Authors: Jack Womack
"That many?" Leverett said, underbreathed; added nothing as Malloy nodded.
"These beliefs aren't to be toyed with in England," he
said.
"The others are generally of Willy's ilk?" I asked.
"Even those who aren't Scottish."
"Security's assured, as told," Leverett said, loudvoicing as
if to convince himself.
"A hell of a weekend, all the same," said Malloy. "The
freaks' ball tonight, the Elvissey on Sunday, the Guy's day
inbetween-"
"What guy?" E asked.
"Guy Fawkes' Day," Malloy said, grinning. "You don't
know the story?
" `Remember, remember the fifth of November,' " he recounted. " `The gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason
why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.' The Guy tried
blowing up Parliament, some time back. Didn't succeed. We
adore a good failure over here, mind you, just in the event
that-"
"All's controlled and will go as scheduled," said Leverett,
his voice rising enough to lend a squeak to his sibilance,
causing him to sound as if he needed a lube. "It's accounted
that these assemblies are invariably cable-covered live across
the continent. By midnight Greenwich time news of the
reamval will have globed. By morning, New York time,
Dryco's hand will have been shown."
"How's that to be accomplished?" I asked.
"We'll be branching the news through all info trees. Our
media'11 circulate suitable image and the event itself will be
rebroadcast as essentialled. To verify our claim at the
opener, we've a presentation arranged which should overwhelm so long as forecasts hold-"
"Forecasts? You mean an environad? Isn't that chancing-?"
"This from one who told me how oldtime my posters
were?" Leverett said, greasing sarcasm with petulance as he
shot his words from his mouth. "Bestill yourself, Isabel."
"How long will he onstage?" I asked.
"Ten minutes. Enough to show, sing, and say he's back.
Then he'll be sped away, to lessen interaction with the
crowd."
"Otherwise he'd be furled, likely," Malloy said. "Drawn
and quartered by his beloving multitudes. There's no S and
M like that between worshipers and god."
"Elvis," Leverett said, taking note of our charge's silence.
"What's troubling? Stage fright?"
"Bellyflies, I'd think," Malloy said. "All before you's dust
agleam in starsheen, E. Make-believe's mites and motes
dance before you as you will."
"It's too much," E said, his voice so distancing that,
against reason, I couldn't be sure that someone unseen
wasn't ventriloquizing his words for him. "I wanta go home.
Never shoulda brought me here-"
"We'll New York it Monday morning," Leverett said. "Set
about arranging the American debut-"
"I mean I wanta go home home."
"Your reactions aren't appropriate," Leverett said. "I've
said timeover-"
"Home!" E screamed; Willy eased his head around,
pressed his face against the glass and stared at what onwent,
appearing disappointed that his assistance didn't seem
called for.
"Ah, me," said Malloy. "For a happy land, far away."
E fetuscurled as before in his windowseat. "Isabel," Leverett said, shaking his head. "Handle this, please. We'll exit
ourselves. Aware us when you've settled him."
"Could be days-" Malloy began to say; Leverett took his
arm and guided him outside into the central office, shutting
the door behind them as they left. I waited until they were
out of earshot, and even then whispered as I spoke to E.
"We're alone," I said. "Speak. Tell me what's troubling."
"You don't care," he said. "You just do this 'cause you
have to."
"That doesn't mean I don't care," I said. "You've said
naught about homing of late. Why's the thought returned?"
E sighed; hid his face against his updrawn knees. "I wish
you all spoke English. I'll never get the hanga how you
talk-"
"Is it these surroundings? Is it what's oncoming? Why do
you want to go home now?"
"It's an evil world but that don't mean you should get
away with everything," he said. "Even if you're God, especially so."
"Agreed," I said. "But what-"
"My mamma never did anything to me I shoulda killed
her for. I shouldn't have got away with it, I shouldn't
have-"
"Did you?" I asked. "You're here. It's done, E, you can't
guilt yourself-"
"I still see her on the floor," he said. "She's still there."
"She'll stay there, I expect-"
"If you all hadn't come when you did," he said, "I'da
called the police'n told 'em."
"Would you have?" I asked. "It didn't seem so-"
"And I'd be gone now," he said. "Real, real gone."
"That's what's wanted?" I asked, discomfited to hear him
dupe my husband's sound.
"Always wanted," he said. "Always. No place for me, here
or there, I guess."
Taking his hand I led him away from the window, reseating him at the desk. Beneath his retrofitted mask his spirit's
remnants showed, revealing a gleam that no Elvisoid could
have ever caught. However younger he was than me, his face
showed greater years than mine; I keened my gaze, observing him, trying to seize every shift his mind made. He hadn't
cried for months, nor did he then; I imagined it was something he was no longer able to do.
"You all've kept me hoppin' so I can't tell which way's up anymore," E said. "I don't belong here, I don't care what
you all say. You all shouldn'ta ever come after me."
"Agreed," I said. "Nonetheless, it's fait accomplied.
So-"
"Even if I wanted to stay, it wouldn't be right-"
"You're talking of what's right after what you did to her?"
I said. "To us?"
"Somethin' got into me. I wasn't the person I am-"
"Who are you, then? Do you know?"
"I know I'm not who you all want me to be," he said. "I
wanta go home, Isabel, that's all. You got a way to get me
back, don't you?"
Judy's compact Alekhine remained in my purse even as he
asked me; when we were still allowed contact, I repeatedly
intended to return it to her, and never had. It was reasonless
to keep it; however well the other world suited John, it would
only genocide me as it had my people, were I to ever return.
Even so, I suspect I must have backminded the notion, sub-
consciousing my thought: convinced myself that if matters
here at any point overwhelmed sans relief, I had an exit
readied that I couldn't call suicide.
"You do, don't you?" E asked me again.
"No," I told him. "This world terrorizes you so much
you'd rather return and suffer penalties in the other?"
"I'm not scared," he said. "Not really. Just sick of it all. I
don't think this's doin' much for anybody involved."
He closed his eyes and grimaced, expressioning a look
suggesting that his head ached so much as mine still did. E
may never have learned our world's way; he understood only
too well our worldview.
"As I understand, Sunday'll be the main public show," I
told him. "Afterward, you'll be left more on your own. You
can have time to think, once you're alone-"
"You sure I'll be left alone?" he asked. "Everything Leverett tells me's different, anytime I ask. How do I know I won't
be doin' this every week?"
"The strain's too great," I said. "Not just on you, but on
him. On me."
"I just can't take it much longer. I can't."
"Perform as desired Sunday night, E," I said. "If I can get
you back afterward, I will. This has to go as planned. Once
it's done, once you've had time to consider, then we'll see.
Will you agree, for my sake if none other's?"
"You'll get 'em to send me back after it's over?" he asked,
monotoning as before.
"I will," I said. "Am I trustable? Keeping minded that I'm
Dero, after all-"
He smiled, without evidencing happiness; appeared to
have calmed, all the same. "Trust you more'n I trust Leverett," he said. "All right."
"Fine," I said, feeling myself drained of energy if not
emotion; wanting nothing more than to let drop awareness,
and fall to the floor. "Earplay, meantime-"
"Hey, Isabel, are you all right?"
"Why question?"
"You're gettin' fat," he told me.
I smiled; each day I showed more, or so I believed. As of
the afternoon before, my baby still rested whole and alive
within me. "I'll be getting exercise enough while I'm here,
certain. Leavetime, now. I have to have an hour or two of
sleep, whatever Leverett thinks. I'll be back this evening,
predeparture."
When I stepped out of the office I saw that John had
supplanted Willy. My husband looked as he did each time I
phoned him; seeing him fleshed and not screened for the
first time since we'd left each other comforted so much as
troubled, against all expectation. He took my hand as I
started past him; I let him hold it. His copy of Knifelife and
his fruitbag protruded from his jacket's pockets.
"We're hotelled together," he said. "Did you know?"
I shook my head; glanced at his face briefly, unwilling to
hurt either of us overmuch. "It's good to see you."
"Mutual." As he sat, and I stood, his gaze leveled toward
me stomachways; when I saw nothing in his look evidence
anything untoward, I allowed myself one final fantasy: that,
my absence heartfonding him, he would have reconsidered
our life together, reappraised its bests and worsts, readied
himself to lay claim to fatherhood, and so have finally regooded. It was a lovely imagining, and faded so quickly as it
came.
"You'll accompany us, this eve?"
"It's an unguarded trip, to lessen attention," he said. "If
you're back by midnight, can I visit momentslong?"
"It'll be late, John, and what'll occur meantime-"
"To talk?" His hand tightened around mine; the clasp
wasn't enough to hurt, and his eyes evidenced sorrow
enough for the both of us. I nodded, unable to pull myself
away before agreeing.
"Where's the event?" I asked that evening, as we streetshot;
the car grounded and lifted repeatedly as it careened west
along Oxford Street.
"King Charles Memoritorium," said Malloy.
"Your worshipers may strike you as being somewhat off,"
Leverett told E, who sat sandwiched between the two of us;
Malloy was jumpseated across, clouding the car with eyestinging smoke. "In pursuing your love they often neglect
their social skills."
"Social skills?" E asked, headshaking. Our car nosed upward, missing a fire-vehicle, pruning a line of palms as it
skied.
"Human interaction," Leverett explained. "Communicating one's desires within a multiperson context."
"Using implements, eating," said Malloy. "Washing at
intervals, if only to alleviate scabies."
E nodded, flipping curls away from his face and shades;
Leverett insisted he go wigged, to avoid speculation or com ment, and so E was domed with a mop-like tangle of dreads.
"Crazy," he said. Our car ascended another several meters,
shortcutting across Hyde Park. "These people about the
same here as they are in the US?"
"A global unity of spirit solidifies them, regardless of difference," said Leverett. "England is the nodal focus of all
theory, still. They've devoted more time here to developing
the conceptual theology."
"Like a caning eventually leads one to leather goods,"
said Malloy. "Sixty percent of the population here are believers, mind you. That's including agnostics; they'll at least
buy the tapes. No offense myself, El, but as regards pop of
the period I always preferred the Chairman to the King-"
"That's disallowable, as circumstanced-" Leverett said. E
stared windowways; I eyed the door's lock, certifying that it
was on. The car's interior lit up as we regrounded, whitening
within as if we were underwaying transfer.
"Here we are, then," said Malloy. The King Charles
Memoritorium stood in the north end of Hyde Park; was the
north end of the park, if its parking facilities surrounding
were included. The structure's searchlit hulk appeared as a
glass rhomboid, enwrapped by cerise and lime-green ribbons. From the neontubed cornice hung a banner proclaiming LONG LIVE THE KING. Whether the sentiment pertained to
the place's late namesake or to the object of worship was
immediately unguessable. Our driver stopped at the main
entrance, which was done in an engorged Palladian mode:
winking blue bulbs outlined the fanlights above the fifteen-meter-high doors, plasmas bubbled up the transparent
pilasters alongsiding; it resembled a jukebox, designed by
Inigo Jones. In less than twenty minutes we'd cleared the
detectors and entered the central lobby; "Girls, Girls, Girls"
was being broadcast at jet-engine volume.
"Where now?" I asked, shouting over the din.
"We'll ankle a bit, and sponge up atmosphere," said Malloy. The building's multilevels were all occupied by those convening. The Memoritorium, within, was reminiscent of
one of the newer air terminals, or of a suburban mall whose
stores hadn't yet opened. The London ElCon, hardheeling
as it did in the Elvissey weekend, attracted believers from all
continents; we'd arrived as most evening events were already
underwaying, leaving the halls less crowded than I'd feared
they'd be. Nearly all of those visibled wore participant ID
pinned to their chests, though as observers we wore only our
logo, and company name. Most people seen nondescripted;
they could have been anyone. That, to Leverett, was what
most problematicked, for how could what was hidden ever
be controlled? Others in attendance manifested their belief
plain, wearing clothes spoored by years along the Elvis trail,
or singing topvoiced as they strolled, earphoning tunes that
might have been favorites of theirs, if none other.
"Seven of the more agreeable groups are present, so well
as an exaltation of Interpreters," said Malloy. "That is agreeable, in that there's little chance of intersectarian pogroms
ensuing, though a certain friction's to be expected. Desired,
even."