Husk

by Dave Zeltserman

  The elders will have to choose either my younger brother Daniel or my third cousin Clement to carry on my responsibilities. My great-uncle Jedidiah is still alive, but he has become simple-minded and feeble since I took over from him, so it has to be one of those two. Other than myself, they are the only ones young enough who’ve been taught to read, although neither of them’ve developed any interest in reading. Still, both of them should be capable of reading street signs and able to navigate in the outside world. And they both know how to operate the vans, it being sport for them to drive the vans around the empty field where I kept them parked. It’s a shame the elders never had me train one of them so there’d be a replacement ready in case anything ever happened to me. But they are both cunning in their own way, and they’ll figure things out. They’ll have to, if the fate of the clan is going to be resting on them.

  I began wondering what it would be like, assuming I was able to stay with Jill, to never see any of my kin again. The thought of it wasn’t as distressing as I might’ve earlier imagined. I felt no heaviness in my chest, or any sorrow other than a nostalgic longing. When I tried imagining my kin, I was left with only vague images that were fading quickly. Like night-time phantasms disappearing in the light of day. I was sure the idea of never seeing my kin and family home again would’ve been harder if it wasn’t for Jill and the excitement I felt over a possible life with her.

  I decided I couldn’t just continue to lie there and stew in my worries. It had gotten hazy in the room, but still light enough for me to read. I swung myself off the couch and walked over to the treasure trove of books that lined almost half a wall of the room. Jill must have had over a thousand books, and my worries faded quickly as I greedily searched the titles. I only made it halfway through the first shelf before picking out a book that Jill had told me was one of her favorites. This was a book written in the early eighteen hundreds, written even earlier than the book I’d read by Charles Dickens, Great Expectations, which had absorbed me completely. This book was Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Jill had told me a number of things about it, but what stuck in my mind was it having a monster who was hated and hounded as it tried living in their world. The book was a slender paperback. I brought it back to the couch and quickly lost myself in it.

  EIGHT

  I was nearing the end of Frankenstein when Jill emerged from her bedroom wrapped in a green-and-white flannel nightgown that went down to her ankles, her long golden hair tied back in a ponytail, her feet enclosed in fuzzy red footwear. It was a little after seven in the morning and her face appeared craggy from recently waking, but every bit as beautiful as the previous day. When she smiled at me brightly and said ‘Good morning!’ I knew nothing had changed between us.

  She squinted as she looked at the book I was reading. ‘Ah, Frankenstein. How are you liking it?’

  ‘The monster is more intelligent and compassionate than I would’ve expected. Overall, I find myself not caring much about Victor Frankenstein’s plight, but I find the monster’s fate tragic. While Frankenstein’s demise seems inescapable, I still have over a dozen pages before finishing and I’m hoping the monster might somehow be given a happier ending.’

  ‘I’m not going to let slip any spoilers, but you’re not alone in finding the monster the more sympathetic of the two. Many other readers do too, including myself.’ Her brow furrowed as she squinted harder at the book. ‘You’re almost done with it? Charlie, you must’ve been reading it for hours. You should’ve put a light on.’

  ‘It wasn’t necessary. I have good vision, especially in the dark, and had enough light to read by. I didn’t want to turn one on and risk disturbing you.’

  She frowned at the idea of that. ‘While you’re here, don’t worry about something like that. I can sleep like the dead. Feel free to turn the lights on, or anything else.’ She added, ‘I hope the couch was comfortable enough and didn’t keep you awake?’

  ‘Your couch and the apartment are paradise compared to the back of my van,’ I said, smiling. ‘They’re not why I didn’t sleep. I was too excited about being in a new city and starting my life afresh.’

  That wasn’t so much of a lie. I was excited and anxious about starting a new life with Jill wherever she lived, and that did outweigh all my worries. She accepted what I said, and asked if I’d like some coffee.

  ‘That would be good.’ I remembered that in their world ‘thank you’ was frequently expected, so I added that. Back at my clan, we do what’s required and the concept of thanking one of us for it is as foreign as gift-giving.

  Jill went into the modest open kitchen that was off to the side of the living room and built up along one wall. It consisted of four cabinets, no more than two feet of counter space, a small sink, a refrigerator, and an oven-and-stove combination. (I’d read enough of their newspapers and magazines when I traveled into their world to know about the equipment they use.) This kitchen was about the same size as the ones in our many century-old shacks, even though during Jedidiah’s time we’d moved away from cooking over hearths and instead outfitted most of the shacks with wood-burning stoves. The seven houses I built all had roomier kitchens than Jill’s, partly to accommodate the indoor plumbing I added, which allowed the water to be pumped into a stone sink directly from a well, and partly because of the large pantries that they house – spacious enough to hold half a year’s worth of canned vegetables and glass jars of fruit preserves (sweetened with honey, which is the only animal by-product that we are able to consume without becoming ill).

  I watched as Jill removed a small coffeemaker from a cabinet, measured out water to add to the reservoir, then added a filter and spooned ground coffee beans into it. I had no trouble recognizing what it was, since over four years ago during one of my travels to sell off our excess vegetables I had bought a similar type of coffeemaker and smuggled it, along with packets of coffee filters and cans of ground coffee, into the first of the new houses I built and resided in. (After tasting coffee for the first time during one of my trips and dreaming about it for several months, I had to do this the first chance I had even though I knew the elders would be furious if they ever discovered it.) Since this house was outfitted with a generator, I could run small appliances like coffeemakers. When I first built the house, I expected one of the elders to claim it, but being superstitious they didn’t trust anything that went contrary to custom, even if it was only a new style of shelter – at least not until they were able to witness me living in it unharmed. After six months of seeing no illness befall me, they begrudgingly accepted my claim that these shelters would be an improvement for the clan, and they grabbed for themselves and their closest blood kin the next six houses that I built. I was surprised that they let me stay in the first one once they’d overcome their fear of it, but they did. It wasn’t difficult sneaking the coffeemaker and the accompanying supplies into my house. I hid them in the van, and waited until the dark of night while the rest of the clan was asleep before trekking the four miles to where the vans were kept so I could bring all of it unwatched into my home. After Patience arrived, I had to be more careful and make sure the coffeemaker and supplies were well hidden, because if she’d ever found them she would’ve made sure the elders knew about them – no doubt in the hope of having our marriage dissolved so she could move back to her own clan. There were times I’d catch her sneaking around, trying to find something, but fortunately she never discovered my secret hiding places.

  Once the coffee finished brewing, Jill brought it to a small table that was set up in the living room near the kitchen. There, I drank my coffee with two heaped spoons of sugar, while Jill drank hers without anything added to it, and we chatted about the novel I’d been reading. Jill appeared completely relaxed, a soft glow warming her skin. She was so beautiful it brought a lump to my throat, which was something I’d never experienced before. (And yes, the first few moments the lump occurred it concerned me, but I quickly remembered reading about this phenomenon and enjoyed the experience afte
r that.) At one point she asked me about my favorite television shows. I was familiar with television from the newspapers and magazines I’d perused whenever I entered their world, and had also seen television sets of all sizes at gas stations and rest stops the last several years.

  ‘I’ve never watched much television.’

  She seemed to like that answer. ‘Your parents raised you to be a vegan and to read books instead of watching TV! They sound very enlightened.’

  I didn’t correct her on the fallacy of that assumption, and instead simply shrugged since I’d decided I didn’t want to lie to her unless necessary. She mistook my gesture as a sign of modesty, and the smile she showed me made the lump in my throat even larger. We sat silently after that, but it was a comfortable silence and as we were finishing our coffee Jill suggested we go out for brunch, which was a term I wasn’t familiar with but assumed was something they called one of their meals. ‘I’m sure we can find plenty of vegan options,’ she said.

  ‘I would like that,’ I said. ‘But I need to go out and look for work and a place to live. I would’ve left earlier, but I didn’t want you finding me gone.’

  Jill seemed taken aback, and also disappointed by what I’d said. ‘Come on, Charlie, it’s the Sunday before Labor Day! Don’t you think you could wait until Tuesday before any job and apartment hunting?’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ I swallowed, feeling the lump in my throat still present. I added, ‘I’d like to date you, and I can’t do that while I’m a guest in your home. It wouldn’t be proper.’

  My answer caused her to blush lightly, and also brought back a shy smile. From the way her eyes softened, she told me without words that she favored the prospect of that.

  ‘I understand. And please, let me help you with your apartment search. But I don’t want you moving out until you have your first paycheck, OK?’

  I nodded, deciding it wouldn’t be advisable to argue with her. If I was going to live as one of them, I was going to live mostly by their laws, which meant earning my money. Besides, I’d been working every day of my life since I was seven years old when the clan had me and others my age helping out in the fields and, during the late fall and winter, chopping and canning vegetables, and doing any other duties they needed us to perform. The thought of idleness did not appeal to me, even if it were only for a few days. But just as I got eleven hundred dollars from that well-fed and expensively dressed man, I’d be able to get more money from others like him – and I’d be more careful how I struck them, so that I didn’t needlessly kill them, since I was fairly certain I’d left that man dying the other day. That would only be until I got enough to be able to get my own home in this city. It was important that I do that soon, as I didn’t want to wait to start dating Jill. After I obtained the necessary money, I would go back to following their laws and not do anything that could risk separating me from Jill.

  When we’d finished our coffee, I nodded farewell to Jill and got up to leave, but she asked me to wait and then dashed off to her bedroom. Less than a minute later, she returned and handed me a key. ‘So you can come and go while you’re staying at Abode Zemler,’ she said. ‘If you can get back by seven, we can go to dinner together. As friends. Dating won’t start until you get your own place.’

  I told her I’d make sure I returned by then. That a pack of hunting wolves wouldn’t be able to keep me away. From the way she scrunched her nose, it was clear she found that an odd choice of words, and she asked if that’s what people said in Manchester, New Hampshire. I remembered that that was where I had told her I was from, and admitted it was more a saying among my own clan. I also reminded myself to be more careful about the expressions I used in their world.

  NINE

  I needed to get rid of what was in the back of the van. The reason is easy enough to explain. If the police were to find the burlap sacks, they’d be curious about why the sacks were large enough to hold a large person, as well as why there were holes cut in them so if someone was put inside that person would be able to breathe. And the same police would be more than curious, probably downright hostile, if they found dried human blood on the burlap. If they examined the sacks carefully enough, I’m sure they’d also find hair and skin and other debris left behind by those I’d picked up. Likewise, the cut pieces of rope. During one of my trips several years ago I’d found a scientific magazine that had an article about DNA and forensics, and I knew the police would be able to use blood, hair, skin, and dried saliva and piss to identify some of those I’d taken who had long since been missing. I’d never bothered to wash out the sacks or replace the rope because it never seemed to matter much – since if the police had ever stopped me and found those sacks, most likely they’d have found them stuffed with those I’d already picked up. Now, though, it mattered.

  As I thought more about it, I decided I needed to get rid of the van too. While I didn’t know whether there was blood and other damning evidence inside it, that was more than likely. I could’ve used a bucket of water and soap to scrub the inside of the van clean, but there were other dangers with keeping it. I’d gotten the current license plates from a disabled car I found on the road only a few miles from where our hidden dirt road intersects with a little used road that’s part of their world. The driver of that vehicle (a ravaged, nervous man dressed in dirty clothes who blinked incessantly from the moment he first spied me) was soon added to the back of the van as my first pickup of that trip, and after exchanging his license plates with the stolen ones the van had previously used, I disposed of his car in a way that made it unlikely ever to be found. While I could replace them now with other stolen license plates, there’d still be a chance they’d bring the police to me. And as careful as I might’ve been with my pickups, it was possible that someone had spotted me taking one of them and had given the police a description of the van. Since I’d never driven as far as New York before, let alone done any pickups there, it wouldn’t make sense for the New York police to be looking for it (if, in fact, police anywhere were looking for it) but still I didn’t see a reason to take a chance with something like that now I’d decided to live as one of them. The idea of getting rid of the van saddened me, though. I’d spent many hours repairing it and keeping it sound mechanically, and I took pride in how well it ran after all these years.

  After making these decisions, I bought a map of New York City at a nearby store. In the past I’d studied maps for New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut, so I was familiar with the use of a map, but when I sat down to study this one I found it more confusing and difficult to decipher than those others. After several minutes it started making more sense, and I began feeling more comfortable with the idea of navigating the city.

  I could see three ways of getting rid of the burlap sacks and rope: burning them all, throwing them away as garbage, or dumping all of them in one of the nearby rivers. Even in this crowded city, the map showed there were woods nearby where I’d be able to set the pile on fire. The odds were by the time the police were notified about the fire, the sacks would be burnt enough to destroy all blood and DNA material on them. Unless some do-gooder stumbled on the fire and put it out. If that were to happen, it would make the police even more suspicious about what they found. I didn’t see how they’d ever be able to connect the burlap sacks to me, but it still seemed a better idea for them not to find them. This also meant it wouldn’t make sense to throw them away as garbage, since they might be discovered if I did that. I studied the map some more, and decided to look for an isolated place where I could dump all this stuff in the Long Island Sound.

  I went back to the van and got into the back of it. I had little problem stuffing thirteen of the burlap sacks into the fourteenth, then I added all the rope except for a single piece into this sack too. Before tying up the sack, I tested it and decided it would be heavy enough to sink without adding any rocks.

  The point I’d picked out to drive to was called Dosoris Island. It didn’t take me long to drive there, no mo
re than forty minutes. I stopped at an isolated part of the road, walked to the water’s edge, and flung the sack into the sound. It quickly sank and disappeared under a wave. I got back in the van, turned it around, and drove back toward Jill’s apartment building.

  Several miles from Jill’s address, I saw a CASH FOR CARS sign. I pulled up in front of a small lot of what looked like cars for purchase. I walked up to the small single-story brick building beside the lot. A sign on the glass door proclaimed that the business was closed. The lights were on inside though, and I peered through the glass and spotted one man who looked like he was readying the shop for business, while two others sat drinking coffee with bored, sullen expressions on their faces.

  I tried the door. It was locked. One of the bored coffee drinkers heard the rattling, looked my way, and got up from his chair. After unlocking the door, he opened it a foot and, showing me a slick smile that left his eyes as dull as dirt, told me they didn’t open for another half hour. ‘Come back then and I’ll be happy to help you,’ he said in a voice even slicker than his smile.