“Yeah, but he’s really good at flying the drones,” Marshal said, “and if you’re going to take those kind of risks, then I want someone to provide drone support. It’s not that I don’t like your plan, Luca, but I’d feel a lot better if there was someone clearing the path ahead of you. Besides, it’ll force Albert to get over his fear of big, scary men. Speaking of which, how are you and Brad getting along?”
“Pretty good, actually,” Luca said. “Turns out that Brad’s a pretty funny guy once you get to know him. How are things around the apartment without me?”
Marshal shrugged. “They were a bit hectic for a while, but then Valerie started taking charge of organizing everything, and it gave me room to breathe. I’m telling you, Luca, the woman is amazing. What else…? Oh, right. It probably should go without saying, but God was acting pretty weird yesterday. Went out with us in the morning, and all he would say was that he needed to pick something up to help Corporal Vandermeer. And then, he came back with a big, black purse. Wouldn’t say what he had inside. Said, and I quote, ‘that I wouldn’t want to know’. Obviously, that only made me want to know more, but I got distracted by the new couple we rescued. They’re divorced, but they won’t split up, and they won’t stop arguing. Elizabeth is… well, she’s a handful. She’s acting like the apartment is a hotel she’s paid for, and I’m the concierge. Thank god for Valerie. I swear, Luca, this Elizabeth woman was making me so angry that I wanted to shoot her.”
“Valerie, eh?” Luca said, twisting his mouth into a lewd grin. “That would be the tall, gorgeous redhead that could give Krissy a run for her money in the looks department? The one that sits around watching everything and everybody and especially you? The one you invited to dinner?”
Marshal nodded, ignoring the suggestive tone in Luca’s comment.
“She’s my new personal assistant, and she is amazing. She’s already got everything organized, and not only did she handle the Elizabeth and Steve like a pro, she’s interacting with everyone on my behalf. She seems to know the answers to questions before they’re asked, and thanks to her, I was free to construct another half-dozen ISU’s last night alone.”
“Is there anything else she’s good at?”
“What? Oh, yeah, of course! Lot’s of… oh. Christ, Luca, get your brain out of the gutter!”
“Why?” Luca said. “Maybe my brain likes the gutter, did ya ever think about that? It’s a better angle for looking up lady’s skirts, and I get to enjoy the virtue of low expectations.”
“It’s beneath you,” Marshal snapped.
“Yeah? I bet you’d like to get beneath her.”
“Jesus! Really? You’re like a child, sometimes,” Marshal said. “Can’t you think of anything more important to talk about?”
“There isn’t anything more important,” Luca said, watching the one-on-one. “You’re my brother, and it’s my responsibility to make you feel like an idiot. Plus, you’re a miserable fuck all by yourself, so I don’t want to see you screw it up.”
“There’s nothing to screw up, Luca,” Marshal said. “We work together and that’s all. So drop it.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t go there?” Luca asked. “I would, except that it’s obvious she don’t even notice me. And besides. I’ve got my targets set on Sophie. I think I got a shot with her.”
“I’m not even going to pretend like we’re having this conversation right now,” Marshal said, taking another drink of his beer. “Got any more high-brow thoughts to share?”
“Nah. You’re hopeless,” Luca said, waving his hand and looking away. “Is it any wonder that you haven’t had a permanent girlfriend in over ten years? I mean, I know you’re not gay or nothing.”
He started taking another drink, but stopped halfway.
“Not that I’d have a problem if you were,” he added, waving his beer at him. “British gangsters made it fashionable, and even Tony Soprano didn’t give a crap when one of his soldiers turned out to be gay.”
“Yeah. It’s so enlightened that that Tony Soprano accepts gays,” Marshal said sarcastically.
“What I was trying to say,” Luca said, “is that I know you’ve slept with enough women to figure out that you don’t lean that way. So what’s the big problem between you and Val getting together?”
“It’s actually none of your business,” Marshal said, finishing off his beer. “Got another of those? I can feel my virility slipping as we speak.”
“Here. Have two. You need ‘em. Now, tell me what you really think about Val.”
Marshal sighed. “She’s… I’m pretty sure she’s smarter than me, for one thing.”
“You? Mr. Electrical Engineer?” Luca considered this. “Maybe, but you’re no slouch. Besides, there are many kinds of intelligence. Just as an example, you’re probably smarter than me, but I still think you’re a moron. And anyway, why should intelligence get in your way? The rest of her is so much more interesting.”
“Well, she is kind of, um, attractive,” Marshal admitted, remembering her touch. “I mean, really attractive and... and stimulating. And the smell of her perfume is… I mean, Valerie…she’s just… really together, you know? Really smart and… and competent.”
“Competent?” Luca sighed. “Fuck. It’s like I said. You’re hopeless.”
“And it’s not like I have a problem with her being smarter than me, if she is. It’s just that I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a problem with it. Honestly, Luca, you gotta see this woman in action. She’s so smooth and professional and cultured… and her eyes! Green like helium-neon lasers!”
“You’re such a fucking nerd,” Luca said, shaking his head as he finished his beer. “Why in the fuck would you be looking at her eyes anyway, loverboy?”
“You know? Sometimes, it’s like you never got past twelve.”
“Don’t deflect.”
Marshal stood up.
“I’ll deflect all I want,” he said. “I’m a dictator, remember? And if I want to deflect, I’m going to deflect. So fuck off. Anyway, now that we’re done, I have to get everybody back to Rothman’s, and then get back to work myself.”
It took ten more minutes to round everybody up, and another ten minutes to sweep up all the trash-talk. By the time they left, Friday nights were the new designated sports challenge night.
Master Corporal Vandermeer opened his eyes. How long had he been asleep? He vaguely remembered the crazy old man who called himself ‘God’ hovering over him from the day before, but he’d been so hopped up on painkillers that he’d hardly known how to deal with him. The best solution at the time had been to pretend to fall asleep and, what with one thing being another, he must have fallen asleep.
“Feeling better, are we?” said a voice.
The face of the old man loomed above him, grinning with welcome.
A bit surprised, Corporal Vandermeer didn’t answer right away.
“Sorry, sorry,” the old man pulled back. “People say I can be pushy. I don’t mean to be, it’s just that I get a little silly around heroes. You never know when they’re going to pop up. Even I never know. It’s a bit exciting when they do.”
Eric closed his eyes and looked away.
“Not interested in talking, eh? Or is it that you don’t see yourself as a hero? Well, that’s all right. Most heroes don’t. That’s why I created singers, storytellers, and filmmakers to talk about them. And Hollywood associate producers.”
God barked a laugh.
“Just kidding. Hollywood executives are the devil’s work.”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Vandermeer said, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. “I’m not really feeling especially heroic today, and if you wouldn’t mind, I don’t think I’m feeling up to company.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” God said, patting the man’s arm with reassurance. “I’m hard to offend. And however you might be feeling, there’s a whole troop of folks out here who’d swear on a stack of Bibles that you are a hero, young man.”
&nb
sp; “Maybe they’re wrong,” Eric muttered, then shrugged. “Or maybe I was a hero, but I’m not any more. I did what I did, and it’s over. I don’t have anything left to give, and if I stay, I’m just a parasite, sucking up resources and attention from people who survived and… and have a chance to move on.”
His voice sank to a whisper. “And Karen is waiting for me.”
God regarded him thoughtfully, but didn’t speak.
“They don’t need me anyway,” Eric insisted. “They have Marshal, and Luca. They have themselves.”
“Marshal?” God seemed to consider this. “Marshal’s the leader, and it’s sometimes easy to mistake leaders for heroes. He’s a good man, clever, talented, even inspirational, and he’s got a clear vision for the future. I like him a lot, and really look forward to seeing what he’ll do next. And maybe he is a hero, or is trying to turn into one, but he’s already admitted he’s doing this for himself. He stood on the brink of extinction and looked into his own abyss, and what he saw looking back at him frightened him more than any zombie. Now, his mission in life is to get as far away from that abyss as he possibly can, whatever it takes.”
God grinned.
“And as for Luca - heh, heh - I like him too. But he’s not exactly what I would call a hero. Thanks to Marshal, he’s trying to be a better man, I think. Or maybe he always was, but just needed a reason.”
Eric heard him sigh heavily. He looked up and saw the old man looking sad.
“It breaks my heart to admit it,” God said, “but my children, they aren’t all the scintillating beings I’d hoped they’d be. They’re greedy, they’re shallow, they’re self-obsessed. They’ll throw all their bile and hatred at the injustice they see in others, but lack the courage or the honesty to see it in themselves. So often, they fail to see past their own myopic perspectives, judging others, hurting others, depriving others, blaming others, and generally making a disgrace of the idea that they ever deserved to be created in the first place. Oh! And the excuses they make!”
“You’re got real commitment to this whole God delusion, don’t you?” Vandermeer said uneasily. “You know you’re completely insane, right?”
But God wasn’t listening.
“It’s not my fault, they say. Life wasn’t fair to me because I was too poor, too picked on, too addicted, too black, too female, too rich, blah, blah, blah. I did what I did for honor, for decency, for glory, for revenge, for my country, or for any number of excuses that wouldn’t stand a fart’s chance in a shitstorm if they were under any kind of honest scrutiny. And then, when they see the devastation that they make, they flip it around and blame communism, or capitalism, or corporations, or religion. I could create a rose for them, and my children would find one hundred ways to murder their neighbors with it, and then blame flowers as the source of all their evil. Such inventive, small, narrow minds.”
For a moment, Vandermeer forgot his own injury, and simply paid attention.
“I try not to get too down about it,” God went on. “The fact is, everything was sort of designed to be this way. Reality, out beyond this material plane, is a complicated place, and in order to survive in it one day, my children need to experience a complicated style of existence. As a result, trying to live a perfect life is like trying to shoot hoops, while standing one-legged on the soapy deck of a boat during a monsoon. The possibilities for failure are limitless, and that’s just the sort of complexity that will one day let a soul slither through the infinite probabilities of entropy. There are situations out there that make this apocalypse look like a tea party, and my kids are going to be ready for it.”
Eric found himself just listening now, caught up by the man’s passionate delusion, which was as intriguing as it was amusing. He wriggled in his bed, and became vaguely aware that his legs were itchy.
“And so my children have as many aspects as there are stars in the heavens,” God said. “They are cruel and generous, selfish and empathetic. They weep for lost kittens and kill each other for trinkets. They are lost in the sheer… no, don’t scratch that. It needs to be left alone… in the sheer immensity of choice. It is the source of all their tears and pain, the chief adversary to their happiness, the handmaiden to corruption and despair. ”
And God looked down at Eric, and idly scratched his beard.
“And out of the ether of that wandering existence emerge the heroes. Do you know what heroes are, Eric?”
Eric didn’t know. The itchiness of his legs was suddenly all he could think about, and in the middle of everything, a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t taken his painkillers yet, but his legs, which should have had him screaming in pain, were only itching.
He looked down the bed and saw that, from the hips down, under the covers, he was enclosed by something vaguely box-shaped. With trembling fingers, he reached out and touched the surface, feeling it through the obscuring cloth.
“Oh my god,” he murmured. “What have you done with my legs?”
“Heroes - real heroes - epitomize humanity in its finest hour,” God continued, ignoring the question. “They are the dream of what humanity could be, made flesh. The things they do are not acts of judgment, ego, or self-aggrandizement, nor do they think themselves better or more moral than their fellow humans. But they will willingly sacrifice their blood and tears for the well-being and comfort of others. They prioritize the pain of the world ahead of their own, driven only by the motivation that, because they can make a difference, they should. And if, sometimes, they are used, manipulated, or wronged in the battles they fight, it doesn’t undermine the nobility of their sacrifice.
“But what makes heroes truly miraculous is that, by displaying this capacity for selflessness, they show the world what a human being can become. Others, lost in the entropy of their daily struggle, see heroes and worship them, not because they are bigger than they are or better than they are, but because they are human. Faced by the humbling reality of a world that oppresses them, they never believed it was possible to rise above it, let alone to do it for the sake of others. Heroes show them that they can. They show that anyone can be a hero, if they just watch and follow their example. And what a world there would be, if everybody did.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Eric said, starting to feel a panic as he pulled the blanket aside and saw the bloodstained, pine box that wrapped him from the hips down. “I can’t feel my legs, except for the damn itching! What have you done with my legs?”
God placed a hand on his chest, and leaned in to stare intently into Eric’s eyes.
“These people have lost everything, Eric. They live on the edge of extinction, with no support, no rescue, and their only hope is that they have each other. You, Eric, sacrificed everything to save them. You humbled them. In their dreams, they only wish that they had your courage, and they draw strength from the seemingly insane notion that you thought they were worth a damn. You see? They may not be you, but thanks to you, they will try to be, Eric. You saved more than lives down below, underneath all that rubble. Thanks to you, Eric, they know what’s expected of them, and they will try to turn the other cheek, to think of the needs of others ahead of their own. Because of you, they may just find a piece of that desirable world you showed them.”
“How do you get this thing open? God damn it, what have you done with my legs?”
“Do you see why they need you, Eric?” God said, his hand still on the man’s chest. “Do you see how much damage your suicide could do to their hope? Do you see how, even a man without his legs - in fact, especially a man without his legs - could still have value to a group as lost and hopeless as this one?”
“Gladys!” Eric shouted. “Gladys, please come over here! Now!”
God looked down at him sympathetically.
“I didn’t take your legs, Eric,” he said, “but if you get Gladys involved, then they may have to. She won’t like what I’ve done, but have a little faith, son. If you ever want to walk again, send her away. If you do, I’ll open the box and g
ive you a brief look inside.”
“What is it? Is this bag of bones keeping you awake, dear? If you want, I’ll get the broom and see him off, pronto!”
Eric lipped his lips, his eyes flickering over to God, who watched him without a word, a slight smile on his face.
“Uh… no, Gladys, it’s fine,” he said. “I… uh, I just wanted to ask if... if it would be okay to have more solid food at lunch. The soups been terrific, but I feel ready for something more substantial.”
“That won’t be a problem, sweetheart,” Gladys said in a high tone, like she was addressing a sickly child. “Would pasta be okay? Spaghetti and meat sauce? I’ll cook up some of my own recipe.”
“That would be great,” Eric answered. “And Gladys? Thanks for everything.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Eric,” she said. “From now on to the rest of my time on this world, you’re like family. Everybody thinks so. You just go about getting better, dear, and let us take care of you for a change. Okay?”
“I will,” Eric answered, feeling a flutter of warmth in his chest.
“You see what I mean?” God said. “They still need you, Eric, maybe even more than they needed you in that subway tunnel. They know you’re a hero, but deep down, they also know there’s a lot more to be learned from you. They don’t know what it is, but they’ll do anything to find out.”
“Open the box,” Eric said tersely.
God’s expression turned serious, and he cocked his head curiously.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked. “This could get a bit freaky for you. If I open it, I need your promise that, no matter what you see, you’re not going to interfere. Do I have your promise?”
“Just do it.”
“Do you promise?” God repeated.
“Yes, I promise.” Eric swallowed, looking down at the box with sick anticipation. “Just open the god damn box already.”
God looked at him gravely, then reached down to the bottom of the box and flipped a latch.
“Whatever you do,” he said firmly, “don’t jump.”
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 31