Elvissey (43 page)

"His baby," he said; I allowed it to pass. "If it's birthed,
will it live? It's chanceless, Iz, that's known."

"Unknown," I said, trying to loose my hand from his; he
gripped me all the tighter, and leaned forward, as if to bite.
"And Malloy's arranging something here, in London-"

"Something for you, Iz," John said. "I went unmentioned."

"You overheard?" He nodded, fixing a firmer hold on my
forearm, squeezing the muscle. "You were roomed here with
me? Where-?"

"Outside," he said. "If that's done, Iz, what happens to
me? Where do I go?"

"John, the moment spurred and I reacted sole. I'll ask-"

"You've exed me too, then? All've exed me. It's not as
written, Iz, it's not."

"Loosen," I said, attempting to draw away from him.
"You're hurting me, John-"

"Mutualities," he said. "How do you know he told you
true, Iz?"

"I'm assured-"

"People you've known yearslong have falsetongued you,"
he said. "Your workmates and betters. Family and friends.
He's truthed you? You know that?"

I didn't; there was no rationalizing why I should have
taken Malloy's word as truth, not after so few days. Yet it
wasn't as if propinquital duration effected overmuch, longterm. Malloy would comfort me, surely; so had Judy. He'd
secure me, undoubted; so had Leverett. He'd improve me,
likely as not; so had Dryco.

"You don't know, Iz. You don't. All people betrayed you,
save me."

"Agreed," I said; his bag's odor permeated the room's warm air. "But you never told me what you were doing at
night. That's horrible-"

"You'd have wanted to know?" he asked. "Our jobs were
always separate, Iz. As we wanted. But then my job wasn't
mine anymore."

"That didn't essential-"

"A dammed river has to flow somewhere," he said. "Then
people drown. It's nature's way."

"It's not mine," I said. "It's unlivable, John, I can't-"

"Understood," he said. "It's mooted now. The business
line allows, the private sector doesn't. I'll not be aprowl
hereout-"

"It's unmattering now, John," I said. "We're done."

"Agreed," he said, flipping open his razor, leaving it out
to reflect light. "Endtime, Iz. As it must to all."

His fingers closed round my arm; looking into his eyes I
saw that they'd cleared, and his blues leveled me as if to
fascinate. "No," I said.

"You know you want it, Iz," he said, drawing closer, seeming ready to spring. "You want it too. Neither world we've
tried suits us. There's a third remaining. One size, fits all."

"You want, not me," I said; but how often had our darker
thoughts singletracked? How many times had I assured myself so well as him to go wherever he wanted? My husband
smiled; his eyes sparkled so bright as his razor. "My baby's
alive. I'll keep it so."

"Alive now, mayhap," he said, lifting his blade. "How
much longer?"

"Until it's birthed," I said, flattening my back against the
wall. "We have to go on, John. If not together, then apart,
but we have to-"

"We will," he said. "We'll go on together. Always have,
and always will. There's no asundering us. Come along, Iz.
Come along."

"I'll not," I said. "Hear me, please-"

"Talk's time is done," he said. "When time comes, act. I
love you, Iz."

"That's the problem-" I said; he'd deafened to me, and
made no reply. Releasing his grip, encircling my waist with
his arm, he pressed himself against me, pushing his lips onto
mine. While he kissed me time slipped its netting, lengthening as if we were caught in mid-transfer, there in that old
hotel where so many, undoubted, had kissed, embraced, and
died. Momentslong I felt my walls tumble; found myself
adrift in his hold, allowing my mind to blank, convincing
myself that I would be betrayed again, in time, that I should
as well accompany and be done with it. Had he acted, then,
we would have tandemed.

"Time, Iz," he said.

"Time," I repeated, nodding my head, staring into the
sarcophagal tub. I heard the remaining dragonfly buzzing in
the room beyond as it sought any exit. "What's to be done,
then?"

"One mouth's not enough to our kisses," he said, cradling
his razor in his hand as if it were a rose. Without yet touching
its edge to his skin he drew it crossthroat, passing beneath
his jawline from ear to ear. "Like so. Ignore shortterm pain
and picture eternity. It'll be different on the other side, Iz.
It will." He offered me the razor, inferring that I should
make the first move; I pulled away my hand before I could
take hold of it. At first he seemed puzzled; then he grinned.
"I'll first, then. I'm an older hand at this."

"Yes-"

"I love you, Iz."

"Mutual," I said. He guided the razor beneath his chin,
placing the blade immediately below his ear; then he motioned an inutterably smooth, unfailingly perfect slash. For
an instant his throat looked as it had before. Then a red
waterfall gauzed his skin, cascading its flow from the thin
line he'd etched; two crimson strands issued from his carotids, geysering fine threads with a rhythmic pulse. As I al lowed him to douse me, I watched his face pale, whitewax-
ing; with a surgeon's still hands he pressed the razor into
mine, and I took it from him. He opened his eyes as he
began lowering himself toward the floor, careful not to so
disalign his knee as to unbalance himself; our gaze met
while he sprayed my legs. My husband tried to speak; his lips
mouthed my name, and he supported himself onehanded
against the side of the tub.

"Goodbye, John," I told him, standing as I had before.
"Forgive."

I thought it too dishonorable not to look at him; he stared
up at me as if surprised, but then nodded, and smiled. The
look of happiness he countenanced was one I'd never seen
him have before; mayhap, finding his peace at last, it proved
to be even more blessed than he'd ever imagined. Eyeshut-
ting, he let his hand slip away from the tub, and placed it at
his neck; with gentle motions he widened his wounds, and
then lay down on the floor's thick red rug.

Once he lay calmed I slumped, sitting against the wall,
holding the razor with which he'd gifted me, allowing him
to drip from my robe. Positioning him full-length upon the
rug, I denuded, and covered him with my wrap. Stepping
into the tub, I lowered myself into the cool water, unplugging the drain, turning on the tap to refill it while I washed
myself of my husband's outward traces. Shutting off my
sense of all that lay beyond the tub's porcelain rim, I reclosed the drain, and allowed warmer water to rise round
me. Lying back, staring at my length as if I saw it through a
distorting glass, I fancied that my toes appeared meters
distant; I pressed them against the far white wall as if to
break it down. My swollen belly rose above the water, its
truehued curves glistening; would my baby bear my husband's look, then? Or my own?

Then I thought of my lost men, and unexpectedly found
myself unconscionably guilted; should either E or my husband have gone their preferred ways unaccompanied? Un willing to travel with them, could I still claim not to have
enabled their passage? My ears attuned to their voices as
they sirened me, willing me to join them; wishing to be rid
of both worlds, at once realizing again the uncertainty I had
concerning Malloy, I eyed the razor I still held. Lifting it
before my eyes I saw my face mirrored; for minutes I let my
look linger on my face, staring to see who might blink first,
hearing most loudly my husband's voice:

As his distanced words guided me, so I raised it, grazing
the razor against my wrist, relishing its butterfly feel, shivering at its well-rinsed warmth. If husbands and wives become
as one blood over time, had not too much of mine already
spilled? What was remaining, after all? In the midst of my
debate I glanced through the wide window, and I glimpsed
a spark above the trees: distinguished a flare, a flicker, an
earthbound plummet, the skyward sign. Turning the razor
so that the blade's dull edge pressed against my palm, I slid
it back into its holster, and dropped it floorways, alongside
John.

I reclined, so that warm water would engulf me; felt its
wetness rinse my scalp, the drift of my weightless arms: fancied myself Ophelia, loosed from Hamlet, my mind repossessed, unwilling to linger overlong in the stream. There
could be but one messiah, and that was the one whose two
expressions I housed; no others need apply. Alone, that was
how to slide into winter; alone and free, if not forever rid of
the stranger in my head, free at least to show my child to all
who chose to see.

So regooded, I renewed, and rose like Venus from the
waves.