Inside the compartment was a sofa, and I sat on it
and examined some of the things that had fallen out of boxes. There
were all sorts of little things. Some I could identify, some looked
vaguely familiar, and some were a mystery. But I liked all of them
and was glad to have them. It wouldn’t be so bad here, if I had
some objects to look at, some things to learn about and study. My
heart leaped as I thought there might be books in some of the
boxes; I had been able to read the signs outside, so I thought I
could probably read more complicated things, and even if it was
hard, getting more practice and learning to read better would give
me something to do.
It still made me a little sad to be locked in here,
but as I sat there looking at an album full of pictures and running
my hand over an old quilt, I had to admit that even if the gate
were open, I wouldn’t know where to go. I had no idea what was out
there. There could be things that were dangerous—wild animals or
violent people or even fire. I shivered when I remembered that Will
and Milton had built a fire at night when we were walking here. It
had scared me almost as much as being near Milton. I looked at all
the boxes, and I thought that for a while, maybe a long while, this
would be a really nice and safe place to stay and learn about the
world. Maybe later I could go out and see other things, once I’d
learned what was safe and how to get around better, and if they’d
let me.
I looked sideways at Milton and Will, trying not to
let them notice that I was looking at them, letting them think I
was focused on the things in the compartment. They, on the other
hand, made no attempt to conceal how fascinated they were by
watching my every move.
“Why’s he different from the others?” Will asked
Milton quietly. “It’s like he remembers things from when he was
normal,”
I didn’t know what he meant by that. I know more
now, but I still don’t understand everything that happened or why
some people are different from others. I don’t remember enough of
it to understand. I still think I am normal, even today. So are
these people in here with me. We’re different from the people who
can talk, but we’re all different from each other, and they’re
different from one another, too. I didn’t like the way they watched
me, and talked like I was so different, or even that there was
something wrong with us. I remembered that we’d killed and eaten
some people, so maybe we deserved to be punished, but there was
something else in how they talked that made it wrong. I’d forgotten
the word, but I read it in a book later—”condescension.” It made me
feel a little angry and insulted, but I had to admit that whether
or not one could talk seemed to make a big difference in how one
got along with others. Maybe it was an accurate measure of our
worth, and whether we were good or bad people. Besides, Milton and
Will had opened the doors for me. Maybe they weren’t so bad. I
didn’t want to be angry at them.
“I’ve been studying them more than you have, Will,”
Milton answered him. “I’ve had more time, since I started rounding
them up. I’m out here with them for days and days.” He shook his
head. “It seems to affect each one differently. Some of them are
worse than the wildest animals. They’re violent, completely alone
even when they’re in a crowd, lashing out at others and even
hurting themselves. And others—they look at me and at each other
like they love and trust everyone. I know it’d be different if they
saw a normal person and their hunger took over, but with each
other, at least some of them are peaceful and content.”
Now Milton was confusing me even more, because he
said we were nice around him, but not around “normal” people—but
then what was he?
“For all we know, some of them are gentler and more
humane now than when they were alive.”
I still didn’t understand—was I a nicer person now
than before I woke up? But what was I before then? If I were alive
then, what was I now? I’m still not sure.
“And some of them seem to remember a great deal.
They recognize each other, and they hold on to things, and I think
they’re happy, in a way. That’s why I wanted to keep these ones
apart. I think they’ll be happier here. And the violent ones can do
what it is they like to do somewhere else—biting and scratching and
tearing at things. And the living can be safe. Things are the way
they should be, I think.”
Will shook his head. “If you say so, Milton. Just
seems weird to me.”
“It’s not that different than what we’ve been doing
with our own dead. We don’t put them down or just herd them in with
others—we put them somewhere safe.”
“I know, Milton, but we knew those people. You said
it was just too mean and impersonal to treat them like the others.
But even that’s a lot of trouble and danger to go to, even if you
knew the person. For these ones we don’t even know, it doesn’t seem
like it’s worth it.”
Milton smiled and shook his head. “I think sometimes
you sound more like Jack than Jonah. Don’t you see that it’s no
real trouble for me to take care of these people more carefully,
spend more time with them? And if it makes them happier, then of
course it’s worth it.”
I wanted to nod, and I really wanted to say
something out loud, but I also didn’t want them to know I was
listening.
“I don’t know how happy dead people can be,
Milton.”
Milton smiled again. He had the most peculiar smile,
and he seemed to smile a lot. “That’s funny, Will, because I often
wonder the same thing about living people. I haven’t noticed much
difference. I believe Jonah will remember better than I do that
there’s an old saying somewhere that we can’t be sure someone’s
happy until he’s dead.” He waved the younger man away. “Come, let’s
leave him alone. It seems rude to stand and stare at him. If you
choose not to call him happy, that’s fine. He’s at least safe from
us, and we’re safe from him, and that is certainly a good
thing.”
They walked away and left me with all the new things
I had found. I spent all that day going through boxes, and I didn’t
even finish with everything in that first storage unit. I could see
that there must be dozens more in all the buildings, so I knew I’d
be busy for weeks or even months. I cleared a space near the door,
so I could sit on the sofa there, and I put a couple chairs in
front of the sofa, though none of the others seemed to want to sit
down, or really look closely at anything I’d found. They would just
wander in, pick something up, drop it, and wander back out. After a
while, I hid all the breakable things, or there’d be nothing left
but broken little bits all over. I wasn’t sure what we’d ever need
glasses or dishes for, but I got tired of seeing everything just
shatter on the concrete into useless little pieces.
I found some clothes and I could finally get out of
the bloody, torn ones that I’d been wearing for so long. As I took
off the bloody jacket, a wallet fell out of the pocket. I picked it
up and looked at the contents. It held money, and I thought I
understood what money was for, but I couldn’t fit it into how
things worked in the real world. I knew you were supposed to give
money to other people to get things from them, but I didn’t see how
or why that was possible. Like the stuff in the storage unit,
things just sat around and people could pick them up—why would you
have to give someone something in order to get what you wanted? I
understood trading: I’d already enticed some of the other people to
give up a fragile object by offering them something else in
exchange for it, so I could get it away from them before they broke
it. But I really couldn’t understand why someone would give up
something in exchange for these little pieces of paper. The pieces
of money were sort of pretty, but there were lots of prettier
pictures you could trade.
In the wallet, I also found a couple of little
plastic cards with numbers on them. I remembered that these were
like money, only their operation was even stranger and more
mysterious, because when you gave one of these cards to people,
they wouldn’t keep it, like they would money. Instead, they would
give you what you wanted, plus give the little card back to you.
Both the money and the little plastic cards made me feel uneasy in
some way, and I stuffed them back in the wallet and then stuck the
wallet between the cushions of the sofa.
Besides these, there were two other plastic cards
with a picture of a man on them. I had found a mirror among all the
stuff and I looked until I found it again, which took me a minute,
as I had hidden it with the other breakable things. The picture was
of me, though I had to touch my face, it looked so dry and grey
compared to the picture. But it was definitely me. Both these and
the other cards also all had the same name on them—”Wade Truman.”
It was my funniest experience yet, as I concluded it must be my
name, but of all the things I’d seen and heard so far, this one
held less familiarity than many others.
I tried to make the sounds of the name, in case
hearing it would help me remember, but of course it didn’t come out
right, so that was no help. I just had no connection between the
name and myself. I thought the first name reminded me of water and
I thought that was good, as I always felt so dry and thirsty all
the time and it’d be nice to have a name that sounded like
something as good and pure as water. And I knew there had been a
president named Truman, but that was a long time ago, and I wasn’t
even sure what a president did and I was pretty sure there weren’t
any anymore, at least not around here.
One of the cards had “Department of Motor Vehicles”
at the top, and the other read “Stony Ridge College” above my
picture. I knew the general implications of these places, but not
how they specifically related to me. I knew what a car was and that
this card proved I knew how to drive one, but I didn’t remember if
I had a car, or what it was like, or how it felt to drive it. And I
knew what a college was, but I didn’t remember being in one or what
I did there, but I suspected, since I knew so many strange facts
and ideas, that maybe I was a professor. That seemed kind of nice,
though I suspected that, like presidents, there probably weren’t
any of those around anymore.
Unlike the other cards or the money, the ones with
my picture didn’t make me uneasy. In fact, I sort of liked them, so
I put them in the pocket of the new pants after I put them on. I
felt a little funny, getting undressed there in the open, but once
Milton and Will had left, I didn’t really feel like I was being
watched, even though the other people who couldn’t talk milled
around near me. The other clothes I put on weren’t new, of course,
but they were old clothes that had been packed in big plastic bags,
so they were dry and clean, and not all stiff from caked-on, dried
blood, like the ones I discarded. These clothes smelled nice, too,
like soap, and I had to admit that everything on me and on the
other people around me smelled foul. Our clothes were dry, dusty,
used up, like dead leaves—not even the wet, slimy kind you find in
puddles or under other leaves, but the dry, brittle kind that are
getting closer to being dust than they are to being leaves anymore.
I was glad to have new clothes.
They were kind of loose on me, but I thought they
looked nice enough. There was a flannel shirt and some pants and
they felt coarse, but also comforting, like a scratchy blanket. It
took me forever to negotiate the buttons, both on the clothes I was
removing, and even more so on those I was putting on, because with
those, I didn’t want to tear any buttons off as I fastened them. I
got so frustrated when I’d gotten part way through and saw I had
more buttons than holes left to match up with them, so I had to
undo them, line them up right, and start over. But by the time the
sun went down—which was pretty late, because it was getting to be
almost summer—I had everything on, even some comfortable shoes.
I would’ve said it was time for a walk, to show off
my new outfit, but I still wasn’t very good at walking. Also, there
wasn’t anyone around who would show the slightest interest in my
appearance, so there seemed to be little point in such an
exertion.
I dragged one of the chairs outside the storage unit
and sat down. It was an old lawn chair, the kind with green and
white webbing across an aluminum frame. The frame was a little
bent, and some of the nylon straps were torn, but it was still
usable. After the day’s discoveries, it seemed the perfect night to
sit outside and dream of all the things I would find and learn in
the days to come. I looked up into the purplish dusk as the sun’s
light faded and the stars came out. I wondered if I’d ever know
what kind of a professor I was. Maybe I was a janitor at the
college, or a security guard, or a cook in the cafeteria. Without
anyone to see whatever was wrong with my smile, I went ahead and
smiled at that thought, as it really did seem quite amusing.
I folded my hands in my lap, and as I did so, I
suddenly tensed and my body seemed more numb than normal. It was
another of those things I hadn’t noticed, another obvious thing
that hadn’t occurred to me, like leaving the city hadn’t occurred
to me for so long. I felt a ring on my left hand. I felt it with my
fingertips and it was smooth, just a plain band, without any stone
or setting. And unlike the college identification card, that could
mean only one thing: there was a Mrs. Truman, and, quite probably,
even little Trumans. Or at least there had been at one time, back
in that time and place and identity before I woke up. And even more
disconcerting and far less amusing than not knowing if I were a
professor or a janitor, I realized I knew nothing of these people.
Even if I could look for them, I wouldn’t know them if they walked
right up to me. Maybe it was just as well. Milton had said some of
us were nicer now than we had been before. Maybe I hadn’t been very
nice, and the rest of the Truman family would remember that. Or
maybe they were violent and angry now, like many of the other
people I had met.