by James Huss
“I’ve never had Chinese food,” Shelley said.
“I bet you haven’t.” He chuckled. “First time away from home?” She nodded before I had a chance to cut in.
“We’re on our way to the city.” I didn’t want to reveal too much of our inexperience. I didn’t want to seem too vulnerable. But he saw through my flimsy veneer anyway.
His eyes awoke with a strange curiosity, and his whole demeanor took a slight turn, but to where I could not guess. “What the virus are two village kids doing looking for the city?” Shelley grimaced. “What’s the matter, little lady?” he said gently.
She spoke timidly. “You said the V-word. I never heard such foul language before I came to this village.”
“They’re just words, honey. We got a lot more to worry about in this trying life than words.” He raised his hand. The man came out from behind the counter and dropped a menu on our table. H.F. pointed to a place on the menu, held up three fingers, and the man took the menu away. He never drew his attention away from us or the conversation.
“We’re going to see the doctors,” I said. H.F. sat up in his chair, darting his eyes from me to Shelley to me again.
“The doctors?” The furrows of his forehead betrayed a faint bewilderment. “What the blight for?” H.F. pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with a wooden match from his other pocket, inhaling the smoke in short puffs to get the tobacco burning, all the while never taking his eyes off of me. He shook the match to extinguish its flame and for the first time in what seemed a thousand uncomfortable seconds took his gaze off my face and looked around for a place to dispose of it.
“Cigarettes? I thought those were illegal,” Shelley said.
H.F. blew the smoke directly above him. A grayish cloud hovered beneath the low ceiling. “Yep. So are guns and cars and moonshine and blah blah blah. In the Union. But the rules ain’t the same here.” He crossed his legs and slumped over on his stool, resting his elbow on the bent leg. The man from behind the counter brought an ashtray over and set it on the table in front of him. H.F. dropped the burnt match into the ashtray and then tapped the ash from his cigarette. He took another puff, this time inhaling deeply, and blew the smoke over his head again. “You can get anything you want in this town. If you got the money.” The last of a lungful of smoke drifted across his lips as he spoke. “Whaddya want to see the doctors for?”
“Marlowe thinks they have the Cure for the Disease.” There was a bit of condescension in her voice.
“It’s—it’s not that.” I tried not to seem so naïve and foolish. “Maybe they do. Or maybe they have some kind of treatment. I know there are scientists in the city, and all we hear of their work are rumors and conjecture. We are going there to find out the truth.” I struggled to sound like I had some sense, waiting for the laughter.
But H.F. didn’t laugh. He just leaned forward and said very seriously, “I know a guy.” Before I had a chance to respond, he pressed the end of his cigarette in the ashtray and put his bent leg on the floor. The man from behind the counter was carrying three plates in his hand. One by one he put a plate down before each of us. “Let’s eat,” H.F. said excitedly.
The “Chinese food” was rice fried with vegetables and a few small strips of pork. It was good, though I don’t know how Chinese it was. “Whaddya think?” H.F. said with a mouth full of rice.
“It’s delicious,” Shelley said. She smiled at H.F. and then caught notice of me staring and went back to her food. H.F. looked to me and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. He was chewing his food like cud.
“It’s okay,” I said without looking up.
I ate all of my food and even finished off what Shelley left. The man from behind the counter took our plates and left a bill. H.F. immediately snatched it up. “I got this.” He fumbled around in his jacket dramatically. “Uh-oh. Seems I left my money back in the room.” He set the bill on the table and slid it over to me. “You mind? I’ll get breakfast. Promise.” I picked up the paper check and stared at it. “Only two pieces. You got that, right?”
I dropped two pieces of silver on the table carelessly and stood up to leave. One of the pieces rolled off the table onto the floor. “Marlowe,” Shelley chided, “don’t be so rude.” She picked the coin up off of the floor and placed it gently on the table with the other.
“Sorry,” I said blankly.
“No worries,” H.F. said. He offered me a cigarette. I waved it off.
“No thanks,” I said. He lit the cigarette for himself.
“Let’s go.” H.F. nodded to the man behind the counter before we left.
*.*.*
On the way back to the hotel, H.F. talked nonstop. Shelley would cut in from time to time, and he would half answer then move on to the next thing. I didn’t feel much like talking, so I held Shelley’s hand tight and listened closely.
“Going to the city, eh?” He would ask us questions, but wouldn’t wait for the answer. “I’ve been to the city many times.”
“Are you a trader?” Shelley asked.
“Of sorts. I mostly ‘facilitate’ trade.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. “Haven’t done any real trading in a while. Made a lot of money in my day. Even had a car.”
“Interesting. Gas went bad before you were born.” He was lying. I had him.
“Sure did. You must’ve read that somewhere.” His condescension was unnerving. “Well, this car ran on vegetable oil.” Plagues! He continued, “Used to drive from just outside the city to this village and back almost every day. The city folk mostly trade for food: fruits, vegetables, meat—can’t really farm inside the city limits.” He lit another cigarette. “But that takes too much time and effort. The real money’s in tobacco.” He held up his cigarette. “You know how much city folk pay for a pack of these?” He took a long drag. “Don’t know why these are illegal.” He blew the smoke out slowly.
“You had a car?” Shelley asked. She was awed and impressed—I could sense it in her tone. “Aren’t they illegal too?”
“I told ya—the rules ain’t the same here. Besides, the long arm of the city law only goes so far as the city walls.” The cigarette had withered to a butt. He took one last drag and tossed it to the side with a flick of his middle finger. “That’s what makes this place—the city rules. People in the city come here to get away from the rules. Here you can do anything.” He lowered his voice. “There were several of these rebel villages a few years back. Then the mayor had his henchmen burn all the bridges. Now the only way east from the city is through this village. Pretty smart if you asked me. The mayor of this town’s the richest man outside the city. Takes a cut of every piece of silver that changes hands around here.” He stopped. “Here we are.” We were back at the hotel. “Know why that hotel room cost three pieces?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “The owner gets one, the girl gets one, and the mayor gets one.” He lit another cigarette. “You two can head on in. I’m gonna burn one more before I hit the sack.”
I gave Shelley the key. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you. I need to ask H.F. a few questions about getting around in the city.”
“Okay.” She took the key with her left hand and extended her right to H.F. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, darlin’,” he said casually, the cigarette hanging precariously from his bottom lip. He shook her hand with both of his, and it seemed the longest handshake I’d ever seen. Shelley even blushed a little—it made my heart dance, but not for joy, not joy!
Finally I interrupted. “We’d better get to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.” Shelley drew back her hand and started for the door, but then stopped abruptly and turned back to me.
“Don’t talk too much. We have a long day tomorrow,” she said with a smile. Then she kissed my cheek before darting inside.
“That’s a pretty girl you got there.”
“She’s dying.”
“Sorry to hear that, kid.” He paused, and we stared for a moment in
awkward and uncomfortable silence. “But we’re all dying, ain’t we? S’pose I only got a few years myself—I’ll be twenty-four next month.”
“You said you knew a guy.”
“Forget about that, kid.” He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his foot. “Take the bridge outside the village—it’ll lead you right to the city.” He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. “Sorry about your girl.” He stepped past me and took the handle of the door in his hand. “Don’t forget—breakfast is on me,” he said as he disappeared into the hotel.
Chapter XXI
When I got to the room, Shelley was in the bed writing in her Book. She put it away quickly. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and took my shoes off. “Nothing.”
She repeated herself in a softer voice, “What’s wrong, Marlowe?”
“You were flirting with him,” I said without looking at her.
“I was not.” I looked at her with my eyebrow raised. She looked away. “Okay, maybe a little. But he was charming, don’t you think?”
“No,” I replied. “He was creepy.” She giggled softly as she slid over on the bed and sat next to me.
She caressed my back gently. “What are you worried about, anyway? We’ll never see him again.”
I smiled half a smile, then grabbed a pillow and lay down on the floor. “I guess you’re right,” I mumbled.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to sleep.”
“On the floor?” She pulled the covers back for me. “Get in the bed.”
*.*.*
I woke up on the edge of the bed with Shelley’s leg and arm draped across my body. She was swaddled in covers as I lay bare to the elements. “So this is what it’s like to sleep with a woman,” I muttered to myself. The sun’s dawning light through the threadbare curtains set her face aglow, soft rays shimmering in a hazy aura about soft skin and soft features—it was surreal and yet the most beautiful image upon which I’d ever gazed, and every day I still see with my mind’s eye the flush of her cheek, the slight grin on her sleeping face, the smooth orbs protruding ever so slightly beneath her closed eyelids, occasionally darting to and fro as they followed the illusions in her dreams. She turned her head toward me as though she were about to wake, but then rolled over and went limp again, taking the last shred of quilted fabric with her.
I sat up. “Shelley,” I said softly. “You awake?” She groaned and rolled over.
“I am now.” She rubbed her eyes and looked at me. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, offering me the blanket.
“I’m fine. We have to get up and get going anyway.” She rolled over and sat upright, planting her feet on the floor. “Wanna take a shower? I’ll turn on the pump.”
She took longer than I expected. I wondered if women always took this long to get ready. Then it was my turn, and I realized the niggardly spigot would part with but one meager drop of water at a time, though I was thankful for every one of them.
It was still quite early, but that saucy girl was already at her post. I saw no sign of H.F. “Have you seen the gentleman we were with last night? H.F.?” I dropped my key on the counter. She sat up and reached out with her left hand, covering the key and sliding it off the counter into her right.
“Left early this morning.” She pulled the master key out from under her shirt and opened the box that said “Four,” replacing its key and retrieving from it a carefully folded note. “Left this for you.” She handed me the note. It was from H.F.
“What is it?” Shelley leaned in to read.
“A name. And an address.” That was all. “In Green City.” I folded the paper and stuck it in my pocket. “Thanks for the hospitality.” I took Shelley’s hand. “Let’s go.”
*.*.*
We had crossed the bridge and were ascending a slight hill when we first saw them. There were dozens, running in formation toward the village gate, carrying clubs and axes and torches. They descended upon the sleepy town with a vengeance. I urged Shelley on, for our only safety was in distance from those diseased barbarians. Even from that distance, it was terrible to hear the clash, the scream, the kindling of house and hostel. At first there were gunshots, and though they did not last, the sound of them spurred us to a swifter pace—we were almost running to the top of that hill. The yawp and holler waned as the weep and wail waxed, though all the cacophonies of war faded fast once we crossed the ridge and descended the other side of the hill and the village was out of sight, but not out of mind.
We said nothing to each other. We just walked. What was there to say? We didn’t know those people, and they cared not for us, only our silver. They were a heartless and avaricious people. And yet they were people nonetheless. We felt sorry for them, but we would shed no tears, for we had none to spare.
The road became flatter and smoother as we traveled along. We saw a trader carting his fare to that Sodom or Gomorrah, and we tried to warn him of the danger. But he merely whipped his horses and rode swiftly past us as though we were highwaymen. There was no trust in these paths, nor should there be. I feared what danger that merchant’s caution might incite. That fear did not last. We had our own dangers to contend with.
It wasn’t long before the sun was high in the sky and we were cresting what seemed the thousandth ridge. The foothills were just that—hills. Endless hills everywhere. Those hills protected us in many ways, but for travelers they were no boon. This particular hill was not boonless, for as I crested that thousandth ridge, I was blinded by the shimmer of sun off glass, glass high in the cloudless sky and free of the strangling vine that creeps along the lesser buildings and cloaks their archaic splendor. It was the shimmering glass of one of those magnificent skyscrapers the Ancients erected in their cities, and it was divine! Green City!
“Shelley—we’re here!”
Chapter XXII
The sun drew the evening rainwaters from the earth, making the air thick and humid. A fog encircled the jagged skyline, separating the upper floors of the buildings from the ground below, and the tops of those great skyscrapers seemed almost afloat in the misty air. Behind them the foothills sat, they too aiming for the skies, but gently lured toward the heavens by the gods, not hastily thrust into the welkin by men. It was a stark contrast between the masterworks of a mother and her children.
I bolted down the suburban road and immediately tripped on a root that had ages ago penetrated the asphalt path and lay in wait to ambush the careless pedestrian. This pedestrian went tumbling down the hillside. “Marlowe!” Shelley yelled, as my pack spilled opened and littered the ground with my every possession. I came to a thumping halt against a large oak just off the road. “Are you okay?” She ran over and sat down beside me, examining my head and face for injuries.
“Ow,” was all I could say. The fall hurt my pride more than my head.
“Are you bleeding?”
“No.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She brushed the grass and dirt out of my hair. “Oh, baby . . .” She kissed my forehead. “That was . . .” I closed my eyes and patiently awaited the sweet nothings she would surely utter to sooth my aching head. “That was . . . hilarious.” She laughed heartily. My jaw dropped. She stifled her laugh with her hand, but it nevertheless burst through in snorts and grunts.
“Oh, Marlowe.” My face turned red. “It’s okay.” Her futile attempt at holding back laughter incited my own. I turned my head, but she caught a glimpse of my expanding grin. She let loose her laughter, and mine exploded right behind. We fell to the grass, and (of course) we kissed, right there in the shadow of those ancient steel and concrete and glass spires wherein our salvation lay. Or so we hoped.
We sat giggling and poking and kissing and tickling until footsteps on the path brought our accidental tryst to an end.
“These your things?” The voice came from a tall, imposing figure. He was scanning our scattering of belongings and gaugi
ng them for their worth. We clumsily gathered my things and stuffed them in my bag. “Relax. I ain’t gonna swipe your stuff.” And with that, the man lazily strolled down the path.
We watched him disappear and sighed relief when he was gone. I looked into Shelley’s eyes, and for one unforgettable moment escaped this awful world, this pain and misery that followed us through our dearth of days. We had left death behind, and we were on our way to meet death yet again, but in that moment there was no sadness, no suffering, no Disease—just Shelley. My mind was empty of every thought but her, and I gazed at her aura with a half-drunken smile.
“Marlowe? Are you okay? You look dizzy. You sure you didn’t hit your head?”
I came to and started gathering my things again. I was a little embarrassed. I suppose I always loved Shelley more than she loved me. But I never cared about that, as long as she loved me. She grabbed my arm. “Oh, Marlowe, I’m just kidding.” She stared deeply into my eyes as a thought gathered behind her own. “You know, Marlowe, sometimes you make me forget all about this dreadful world.” She smiled and gave me a quick kiss, and we gathered up the rest of my things.
*.*.*
The fence, the guard, the gate—they were so much like the description in Benjonsen’s book, I didn’t have to ask. But nervousness and excitement prompted the unnecessary question, anyway.
The guard replied tepidly, “Yeah, yeah, it’s Green City. See that big sign over there?”
It was faded and rusty, and I could barely make out the words. “I think it says Greenville.”
“Yeah, yeah, same difference. You coming in or not?” The city guard waited impatiently at the gate.
I took Shelley by the hand. “We’re finally here—Green City!”
“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t got all day.” The guard’s eyes widened as he tilted his head in the direction of the gate.
“Let’s see what all the fuss is about.” Shelley darted ahead of me. I cut my eyes at the guard, who had already mounted his post, a wobbly wooden chair with a folded blanket for a cushion and a bucket for an ottoman.