wall of rubble and squinted, trying to discern their nature. Absentmindedly, Anna reached out to the bag and gently laid a hand next to the swans inside; she felt them shift towards her. Their chirping quieted.
The one in front seemed to be a woman, smaller than her companion and with a lighter step. As she came closer, something in Anna unknotted and she stepped from behind her cover.
“Anna,” Seife said.
Anna looked from Seife to the man approaching.
“It’s OK. He’s with me,” Seife said.
“I know her,” Seife said to her companion. “Anna, this is Makisig. He’s a caller too,” Seife explained, “and a friend.”
Makisig extended his hand and flashed a smile. “The man in blue, pleased to know you.” Anna took his hand, shook once, and brought her attention back to Seife.
Makisig looked from one to the other. He cleared his throat. “I’ll check on the residents,” he said, turning towards the Municipal Rest.
Anna shouldered her pack and walked over broken brick until she stood directly in front of Seife. She wiped some dust from eyes. Her gaze shot up and down the street before settling on Seife. A tired smile inched the corners of her mouth up a centimeter.
“No call this morning,” Anna said.
“No,” Seife replied quietly. Her jaw tensed slightly as she looked over the remnants of the building. As Anna turned almost the full way around to look behind her, a small sound escaped the large black pack on her back. Seife squinted and did a double take. Anna jerked back around. She saw the question in the other woman’s expression, but Seife said nothing.
“They seem to be gone for now,” Seife said slowly.
“Who?” Anna asked.
“The ones who did this,” Seife answered, motioning at what was left of the building and the remnants of furniture that poked out from the wreckage. A single copper woman from the building’s tower had been saved by some providence. A large black bird flew in from the east and landed there, on the tip of a finger pointing straight into the sky.
“Why are you out here?”
“We wanted to see for ourselves how things were—at least on the route. We see these people every day and sitting in Smoketown watching the broadcasts—well, it’s better to see for yourself,” Seife answered.
“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Anna said.
“I’m fine. Smoketown’s fine. The rest of the city could be better—and you,” Seife responded. “You stayed here?”
“I live here,” Anna replied.
“I know,” Seife answered. “I mean you stayed here—after.”
“It seemed the safest place,” Anna replied.
“The safest place?” she said slowly. “You could have—”
A loud chirp was emitted from directly behind Anna.
“I could have?” Anna prompted quickly.
“You could have contacted me. You could have stayed with me. Or at a hotel or any number of places.”
“Hunh,” Anna said. This was the first time she’d considered that. “Well,” she said a bit uncertainly, “This seemed safest.”
The chirp reinsinuated itself in their conversation. Seife’s eyebrows went up and she tilted her head slightly, waiting for Anna to explain. Anna stared back at her. The other woman exhaled slowly.
“Where will you go now?” Seife asked.
Makisig approached from behind.
“They’re not there,” he said.
Seife looked at him, alarmed.
“Who?” Anna asked.
“The residents of Municipal Rest,” he answered.
“They were evacuated,” Anna said. “Last night, after the fire.”
“That sounds like a good idea. McClaren’s not safe now. You are being evacuated today,” Seife said, taking Anna by the hand and walking back to Makisig. Anna made no protest; still small chirps could be heard between their footfalls. Makisig looked back, and over at Seife. They shared a wordless exchange, and the three of them climbed into Makisig’s trans parked around the corner.
As they approached Delphi Avenue, Anna saw a lone security officer run up the stairs to an old city administrative building where flames burst from the second and third-story windows, showering glass onto the pavers below. A small group of teenagers dressed in dark dusters and red boots came tearing round the back of the building and ran towards them. Starlings. One of them, a short boy with a shock of dyed red hair cut into a rooster’s comb that streamed out behind him, stumbled and came careening towards the trans. His face smacked up against Seife’s window, his grimace of surprise and pain smeared into the plexi only centimeters from her face. As he righted himself, the security officer ran up from behind and leveled a rifle at the kid, squeezing the trigger. Just as he did, a second Starling tackled him, knocking his aim off and the shot went wild, striking the trans’ hood. The engine died. Anna moved without thinking. She opened the door and hit the redhead full in the back, sending him face-first to the ground.
“Fool! Maybe you can find a way of expressing yourself without killing us all,” Seife said harshly. “You set your own city on fire! Imbecile!”
The redhead pulled out a homemade incendiary from his pocket and from his other pocket a trigger. Anna heard Makisig get out of the trans and start to move around to her side.
“No!” the other Starling shouted from the ground. He’d stunned the security officer, who now lay twitching on the sidewalk. The larger boy got shakily to his feet. Makisig hesitated and looked down at the redhead on the ground. Anna kept her attention on him, one hand on her stun stick.
The redhead reluctantly put away his toys and stood up, dusting himself off. He looked at Anna with open hostility and joined the other Starling.
“No quarrel here,” the larger Starling said.
“Perhaps you’ve no quarrel,” the redhead
said, snarling up at his companion.
A scream rang out from the building. They all turned to the sound.
“Deed, I thought you said it was clear,” the larger Starling said to the redhead as the group of them moved closer.
A man dressed in office attire staggered from the building. The left side of his short afro had been singed down so that Anna could see the arm of his eyeglasses through his hair.
The redhead guffawed. “I thought you said it was clear,” the redhead mocked. He grinned widely, and choking back his laughter, took off running low across the lawn. He disappeared into a nearby alley.
The security officer struggled to get to his feet. The larger Starling saw him and ran in the opposite direction. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance.
“Will you two be OK?” Makisig asked the officer. He nodded his assent.
“We’ll have to continue on foot,” Seife said. Anna, Makisig, and Seife slowly walked away from the pair on the lawn as the siren came closer.
A small black bird flew above them, flying in long, slow ovals. Makisig turned his head up to follow its flight path.
“Let’s take a short cut,” he said. “Off the main thoroughfares.”
Bird songs twittered through the city, insistent and surreal as a recurring dream. The sound of birds and the trio’s footfalls disappeared and reappeared as they walked, drowned out by the disorder around them. The ground under their feet was uneven; abandoned bags and trash covered it, the things left behind tripping them up as they tried to reach Smoketown before dusk.
Seife spoke over her shoulder to Anna. “You have a secret. So do I. I’ll tell mine first: The second-most-often-asked question I hear at donors’ dinners is: how did you become a caller?”
Makisig made a small noise of assent.
“This is what I would tell them if they truly cared to know: When you burn something, what is left of it is free. It floats where it likes—between crevices, under locked doors, around obstructions that would stop every living thing with bones. When you burn bones what is left of them floats freer. It cannot be contained, but it can make you its container: You breathe it in and it’s part of you. So we burn our bones at night, so we can’t see the smoke. That way we can pretend that what we do is work—and not part of us. We pretend that we can walk away from it, wash it away in the shower, watch the grit swirl down the drain and go to sleep at night, seemingly as alone as we were that morning. No more bird than the day before, no less free.”
She had Anna’s full attention now.
“The only way you can burn hundreds of birds per week—pick up their delicate, beautiful bodies in shovels made especially deep to capture their wings and then put them out to bake in the sun—is not to ignore the clack of cracking bones, the stench of rotting wonder, or the insects that feed on the precious waste. The only way to live with this is to revere it. But you can’t be arrogant and revere yourself. You revere their sacrifice, their magic, and your own bravery because you’ve allowed yourself to know beyond the convenience of denial that what you do is wrong. I knew it when I was a child working the mound and I know it now. Only then can you balance it.
“That is why in Smoketown, those of us who stay, often call. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery but to revere, you must do something more.”
Makisig slowed his gait and turned around now to watch Seife quietly. He looked at her warmly and walked closer to her as she continued.
“In Smoketown, once they built bricks for Leiodare’s nostalgic buildings; now we burn bones. So always Leiodarans have depended on us. But as in most things I leave the truth unspoken when they ask me. Why?” She turned to Anna. “Because the question I’m most asked at donor dinners is whether it’s true that callers are gifted and understandably high-priced prostitutes.”
Makisig laughed out loud, shaking his head. The noise set the cygnets off, their chirps clearly audible from Anna’s bag.
“That’s my secret: one of them anyway. I think I know yours,” Seife said.
Anna stared at Seife in disbelief. How could she have known to say that? To share the guilt and the penance of the callers of Smoketown? Seife may have gotten the secret wrong, but perhaps not. Anna kept silent though a gnawing sensation began in her chest. She took a single long stride and pulled up flush with Seife. Anna dropped her shoulder and pulled the strap of the pack away from her, releasing it so she could swing the whole pack to her front. Opening the top flap she put one hand inside and the chirping quieted. Seife peered over, trying to get a better look. Anna opened a side pocket with her other hand and pulled out a few of the damselflies, and placed her hand back in the pack.
“Breakfast,” Seife said. “This would be a good time for breakfast.”
Makisig, Anna, and Seife rested under shade of a large mango tree and quietly ate its fruit. The black birds arrived in pairs, populating the branches above.
They reached the edge of Smoketown well before dusk. The sounds of the evacuation became more removed as distant exotic bird calls began to replace the sound. They walked past the African fusion restaurant, with its darkened lights, past the kilns and into the residential section. Underneath the nearest band of trees, a small group of people stood a few doors down talking animatedly. They gestured toward the city. As they approached the group, Anna could hear incoherent words cutting through the wind in the nearby trees. When people in the group saw Makisig and Seife they waved and several members hurried over.
“Where’s your trans, Maki?” a brunette woman in green slacks asked.
Makisig laughed humorlessly. “It’s resting. I’ll get a tow later, if there’s anything left of it.”
“There’ve been reports of rioting,” a young brown-skinned man said. Tall and handsome, the shape of his face looked familiar to Anna. He stood close to Seife and Anna couldn’t mistake the resemblance.
“To say the least,” Seife said. She hooked her arm briefly around his and squeezed his bicep. “My brother, Rene.” She nodded to Anna. “You might remember him from the club.” She opened her introduction up to the general group. “Everyone, this is Anna.” They nodded.
“Rioting has begun,” Seife continued. “And the Starlings are out.”
“You should have waited for me,” Seife’s brother said.
“Resting? What do you mean resting, Maki?” the brunette asked. “What happened?”
“Starlings—” Makisig began.
“We’ll leave you to tell the tale, Maki. Meet at your place later?” Seife asked. Makisig nodded and started in on his story.
Rene followed Anna and Seife as they left the group.
“Don’t do that again,” Rene said.
“Rene—” Seife stopped. Anna looked over at the siblings, saw the imploring in Rene’s eyes. Seife softened her tone and finished.
“I won’t, Rene. You make the same promise.”
“Done,” he said. He nodded at Anna, raised an eyebrow at his sister, and returned to the group.
Anna and Seife walked down the swept lane below the houses to the last band of homes, those nearest the invisible barrier. In the distance, the fence stood out clearly, defined by what lay outside it—the emptiness of the drying plain, but mostly by the birds.
A pile of birds, stiff with death, cascaded down the side of the electric barrier. It looked like a wedge of black, blue, and cream towards the top and a wide swath of desiccated white and brown at the bottom. Apparently they couldn’t cart the corpses off to the baking plains quickly enough to keep the pile from forming.
The flock followed Anna and Seife. They circled the grey stacks of kiln smoke and immediately retreated to the trees near the fence. The flock flew near the mound, squawking and spreading their wings, sounding alarms that went unheeded by the birds on the other side of the fence. They lay as still and dead as they’d been before the flock arrived. Anna looked up to the flock and wondered how long they would stay.
Anna’s gaze drifted over to the mound, mesmerized
by the simple horror of it.
“I thought the fence only stunned them,” Anna said.
“The fence stops them—sometimes stunned, sometimes dead. But always stopped,” Seife replied.
“You just leave them piled up like that?” she asked
“Usually, no. But lately it has been particularly busy. It’s migration season. When the birds—”
“I know what migration season is,” Anna said absentmindedly. She continued staring at the birds.
“Yes. You must,” Seife answered. She pointed up at the nearest home, just above them. A long horizontal window crossed from one side of the building to the next. From it, a warm yellow light fell on the shoots and tiny ferns at their feet.
“My home,” Seife said. “Please come inside.”
Anna climbed the stairs behind Seife. The swans were now quiet on her back, probably sleeping. Up above them the sky was clear and blue, the green around them alive with the sound of bird songs.
Seife’s house looked much larger on the inside. Most everything was made of wood and stone. To the immediate left, a half wall separated her bedroom from a large open living space of perimeter couches and an overstuffed sectional. An antique stereo cabinet took up the other wall of the open living space. Her bedroom space faced an open slate floor and a large kitchen with floor cabinets and kitchen table covered in a bright red tablecloth. Light filled up the room and two large ceiling fans kept a cool breeze circulating around the room. The open windows let in the sound of the jungle beyond the perimeter. Anna stood at the entrance, trying to take it in, but her gaze had stopped at the second couch. She roused herself.
“Do you have a tub?” Anna asked.
“Water closet’s in that corner and the showers downstairs, under the house.” Seife pointed. “But no tub, I’m afraid.” She looked at Anna a bit quizzically.
“For the cygnets,” Anna replied. “In my bag.”
“I’m sure we can find something,” Seife said and stepped back out, stopping just outside the door. “I will be back soon. Have a seat.”
Smoketown Page 15
