Side Life

by Steve Toutonghi

  He looks up and sees massive clouds thundering in the silent distance. He sees so much air. Only a few years ago, everything that Gao felt in the world—even the mild chill on the wind—carried promise. He would never have imagined his life narrowing to such a sharp point so quickly, his choices flattening so completely, leaving his future to be wholly determined by such a tiny mutiny. And all in pursuit of this, these paper bills in a paper envelope. Taken together, this was the shape and limit of his future.

  Vin has stopped trying to affect Gao, or change his actions. Gao pulls the short pile of colorful bills from the envelope, leaving a few coins within. He lets the envelope drop to the black asphalt and takes a step away from it. The bills in his hands are wrinkled, faded, green, purple, brown and red. He fans them out. This is his life.

  In a single, swift movement he lowers his hands and then throws the money up at the sky, flinging the small pile of bills and watching it scatter on a gusting wind. The money flutters as the breeze strengthens, and then the bills begin to drop, twisting slowly toward the paved ground. He walks away from them.

  GAO WALKS ALL THE WAY to the distant dormitory room that he shares with five other men, all of whom are at work. He curls up on his thin mattress and faces the wall. For the rest of the dream, Vin counts the moments ticking past. The dream has become very painful, and terribly boring.

  Vin tries to get Gao out of bed. He tries to imagine elaborate conversations with Miss Li in which they both recognize that they’re destined to be with each other. He visualizes walking to the mess area and trying to find her during the evening meal. Some of the ideas he has, he repeats over and over: Maybe Miss Li will try again tomorrow; maybe she’ll forgive Gao, especially if he apologizes. Nothing, no matter how extravagant or quotidian, draws a response from Gao. Gao, convinced that he has humiliated Miss Li when she was most vulnerable and has missed his only appointment with fate, has descended beyond depths from which mere imaginings might recover him.

  Gao now knows he is the kind of person who behaves callously toward others and is too frightened to be brave. He imagines the consequences of his actions. Devastated by the loss of face, Miss Li will quit her own job and move back to her country village. Her parents won’t welcome her. Things will go badly.

  No, Vin insists, from his place inside Gao’s thoughts, that’s ridiculous. Go back to your station now and you’ll see her at hers. She might even smile at you.

  But Gao can’t allow himself a hope so intoxicating. He is not going to complete the last part of his shift. The world is merciless and his supervisor will note his absence. Miss Li is crushed. Gao is nearly penniless and soon will be unemployed and homeless. Nothing will ever be good again.

  PART IV

  REAL LIFE

  CHAPTER 10

  Passing Through

  When the dream was over, Kim stood while Vin climbed out of the crèche. He moved slowly. He still felt like he was Gao Cheng, as if the two of them were a double image. He was still struggling with frustrated desire for Li Yehao. The lively pressure of Kim’s hands and the feel of the robe on his skin had an unreal quality, a perfect familiarity that dissolved his ability to speak.

  The light in the office was smeary and yellowish. Kim said, “Let’s go upstairs. I made us breakfast.”

  He looked up into the chute and remembered Xiao Hui as a wire-haired puppy, remembered the lead soldiers Winston Churchill had spent hours of his childhood arranging in painted ranks for his father to notice, and the white edge of a ripple of blue water rolling onto a sand beach in the Philippines. Loneliness shivered through the memories.

  “I’m okay,” he said, as he began to climb. “But it was difficult. Very lucid. It’s already almost impossible to remember how real it feels. I did make things happen though. But only in certain ways. I did something cruel.”

  Kim was climbing behind him. “It was a dream.”

  He waited in the dark bedroom. When she was out of the chute, she said, “I watched you almost the whole time. Nothing happened.”

  THERE WAS A LARGE FORMAL table standing lengthwise in the dining room, circled by high-backed, carved wooden chairs. Mid-morning light from the picture window caught the table’s varnish in bright strips. Most of the table was stained dark, a slightly greenish color that muted the wood grain. A four-inch decorative inlay highlighted the grain around the edges. A seam in the middle suggested insertable leaves.

  “I like the table,” he said.

  “So do I,” Kim said as she went into the kitchen. “I’ll get breakfast.”

  He pulled a chair out and sat, placing both palms on the table’s smooth surface. Kim stopped moving. She said, “That’s not what you meant, is it?”

  “No.”

  Kim was in jeans and a loose yellow blouse that accentuated movement. She had an oven mitt on and was lifting a plate of eggs. She set it on the island and watched him.

  “You don’t remember the table, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “A small card table. A folding table. Cheap. With cheap folding chairs. It was here when I moved in.”

  “The room was empty when you moved in. You told me you got that from Craigslist.”

  “That didn’t happen.”

  “No, you don’t remember it. It’s only me telling you that it was different, right? Like I said it would be.”

  Vin nodded, acknowledging that she had anticipated this risk.

  “What do we do?” Kim said, unnerved. “I have to ask you things now. Okay? So, what is your name?”

  “What?”

  She raised her hands, palms up.

  “Vin Walsh,” he said.

  “Okay. And, who am I?”

  “Kim . . . Kimberly Badgerman.”

  “And my brother, what is my brother’s name?”

  “Is he alive?” Vin jumped to his feet, almost losing his balance as he pushed back the chair. “Did I do it?”

  Kim held his gaze.

  “He’s dead,” Vin said. He sat. “His name was Bill. He was shot by a man named Lincoln.” Vin looked across the table at an empty wooden chair.

  “I bought this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Kim. This may sound crazy, I know—and maybe it’s offensive to say—but I don’t understand what, well, what evidence do I have that you’re not doing all this?”

  “What—are you saying to me?”

  “I mean, could you be replacing . . .” Vin heard how absurd the sentence would be if it were completed and stopped talking.

  “Am I making all of this up? Is that what you’re asking? Whether this is me? Whether I’m gaslighting you?”

  Vin froze, unable to acknowledge the question.

  “Well, first, according to you, I’m dead. I mean, I think that would be a strange thing to do to you. And, I made us eggs.”

  They didn’t talk as Kim brought the platter and pulled four slices from a toaster he didn’t own and carried them over with silverware he didn’t recognize. Using a long black plastic spoon that hadn’t been in the house before he went into the crèche, Kim put portions of eggs on unfamiliar white plates and offered one of them to him.

  “The crèche is stealing your memories,” she said as he reached for the plate.

  “You don’t know what’s happening.”

  Oregano and cheddar in the eggs, the way he liked it. But he had no appetite and the smell was making him dizzy. “It’s not stealing memories. I have different memories,” he said at last. “But, you’re right. I can’t go in again.”

  “And what about her?” Kim asked.

  “Who?”

  “That woman. The one in the other crèche.”

  SHE WAS IN THE THIRD casket, not the first, floating naked in the blue solution, and it wasn’t the same woman. This woman was short and heavyset, square-cheeked, her bobbed hair a slate and clunch-colored marl.

  Vin’s hand was on the transparent pane when a segment
of the lighting strip that bordered it began to flash yellow. Then a strip around the edge of the lid blinked green. Vin lifted his hand and the pane misted over. The crèche made a gurgling sound.

  “She’s waking up,” Kim whispered.

  “The cycle of revival,” Vin said.

  “I’m glad she’s still alive.”

  The way she said it jolted Vin. “How long has she been here?”

  “Since you found this place.”

  “But . . .” Vin had something to ask, but wasn’t sure what. He found the notebooks on the desk, picked up Nerdean’s and opened it, flipping through the pages one at a time. They all looked exactly as he remembered them, but because so much of the text was in Nerdean’s unreadable code, he couldn’t tell whether or not it had changed.

  “Did I tell you if I knew her name?” he asked.

  “That’s Nerdean. That’s what you said.”

  “No, I don’t think it is.”

  They tracked what was happening as the lights changed—yellow, green, yellow, blue, and then green again—accompanied by gargling and draining sounds and an occasional monotone whistling.

  Kim said, “You should get your clothes on. But bring back the robe. I’ll stay with her.”

  THOUGH THE FULL CYCLE OF revival required more than an hour, it passed quickly. At the end, a segment on the indicator strips around both the transparent pane and the edge of the lid turned green. The segments of light kept pace with each other as they made a full circle around the casket. There were a series of crisp clicks and then the lid lifted, paused, and smoothly turned on one side as it swung open.

  The woman lying within was on foam that they watched deflate and retract into the crèche’s interior, like an anemone retreating into its shell. Her eyes twitched under their lids and then opened and she drew in a long, tranquil breath. As she became aware of Vin and Kim, a flash of fear crossed her face. She opened her mouth but made a wheezing noise and shuddered into a spasm of soft coughing. Kim took a step forward, holding out the robe, but Vin reached to touch her arm and hold her back.

  The coughing lasted a long time and the woman beat on her knee in frustration. When it subsided, she straightened, stretched against the bed of the casket and wiped her mouth with her wrist.

  “Hi.” Her voice was a croak, worn, ragged like a fraying shirt. “Thanks for the help.” Kim glanced her disappointment at Vin. The woman said, “I don’t know you, do I?”

  Kim shook her head.

  “Have you been in one of these?” the woman asked, and Kim shook her head again. The woman said, “But, you must own this house, huh?”

  “Yes,” Kim said, as the woman coughed.

  “No,” said Vin, when she’d stopped. “I’m house-sitting.”

  “House-sitting. Okay, I see. You found this room?”

  Kim and Vin both said, “Yes.”

  “Then, this must be strange for you.”

  “It is,” Kim said.

  “Yeah. And, well, me too.” Her voice was loosening up. “And I’m not good with strangers. Maybe it’s not a good idea for us to talk right now. You don’t mind, do you, if I stay in here? That would be okay, right? We could turn this back on, when it gets ready to go again. I’ll just take another little nap. A short one. You wouldn’t mind, would you? Do you know how to turn it on?”

  Kim held the robe up toward her. “You don’t want to come out?”

  The woman looked past the robe. “You have to go over to the computer . . .” She gestured at one of the monitors. “Over there. It won’t cycle again unless you press the—you know how it works, don’t you? Just turn it on, and I’ll be on my way. I mean, I’ll take a quick nap. How about if we just do the minimum here, okay?”

  Kim didn’t move and Vin didn’t say anything.

  The woman took a long breath. “Okay. So. You probably want to talk, then. Is that it? Questions? Answers?”

  Kim nodded and the woman put her hands on the lip of the casket and strained to pull herself up. Vin stepped to her side and reached to support one of her arms. Her lip rose as she glanced at him, annoyed, but he helped her take a first, shaky step. Her arm was soft, fleshy but strong. Her skin had both an antiseptic smell and a faint whiff of sulfur.

  Vin helped her find the sleeves of the robe. When she had it on she held her arms in close, shoulders hunched, and rubbed her palms against the soft fabric.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I always prefer an empty room, though. You know. Nothing against you. I don’t know you two. I just don’t like having anyone here when I come out. You never know who—like, who the two of you—might be.”

  “The two of us?” Kim said.

  “Forget it. And there’s no one else, though, in . . . ?” She nodded toward the other two crèches and wiped curls of liquid off her forehead, pushed back her dripping hair.

  “No,” said Kim.

  “Safe upstairs?”

  “Yes,” said Kim.

  The woman walked toward the ladder. She put both hands on a rung.

  “This damn ladder,” she said, leaning back and looking up, then half turning toward them. “It’s damn hard to get up after a long shot. I once came out and there was a body here. Must not have had the strength to climb. Or, maybe he was at the top and fell and broke something. But he’d been there for a long time. Months maybe. Skin gone to pieces. Maybe he bled out. Maybe. Or starved.”

  HER NAME WAS MONA AND when she began to fall asleep on her feet they showed her to Vin’s room. She barely made it to the inflatable mattress before falling and lapsing into a hissing slumber.

  Vin took the blanket and one of the pillows from the master bedroom and lay them down on the floor in the dining area. Then he and Kim sat at the table and he told her what had happened to him in the crèche while they ate. After cleaning up, Vin lay on the floor while Kim surfed the web. Daylight leaked away.

  He woke once when Kim grunted in frustration and stood up from the table, then woke again as she set a pillow down and stretched out on the floor beside him.

  IN THE THINNING DARK OF early morning, Vin saw Kim standing at the end of the table near Mona, who was eating pizza. As he closed his eyes again he heard Kim talking quietly, trying not to disturb him. Kim was thoughtful, cautious. Mona’s voice, though worn and hoarse, was slightly higher in pitch. She sounded casual, a little aggressive.

  “You know,” Mona said at a normal volume, not concerned about waking him, “you got one of the nice ones here. Sophie’s here.”

  He heard a chair scrape the floor and imagined Kim sitting and adjusting it. She said to Mona, “You were in there for a long time.”

  “It’s not really like that. But, yeah, it has been a long time.”

  “And, are you okay? I mean, outside of it? Do you need to adjust?”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I don’t mean anything, but you still look a little tired. And shaky.”

  “Are you saying I’m an addict?” There was an edge to the question.

  “Umm, I’m not—well, is that what you think?”

  “No.” When Mona spoke again the edge was gone. “I mean, I guess that things you do can be addictive. But if you’d just always prefer to do it and it doesn’t matter whether or not you do, then, what does the word mean, in that case?”

  “Maybe, that it’s hurting you, and you should stop?”

  Mona laughed, a soft snort. “Okay. Maybe. Fine.” After a moment, she asked, “How far have you gotten?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “In the puzzle. How far have you gotten in the puzzle?” Maybe she sounded nervous.

  “I don’t think we’ve gotten very far.”

  “Do you have any soda?”

  “No. Just water.”

  “I got some,” said Mona. “But you have the notebook, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, you don’t know what it says?”

  Kim was still keeping her volume low. “It sounds like you don’t eit
her.”

  “But you haven’t used it, the crèche?”

  Kim must have shaken her head because Mona said, “But he has?”

  Vin rolled onto his back and said loudly, “Yes, I have.”

  “How long?” asked Mona.

  “I’ve had three. One-day dreams.” Vin sat up, shook off the blanket and stood. “The one-day minimum, three times.”

  “Dreams, huh?”

  Vin walked to the chair beside Kim and sat down.

  “The dreams feel strange,” he said. “But it’s when I wake up. I’m not sure my memory is right.”

  “He says a cat appeared,” Kim added. “Out of nowhere.”

  “She did,” Vin said. “Sophie. You said her name. But also . . .” he glanced over at Kim and then stopped talking.

  “Oh, I see,” Mona said oddly, as if humoring him. “Sophie wasn’t here when you started?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Mona set the pizza crust down and leaned back in her chair.

  “And,” Vin said, “this table, it wasn’t here. I mean, are you following? The table didn’t exist. Now it does. Do you know anything about that? Does that make any sense?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  Vin put his fingertips on the table’s edge, feeling the neatly cut and smoothed lines of the wood. “Okay. Then this table could just appear here after I wake up from the crèche, out of nowhere? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “It was always here,” Kim said. “His memories have been affected.”

  Mona looked toward the window. A few lights were steaming out of the cloudy morning distance.

  “You two know each other?” she asked, not looking at them.

  “Yes,” said Vin.

  “So, let me ask you—it was Vin, right? You knew, Kim, before you went into the crèche?”

  “Yeah,” Vin said. He squeezed his lips together, then said, “But she was dead before I started.”

  “Oh? She was— Oh, jeez. You poor babies.”