by A. Sparrow
Her eyes bored in on me. “Come out in the hall. We need to talk.”
She took my arm and led me out into the ward. Renfrew tried to say something as we left but all he could manage was a wheeze. We wandered down the hall to a quiet place near the elevators.
“First Sturgie. Now this,” said Karla. “The two must be connected, no?”
“But how?”
“Wendell … and Zhang.”
“You mean he’s trying to extort me? I didn’t hear him make any threats, did you?”
“It must be so. They are trying to encourage you to cross.”
“Encourage me? By killing my friends? Burning their homes?”
“They want you to try. I … want you to try.”
“I’ve tried. You know I have.”
“Do I?”
“It’s no use. I’ve lost the knack.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I’m happy. Is that a crime? I mean, I feel terrible about Sturgie and the farm. But it’s not like it makes me want to kill myself. Not even close. They think this is a way to get me to cross? That’s just stupid.”
“Then how? What if they threaten to hurt someone else?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done with that place. The sooner they get that into their thick skulls the better. I can’t encourage them by reacting to this crap. I still don’t understand why they want me there so badly.”
Karla’s eyes took on a faraway gaze. “I think it’s time we found out.” Her face went flaccid and blank. She turned away from me.
“Hey. What’s wrong? You okay?”
“Nothing is wrong. I am fine. I am simply preparing myself.”
“For what?”
“I’ve had enough of this. Tonight, I will cross. This is something I need to do … for the both of us.”
Chapter 11: Spades
Helen and Jessica were staying in town with their friends Fiona and Britt, the gay couple who had harbored Isobel for a time after she left the farm right before she had taken off for Cardiff. Karla knew them well, having stayed with them herself while I was in prison on one of her several futile hunts for her missing sister.
When Fiona and Britt found out that we were in town, we were immediately offered a place to stay. They set up a futon for us in the attic they used as a studio. It was a bit stuffy up there, but they brought us a fan. We propped open the windows and it aired out nicely.
Dinner was pork loin simmered in tea with asparagus and polenta. Tea pork, they called it. They served it cold and it was really tasty. Afterwards we had almond macaroons and Prosecco. Our conversation kept drifting to Izzie.
“I can’t help feeling she left because of us,” said Fiona. “That she just wasn’t comfortable here.”
“I find that hard to believe,” said Jessica. “She raved about you gals.”
“She told us the Cardiff thing was to be temporary,” said Britt. “She went to help out a band she had met at the Green Man festival. A punk band I suppose. They called themselves ‘Ebola’ of all things. When they went on tour up north, she apparently told them she was moving back to Brynmawr. But she never showed.”
“Sounds fishy,” I said.
“I found them in Leeds,” said Karla. “They said they had not seen Izzie since leaving Cardiff. I believed them. They were gentle boys. How you say? Emo? Not the kind who would hurt her.”
“She had wanted to go to London,” said Jess. “She always talked about it. Never anything specific. It was just a place she wanted to go.”
Karla nodded. “Papa never let us linger there. Sometimes we passed through. Izzie was fascinated. I went to London and looked there, too. All over. I slept many days among the homeless. Showing her picture. Nothing.” Her gaze fell to cracked tiles of the parlor floor.
“Oh, I bet she’s just fine,” said Fiona. “She was a resourceful gal, that one. She knew how get things without money, that’s for sure. Good at making friends and getting people to help her.”
Fiona slapped a deck of cards onto the table. “How about a game of Spades? Anyone?”
Karla’s eyes had gone blank. I tried to get her attention but she got up and went up into the attic without even looking at me. She just up and left.
The ladies looked at each other.
“Don’t just sit there,” said Helen. “Go see to your girl.”
I went up and found Karla laying on the futon staring at the ceiling. I lay down next to her and she squirmed away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t touch me. I’m trying to surf.”
“Really? Now? Do you have to? Why don’t you stay here with us? Come on down and play some cards.”
“No.”
“Why do you have to go there? You think you’re going to find her there? You don’t even know if she’s crossing, and even if she does, the odds of you two being there at the same time are … remote.”
“Come with me,” she said, her eyes pleading. She stretched out her hand to me.
“I … can’t. I told you.”
She snapped her hand back. “Then leave me alone. One of us needs to go. We need to know why they want you there so badly. Why they hurt our friends. And yes, I need to make sure Isobel is not there … stuck in some pod again.”
“Why would she be in a pod? She broke out. I mean … I was never in a pod after the first few times. I always went back to wherever I left off. Except … that once.”
“Because sometimes people regress. Now stay away. Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. I need to set the mood.”
I sighed and got up from the futon and went back downstairs. The ladies were all eyes as I came down the steps.
“She wants to be alone.”
“Oh? Had a little tiff did you?” said Britt.
“Not really. She just wants to be alone.”
“She probably just needs some space to clear her head,” said Helen.
I sat down and Britt fetched me a glass and filled it halfway with bubbly.
“Hey … uh … did Izzie ever happen to mention a place called Root?”
“Root?” said Helen. “You mean that place you used to go sometimes? In your head?”
“It’s not in his head,” said Jess.
Fiona piped up. “She did mention feeling down on occasion and having these … visions, if that’s what you mean.”
“They’re not visions,” said Jessica. “Root is real.”
“Oh?” I said. “Have you gone, Jess?”
“Me? Heck no. Too happy, I guess. Can’t you tell from my sunny disposition? I just believe in it. I’ve just seen you in your trances. And the stories you and Karla both tell me, they’re too consistent, too vivid to be false.”
“Where is this place?” said Fiona.
“I want to see!” said Britt. “Can we go? How do we get there?”
“It’s a threshold to the afterlife,” I said. “You can’t just go there. It has to come to you. Karla thinks if she can find Izzie there, maybe she can find out where she is in this world. And that’s why I came downstairs. Because she’s up there trying to … surf.”
“She’s surfing,” said Britt, smirking.
“On a futon,” said Fiona.
Everyone burst out giggling but me. They all had had a little too much wine to take anything seriously, but I didn’t hold it against them. I just took a long swig of my Prosecco in hopes of catching up with whatever state of intoxication they had already achieved.
“I’ve had weird dreams too,” said Fiona. “When I was depressed.”
“Were you ever suicidal? Because … that’s what it takes … to get there.”
“No. Not quite. I was just miserable.”
“Who knows? Maybe you had a glimpse. But the roots generally don’t come for you you’re at the end of your rope. You have to want out of this world to get into Root.”
“So what’s it like there?” said Fiona.
“Well … it’s pretty horrible at first … if you just le
t things happen to you. There are these stinking tunnels and pods that bind you up and Reapers that … reap you.. But, like everything, the place is what you make of it. Only more so. In Root, everyone has the ability to … shape things. I don’t think the makers of the place intended that. You can reshape things. Some of us more than others. Weavers. We can create things. Make things nice. In some ways, nicer than they are here. And so suicide becomes out of the question because with all these new abilities and possibilities and communities comes hope. It’s kind of like a Catch-22 situation. It gets harder to go back, the more you want to. But … I’m over that now.”
The ladies were all looking at me with a mixture of fascination and perplexity.
“Go on,” said Britt.
“Well, what’s happened to me is … well … I’m in love. With Karla. Obviously. So, I don’t get unhappy enough to cross over anymore. But … Karla … she’s up in the attic … crossing over … which you can only do if you fool your mind into feeling suicidal. What I’m asking is … should I be concerned … about our relationship?”
“Of course you should be concerned,” said Britt. “You’re in a relationship with a woman.”
“It pays to be watchful,” said Fiona. “Partners communicate to each other with more than words. Every little action means something.”
“Well, not every action,” said Britt, giving Fiona the finger.
“Even that!” said Britt. “See? I know she’s being playful. It’s all about context and body language.”
“You have nothing to worry about, James,” said Helen. “Karla adores you. Don’t listen to these witches. I’ve seen the look in her eyes when she talks about you.”
“But … suicidal?” I said. “Really? I can’t get my head anywhere near that state. Not when I’m with her. How does she do it?”
“She’s a woman,” said Britt. “She’s female … like us.”
“I realize that.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, the emotional repertoire of a female is far greater than the average male’s,” said Fiona. “We can tap into a vast reservoir of unhappiness and resentment. It’s the female condition. Generations of oppression, persecution and inequality will do that. We have resources at our disposal. Don’t take it personally.”
“And can be sad on the outside or the inside,” said Britt. “And flip between them in a flash. These states co-exist, and the best of us waffle back and forth between them.”
“Sad but true,” said Jessica, shrugging. “I can be happy and sad at the same time. These feelings are not incompatible.”
“Are all women are like this?”
“Nah, not all,” said Britt.
“Only those who are worth knowing,” said Fiona. “There are plenty of silly, mindless bitches in this world. But those of us with stout hearts and robust souls experience the full range of female experience. And Karla, I would guess, is a robust soul. That girl has a brain and a heart. She can hurt and be happy.”
“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t worry?”
“I never said don’t worry,” said Fiona. “That was Helen. I would tell you whatever reservoir of angst she’s drawing from to achieve this state, it likely has nothing at all to do with you.”
“But then again, it might.”
“Britt! Please! I’ve just calmed the boy down and here you are troubling his head with disturbing notions.”
“Karla loves you, James,” said Jess. “That’s clear. There’s no way she doesn’t. I think that’s obvious to all of us who know you both.”
The ladies all nodded.
“No worries,” said Helen.
“For now,” said Britt. “But it can all go to shite in a blink.”
Fiona threw her a glare. “I don’t know whether to refill your glass or take it away,” said Fiona, commandeering the wine bottle.
“Fill it and I promise to shush.”
***
We stayed up another hour playing Spades and commiserating about the unfortunate events of the last two days.
“Losing Sturgie was bad enough,” said Jessica. “But then we had to go and lose the farm too?”
“You know what they say,” said Britt.
“What’s that?”
“Bad things … come in threes.”
“That’s it! I’m taking your glass away,” said Fiona, but Britt was too quick and snatched the wine glass to her bosom, splashing some of it on her blouse.
Helen was quick to daub it with a napkin.
“Good thing we’re not drinking red. It’s not as wearable.”
I was feeling a little nervous and anxious. “I’m … uh … gonna go up and check on Karla.”
I went up into the attic and found her lying calm and snoring gently on the futon. I crouched over her and studied her face, trying to determine if she had made the crossing or if the sandman had gotten to her before the roots. It was hard to tell.
I pulled the blanket up over her bare shoulder, gave her a peck on the cheek and went back downstairs. But the ladies had taken my leaving as the cue to break up the party. Helen and Jess were already in the kitchen washing dishes while Fiona and Britt put away the snacks.
“Can I help?”
“No thanks, hun,” said Fiona. “We have things under control.”
“How is she doing?” asked Helen.
“Snoozing.”
“Go on, then!” said Fiona. “Get back up there. Be with your woman. Hang out with the likes of us too long and we’ll turn you into a dyke.”
“Idle threats,” said Jess, winking at me. “I’ve been coming over here for years and they have yet to alter my preferences.”
I headed back to the attic stairs. I was still feeling a bit wired. This was shaping up to be a long night. But Sturgie’s wake wasn’t going to be till four, so even if I needed to sleep in, there would be plenty of time to get ourselves together.
The wood in the tread of the stairs was scooped with wear from centuries of use. Each tread had a different creak, and every one of them creaked. It made a strange music. He imagined that someone lying awake in another room could tell if someone was going up or down just from the pattern of the creaks.
A groan arose from the shadows. Karla staggered to the top of the stairs and stood trembling, wobbling forward and back out of the darkness so that the hall light alternately illuminated her face from below, highlighting the creases in her troubled brow, her sunken cheekbones, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked like a ghost.
She lost her balance and leaned towards the stairs, about to fall. I thudded up the last few steps in time to catch her. She went limp in my arms. I scooped her up behind her knees and carried her back into the attic.
“Are you feeling okay?” I said. “What’s happening?”
“I … I went back,” she whispered.
***
I helped her back to the futon and laid her down, snuggling up next to her.
“It’s gone. “All gone,” she whimpered.
“What’s gone?”
“Everything. There is nothing left. Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“The surface. It has been destroyed. There is utter destruction.”
“You mean, like Luthersburg?”
“Everything! It’s all gone. All of it. Penult. They’ve come and destroyed it all. Everything.”
“What about our friends. They … okay?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone we knew. I was lost. Couldn’t find my way. Everything was different. And then I was attacked. “I was stalked by these … creatures. Some Dusters had to rescue me.”
“What creatures? You mean like Reapers?”
“No, not Reapers. They looked like men but they weren’t. They have no soul.” She clutched my arm. “James! You need to go back. They need you.”
“But what exactly did they do? How did they destroy everything?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that it is all gone. All of it.
”
“Where did you go?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize anything.”
“Were you on the plains?”
“There are no plains.”
“What are you talking about? How can there be no—?”
She burst into tears. “I can’t explain. You need to go and see for yourself.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“So you will go?” She looked at me expectantly.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Not sure I can.”
“But you have to! You have to go and see!”
“Karla. I told you. I lost the knack.”
“There are refugees. Frelsians and Dusters together. They are being hunted. Exterminated or driven underground, back into Root.”
She buried her face in a pillow. Her body heaved. Her muffled sobs would not cease. I could only pat her shoulder. I felt useless.
I lay down beside her. I wanted to stay up and talk to her some more about what she saw once she calmed down, but somehow being near her, feeling her warmth next to me, a calm came over me and I drifted off to sleep. I could sense the distant stirrings and probing of roots, but in the end, only dreams came to whisk me away.
Chapter 12: Wake
I dreamt not of Root but of Cwm Gyrdd farm before the burning. Of me prowling the dewy meadows at dusk, rounding up stray goats that had slipped through the perpetually damaged fencing. The goats kept one meadow ahead, no matter how fast I ran, how stealthily or circuitously I approached. A storm crept low over the hills, sooty clouds smothering, lightning bolts stabbing.
My eyes opened to the sun bright in the attic windows and Karla snuggled against my side. The attic steps creaked. Fiona barged in carrying a steaming tray.
“Rise and shine you lazy bums. You ignored your breakfast, so now I’m bringing lunch. You have two hours before we head to the hospital to fetch Renfrew. They’re releasing him just in time to attend the wake.
“How’s he doing?” I said.
“What’s a little smoke inhalation to a man like him? He was a two pack a day smoker in his prime. A few burns won’t prevent him from shaking some hands. We’re going to put him in a wheelchair and trundle him about. He won’t like it, but we’re going to hide his fake leg. That way, he stays under our control.”