by Jesse Ball
LILY
(with great joy)
The onion knife!
She unbuttons her dress slowly and removes it, setting it down by her feet. She removes the plain white underwear she is wearing and sets that, too, by her feet. She is completely naked, and possessed with a feverish sort of happiness.
The onion knife!
She turns from the audience to the man, and lies down with him on the mattress, where she fulfills her promise. The audience stays to watch or leaves, as they may prefer. The play is concluded.
—I KNEW THE GIRL, said Emma. Of course, I spoke to her about it later. The older man was actually her lover—in real life. He was also the director. The girl was the playwright, and the actress both. The husband from the play was just an actor they had found. This act of lovemaking in public, it might seem shocking now, but it wasn’t so much pornographic at that time as, well, it was revolutionary. It was a reclaiming of the body.
They sat in silence for a minute.
—I’ve always felt, said Emma, that people misunderstand consequence. Anything really can be the consequence of something else. That’s our human gift. So, when someone loses a paring knife, well, who is to say what will happen?
Hilda laughed at that. Emma laughed, too. They laughed together.
—At the time, said Emma, I thought that it was funny, but I also thought it was serious. Now, I just think that it is funny. Well, enough for my story about consequence.
She sighed deeply.
—Now I am going to present you with a choice, my dear.
THE OLD WOMAN went out into the hall and when she came back, she was carrying a little leather box.
She sat down.
—Hilda, she said. There is much to say, and little time. Martin Rueger has been renamed. He is now called Henry. Henry Caul. He is a scholar; that is his identity. He lives in sector B73, the sector we are even now approaching. I regret to tell you that he has been fogged since you knew him. He has lost function. You have gone through our training, so you know what the task of marriage is. You know that an examiner of excellence, feigning a role, may participate in a life in this way, acting as a sort of custodian for one who is somewhat absent. You know that it has been arranged for you to come and see Henry, to meet him again, and all going well, for the two of you to cohabitate. You are to become Henry’s permanent custodian, for I will soon be gone.
—Henry loved you. He really did. And I believe that you, well, I said what I believed already. For you, with your inclination, to be custodian to him: it is clear that you can perform this task, and well. But can you be happy? Before, when you knew him, you could be equals. You could speak, he could answer. Perhaps he was confused—but he was also lacking information. Now, well, as you will see, he is changed.
—It is one choice, a choice you can make, to arrive in this town now, as you are. Your name is Nancy. You are to act as though you do not remember being Hilda. You are to act as though you do not know that you ever met a Martin Rueger, and certainly, you will receive Henry Caul as an entirely new person—one whom you will demonstrate affection for. You will win him over, and you will become his custodian. The train is even now approaching the town. This is the life you will lead, and there is something false in it.
—However, I offer you another choice. If it is true that you did love him, that there was something there, then perhaps it remains. Perhaps you would like another chance, a new chance. This is my offer: if you agree, I will inject you.
The old woman opened the leather case, and there was a hypodermic needle inside, a needle and a small clear bottle.
—You will wake up and you will be just Nancy, not an examiner, not a Hilda, nothing but Nancy. I will bring you to the town and you will recover in a separate house. When you are ready you will be brought to our home. You will reunite with Henry, and the two of you will share a new life, unencumbered.
The young woman stared at the needle as if she had never seen such a thing before. She reached down and shut the box. Tears ran down her face.
—No, she said. I can’t. I can’t.
She put her head in her hands and wept.
The old examiner stood and went to the door, the box under her arm. She slid the door open and stepped out into the passage.
—Oh, wait, wait, come back, cried the young woman. Come back. I think I, I think…
Her eyes raced helplessly back and forth over the shabby train compartment in a dry and awful panic. She flinched away from, but then looked up at the old woman, who stood, paused in the doorway. The train was coming to a halt. They were arriving.
—I think, I…
The old woman loosened her features. She stood a bit straighter. She spoke in a voice unfamiliar.
—Hilda, she said, darling, you were very sick and you almost died.
Hilda sobbed.
—Hilda, look at me.
She took Hilda by the chin.
—You were on the edge of death and you were rescued. You were rescued.
The old woman shook her head and a sad laugh fell from her. The train came to a halt. They had been in the wastes where there was no one, but now, but now…
Outside the train, voices cried out, one to another. A village of voices, men, women, calling out as if in human speech.
But another voice closer, closer, was saying, what do you choose. Hurry now, hurry now, what do you choose.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANKS TO:
J. Jackson & all at Pantheon.
B. Sweren & all at Kuhn Projects.
Poyais Group.
Godshot, Bonanza Coffee Heroes & Schokogalerie.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jesse Ball is the author of four previous novels, including Silence Once Begun and Samedi the Deafness, and several works of verse, bestiaries, and sketchbooks. He received an NEA creative writing fellowship for 2014, and his prizes include the 2008 Paris Review Plimpton Prize; his verse has been included in the Best American Poetry series. He gives classes on lucid dreaming, walking, and lying at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.