Nest of Worlds (18 page)

After a time they wanted to talk, not just hold each other.

“It took longer than you promised,” she reproached him.

“They weren’t honest with me.”

“But you’ve put on so much weight!” She laughed.

“This padding is not me. I’ll tell you in a moment. What’s the matter with her?” He pointed at the small figure hunkered over on the pavement and sobbing. The young woman’s hair was blazing red. Her face was lowered over her knees.

“They shot her mother. She’s been crying all day.”

“They? Who are they?” He could picture the patrol of Sergeant Kurys.

“I don’t know. She took me out for some air. We were far when they came out of the house. Eight, maybe ten guardsmen. They drove a jeep. Then they ran into a street lamp and had to go on foot. Maybe they were drunk.”

“They weren’t drunk.”

“It’s a slaughterhouse in there, blood everywhere. They spared no one. They probably weren’t looking for you, if the army let you go . . . I don’t know. I walked there, to look. I had to pull Lorraine off the body of her mother. And you know I have hardly the strength to walk. I use the wheelchair a lot now.”

“I’ll go see.”

“Don’t. It’s too dreadful. They broke Edda’s head open. The floor is covered with her brains. Mass was stabbed. They shot Myrna. They tortured Anabel. She’s in our room, went up there to clean. She’s lying naked with a belt around her neck. You know, her body is a girl’s, undeveloped. Such small breasts, and her nostrils so large. You can see them, the way she’s lying. I hated her, but I’m sorry for her now. In her uniform she looked older.”

“They thought she was you. I overheard them. Thompson probably sent them. They killed the man who drove me from the DS. We came upon them by accident. I was able to hide, but they shot him. Do you know that the DS no longer exists?”

“They said that this morning on the TV. I was so afraid for you.”

He leaned back, took her face gently in his hands, and looked at her carefully. Ra Mahleiné was thin, drawn. The skin was tight on her cheekbones, but she had a tan, thanks to her outings with Lorraine. Her eyes seemed larger than before and even bluer. Her gaze was intense, imperious, perhaps because she had taken off her glasses, which made her eyes smaller. There were pale, unhealthy circles around the eyes. But that may have been only from her wearing sunglasses. The spring sun had lightened her hair, making it lovely against her tan.

“You’re beautiful, a goddess of youth.”

Her smile was very pale and very sad.

“When,” she said, “will you see the truth?”

In answer he ran a hand through her hair. It was soft to the touch, silken.

“I love your hair.”

“I’m almost bald, it’s got so thin.”

“Then you’ll be my little Baldie. You’ll tan your head the color of your sweet face.”

“I’m not doing well. I can see what I look like. Below the neck”—with a gesture at her blouse—“I’m a fright. Thin, but my belly is swollen like a balloon. My breasts, they hang; they’ll reach my waist at this rate. They didn’t used to hang like that.”

“I’ll tie you to the wheelchair, so you won’t float away with your balloon.”

He pressed her head lightly with his fingertips. She liked that.

“Now let’s lower the voltage for our manul, so her little head won’t hurt . . . and so she won’t invent stupid things.”

“It’s the body that invents. The head only observes.”

“Let it stop observing.”

“Impossible. One look in the mirror, and it draws conclusions. And how can I not look?”

“Enough. Don’t borrow trouble. If there’s a problem, we’ll face it together. Don’t go banging yourself against things that aren’t there.” He tried to smile but couldn’t.

“You know that’s not it. If I could only give birth to the clawed thing, then maybe there would be peace. Then maybe I could give birth to someone else, for you. Meanwhile it gnaws inside and turns the world red.”

“What does Nott say?”

“She hasn’t called for three days.”

“She was going to operate.”

“For a while she called, and they brought medicine from her. Now nothing, silence. Everything’s stopped.”

“I’ll see to this.” He got up.

“What do you intend to do?”

“Call Thompson. Interrupt his triumphal march after the battle.”

“Are you crazy? The bastard will learn you’re still alive.”

“And? We have to eat. Someone has to come take away the bodies. And they have to cure you. They’ve turned me into David Death, and for that they owe me.”

“Gavein,” she said, “we managed to live through a terrible danger. Don’t tempt fate. David Death is a figment of Edda’s, which was taken up by that moron Medved and his paranoid investigation. One could just as easily argue that Medved was Death. Or Thompson, or some other character. Only the Names, the Names and nothing else, tell us about death.”

Ra Mahleiné’s words were balm to him: he didn’t want to believe that he was Death.

He came up to her from behind and put his hands in her hair.

“I’ll braid it for you, Little Manul. Would you like that?”

She didn’t answer but moved her head to a more comfortable position.

“Lorraine,” he said, turning. “Bring me a comb, but a clean one, not mucked up with anything.”

Lorraine didn’t move.

“Forgive me,” he said, embarrassed by his tone. “I didn’t mean to speak to you like a servant . . .”

“That’s all right,” Lorraine said. She got up and went in the house.

But she returned immediately, in tears. “The comb’s on the dresser under the mirror, Dave, but Mama’s lying on the floor and watching me. I can’t—” She wailed.

On the first floor he found furniture thrown over, broken stools, bloodstains everywhere. Edda was on the floor, brain showing in her split skull, eyes open, the fingers of her left hand crushed. Her outstretched right hand held a strip of cloth.

Massmoudieh lay on the kitchen sofa surrounded by dark blood. In the corners of his mouth was pink foam that had dried. His chest was a bloody, shredded mess; he must have been bayoneted a dozen times. The sofa had holes in many places, where the killer missed. Fatima sat in the armchair, her head to one side. A deep brownish red gash went from her right shoulder blade to her left hip, like the ribbon of some ghastly decoration for valor. Bullet holes riddled the armchair, and they seeped blood.

Gavein went upstairs. The door was open. Myrna lay on the floor. She had been shot eight times. Her dull eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her mouth open as if to scream. He walked around her carefully, not wanting to step in her blood. The mirror had been broken, but the dresser was in one piece. He took the comb from one of the shelves and put it in his pocket.

In the Wilcoxes’ room, there were empty vodka bottles. Brenda lay on the couch, curled into a ball. She had been shot repeatedly. The place reeked of alcohol.

Maybe that’s a good thing, he thought. She was probably unconscious when it happened. And they hadn’t raped her, either. In her sweaty, filthy clothes, stinking of alcohol, she had held no attraction for them.

The door to his apartment had been broken open. Anabel lay on the mattress, her legs apart, her head tilted back. He couldn’t see her face, only her nostrils. Her body was like a child’s, white and undamaged. He took a step closer. Around her neck was the belt from her housecoat.

Her face was terrifying: the eyes frozen and bloodshot, the skin blue-gray and swollen. Her tongue hung from her mouth. Under her left breast he saw the small oval wound of a bayonet thrust. One of her tormentors had cut short her suffering. The blow had been powerful, the blade passing through both her and the mattress.

Gavein went downstairs, turned on the television. On the screen was Thompson. He looked older; the light had gone out of his eyes, and the skin of his face hung from the cheekbones like wet laundry on a line.

He would make a good Death, Gavein thought. No, he
is
a good Death.

The commission appointed by me has taken the measures that needed to be taken to free Davabel from the horror that was David Death. I can guarantee you that this man no longer lives. We believe that, therefore, the epidemic will run its course. We do not know how many more will die, how many more came into contact with David Death. I also came into contact with the man. But I am confident now that this effect will not spread to anyone new. We have preserved our children. We have saved Davabel. Unfortunately the price that had to be paid was high. The Division of Science was completely demolished. Central Davabel is like a wasteland, uninhabited. We cannot blame any person who, wishing to save himself, left his place of residence. No such person will be prosecuted. But now that the danger has passed, our citizens will be assisted in the return to their homes. At the same time we ask everyone for patience and understanding, because the repopulation of these sections of the city will be possible only after all abandoned property has been secured by the Army and the National Guard. We must forestall incidents of looting. I would like to convey my special thanks to the leaders of the Guard and the soldiers of our Civil Defense forces: they played a major role in assuring the safety of our people during the evacuation as well as during the solution of the problem that was David Death . . .

This last statement infuriated Gavein. Thompson had gone too far. Gavein took out his handkerchief and picked up the blood-covered phone. He remembered the number. On the other end was someone with a throaty voice.

“I want to speak with Colonel Medved. This is important.”

“The colonel’s not here. He’s at the ministry. If you tell me what this concerns, I can relay your message to him when he returns. I am Lieutenant Adams.”

“Listen, Adams”—Gavein had learned how to speak to bureaucrats—”if you want to be sitting at your pitiful little desk tomorrow, you get Medved on the line now. Now. This is David Death speaking.”

There was silence at the other end, probably from a hand held over the receiver. Then the click, barely audible, of a recording device being turned on.

“Could you repeat that?” said Adams.

“You heard me. I’m waiting.”

The silence continued for a moment, a contest.

“Medved’s not here. He’ll be back in an hour.”

“Give me the number where I can reach him.” Gavein tried to say as little as possible, thinking that when he didn’t speak, they could not track the call. But he was probably wrong.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. The numbers at the ministry are all classified. Let me have your number. Colonel Medved will call you as soon as he returns.”

“No more games,” said Gavein. “I want to hear from Medved within ten minutes.” And he hung up.

After almost ten minutes passed, Adams called and put Gavein through to Medved. There was crackling.

“Yes?” It was Medved’s voice.

“Gavein Throzz here. Do I need to add that I’m not calling from the other world?”

“It’s you.”

“Innocent people have been murdered. I demand that the killers be brought to justice. I’m speaking of the patrol of Sergeant Kurys and every single person who was behind what they did, even if that includes Thompson. Your job, if I’m not mistaken, is to uphold the law.”

“This conversation is being recorded. It will be played at the next session of the Defense Commission.”

“Excellent. I remind you that a policeman’s job is to apprehend criminals.” Gavein’s voice rose. “And the decisions of this commission of yours have been criminal, violating both law and justice. I don’t dispute the government’s fear of me, since strange and disturbing things have indeed been happening. But nothing can excuse the murder of civilians for the sole reason that they lived in the same house with me. The perpetrators, returning from that action, killed Dr. Yullius Saalstein. I’m sure you know him. I demand the punishment of the people responsible for that crime.”

On the other end of the line, silence.

“I demand that the crimes of General Thompson’s commission, all of them, be exposed on television. I demand that my wife receive medical care and that we have food, heat, all the necessities. Yes, I see the threat that my existence poses for Davabel. I see the connection between the epidemic of death and my person. Obviously it is impossible for me to leave for Ayrrah before the required time. Therefore, if my wife is completely cured, if she is provided for . . . with a good pension . . . then I am prepared, for the public good, to consider . . . in short, I will do away with myself,” he added in a lower voice, so that Ra Mahleiné wouldn’t overhear. “Are you there, Medved?”

“Yes.”

“Play this tape to the government, not to Thompson’s commission. The man’s a gangster and an imbecile.”

“I am not the owner of the tape. A decision will have to be reached. You’ll receive an answer shortly, at home.”

“Medved, I trust you. Don’t abuse that trust.”

“I’ll do everything in my power.”

Gavein put down the receiver and left the house. It was difficult to remain in a stuffy room surrounded by butchered bodies. Outside, it was warm, bright, and a breeze blew.

Ra Mahleiné stood, supported by Lorraine. Earlier she stood on her own, to comfort the girl, but now she had difficulty staying on her feet.

“Where were you?” she scolded him. “Don’t touch the bodies, you’ll get an infection!” This brought fresh sobs from Lorraine.

Ra Mahleiné’s expressions of conjugal love diminished as the hours passed. She and Gavein were together again, his proximity to her as certain as the rising of the sun. Little things now began to annoy her.

She could get exercised about any kind of nonsense: that he breathed too deeply, not leaving enough fresh air for her. That he breathed too quietly, making her worry that something was wrong with him. That he was oversexed, sex being all he cared about—or that, on the contrary, he wasn’t paying attention to her, and it wasn’t enough that she had sacrificed so many years of her life for him on that ship, he also needed her to be as beautiful as she was before. That when he took a bath, the water in the tub sounded like someone banging on a great laundry pot with a hammer (but what was he supposed to do? Edda had a sheet-metal tub)—or that, on the contrary, when he tried to wash more quietly, it meant he wasn’t washing thoroughly.

He had grown accustomed to this long ago. He would have been astonished if suddenly it was otherwise.

“They’re lying there, and flies are on them and carrying disease. You’ll get sick.”

“Stop, Magda. My mother’s there.”

“Well, I’m sorry!” Ra Mahleiné snapped. “Where Myrna’s lying, upstairs, the window is shut and not a fly gets in.”

Lorraine wept.

Gavein helped his wife sit down. He told her about his talk with Medved, though not mentioning the deal he had made. He expected an outburst, but Ra Mahleiné simply asked:

“And you believe they’ll do what you want?”

He didn’t reply to that.

“Medved, not you, said he would call you here?”

“Yes. That I would have an answer, at home.”

“Then he admits they know where we are—and we know what they’ll do now!”

“I don’t think they’ll try to kill me again.”

“That general will pound everything in a radius of five kilometers to a fine powder. There won’t be anything left of us!”

“Medved would warn us. He’s a decent man.”

Actually, he thought, such a solution would not be so bad. Except that, if I am truly Death, nothing will come of the pounding.

Then he felt fear for her. What if she died and he didn’t? The thought was unendurable.

“Gavein, let’s get out of here, quickly. You push the wheelchair.”

The three of them went a couple of streets farther and took shelter on a random porch. Gavein broke a pane of glass, opened the front door, and found a nicely furnished room. The air was musty, the silence broken only by the buzz of flies.