Husk

by Dave Zeltserman

  ‘You can leave now in one piece or in several pieces,’ I told him, my voice low and as icy as death. ‘Do you understand me?’

  I twisted his finger until tears flooded his eyes and he nodded his assent. I let go of him, and he grabbed at his barely injured finger. He stumbled to his feet and skulked away to the door. Before he reached it, he promised Jill that he was through with her and she could fuck all the dumb imbeciles she wanted to, for all he cared. Once the door closed behind him, I turned to Jill dreading what I might see because I knew she had wanted me to stay seated throughout the whole sorry episode and, although I didn’t realize it while it was happening, I also knew she had tried to hold me back from approaching her former boyfriend. What I saw left my heart heavy. She looked so utterly crestfallen, almost as if she might crumble apart in front of my eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  This confused me. I shook my head slowly. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ I said.

  Jill bit her lip, struggling to keep her tears at bay. Her voice was a fragile thing as she told me how awful she felt for having subjected me to Ethan’s behavior. ‘You must think so little of me for having ever been involved with someone like that,’ she said. ‘I ignored telltale signs of his abusive personality, but he kept himself better in check, at least early on. This evening he reached a whole new level, probably out of frustration for not being able to control me anymore. I am so sorry you had to see that.’

  I was shaking my head more as I stepped toward her. ‘You did nothing wrong. I can’t blame someone for being sprayed by a bad-tempered skunk. I also meant what I said about doing whatever I can to win your heart, at least as long as you allow me to. And I promise you, if I’m ever fortunate enough to succeed, I will do whatever I need to until my last breath so that I may keep your heart.’

  As I stepped toward Jill she stepped toward me, and we met in an embrace. For a long moment we stood like that, her head burrowed against my chest, her body warm and small against mine. Then she was looking up at me and pulling me down so her lips could press against mine. As we kissed, my head became dizzy and my heart pounded wildly in my chest. I understood fully then the romantic passion that I had read about. The feelings I experienced were completely unknown to me, and utterly unlike anything I’d ever felt toward Patience, even when we were engaged in marital relations. When we separated from the kiss, Jill’s eyes were half-lidded and filled with the same desire that was overwhelming me. I badly wanted to continue kissing her, but even though I didn’t understand why it was important we stop after that one kiss, I told her we needed to wait before we kissed again. Much later that night when I was alone, I realized why it was so important. Her former boyfriend’s visit had wrecked her emotionally, so if we had done anything further I’d always have felt I took advantage. Even more important, I had promised her I wouldn’t be courting her until I moved into my own home. So far we had held hands and sat close to each other on her couch, and we had allowed ourselves that one kiss. For me to prove to her that I could be trusted to honor my word, that was all I could allow for now.

  But it was damned difficult willing myself to end our embrace. Up until that point in my life it was the most difficult thing I’d ever done, even more so than deciding to betray my clan.

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘Would you be throwing parties here?’

  The question asked by Dr Harris (which was how Jill addressed the psychology professor) made me smile. When Jill and I arrived at the one-room apartment, he had us sit on something he called a love seat – a smallish couch that had been upholstered with a tanned and softened cow hide dyed the color of milk – while he sat on a similarly upholstered armchair, with his right leg crossed casually over his left knee. He explained that he was renting the apartment for his son, who had plans to spend three months in another part of the world (at the time he told us the country, but I have since forgotten it, which is understandable given everything that followed), and he was looking for a conscientious person to rent the apartment to during his son’s absence. After that, he proceeded to ask me a slew of questions in order to gauge whether I could be that conscientious person. While he asked these questions, he smiled pleasantly, but his eyes were nearly unblinking and he gazed at me similarly to how someone might study an insect under a piece of glass. Fortunately, by omitting certain facts, I was able to answer all of them truthfully, because I had little doubt that he would’ve sniffed out any lie I told him.

  ‘No, sir,’ I said. (I was familiar enough with their world to know it would best for me to address him as ‘Sir’.) ‘I will be working as hard as I can and for as many hours as I can during those three months while your son is away. I will have little time, and even less inclination, to host any social events. The only guest that I can foresee having is Jill, and that would only be for a quiet dinner. If you allow me stay in your son’s apartment, I can pledge to you that there will be no parties here, and I will keep his home clean, and you will find it in better shape when your son returns than it is now.’

  He raised an eyebrow at my last claim.

  ‘For starters, several of the kitchen-cabinet doors have gotten off-kilter and need to be adjusted,’ I said, answering his unasked question. ‘I will also fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom and the slow drain in the kitchen sink, the loose closet door in the entry hall, and any other problem that I discover.’

  He was satisfied with my answer, and the thin smile that now twisted his lips looked more genuine than the pleasant one he’d been displaying earlier.

  ‘You have a certain old-world way about you,’ he remarked. ‘Are you a first generation American?’

  I shook my head. ‘My kin’s been here for a long time.’

  He made a ‘Hmm …’ noise, then commented that Husk was an unusual name. ‘Is it Anglo-Saxon in origin? Are your people from Britain originally?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. I’ve never been able to get a direct answer about that.’

  He nodded in such a way as to indicate that these last questions were only to satisfy his curiosity. ‘In any case, Jill has certainly vouched for you,’ he said. His lips twisted into a more amused smile and he added, ‘And I certainly pride myself on being a good judge of character. Mr Husk, I believe I have found my subletter. If you can pay me the first month’s rent now, we can consider our deal sealed.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow at Jill. ‘You did tell Mr Husk what the rent would be?’

  ‘Yes, sir, she did,’ I answered for her. I counted out $520 from my wallet, leaving it much thinner, and handed the money to the psychology professor.

  ‘Cash,’ he said, winking. ‘My favorite kind of payment. Yes, I do believe I found the right subletter. Jill, thank you for introducing me to such a responsible young man.’

  We talked a bit more, to arrange the time and date for when I would move into the apartment, and when I would pay the subsequent months’ rents. After that we exchanged handshakes, and Jill and I departed. As we walked back to her apartment, her hand found mine and soon her slender fingers were interlaced between my thick ones, and her body stayed close to mine. Excitedly, she extolled the virtues of the apartment where I’d be living. It was on a quiet street with a vegan restaurant only a block away; the building was well maintained; and the apartment, while small, was nicely furnished and had been kept up, even if some of the kitchen cabinets were askew, the faucet in the bathroom leaked, and there were the other small problems I’d mentioned. She had other points to make too, and I was pleased that her high spirits seemed to have been restored. Whatever chaos and disagreeableness her ‘jerk’ (to quote Jill) of an ex-boyfriend had brought, they were gone and seemingly forgotten, and there was once again only a comfortable feeling between us. Starting tomorrow, I might have to work washing dishes, but that was something I’d gladly do as long as I could court Jill in only three weeks’ time.

  My mood, though, dampened (although not enough for Jill to notice) as I drifted into worrying about the cr
avings, because if I didn’t find a way to hold them at bay none of this would matter. But I gritted my teeth and decided I couldn’t let myself be burdened by these thoughts now. I would search the East Flatbush area of Brooklyn until I found the thick-jawed man who I was convinced had to be one of my kind.

  When we returned to Jill’s apartment, she suggested we watch another of her favorite movies, which she wanted to share with me, and I told her, truthfully, that anything she wanted to do was fine with me. This movie was called Don’t Look Now, and it was a very different type of movie from the other one we had watched. First, it was in color – not black, white, and shades of gray – and secondly, it wasn’t a romantic story but a sad and tragic one. Instead of lying curled up on the sofa with her head resting on my leg, this time Jill sat next to me while we held hands, our fingers interlaced.

  Early on, the movie showed something that surprised and, in a way, shocked me. The actor and actress who played the husband and wife were naked together on the bed, engaged in marital relations. It wasn’t their nakedness that shocked me. The slaughtering rituals require them to be stripped of their clothes, so I’d seen many of them naked. What shocked me was the manner in which they engaged in relations. It was completely different and foreign to the way Patience and I had performed our marital responsibilities. Given that Jill reacted to that scene in the movie as if what the husband and wife were doing was completely normal, I realized that even in this respect the ways of their world were very different from those of my kind.

  A shiver ran through me as I realized how disastrous it could’ve been if I hadn’t stopped after our kiss. Jill probably would’ve thought me a freakish thing if I had tried to engage with her the way I had with Prudence, which was the only way I had known or imagined before this movie played out in front of me.

  Jill noticed that I’d shivered, and pressed a button that caused the movie to stop playing. She smiled at me apologetically. ‘Wow, that was stupid of me picking this movie. I mean I love it, and it’s one of my favorites, but I know you’re not used to TV or movies and I should’ve warned you about the content. Charlie, I’m so sorry if the movie made you uncomfortable.’

  ‘That’s not why I shivered,’ I said. ‘It was the thought of losing a child, as this couple did, that caused me to react that way. If anything, I find the story gripping. I’d like to watch more of it.’

  I’d lied to her again. But as much as I hated piling any more lies on top of the ones I’d already told her, I had little choice. I certainly couldn’t tell her the reason I reacted the way I did. Moreover, I badly wanted her to continue playing the movie so I could understand how in their world a man and woman engage in relations.

  Jill gave me a funny look, as if she wasn’t sure she believed me. Perhaps she thought I was humoring her. But she restarted the movie, though after that scene ended there weren’t any more of that kind, so there wasn’t any risk that I’d shiver further, if I was so inclined to do so. At the end of the movie, we talked about it for several minutes and I was able to tell Jill, without lying, that I’d found the story gripping and affecting. Jill told me that the movie always left her too emotionally distraught to sleep, and asked if I’d mind if we watched the news. I told her that that would be fine, although secretly I dreaded what they might show.

  The first story they mentioned was the murder of the well-fed orange-haired man. I concentrated, so I would appear relaxed and not reveal to Jill any of the worry I felt in case they showed a photograph with me in it. My worry turned out to be unnecessary as they only showed the photograph and drawing of the round-faced bearded man that I’d seen in the newspaper. The woman on the television who talked about the story made it sound as if there wasn’t any question that this man committed the murder, and asked for anyone who could identify him to call the police.

  As luck would have it, the very next item on the news program was regarding the police officer I throttled. The woman who presented it made a point of talking about the extreme savagery of the murder, and how the police officer’s throat had been crushed almost as if by a wild animal rather than a man. The part I was most anxious to hear was the statement that there were no witnesses and the police were imploring anyone with knowledge of the crime to come forward. As the story unfolded, Jill quit holding my hand and her body seemed to shrink inward as if she were trying to avoid any physical contact with me. I don’t think this was because she suspected me of being the one to murder the officer, but because the story genuinely upset her. At its conclusion, Jill murmured about how awful it was.

  ‘That poor man,’ she said. ‘Kissena Lake is only two miles from here.’

  I didn’t comment about the ‘poor man’. If he hadn’t felt obliged to bully a sleeping man who was minding his own business, he’d be alive now. What was that saying I’d read in one of my books? Let sleeping dogs lie … There’s a good amount of truth to that. And you should definitely let a sleeping wolf lie, as that police officer discovered. Besides, what choice did I have, with him trying to aim his gun at me so he could shoot me dead? Of course, I couldn’t fault him for reacting the way he did once he saw me fully unmasked. Even though they always had us greatly outnumbered, it wasn’t until a thousand years ago that the imbalance became so massive that we had little choice but to disappear into the wilderness. Before then we used to live out in the open and hunt them with impunity, and it must be that ancestral memories of that time still lurk in their brains and cause the fight or flight panic I saw in that officer and others who’d caught a glimpse of my true self.

  Jill seemed shaken by the story. She knew I had been out roaming the streets last night and I wanted to make sure she didn’t have any suspicions that I could’ve been the police officer’s killer, so I removed the map of New York from the back pocket of my pants, unfolded it, and asked Jill where Kissena Lake was. Her brow furrowed as she studied the map before pointing out the small lake.

  ‘So it’s north of here,’ I said, frowning. ‘Last night I walked west to a different lake and fell asleep by it.’

  I pointed out a body of water on the map called Lake Meadow. I took no satisfaction in lying to Jill about this, but felt it necessary to dispel any thoughts she might’ve had that I could’ve been the one who savagely killed the police officer. At least I refrained from commenting about how fortunate it was that I’d walked to the lake I did, or otherwise might’ve been the one murdered.

  Jill pressed a button to turn off the television. She looked worn out as she said, ‘Whoever killed that officer is a pure psychopath. That’s obvious given the extreme brutality of this killing. Until they catch him, please don’t go walking late at night. It’s not safe to. Will you promise me that, Charlie?’

  I had little choice but to do as asked, so I promised I wouldn’t walk around late at night. At least it made her smile, even if it was only a bleak one. She got off the couch, leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘I’ve gotten really tired all of a sudden,’ she said, her slight smile still present. ‘It must be the wine. I’m going to bed. Your job starts at six? So I probably won’t see you until tomorrow evening. Goodnight, Charlie.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘And please, if you have trouble sleeping, tell me and I’ll give you one of my pills. Don’t go outside walking around. Whoever this psychopath is, he’s not done killing yet.’

  I watched as Jill disappeared into her bedroom, amazed at how perceptive she was. Because I had been planning on going out later that night. Yesterday I had looked through the small address book she kept by her phone, and found an address for her ex-boyfriend, Ethan. He lived in a neighborhood of Queens called Fresh Meadow, and earlier I had located his address on my map. After the way he brutalized Jill this evening, I’d planned to go to his home later on and end his miserable life. Now I could no longer do that. Even if Jill didn’t realize that I’d left her apartment, she would wonder whether I was the one who killed him – and maybe she’d even start wondering whether I had killed the poli
ce officer at that small lake. I decided that I couldn’t kill any more of them, especially people Jill knew, and leave their bodies around for the police to find. I’d read enough books to know that if I did, the police might stumble upon me as the killer.

  I was going to keep my promise to Jill that night. She had closed her bedroom door, but I didn’t want light from this room to seep in and disturb her, so I turned off the lights, which left the room in a murky grayness. I picked up Frankenstein from where I’d left it, as I still had a few pages to read. The grayness wasn’t dark enough to keep me from reading, and I soon finished the novel, disappointed that the monster didn’t have a happier outcome. I then picked out another of Jill’s books to read.

  EIGHTEEN

  After an hour of reading, I started to feel drowsy, and I put the book down to rest my eyes. Surprisingly, I fell asleep. Possibly I was getting more used to my new conditions than I’d realized, such as the city noises, the hazy grayness of their nights, and the softness of Jill’s couch. But I was sure other factors had come into play, including all the walking I’d done among them the past two days and the wine I’d drunk that evening with Jill.

  From what I’d been able to gather over the years, nightmares were unusual for the members of my clan. At least, whenever I’d asked my siblings or cousins if they’d ever experienced disturbing dreams they’d look at me as if they couldn’t understand what I was asking. Once, I even worked up the courage to ask an elder the same question, and he looked at me as if I were an imbecile and told me such things were impossible. Of course, I knew that wasn’t true. Even if I decided that the books I’d read in which characters suffered from nightmares were fanciful tales with no basis in real life, I would’ve known that what the elder told me wasn’t true, since I’d been having nightmares from a young age, maybe even starting when I was ten. I didn’t have these every night. Most nights I didn’t remember my dreams, and even when I had a nightmare it would only leave a vague impression on me and I’d never be able to remember much about it, though I’d wake up perspiring heavily, with my heart pounding and a dread filling me, so I was left with no doubt that I’d had one.