Husk

by Dave Zeltserman

  ‘I’ve got a van parked out front I’d like to sell.’

  He squinted as he peered out toward the van. ‘How old is it?’ His smile faded into something unfriendly, as if he were blaming me for wasting his time. ‘It looks ancient.’

  ‘I bought it used seven years ago,’ I said. ‘I rebuilt the engine and carburetor three years ago, and have fixed everything else. It runs the same as if it were new.’

  It did run well but, although I did rebuild the engine and carburetor as I said, as well as making many other repairs, the rest wasn’t exactly true. The van was being used during Jedidiah’s time, and maybe even during the time of old Eli before him.

  He gave me an annoyed look. ‘That’s not saying much,’ he grumbled. A heavy put-upon sigh escaped from him. ‘I’ll take a look.’

  He joined me as we walked back to the van. Once we got to it, he peered through the windshield before commenting that the VIN had been removed. ‘Do you have a registration for this relic?’

  ‘I did, but I lost it.’

  Another deep sigh. ‘I can’t buy it without a registration,’ he said. His eyelids lowered halfway, and the way his eyes glazed made me think of a snake. ‘I know a guy who might be able to make use of it. He probably wouldn’t give you more than two hundred for it, though. Want me to make a call?’

  I nodded. He took out a cellphone and turned his back to me, then walked several steps away so I wouldn’t be able to hear his conversation. Whoever he called, he only needed to talk to that person for less than two minutes before putting his phone away. He signaled with his fingers on his right hand for me to come over. When I did, he told me he’d been able to talk the buyer up to two hundred, then gave me the name of a restaurant and said I should ask for someone named Sergei. ‘It’s on Neptune Avenue in Brighton Beach.’ When I looked at him blankly, he smirked and added, ‘In Brooklyn.’

  I turned away from him so I could return to the van. He yelled at my back, ‘That’s right, you dumb hick! Don’t bother thanking me for the favor I just did you.’

  That one of them thought he could insult me and make any sort of demand on me got my blood rising, especially understanding that he wasn’t doing me any favor out of the kindness of his heart but, rather, would be paid later by this Sergei. In the heat of the moment, I let my guard down as I turned on my heels to face him. He saw my true predatory nature unmasked then. The color drained from his face, and he stumbled as he hurriedly walked back to the shop.

  It was both unnatural and a challenge hiding my true self from them. It tired me out more than any hard labor ever could. But seeing how he had reacted (as well as others in the past), I resolved that I would need to try harder. That it would be dangerous to let more of them see me that way. It was funny how I didn’t have this problem when I was with Jill, even when we were surrounded by a large crowd of them. It was as if her presence made that part of me shrink to nothing.

  I got back in the van and studied the map until I understood how to drive to Neptune Avenue in the part of Brooklyn called Brighton Beach.

  TEN

  The restaurant I needed to drive to was south of where I was, and when I plotted my route I saw that I could go through a large area of greenery and trees, so that was the route I chose. I was feeling a little homesick for the wilderness where I had lived, and this small piece of tamed wilderness would provide a bit of comfort.

  While I drove, I held the part of the map I needed flat against the steering wheel so I could look from it to the road as needed. It didn’t take me too long to navigate to the Jackie Robinson Parkway, which took me through a heavily tree-lined stretch of road that was very different from the other areas of the city where I’d been driving. Before long, this stretch of roadway ended and I was back to the more familiar, uglier city driving.

  It was maybe half an hour later when I was stuck in traffic on a road called King’s Highway that I felt my neck hairs rise. Instinctively I looked out my driver’s side window and immediately spotted him as he walked along the sidewalk in the opposite direction to where I was headed. He was stockier and shorter than the men of my clan, but his hair was as coarse as ours and the same coal-black color. I couldn’t get a good look at his eyes or much of his face, given the way he was walking, slouching and with his head bowed, but I had the sense that he had hardened features and a thick and powerful jaw. A shiver went up my spine as I had the thought that he was one of my kind. If I could’ve caught his scent, I would’ve known for sure. He never looked my way, though, seemingly oblivious of me.

  I wanted to follow after him and know for sure, but by the time the other cars started moving again and I was able to turn around he was nowhere in sight. I decided it was only my mind playing tricks on me. It was possible that other clans might hunt in this city. Maybe even probable. With the staggering amount of people this city held, it wouldn’t be hard to fill up a van with stragglers. But it wouldn’t make sense for one of my kind to be walking along a sidewalk here. If anything, he’d be driving a van similar to the one I was in, looking for those that would be safe to pick up. Unless – and the thought made my heart race – it was someone like me who’d decided to abandon his clan and live as one of them, maybe even for the same reason I had. And if that was what it was, he must’ve found a way to keep the cravings from becoming something awful.

  I found a place along the street to park, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to picture every detail I could of this person so I could decide whether he was one of my kind as I first thought. After several minutes, I gave up without being able to figure out whether he was one of my kind or not.

  I accidentally veered off my planned route several times before finding the restaurant, but it didn’t cost me much time as my instincts for driving in this city were getting better and I was quickly able to get myself back on track.

  The front entrance of the restaurant where I’d been told I could find Sergei was locked. After pounding on the door without any results, I walked around the building until I found a back entrance. When I knocked on this door, a rosy-cheeked young man with blond hair and heavily-lidded eyes answered and uttered something I didn’t understand.

  ‘What?’

  He gave me a disgusted look. ‘I said, what you want?’

  I had to concentrate to understand his words, as he mumbled more than talked and his accent made his words thick and peculiar.

  ‘I have a van to sell to someone named Sergei.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘I parked it out front.’

  He showed me another disgusted look, which I didn’t like. I had an impulse to snap his neck, but fought it off. ‘Bring it back here,’ he said, and he disappeared back into the building.

  I went back to the van and drove it down the narrow alley that led to the back of the restaurant. When I knocked on the door, a different man opened it. He was older, more lines in his face, his hair slicked back. He smiled at me the way a fox might smile at a rabbit.

  ‘You’re not a cop?’ he said.

  He had a heavy, mumbling accent similar to that of the other man, but his words were easier to understand. I shook my head.

  ‘No, you are no cop!’ he said, laughing softly to himself. He pointed a thumb toward the van. ‘Run the engine.’

  I did as he asked, leaving the engine purring contentedly as I stepped out of the van. ‘Two hundred dollars,’ I said.

  ‘Sure, sure.’ He winked at me. ‘Two hundred dollars for the delivery. Vehicle will be returned to you.’

  This confused me. I didn’t understand what he was saying. I started to ask him what he was talking about, but he held up a hand to stop me.

  ‘You are not stupid, right? Just like you are not a cop. It would be illegal for me to buy a stolen van from you.’ He winked at me. ‘So just in case I am wrong and you are a cop trying to entrap me, I am only buying a delivery. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He took a wallet from his back pocket. He made n
o attempt to hide from me how thick it was with money. Nonchalantly he took two $100 bills from it, folded them, and reached over so he could stick them in my shirt pocket. There was far more money in his wallet than what I had gotten from the well-fed man I had robbed – more than enough to give me what I needed so I could afford my own place to live and start dating Jill. I considered beating him unconscious and stealing his wallet. It would be easy enough to do, and given his condescending manner, I’d enjoy it. The problem was the van. He’d report my description and the van to the police. The newspapers might then print a story about it, which Jill could end up seeing. If it was only my description, it wouldn’t matter. She might find it a coincidence, though I doubt it would’ve occurred to her that I was the same person. But she might recognize the van.

  If I was going to rob him, I was also going to have to kill him. The same with the younger blond man who had first answered the door. And even the man at the shop advertising CASH FOR CARS, though if I went back to that shop he might no longer be there. The truth was I’d never killed any of them before intentionally, for my own ends. The well-fed man I robbed might be dead, and some of those I’d picked up in the past were found to be dead inside the burlap sacks, which was a shame since we then couldn’t use them. For us to make use of them, they had to be alive for the slaughtering ritual. So while choosing the ones I picked up I might have brought about their deaths, I didn’t think of myself as a murderer. That was just the way it had to be, and I wasn’t sure if killing any of them intentionally for my own ends would make me feel as if I were a murderer.

  All these thoughts flashed through my mind as I stood there and let him push the folded bills into my pocket and then pat the front of the pocket. As much as I wanted the rest of the money in his wallet, I couldn’t risk robbing and killing him, even if I decided I had no moral qualms about bringing about their deaths for a purpose other than our natural use of them. Not now, anyway. If I still needed his money a week from now, I knew where to find him and the odds were he’d still be carrying a wallet stuffed with $100 bills.

  ELEVEN

  From a market, I bought an apple, a pear, shelled walnuts, and a banana – which was a type of fruit, like many in the market, that I’d never eaten before. But I liked its smell and made a meal of it. As I ate, I thought more about the man I’d seen who I believed might be one of my kind. If he was indeed one of my kind and was now living in New York, then perhaps I could track him down and he would give me the secret of how to keep the cravings from crippling me – unless his secret for survival was to continue the slaughtering rituals and meat preparation while living in the city.

  After I finished eating I searched for one of the city’s train stations – or subway stations, as Jill called them – and after finding one and studying a map of the train lines, I figured out how to get back to the area in Manhattan where I’d robbed that well-fed man yesterday.

  There were still a great many of them on the sidewalks and in the subway car that I rode, but less than yesterday when I was with Jill. While I was overly alert to them, as any predator would be, I didn’t feel any of the intense anxiousness or uneasiness that I had when Jill first took me to Manhattan.

  I tried walking the same path as I did with Jill, looking for more well-fed, expensively dressed men to rob. I focused on men for two reasons. Firstly, it would be easier to remove a wallet from a back pants pocket than from a pocketbook unnoticed; and secondly, although in the past when choosing stragglers to pick up I’d never cared about their gender, now the idea of robbing a woman made me ill at ease. While I spotted a few people who seemed worth robbing, I also spotted some who were trying to be inconspicuous as they watched for that type of behavior. These must’ve been police disguised to blend in among the others. After the robbery yesterday, they must have been alerted to look out for other robberies of the same type. I soon quit the area and tried walking north toward the Empire State Building. And while I saw other people who appeared to be good targets for robbing, I likewise spotted what must’ve been police watching for this. Today, I decided, would not be a good day for robbing more of them. That would need to wait until the police lowered their guard.

  I found a subway station so I could travel to the station close by Jill’s apartment building. I wasn’t going to hunt for robbery victims near where she lived, but I decided to try to find work close to her since I hoped to find a home in that area also.

  After I got off at the Parsons Boulevard subway stop in Queens, I walked in the direction of Jill’s building, and after only three blocks came across a fenced-in construction site where a group of workers were building a new house. I slipped in behind the fence and it didn’t take me long to get the attention of the one who looked like he was in charge. He was half a foot shorter than I am, with a thick stumpy body and a round bald head, his facial features rubbery like a bullfrog’s. He gave me a hard look, without his expression betraying what he thought.

  ‘Yeah?’ he inquired, his voice a raspy croak.

  ‘You look like you could use another worker here,’ I said. ‘I’m good at carpentry, but I can build anything. I enjoy hard work.’

  He made a face that I recognized from seeing it far too often on the elders. It was the face of someone who didn’t want to be bothered with what I had to say. Just as quickly, though, he changed his mind and gave me a look up and down.

  ‘You like hard work, huh? Alright, I’ll give you a chance to show me that you know what you’re talking about.’ He told me to stay where I was, and left so that he could bring me back the same sort of helmet he was wearing, which I later learned was called a hard hat. After I put it on, he led me to a table saw and handed me a large board and told me how he wanted me to cut it.

  ‘If you saw off any of your fingers, that’s your hard luck,’ he said, frowning as he watched me.

  I’d brought a similar, but smaller, table saw back to the clan, and so had no trouble doing as he asked. After that, he handed me a nail gun (another tool I had brought back to the clan and used in my home-building) and told me where he wanted the board attached, which I did easily.

  ‘OK,’ he grunted, nodding. ‘I’ve seen enough to know you can do the job. You can give me back the hard hat.’ After I did that, he asked what my name was. I was surprised he hadn’t asked me to do anything more challenging than cut a board and nail it, but I didn’t suggest that he do so.

  ‘Charlie Husk,’ I said.

  He held out his hand and I shook it. This was a custom that my kind didn’t partake in, but I was well familiar with it – even many of the hitchhikers I’d picked up had offered me their hands before I had a chance to get them into the back of the van and into a burlap sack.

  ‘Carl,’ he said. He dug a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. ‘Go to that address 7.00 a.m. on Tuesday, ask to speak to Elaine. I’ll make sure she knows you’re coming, and she’ll have you fill out the necessary paperwork. Come here right afterwards and I’ll put you to work. Thirty-six dollars an hour, plus time and a half overtime, and there’ll be plenty of overtime. Don’t worry, I’ll call ahead and make sure they’re expecting you.’

  I thanked him, as I knew he was expecting me to do, and as I turned to leave he cleared his throat to get my attention. He gave me an apologetic look and asked if I was legal. I didn’t know what he was asking, and stared back at him, confused.

  ‘If you’re from Ireland, or elsewhere, you got the necessary paperwork, right?’

  ‘I was born in New Hampshire and lived there my whole life, until moving here yesterday.’

  ‘So you got a social security number?’

  I didn’t know what that was. His expression soured as he understood my confusion. ‘This is a legal shop,’ he said. ‘We don’t pay under the table. If you’re legal like you’re saying, get a social security number and bring it to that address. If a job’s still open, it’s yours.’

  I was going to ask him how to get a social security number, but he had already
turned his back to me. As far as he was concerned, we were done talking.

  Over the next five hours I found other construction sites and automobile repair shops that were open and where people were working. Some of these had no interest in talking with me, the ones that did tested me like the first construction site did and all seemed satisfied and wanted to hire me until they found out I didn’t have a social security number. It didn’t matter to them that I was born in New Hampshire and had lived there my whole life until the other day. I tried asking one of them how I could get a social security number. He seemed to be growing unnecessarily impatient with me, but said if I had a birth certificate I could get a social security number.

  ‘I was born in a small town. All of our births are done in our homes. None of us get birth certificates.’

  ‘Then go back there,’ he spat out, his impatience boiling over into anger. ‘Or find the social security office and talk to them. There’s got to be an office here in New York. But quit wasting my time.’ He clamped his mouth shut, his face growing beet red, then before turning his back on me muttered loud enough for me to hear, ‘All you fucking illegals think we can hire you off the books.’

  At the last place where I was tested, an automobile repair shop, the man in charge was more patient when he found out I didn’t have a social security number.

  ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I wish I could hire you, I really do, but the city’s been cracking down on our shops hiring illegals. You’ve done nicely ridding yourself of your accent. If I didn’t know better I’d swear you were born here, but you’re wasting your time trying to find this type of work without the proper work visa. No shop is going to take the chance of hiring you. Fine’s just too big if we get found out. My advice, try the restaurants. Dishwashing is still honest work, and they’re more likely to pay you cash under the table.’