by James Sperl
“Now you know my secret to survival,” Kaplinsky said.
“Animals?” Jon said, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, quite serious. Being alone up here, I knew I had to do something or else I'd end up like those other poor unfortunate souls. Turns out animals are just as effective as people when it comes to having a set of eyes on you while you sleep.”
“What made you think to try them?” Andrew said. He stooped to peer into a cage housing a colony of deer mice.
“What other choice did I have? I guess you could say it was trial by fire. It could very easily not have worked, in which case none of us would be standing here now. Well, at least one of us wouldn't.”
Valentina looked into a cage and wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”
Kaplinsky moved to her side and glimpsed the animal she indicated.
“That's a hairy-tailed mole. Habitats like his were tricky, as he and others of his species tend to spend most of their time underground. So I had to relocate some earth up here to replicate natural living environments.”
Clarissa craned her neck to see a small snouted animal peek out from a hole it had burrowed into an ample mound of dirt.
“The good news is that he's nocturnal, so while I'm sleeping, he's foraging. Quite a few of the animals in here are night owls, which works out great. Hell, I've even considered trying to acquire a few bats, but I'm not sure where I'd put them.”
“Man, this place is like Noah's ark,” Evan said. He stuck his finger into a cage containing a pair of rabbits. “You've got, like, one of everything.”
Kaplinsky chuckled. “You're not too far off the mark. I have a pretty diverse selection of Pennsylvania wildlife to be sure.” He twisted and pointed to a collection of smaller cages. “Over there I've got some different species of shrew—smoky, least, Maryland. Next to them, an equal assortment of voles. I've got a couple of Norway rats, a few Southern bog lemmings, more white-footed mice than you can shake a stick at, your standard Appalachian cottontails, even one weasel. I hate keeping them all locked up like this, but if it means the difference between being here and not being here, well...it doesn't take much to reconcile my conscience.”
“How do you tolerate the smell?” Rachel said just before she put her hands over her nose.
“It takes some getting used to. But after several weeks, one tends not to notice it.”
“I don't know. I'm not sure I could ever get used to that odor.”
Cesare knelt and looked at a squirrel that cowered in a corner. It glared at him and made clicking noises. Its neighbor, a red-backed vole, loudly chewed the end of a dried corn cob.
“I would think the harder thing to get used to would be the noise,” he said. “Is it ever quiet?”
“Not really,” Kaplinsky said. He checked the water levels in several of the animals' cages. “But you get used to that too. Truthfully, I rather like the feeling that I'm sleeping in the forest from the comfort of my bed. I find it soothing.”
Everyone investigated the animals strewn around the room, each person cautiously putting his or her face up against an enclosure to gaze at the unlucky creature inside it. It was quite the setup. Kaplinsky had spent unfathomable hours not only assembling the cages but also acquiring their inhabitants.
“So,” Kaplinsky said abruptly. He clapped his hands together loudly, startling the animals and more than a few people. “I imagine you'll be off soon to look for Rosenstein?”
Andrew stood from looking at the weasel. He regarded Jon, Cesare, and Clarissa before answering. “Most likely. The sooner we get a move on the better.”
“Of course, of course. However, if you would permit me, I would like to extend to all of you an invitation.”
Clarissa cocked her head. “An invitation?”
“Yes,” Kaplinsky continued. “To be my guests for dinner. I can't remember the last time I cooked a meal for more than just myself. I have fresh potatoes, vegetables, and a leg of cured pork I just acquired from a farmer friend of mine. You'd be doing an old, cross-dressing ex-scientist quite the favor if you'd stay the evening. Did I mention I make a mean stew?”
Kaplinsky's offer was less a request than it was a plea. The man desperately craved company, even if only for a night. Clarissa and Andrew looked at one another and shrugged, the gesture repeated by Jon and Cesare and nearly everyone else who could find no good reason not to sacrifice an evening for a man who had been nothing but gracious, kind, and informative.
Clarissa felt comfortable she could speak for everyone when she said, “We'd be delighted.”
* * *
Clarissa had collapsed onto the end of the couch in the living room more than twenty minutes ago and still hadn't moved. Kaplinsky wasn't lying. He did make a mean stew.
Post-dinner clean-up wound down. Elenora and Cesare insisted on dish duty, while Rachel and Evan volunteered to help Kaplinsky take the scraps from dinner and redistribute them to the animals upstairs. Clarissa had volunteered to assist in any and all endeavors, but Kaplinsky's only request was that she refill the empty water vessels in the house using an outside well. Eight minutes later, she lay nearly prone on the sofa.
Andrew, fresh from plotting the next day's course with Jon, sauntered into the room and sat beside her. He leaned back and sighed contentedly.
“It's a good thing you're here,” he said.
Clarissa didn't have the energy to look at him. “Yeah, why's that?”
“Because I might very likely fall asleep.”
“What if I fall asleep first?”
“Then we may both be screwed.”
Clarissa giggled.
Kaplinsky entered just ahead of Rachel and Evan, both of whom joined Valentina as she perused old Vogue magazines on the floor by the bookcase.
Clarissa had been watching her friend throughout the day and finally caught a glimpse of the girl she used to know at dinner when she initiated a round of knock-knock jokes: Knock knock. Who's there? Yodel-ay-he. Yodel-lay-he-who? What, do you live in the Swiss Alps? She hoped with everything she had that Valentina's demons were behind her.
Kaplinsky cut a path for Clarissa and Andrew. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” Clarissa said, sitting up. “I'll slide over.”
“No need,” Kaplinsky said then proceeded to plop down on the floor. He held up two bottles of nail polish—one pink, one purple. “Which one?”
Clarissa scrutinized her choices. “Be bold. Go purple.”
“A girl after my own heart.” Tossing the pink one aside, he twisted off the lid to the purple jar and propped a foot on the edge of the couch. He looked from Andrew to Clarissa. “This isn't going to freak anyone out, is it? I've wanted to try these colors since I was able to trade for them.”
“I'm fine with it,” said Clarissa. “Purple's my jam.”
“Me too,” added Andrew. “Though I'm more of a green guy myself.”
Kaplinsky froze, the nail applicator hovering in the air. “You know, I almost got my hands on a bottle of OPI's Zom-body to Love? It was nuclear green and glowed in the dark. It's high on my covet list.”
Clarissa pinched off a pursed-lip grin. “So you've been out here by yourself this entire time?” she asked. “Since the Sound?”
Kaplinsky spread a glob of polish over his big toenail. “Oh, well before that. After I left Rosenstein, I couldn't quite figure out what I wanted to do. I dabbled here and there doing some online freelance and consultant work, but nothing really panned out. I was pretty well removed from society at that point.”
“Didn't you have any friends?”
“Had.” Kaplinsky shrugged. “Once my 'big secret' came out, it got weird for lots of folks. No one looked at me the same way. I stopped getting invited to happy hours, barbecues. So I just did my job until one day I decided I didn't want to anymore.”
“Oh, my God, that's so sad. I couldn't imagine being forced into a life of alienation and isolation.”
And she couldn't.
As a relatively attractive girl who lived the approved lifestyle deemed “normal” by society, Clarissa knew at an early age that most of the setbacks she would encounter in her life would be by her own hand. It didn't mean her life would be easy, or that she would be immune to sexism, or even free from the uncomfortable leers of self-entitled men, but she would escape most forms of harmful discrimination simply by being a pretty girl who liked boys. But sometimes even that base distinction wasn't without its share of traumatic outcomes, as she well knew.
“I would find that sort of life very lonely.”
Andrew leaned forward onto his elbows and inserted himself into the conversation. “Well,” he began, “it is lonely.”
Clarissa clapped a hand to her mouth. In the face of feeling sympathy for Kaplinsky, she overlooked the fact that Andrew had subjected himself to similar arrangements under horrific circumstances of his own.
“Oh, my God, Andrew,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
Kaplinsky stopped painting to look at Andrew.
“Have similar histories, do we?”
“Not entirely,” Andrew said. “But our outcome is the same.” He peeked at Clarissa as if gauging whether he should divulge anything further. “Some years ago, my wife...she, um...”
Kaplinsky nodded compassionately. “Say no more. Life can be a ruthless bitch sometimes, can't she?”
Andrew forced a grim smile. “In more ways than you know. Since that day, I made the decision to move off the grid. Just like she and I had always wanted to.”
Seconds had passed before Clarissa blurted, “His wife was a beautiful woman.” She didn't know what had compelled her to say that, only that it felt like the thing to say. She had always been this way—incapable of allowing silences to linger. It made her feel extraordinarily uncomfortable. For some reason, she felt it incumbent upon her to fill the gap in conversation when words failed. Now was no exception.
“Yes, she was,” Andrew said, delivering her an interrogative sideways glance. “Inside and out.”
“City dweller or country boy?” Kaplinsky asked, as he moved on to the next toe.
“Country boy. After Liv, well...I built the house and lived the life we always dreamed of up in the foothills of the Umpqua National Forest. I just wish we would've decided to do it sooner.”
“A close second to life is hindsight,” Kaplinsky said. “She's a bitch too, but more deceitful. Hindsight tries to make you believe that you could have had control over the outcome of a choice. But believe you me, no good ever came from retrospect. It's a method of torture we use to inflict guilt on ourselves. But I've taught myself not to. Life, as they say, is too short. I gave up dredging up the past long ago, and I've been a happier person as a result.”
“Sounds like good advice,” Andrew said.
“Let me ask you something,” Kaplinsky said, his tongue cutting to the corner of his mouth in concentration, as he traced the edge of a cuticle. “Would you say your decision to retreat to the mountains was something that came about organically or was it a direct result of anger?”
Andrew gripped his hands. “Oh, it was well beyond anger. It was unbridled rage. I was already beginning to reach my limits with society and its penchant for apathy, intolerance, narcissism, and violence, but after Liv...” His eyes drifted to the floor, where he stared vacantly. Kaplinsky glimpsed Clarissa when Andrew continued. “After that...well, I just couldn't bring myself to be a part of the world any longer. So I left it.”
Clarissa cleared her throat. “Is that why you never stayed to eat a meal at Aunt Mae's?” She turned to Kaplinsky ahead of an explanation. “Andrew used to come to where I worked once a month and got breakfast to go. Always to go. Did it for years. He never once stayed.”
Kaplinsky stuck out his bottom lip in contemplation. “Sounds to me, Andrew, like you weren't entirely through with society just yet. Or maybe it was just that this Aunt Mae's place made really good eggs.”
A hint of a smile crept onto Andrew's lips. He looked at Kaplinsky and let it grow further.
“You may be right. On both counts.”
“See,” Clarissa said. She leaned over and gave Andrew a playful elbow. “There are good things left in the world. And good people. It just, you know...takes some time to remember that.”
Andrew flashed her a look so indignant it caused Clarissa to lean away from him.
“You may very well be right, Clarissa. Hell, the world, or what's left of it, might be full to the brim with benevolent human beings, yet all it takes is a bullet from just one of them to change the life of somebody else forever.”
Clarissa's face flushed with warmth.
“No, I know that. I didn't mean—”
“Did you know,” Andrew said to Kaplinsky abruptly, “that my wife was a daycare worker? Loved kids. Loved being around them. Loved their energy and their innocence. We talked a lot of starting a family. In truth, I was a bit on the fence about the whole thing, but I knew if my wife was in the picture, our children would turn out fine.”
“Andrew—”
“But now,” he said, steamrolling over Clarissa, “that will never happen. Not for us. Not for me. It wasn't an easy thing to accept, but I made peace with it. But what about all the kids she left behind that depended on her? That had grown to love her? How did they make peace with the hole left in their lives? How, as a child, do you come to terms with someone who's there one day then gone from the world forever the next? And all thanks to one asshole who had a bad day? Adults are barely equipped to deal with such loss.” He snapped his head to Clarissa. “So if you're asking me why I didn't feel particularly compelled to eat my meal in the company of total strangers, I would hope the answer is as loud and clear as the Sound.”
In moments such as this, Clarissa's first instinct was to apologize, if only to diffuse tension. It didn't mean she was sorry, necessarily. It just meant that, much like prolonged silences, it breached her comfort level, and she needed to employ defensive tactics to alleviate embarrassment she had no reason to feel. She had offended Andrew, even though that hadn't been her intention. All she wanted to do was reinforce her belief that positivity could still be found from even the most negative situation. It was becoming a harder tenet to sell. Despite Andrew's raw feelings, she saw no reason to shy away from that message.
“Look, Andrew, I know you still feel anger over what happened to your wife. Anger that I won't pretend to understand, but it's because of that, because of what we're all going through right now, that I feel more than ever we need to try to find the good.”
Andrew stared at his hands. Clarissa glanced at Kaplinsky for a visual clue: Should I continue? But he only offered raised eyebrows as advice.
Uncomfortable silence threatened.
“I mean, take the people in this room,” she went on. “A few months ago, I didn't know most of them, and you...you didn't know any of them. And now look at us. They're all great people. People who we look out for and who we trust with our lives. People who have become friends. Even, Kap, here, and we just met him.” Clarissa smiled and gripped Kaplinsky's forearm, which caused his applicator brush to deviate from his nail onto the skin of his third toe. She grimaced apologetically. “Sorry.”
“I think I'll survive,” he said.
“I hear what you're saying, Clarissa,” Andrew said, looking up. “I do. But for every one good person, there are ten others just waiting to tear him down and stomp over his body to get what they want. It's how humans are.” He sat up and gestured with his entire arm. “Just look around. People have become selfish animals who would kill you for a can of beans, or worse yet, just for fun. Is that the measure of humanity? Are these 'good' people?”
“Of course not,” Clarissa countered. She twisted sideways to face him. “But those people are exceptions. Exceptions who, like many of us, are reacting out of fear. A fear of something they not only can't comprehend but of something they could have never imagined in a million years. Some people are better equipped to handle th
at fear than others. It doesn't make those who can't bad people. It just makes them human. All we can do is continue doing what we're doing.”
Andrew scoffed. “Which is what exactly?”
“Sticking together and finding Rosenstein. With any luck, they'll have a solution to all of this so we can get things back to normal.”
Andrew's eyes bulged into globes of incredulity.
“Back to normal? Back to normal?” He coughed laughter. It was instantaneous and loud enough to draw the attention of Valentina, Rachel, and Evan. Jon looked at him from the kitchen table where he had been reviewing a road atlas. “Why the hell would we want to go and do that?”
Clarissa stiffened. She caught Kaplinsky's look of surprise from the corner of her eye.
“Go back to a world of violent extremists? People who would blow you up or cut off your head just because your beliefs differed from theirs? Back to overpopulation, mass pollution, food and water shortages? Back to abject poverty and corrupt governments? Back to...back to embracing gun laws that ensure even the most deranged fuck has the right to own a weapon so he can one day walk into a shopping center and kill scores of people just because? Back to that?”
Clarissa felt two inches tall. She wanted to hit the rewind button and go back to sixty seconds ago.
Andrew was on his feet now, glaring at her through an unsettling smile. “You know, there's a part of me that's actually rooting for the Sound and whatever's taking people. That maybe it'll take enough so it shocks those who're left back into decency. If that could happen, then we might just get a world I'd want to live in. If that could happen, then we just might get a glimpse at what it means to be human.”