Leo perched high atop a painter’s ladder, answered Katima’s question with, “It’s different because this time we’re shooting blind.” He regretted his word choice but smiled just the same, and seeing the first of the others arrive, both civilians and soldiers as word spread, he raised his camera and called for, “Action!”
Daniel cradles the knife in his hands, holds it there as I say his name, ask “What is this?” and wait until he answers. As soon as I understand, I turn and vomit what little food there is in my stomach, spit and cough up mostly acids and bits of old corn. “It’s ok,” I hear myself say, my voice strained, detached as if someone else is speaking. I move back and say again, “Ok. Don’t worry.” I find Daniel’s eyes in the light of the lantern. Both of us by then are shaking, though as Daniel raises his arm to pitch the blade away, I catch his wrist, surprise myself by urging, “You have to.”
“No.”
“If you don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But if you do, they’ve promised to let you go, didn’t they?” It takes all my strength to continue, my encouragement not brave, a reflex I don’t know for certain where it comes from. Daniel rocks forward and again covers the blade of the knife with his arms. How clever the Captain is, I think, assigning the task this way, orchestrating what seems a betrayal from within, making ever yone believe the movement against Teddy is splintered and crumbling. “Don’t worry,” I try not to think. “The Captain will let you go. He wants you on the street. None of this does him any good if they don’t release you. Once it’s over,” I tell Daniel, if “as soon as you’re out, you need to go to my father and let him know what’s happened. to He’ll protect you from anyone who doesn’t understand.” My suggestion comes as yet another surprise, all of it swathed in a curious logic as I make clear, “My father’s the only one who can defend you.”
Everything now is madness. I imagine the Captain above delighted, how easily he’s managed to arrange all this. Daniel goes and leans against the bars. The knife dangles loose in his grip. I stare at the edge, petrified by the prospect but force myself to ask, “How long?”
“Soon. An hour.”
“Let me.” I can’t quite wrap my mind around the idea that any of this is real, and yet here we are. I wonder what others would do, Alina Pienkowska, Emilo, Georges Danton and Thomas Paine? What of my father and Gandhi? I want to say something to give us both courage, but all I can focus on is the feeling that I’m again about to vomit. “You’ll need me to,” I repeat my proposition, everything still a horror. If I was a braver man I’d have already stolen the knife, or bashed my skull against the wall, saving Daniel the trouble. But I’m slow and can’t quite manage. “Let me,” I offer meekly and don’t extend my hand.
Daniel moves nearer the bars while I stand in the center of my cell, shaking worse than ever. “Here. Give me,” I suggest again, hoping to find courage. “If you can do this,” I say, “in a little while you’ll be free.”
The light from the lantern slips past me, casting Daniel inside a soft golden weave. I see his trembling slow then stop altogether, his eyes clear as he stares at me. I wait for him to say something but he’s quiet now. (Gandhi said: “It is my unalterable conviction that even though the Government may not feel embarrassed in any way whatsoever by the incarceration or even execution of an innocent person... such incarceration and execution will be the end of that Government.”) Only as I realize what Daniel’s thinking do I scream, “No!” (“I do not wish to die,” Gandhi said, “but I would welcome it... and love above all, to fade out doing my duty with my last breath.”) The line of Daniel’s jaw is set as he tips his head back, the full of his neck exposed, his throat stretched and arm extended as he groans twice, “Oh shit. Oh shit,” before the blade passes into the light, crosses over and through, in and out, in and out, again and again and again.
CHAPTER 12
Kart had Nick drive with Maria down into the underground lot of the hospital, where a man in a faded Cheap Tricks t-shirt and blue orderly slacks loaded the trunk with boxes. Ten minutes later, they headed out again across Kefuntin Boulevard. Before leaving the house, Nick had tried talking with Anita, but she bobbed and weaved beneath all attempts at conversation. “About last night,” Nick had asked the others. Avene Delu in the kitchen opened an old can of tuna, soaked half a piece of toast in the oil, while Kart joked, “A bit of thunder is all. It’s natural this time of year. Storms don’t scare you, do they, Captain America?”
Anita slipped into the basement as Kart handed Nick a list. “Maria knows the way. Don’t sweat the details. You’re just along for the heavy lifting.”
The roads on the west end of the capital were less patrolled, the houses and storefronts quiet. Maria told Nick where to turn. She hummed a song by James Taylor, ‘Fire and Rain.’ “Someone should write a song about all this, you know? I think everything important should be put to music.”
A soldier’s jeep ran a red light and disappeared behind a boarded over Cash ‘N Carry. Maria pointed and told Nick, “Here.” At the corner a series of shops gave way to houses on winding streets, wriggling worm-like closer to the bluffs and then the sands beforethe sea. Maria read the numbers, told Nick to “Slow down.” The next two hours were spent delivering messages and boxes of supplies to addresses Maria had on a separate list. Twice Nick called Anita on the cell he had with him and twice she didn’t answer. He checked his watch, was anxious to get back, an odd feeling in his gut. He was about to ask Maria how many more stops when she said, “Wait. Back up.” Nick shifted into reverse, looked in the rearview mirror, parked and watched as the door opened and Paul Bernarr helped Justin Avere into the car.
By the time I grab Daniel’s arm he’s already starting to fall. My face, hands and chest are quickly wet, Daniel’s throat parting like the fleshy seam of a cushion torn. He appears surprised by the sharpness of the blade, how easily it passes through, striking bone just below his jaw, the arteries clipped strings in a child’s toy guitar. I put my hands on his shoulders, my head in his chest and push him back, only his legs buckle and he folds against me.
We crumble together, Daniel half in my lap. I cradle him much as I would an infant napping. His face is white, his eyes open, his mouth parted as if to speak. I rub his cheek, say “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.” When I howl, the sound I make is loud and feral. I move us against the wall, sit there, Daniel’s hands folded, his shoulders braced so his head and neck are supported before I crawl across the floor and wail louder. On my back, I lay in the center of my cell and stare up at the ceiling. My chest heaves against the sound of the guards moving above me in heavy boots. I’m sure they’ve heard my screams, and refusing them the satisfaction, I force myself to stop crying, relax my arms and slow my breathing down to nothing.
This is what I’m thinking when the door at the top of the stairs opens and I close my eyes, deny the guards any sort of reaction. Covered in Daniel’s blood, I don’t move at all, wait for them to stomp and kick me, and how strange then when I hear them talking. “Well done, howling boy,” they say to Daniel sitting in the corner.“For this you’re sure to get a medal.” They reach down, grab my hands and feet, lift me from the floor and take me up the stairs where I’m brought into the yard outside, left beneath the now pale moon, laid out in the dirt of the rotted garden beside three other corpses to await the Captain’s inspection.
Anita carried her bag into the hall. Near the stairs she retied her boots, glanced at the time, thought about Nick and hoped he was safe. She debated falsely the idea of staying behind, wondered if sneaking off would only make things worse. Yesterday Kart said, “If you’re up for it. Maybe it’s too much. Your American might mind. And your dad, if he was here.” He left her for a few hours and then came back. “This is it. It’s what there is. It’s not so neat and tidy, this war,” and leaning in as if to share a secret, whispered “Shit, Anita. Shit, what did you come back for?”
Outside, Tobias brought a different car around wh
ile Avene and Verne put the supplies in the trunk. Kart sat up front, navigated as they drove west, circled the capital, avoiding checkpoints by cutting down side streets, crossing the Avenues when necessary, finally entering Rosan Parks where the houses were large and built up on a series of hills. Tobias slid the car by lampposts, ducked and dodged the pockets of light. When they reached Cheneslo Court, the car lights were turned off. They drove a quarter mile up and parked.
Kart got out and unlocked the trunk. At the top of the hill, across a long stretch of lawn, was a large house with wood panels and bay windows, a roof that sloped down like an oversized hat and a deck which extended around the entire left side of the second level. The floodlights were on, sending chalky beams of white far out across the yard. “No guards,” Kart handed one sack each to Verne and Anita, keeping the third for himself. “After midnight they all go inside and sleep like dogs.”
Anita was assigned the far left wall, Verne the right and Kart around back. Each timer was set for six minutes. Tobias and Avene gave cover while the others ran ahead, made their approach low against the lights. Ver ne and Kart disappeared around the rear of the house as Anita came in under the deck, her pack set beside the gas line as instructed. “Here I am,” she thought, “planting a bomb.” (“Here I am planting a bomb.”) She expected to feel different, found nothing was as she imagined, her adrenaline pitched and pumping, she seemed to be experiencing everything at a hundred miles an hour. “This is it,” she thought of Nick. “This is real. This is all there is,” and turning then she started running from the house back to the car. Pleased by her effort and the hard choices she was able to make, she got as far as the end of the patio before stopping suddenly, noticing as she hadn’t before two children’s toys there inside a small red wagon.
Verne was already racing toward the car, sprinting across the hill with Kart also dashing. “Fuck!” Anita moved quickly toward the bomb she “Fuck!” Anita moved quickly toward the bomb she set, cursed Kart again, and herself, unsure there was time to get all three packs and toss them clear of the house. Before she could decide, a light came on inside and Everett Doyle’s sleep drawn face appeared on the opposite side of the sliding glass door. In pajamas and barefoot, his pot belly like a koala pushing through the gap in his pajama top, Doyle squinted and slid the door open, raised the pistol in his hand as Anita shouted, “Get out! Get out! Get the children out now!”
The floodlights found and lost Anita as she ran, the pop-pop-pop bringing Tobias and Avene further up the hill. A dozen rifle shots dropped Doyle in the grass, Anita screaming, clawing and cursing Kart from the back seat as everyone jumped into the car, the hillside going up in a succession of three loud blasts, the sky bright, bright, bright against the surrounding dark.
When I open my eyes there are stars, the sky overhead a sea of black on which a billion lights are floating. Slowly, I turn my head, manage to get my bearings and determine where I am in the yard. The bodies beside me are pale and dead, their faces filled with surprise. I roll on my side, move to my knees, then gradually to my feet. The prison’s main floor is lit although the yard itself is dark. I consider for a moment rushing inside and shouting again “NBDF! NBDF!” letting everyone know I’m alive and that whatever they hear otherwise is a lie, but I can’t quite bring myself to move toward the prison. The distance to the nearest wall is thirty yards, the height at nine feet too much for me to climb. I think of Daniel and wonder how long before the guards discover what has happened. Frightened, I race to the wall and leap straight up, my arms extending overhead, my body weak, stiff and bruised, I get no more than a few inches in the air, fail and fail and fail again to reach the top.
The ground beneath me is dry and brown, worn down long ago, with limited patches of weed and grass. What rocks there are remain half buried. I run from one to the next, scratching at the earth with my nails, trying to dig something free. I think if I can move just one, I’ll be able to climb on top and scale the wall, but the rocks are too deep and heavy. I look toward the door, certain the Captain will come any second and shoot me, and terrified, I rush back acr ossthe yard, grab the first dead man I by his hands and pull him to the wall. The man is large and gives me trouble. I bend him over until he’s kneeling with his head in the ground, his hips pushed forward and shoulders drawn back as if in prayer. The second man is more my size and easier to haul. I find the waist of his pants, turn him over and hoist him up onto the big man’s back. The third man is really just a boy, his arms tied behind him, his belly distended with something ruptured inside, his coloring more yellow than pale. I push him quickly onto the second man, lift him as best I can and climb on top.
The pile sags beneath me. I place my foot on the dead boy’s head and launch myself up the best I can. The bodies give way a half-second after my fingers catch the top of the wall and I hang there, unable to move. The fear of dropping back into the yard is now a panic, and pulling harder, I lift enough to get a wrist and finally one leg over, flip and drop into the woods, tumble and roll and begin to run. The ocean is a mile to the north, Unamuno Boulevard above the shore winding west to the capital. I know I must avoid the roads as much as possible, plan to cover the three miles while it’s still dark, and hope with luck not be caught before I reach the city.
Nick helped Dr. Bernarr bring Justin into the house. There in the front room, Justin spoke in whispers, his lungs inelastic, each word pried as thorns from his chest. His hair had turned completely white, his features faded, the edge to his cheeks and jaw worn back. “You are with Anita?” he asked and coughed, adjusted the tube beneath his nose, the hose extending from a small tank of oxygen Dr. Bernarr had started for him.
“The Mafantes are old friends,” Paul Bernarr said. “André and Anita.”
“And Ali,” Justin looked toward Dr. Bernarr who brought his hands together in front of his chin. “About Ali then, yes.” Later Dr. Bernarr took Nick aside and explained more. “This is the situation.” A small machine was plugged into the wall, producing a medicated vapor which Justin breathed through a pale green mask. He told Nick where Kart and the others had gone. Nick stood by the window, listened to what Justin said about Everett Doyle. “A game of chess. Before we can get to the king, we have to work through pawns and bishops and rooks.” He coughed, rubbed his throat, caught his breath and sipped from the water Maria brought him. “One piece at a time,” he spoke of future plans and necessary efforts.
Nick wasn’t listening anymore, was thinking about Anita. He excused himself, left the others in the front room and went upstairs where he emptied his duffle of everything but his camera. Carrying the duffle and camera back down, he slipped through the kitchen into the basement. The sticks of explosives were stacked on the shelves. Nick took what seemed like enough, along with an alarm already wired, a tube of epoxy and a metal box. He zipped his duffle and returned upstairs. In the front room he told the others he was going for a smoke, waited a minute then went out the back door, the car keys still in his pocket. He drove up the block, parked and waited.
Twenty minutes later Anita and the others returned. He saw Anita’s arms rising and falling, flailing as she came from the curb and disappeared into the house. Relieved she was safe, not otherwise sure what had happened, Nick drove off.
Once inside Anita looked for Nick, finding instead Justin and Dr. Bernarr in the front room. Kart went directly to Justin who’d finished breathing the steam from the medicated inhaler and was again using the oxygen from the tank. Dr. Bernarr came from the old green chair and extended his arms, kissed Anita’s cheeks.
The gravity of Justin’s illness caught Anita by surprise, though rather than ask first about his health she pointed at Kart, shouting once more about Doyle until Justin intervened. “No decisions are made on their own.”
“ Yo u ? ”
“Me.”
“And the children?”
For a moment no one spoke. Kart shifted awkwardly. Dr. Bernarr listened from the chair, his head down, Verne and Avene by the
archway, Maria near the hallway. The hum of air flowing from the tank was the only sound until Justin shut down the dial, removed the tube from beneath his nose and had Anita, “Come, sit by me.”
Halfway downtown, Nick tried to remember the roads he and Maria drove earlier in order to avoid checkpoints. “A game of chess,” he turned east, brought the car across Forbushe Avenue, recalled Robert Bye’s poem, ‘The Teeth Mother Naked At Last,’ and ‘Dedication,’ by Czeslaw Milosz whose last stanza had always haunted him: “They used to pour millets on graves or poppy seeds/To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds./I put this book here for you, who once lived/So that you should visit us no more.”
Just after 2:00 a.m., he turned down an alley, close enough to where he had to go in the morning. He shut off the car and cracked the window, made sure his duffle was alright then slipped into the back to catch a few hours sleep. He tried not to think too much about tomorrow, thought instead of the old Led Zeppelin song, “The Battle of Evermore,” in which Robert Plant sang: “The pain of war cannot exceed/the woe of after math.” He closed his eyes, pictured Anita, tried to imagine the tune as a love song. Instead, he remembered Ashbery’s poem, “Girls On The Run and Dream Sequence.” “The thread ended up on the floor/where all threads go./It became a permanent thing, like/silver:/ Every time you polish it, a little/goes away.” He fell asleep then with no more poems in his head, the words as clouds waiting for him as he woke in the morning.
Temporary People Page 14