GUD Magazine Issue 3 :: Autumn 2008

by GUD Magazine Authors

  Fifteen minutes later, he reached the window.

  "You and your strolling, Night Bird,” Etl's voice crackled from the foam pads against Totyoalli's ears. “Do you keep your wife waiting like this?"

  Totyoalli unsheathed his utility knife and unscrewed the outer brace while Etl peeled back the seal around the inside. His tether was too short for him to reach the outer edge, and after contemplating going back to exchange it—further irritating Etl—he decided to unhook it from his suit, latching the end onto a conduit next to the window. He increased the power on his magnetic boots and finished unscrewing the brace. He then hooked the metal frame to a latch on his belt so it wouldn't float away.

  "Have you cut the outer seal yet?” Etl asked.

  "In a minute.” Totyoalli started slicing through the gummy rubber coating over the gasket. A couple of minutes later, they carefully knocked the glass free of its moorings. Totyoalli handed it to his partner through the six-by-four opening. Etl handed the new pane through and Totyoalli set it into place. Once it fit snugly, each reapplied sealant on their side.

  "Let's make sure it's airtight before you screw the brace back on,” Etl said. Totyoalli waited while he went to the wall panel and pushed buttons and turned the dial. Etl then came over to inspect the seal while Totyoalli scrutinized his side.

  At the far right corner, Totyoalli found the sealant bubbling and splitting. “We don't have proper seal,” he said into his microphone.

  "All right, I'll decompress the room again; meanwhile, you should step aside—"

  A crushing blow sledge-hammered Totyoalli in the stomach. The world spun around him, a blur of black, white, and yellow that turned red when he vomited blood into his helmet. He waved his arms, reaching for anything but finding nothing to grab. His headset buzzed with emergency alarms. “Etl,” he coughed into his microphone, his chest throbbing. “Etl? Can you read me?” Nothing. He couldn't see anything beyond the veil of crimson coating his visor, and already the smell threatened to make him retch again. “Etl, come in please!"

  "Totyoalli?” The voice of Azcatl, from station control, burst over his headset. “We lost contact with Etl. Are you okay?"

  "I'm injured.” Totyoalli cringed when he touched his side and pain shot through him. A quick feel of the front of his pressure suit found his control panel smashed. “The window blew out."

  "I'm sending someone to retrieve you,” Azcatl said. “You're out by section thirteen, right?"

  "I can't see where I am. And ... I took my tether off."

  "What about your air-thrusters?"

  "My control panel is smashed."

  Azcatl sighed. “It's okay. We'll locate you by your transmission. Just hang on."

  Totyoalli waited, his pain growing with each minute.

  "Still there?” Azcatl's voice crackled over the radio again.

  "Where else would I be?” Totyoalli coughed.

  "Bad news first, friend.” Azcatl took a deep breath, then said, “You're in a reentry vector with the planet and you've just passed out of reach of our longest tethers."

  "And the good news?"

  Azcatl's voice faltered for a moment before he managed to say, “You're leaking oxygen. You've got maybe a half-hour supply left.” He tried to laugh as he added, “At least you'll die before you burn up."

  Totyoalli stared at the thin crimson veil on his visor and said nothing. All I had to do was prick my damn finger.

  Clearing his throat, Azcatl continued, “I've sent for the shuttle to retrieve you, but it's two hours away, at Satellite Number Three. We won't leave you out there. We'll make sure you get back to the One World, I promise."

  "Thank you,” Totyoalli whispered, numb.

  "I'm going to get Zaniyo, okay?"

  Totyoalli nodded, unable to speak.

  After forever, Zaniyo finally came on the radio. “Totyoalli, what's going on?"

  "An accident,” he told her, his voice choked. “Death was my destiny all along.” She didn't say anything, but he heard her suddenly harsh breathing. “It's all right. Don't cry."

  "How can the gods be so cruel?” she demanded. “To spare you from the temple altar just to steal you away like this? How is that fair? Will they come and take me too?"

  "The gods didn't kill me, Zaniyo. I took my tether off."

  "You're not funny,” Zaniyo said, tears clouding her voice. She sniffled and muttered, “Why were you so careless?"

  So I wouldn't miss a moment with you. He couldn't say it. “I'm so sorry. Forgive me."

  "Of course I will,” she whispered.

  "There's something else,” he said. “When you go back to the One World, return something to Cuauhtemoc. It's in a small lockbox. In my footlocker. Don't open it. Promise."

  "I promise."

  His breathing was seriously labored now. “Tell him I'm sorry. I wanted his gift. But I didn't.... I was afraid. Tell him I'm sorry.” He couldn't think straight, and he felt sure he was forgetting something. Finally he sputtered, “And one last thing.... I love you, Zaniyo."

  He didn't know whether she answered him or whether they talked any more after that. He did think of their first meeting in Cuauhtemoc's gardens and that first kiss that had left his toes numb, and how this morning he'd looked at her over their breakfast table and marveled that he was even alive to enjoy that meal with her.

  But now he floated free, Quetzalcoatl spinning peacefully below him. He was Night Bird Soaring, racing away on outspread wings as he rode the light waves, skimming Quetzalcoatl's upper atmosphere while the clouds twisted and coiled below him, serpent-like. A large black dog—the god Xolotl, his guide in death—watched from atop the space station, a smile on His face.

  Come, Night Bird, He said, so I may show you the endless bounds of the universe.

  How to Fetch Firewood by Michelle Tandoc-Pichereau

  For the women and children of Darfur

  The first thing you should do, Abidseun, is coat yourself with dust.

  Don't forget that patch on your elbow, that strip of skin behind your ears. Here, darkness feeds on the dark.

  When you walk, Abidseun, walk like you've been taught—straight and sharp. Don't count clouds. Don't kick stones. You should know better than to chase a little bug.

  There isn't much wood left to pick, I know. It takes so long for seed to become fire, and, here, there is no water left for growing.

  So we look, Abidseun. Because crows feed on those who wait, and mouths, in asking, end up dry.

  And if in looking you find a stick in someone else's hands, if in running you stumble on a stone, if in calling the answer stays stubborn and far, then that is the time to stare at the sky, Abidseun.

  That is the time to close your eyes.

  As for me, from the moment your small light steps away to the moment you return (on your feet? on their backs?), I will be here,

  Abidseun, crouched on colorless soil, breath sharp as memory, praying for history to forget itself.

  "How to Fetch Firewood” appeared in the December 2007 issue of Chronogram, in the Spring 2008 flashquake, in Word Riot in May 2008, and in the July/August 2008 edition of The Humanist.

  The Train by Jason D. Wittman

  I: Caboose

  Katya stood with her baggage at Railroad Station Number One in Stalingrad, surrounded by women and children, the old and infirm. Soldiers watched over them, shouting instructions, keeping order. They were evacuating the city in anticipation of the German advance.

  Everywhere, people smothered each other with tearful embraces, kisses, and promises to write. Katya's husband was at the front lines. She had not seen him in months.

  The next train approached, decelerating into position. Once its doors were opened, the crowd surged forward. Someone pushed Katya from behind. She brushed against a little girl with long jet-black hair. They only touched lightly, but the girl yelped as if stung. She scurried behind an old man and looked out from behind his legs. She had the most startling green eyes Katya had ever seen.


  "I ... I'm very sorry,” Katya said to the old man. He was wiry, with skin like leather and a shock of white hair.

  The old man smiled. “The fault is not yours, miss,” he said, his voice rough as a grindstone. “Mariya is a very ... sensitive girl, and with all these goings-on...."

  "Of course.” Katya offered Mariya an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry."

  Mariya ducked back behind the old man's knees.

  "Would you like help with your baggage?” the old man asked.

  "No, thank you,” Katya replied. “I can manage."

  As they shuffled toward the train, Katya glanced now and then at the old man. Once, she saw Mariya whispering in his ear. Later he produced a small coin and walked it back and forth over nimble fingers.

  Katya returned her attention forward. Pick up the luggage, shuffle ahead a meter or so, set down the luggage, wait. She closed her eyes and wiped sweat from her brow.

  "Excuse me!” she heard the old man call out. She turned to see him holding aloft a small framed photograph of a man in uniform. “Did someone drop this?"

  "Oh!” To Katya's right, a middle-aged woman stepped forward to take the picture. “Thank you, sir! I hadn't realized it was gone!"

  The old man smiled. “Guard it well, madam. Such things are to be treasured."

  The woman thanked him again and returned to her place in line. The old man aimed a stern glare at Mariya. Shamefaced, the girl ducked her head.

  Finally Katya boarded. They were all loaded in cattle cars, everyone packed together tightly. Such trains had passed through Railroad Station Number One for months now, from Odessa, Leningrad, Kharkov. Now it was Stalingrad's turn.

  The train remained still for some time. Looking around, Katya saw a few people talking, while others brought out Jack London books distributed by local libraries. All Katya had to read was Andrei's most recent letter. She took it out now and read it yet again. Most of it was vague, circumspect—the military censors would never have let it through otherwise—but there was a certain something different about this letter, like Andrei was trying to say something and could not find the words.

  Two months ago, I called in some favors so one of my lieutenants could go home on leave. His wife is expecting a child any day now.

  Andrei had last written only three weeks before. He hadn't said anything about this then.

  Another of my officers transferred to another unit. She is a good soldier and I wish her well.

  He never talked like this in his letters. Oh Andrei, Andrei, what is wrong?

  She skipped to the last paragraph: I love you, Katya, and I always will. When this is over, if all goes well, I hope to come home and be with you, as a husband should.

  Until we meet again,

  Your Loving Andrei.

  Underneath was a drawing, just a handful of lines and curves, depicting a father bear, a mother bear, and a baby bear between them. Andrei always drew bears in his letters, just as he always made bear noises in Katya's ear when they were in bed together. Katya smiled, remembering. But Andrei had never drawn three bears before. The mother and the father, yes, but never the child.

  They had talked on occasion of having children. It had never seemed the right time. Was this Andrei's way of saying the time had come?

  What had changed? Was it the war?

  She looked up from the letter, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and sighed. The old man, she noticed, was still playing with his coin. It twinkled in the dimness as he tumbled it over his knuckles.

  He caught her gaze. “I see you have noticed my trinket."

  Katya smiled. “It looks very old."

  He held it up. Its face depicted the aquiline profile of an ancient Roman. “This coin was minted in the early fourth century, during the reign of Constantine. Legend has it that he tossed this very coin when deciding whether to remain in Rome or move to Constantinople. The rest, as they say, is history."

  Katya raised her eyebrows. “It must be very valuable."

  The old man smiled.

  With a puff of steam and a crunch of metal couplings, the train groaned into motion. The clatter of wheels soon drowned out conversation, and people could only gaze through the open door or read their books.

  Katya felt tired. The August air blew warm against her face. She rested her forehead on her knees, closed her eyes....

  The train came to an abrupt stop. Katya tumbled headlong into a crowd of other passengers. They voiced their indignation while she tried to disentangle herself.

  Then everyone fell silent as footsteps sounded outside the car. A soldier, a captain, climbed aboard and stood among the passengers. He did not speak or look at them. He kept his unfocused gaze forward, seeing nothing.

  Katya's stomach lurched. She felt suddenly cold despite the heat. “Andrei?"

  It was her husband—strong face, brown eyes, powerful hands. But what was he doing here?

  "Andrei?” She stepped over people to get to him. She reached him, tried to look into his eyes. “Andrei?"

  He moved, but not to look at her. His hand went to the sidearm on his belt. He unfastened the holster, removed the weapon. He brought the muzzle toward his temple.

  "No!” Katya seized his arm and pulled. “Andrei, no!” She searched his eyes for a sign of what was wrong. “What are you doing?"

  Only then did he look at her, reluctantly, as if it pained him to see her. The bleak despair she saw in his eyes froze her to the bone.

  "Andrei ... give me the weapon.” She pulled it from his fingers, which offered little resistance. “Andrei, what's wrong? Why aren't you at the front?"

  Still no response. Andrei looked at her, and seemed to see her, but not to hear her.

  Katya did her best to swallow her panic. “Andrei, talk to me! It's me, your wife!"

  Andrei opened his mouth. “I.... “He swallowed, and tears began streaming out of his eyes. “I am sorry, Katya.” Sobs shook him. “I am sorry...."

  Behind Katya, just at the edge of hearing, the old man murmured, “And so it begins again.” She heard a sharp thump, as of something metallic slammed to the floor.

  The train lurched. Unbalanced, Katya fell, and hit her head on something hard.

  * * * *

  She found herself lying on a—carpeted?—floor.

  "That's the second time you've used the coin, Father,” said a woman's voice.

  "It was necessary, Mariya.” The old man speaking. “One of them had to stay with us."

  "I'm just keeping account of things.” Katya heard a soft rustling, small footsteps. “I believe she's waking."

  Katya tried to open her eyes, but pain shot through her head. She groaned.

  "Here. Try to sit up.” Katya felt a hand grip her arm. “Drink this."

  Katya sat up, clenching her teeth against the pain. She felt around with her left hand—the right still gripped Andrei's handgun—until she found a tin cup. It held strong liquor, but that was not a problem. After the first swallow, her pain lessened and she could open her eyes.

  She was no longer in the cattle car. This was a smaller space, cramped, but comfortable for two people. Ornate hand-woven carpets decorated the walls and floor. A woodstove stood in one corner; a pile of sleeping furs lay in another. Small lamps on the walls spread yellow illumination. She heard the clatter of wheels, very fast.

  Mariya stood beside her. “Feeling better?” she asked—in the woman's voice. And Katya realized that Mariya was a dwarf.

  "What is this?” Katya asked. “Where is Andrei?"

  "A decision had to be made, Katya,” said the old man. “We couldn't afford to lose both of you, and the coin was a sure way to keep one."

  Katya frowned. Keep one...? “What does the coin have to do with it? How do you know my name?"

  The old man turned to his daughter. “Mariya?"

  The dwarf explained. “When we first met, and I touched you, I learned a lot about you. It's a gift; it came from my mother. Your name is Yekaterina Aleksandrovn
a Yerechenko. The soldier you tried to help was your husband. And right now Andrei is in danger."

  "Then why isn't he here?” Katya was confused, and Mariya's explanation was not helping. “If he's in danger, why didn't you bring him with you?"

  "If he were here, then you would be in danger. That is how the coin works."

  Katya threw her hands in the air. “What are you talking about?"

  The old man held up the coin again. “As I told you, this coin was minted during the reign of Constantine. The Roman Empire was declining, already split into two halves, eastern and western. Constantine went to his metalsmiths and had them forge this coin. A special coin.

  "Constantine tossed it, and when it landed, he knew the western half would fall first. Shortly thereafter, he moved his capital to Constantinople."

  Katya tried to think past her headache. “So this coin predicts the future?"

  "It is more of a ... a consolidator of fate. Because the coin landed as it did, the ill fate that would have befallen the empire as a whole instead befell only the western half.” He looked at the coin again. “It is a way of making the best out of a bad situation, of cutting one's losses. Of course, here the choice was more obvious. Your husband, in his current state, couldn't help himself, let alone us. That is why I brought the coin down in your favor."

  Katya took a deep breath to calm herself. “Where is my husband?"

  Mariya spoke. “Somewhere aboard this Train. If events go as they did before, he is probably on the engine.” She paused. “Do you have anything of your husband's?"

  "One moment,” said the old man. “My daughter has a confession to make.” He gave Mariya the same stern look Katya had seen on the platform. “And since that nice woman is no longer available to us, I think Katya is as good a person as any to confess to. Don't you, Mariya?"

  Mariya looked wretchedly at the floor. “When I ... touch people,” she began, “or certain objects ... I sense their stories. Some are very unsettling, a torment in my head. It's impossible to describe the agony to someone who hasn't felt it. And I can't dispel it without holding some other object. So I ... take things—"