by Max Brooks
The mountain lion fell sideways, skidding clumsily on the ground. It jerked and twisted, clawing at the stick with rapid swipes. I’m not sure if it actually succeeded or if the motion of its running dislodged the point, but in a flurry of sharp, phlegmy snarls, it dashed into the trees, leaving a trail of blood.
“Are you okay?” I turned to see Mostar stepping out from between the houses, her attention on Palomino, who was practically smothered by her mothers.
I looked down at the spear, or javelin, whatever you call Mostar’s weapon. Because that’s what she’d made, a weapon. A bamboo stalk, a half inch or so wide and about as tall as her. Taller when you include the tip, a bloody paring knife, stuck on with equally bloody packing tape.
Mostar said, “Thank you, Katie,” as I handed the pole to her. I don’t remember picking it up. In fact, I don’t even remember how I got there. I just remember wiping bloody hands on my jeans as she turned to Dan. “This is what I needed it for.”
I guess Dan had cut the shaft for her when he was making his roof-cleaning thingy. Dan managed a shaky “uh-huh” as Mostar pursed her lips at the knife’s bent blade. “Would have never worked on a deer,” she huffed. “Too flimsy. And I need to figure out a way to barb the blade for it to stick.” She shook the dripping weapon back at me. “See how easily it came out? If someone has a file, maybe I can…”
“What are you doing!” That was Yvette, behind us, with Tony in tow. They must have been standing in between the houses, along with everyone else. The whole neighborhood was suddenly there, crowding the alleys. Shocked faces. Pale.
Not Yvette though. Her cheeks were red. She looked angry; no, I take that back. Indignant. A parent or vice principal when a child has made “bad choices.”
“What are you doing!”
Mostar ignored her, kneeling next to Palomino. “You okay?” Her free hand reached out to stroke the girl’s cheek. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
I looked over at Yvette, who was glaring at Tony, who wasn’t saying anything. I noticed he was licking his lips a lot, sucking them in and taking short, loud breaths through his nose.
I saw Yvette’s eyes widen slightly, that silent “Well?” look couples give each other. Without facing her, he responded with another lip chew. Yvette whipped her head back and called for Mostar, who remained focused on the Perkins-Forster family.
“Mostar!” Demanding this time. Commanding. I could see she was gripping Tony’s arm, giving it slight, signaling yanks.
“Uh, yeah,” Tony said without making eye contact. “You know…I think…maybe if we all just…”
Mostar interrupted by turning away from them back to Palomino. “I don’t know about you, Little Doll…but I was so scared, I may have just wet myself.” That was the first time I saw Palomino smile, which became a tearful giggle, which set off both her mothers. All three of them, crying and laughing, and then Effie let out this loud snotty-snort that made everyone smile.
Except Yvette. I could see her jaw muscles throb. She let go of Tony’s arm, threw it aside, and strode over to Mostar. “That was incredibly selfish and irresponsible what you just did!”
Mostar gave a slight “oh, here we go” sigh, then grunted as she stood up to face her. “It was?”
Yvette seemed taken aback by this answer, as if she expected Mostar to cave. “It was!” she repeated, and I noticed, as she spoke, that her accent had definitely changed. A strong hint of, what, Australia? New Zealand? “That animal wasn’t going to hurt her!”
“It wasn’t?” Mostar responded calmly. “You didn’t see it about to pounce?”
Yvette said incredulously, “No, I didn’t! I saw a frightened animal that you hurt for no reason!”
“Actually”—my heart skipped a beat when I heard Dan speak—“it really did look like it was gonna jump.” His voice was shaking a little, and it got louder as he said, “She…like…saved her.”
Yvette’s eyes flicked back to Tony, her head cocked to one side. He was gone. Not physically, and I’m not being poetic—well, maybe a little—but the guy we’d first met, this dynamic, confident alpha with the big neon sign above him that flashed TRUST ME, I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING? Gone.
I remember reading somewhere that perception of height is distorted by positions of authority. Doctors, cops, anyone we designate as powerful sometimes appear taller than they actually are. I’m not sure if I 100 percent believe this, and maybe Tony was just hunching badly, but I can swear, at that moment, he seemed a lot shorter.
Yvette’s eyes flashed this microburst of anger at her husband, so subtle but so hot that I felt my stomach gurgle. And when she turned that look on Dan, I nose-burped acid. She spat, “Do you know that? Do you know what mountain lions are like? Do you know that it wasn’t just scared by us all and trying to get away, and now it’s hurt unnecessarily, and what you did could’ve provoked it to attack…kill Palomino!”
I should have said something. I should have stood up for Dan. I might have, if Mostar hadn’t jumped in. That’s what I hope. But Mostar just shrugged and sighed with, “Well, it didn’t and now it’s gone. It’s all over.”
She was trying to defuse the situation, and it seemed close to working. I noticed people around me start to relax. The Perkins-Forsters got to their feet. Reinhardt raised his hands in a “well, that settles it” gesture. And the Boothes even turned back to their house. But Yvette…how big are her veins that I could see them bulging from that distance? A half beat to think, regroup, find a way to reassert her authority.
“No, no! No, it’s not over. You could have seriously hurt her with that!” Her arm shot toward the javelin. “You’re making this an unsafe space! And”—her hand opened—“I’m going to have to confiscate this.”
“No.”
The word, the tone. Absolute fact.
Yvette exhaled through her nose, eyes flicking from side to side. Was she looking for support? Judgment?
“Mostar.”
“No.”
“Just give it to me.”
“No.”
“Mostar!” One step closer, Yvette’s fingers curling around the green wood. Did Mostar wait for that, for her to get a good strong grip?
I remember this in slow motion, the hard yank, pulling Yvette forward and down into Mostar’s face.
“NO.”
And then something happened. Something that still makes me want to run and hide from the memory. Mostar’s lower jaw, jutting out as she lunged. An inch, barely, and so quick. A rapid stab forward of her face into Yvette’s.
And that face, eyes wide, jerking back suddenly.
Fear.
I keep coming back to this moment, the notion of strong and weak.
I understand beauty or money. Wit, popularity, sex.
Influence.
But I’ve never seen a physical fight, or even the threat of one. Not with girls, not even boys. Not in my world.
Primitive. Primal.
Dominance.
I have the power to cause you pain.
Yvette released the spear, retreating from the waist up. Mostar gave another lunge, shoulders back, head forward.
Yvette winced! Head turned, eyes shut, retreating a couple steps as her hands came up to shield her face.
“Go home, Yvette.”
And it was done. Mostar relaxed, shoulders sagging, weight resting on her back leg, the semblance of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Just go home, okay?”
Yvette straightened, cheeks and lips completely white. She backed up another half step, glaring at Mostar as fear gave way to anger. But she didn’t say anything this time, didn’t even look at us. She gave this little half-hearted faux chuckle, which ended in a clownish grin. She turned quickly, heading for her house, and grabbed Tony by the wrist. Tony. Face lank, eyes
down, trying to swallow his bottom lip, as his wife led him away.
The next few seconds were a blur. I think I almost passed out from the tension. I remember Dan’s arm around me, shaking, nausea.
The first clear vision I had was the group starting to break up. The Boothes’ backs, Palomino being carried inside by Carmen.
Then the voice.
“Um.”
It was Reinhardt, of all people, and of all things, muttering to Dan, “I…uh…couldn’t help but…um…well, if you’re already cleaning your own solar panels, I was wondering if…”
“Huh? Oh yeah, sure,” Dan mumbled, suddenly snapping back to the moment, trying to catch up with a flurry of affirmative hand gestures. “Yeah, totally, soon as I finish and—”
“And what are you going to do for him?” Mostar, cutting him off, standing beside him, facing Reinhardt, blood dripping down the spear onto her hand. “If you need Dan to do something for you, then you need to do something for him.”
Her voice was loud, louder than it needed to be at that distance. Loud enough to make everyone turn back and take notice.
“Well, I…naturally, yes, yes.” Reinhardt tried to shrug it off like that was a given, then, I could see, got a little worried when he realized what he was agreeing to. “What would you…”
“Food.” Mostar’s head jerked in my direction. “Danny needs to replace all those calories he’ll be spending. And that’s why Katie will be going with him to catalog everything you have in your kitchen. And so, if you ever need his help again, and you know you will, he’ll know exactly what to ask for in return.” No room. No questions. All he could do at that point was refuse. Which he didn’t.
“By all means.”
And as he waddled away, Mostar turned to Dan and said, “Need. That’s what makes a village. That’s what we are now, and what holds us together is need. I won’t help you if you don’t help me. That is the social contract.”
I couldn’t really process what she was saying. Still trembling, I felt like crying. All that tension whooshing out like a balloon. I must have grabbed Dan’s arm harder than I wanted. My legs buckled. My head swam. All I wanted to do was go home and lie down.
“And you…” Mostar snapped me back to attention, eyes front, staring into her utterly befuddling smile.
“I knew you had it in you.”
I didn’t understand. I opened my mouth to ask.
“When you ran toward Palomino.” Mostar beamed. “I’m sorry I almost speared you.”
Toward!
I honestly had no idea what she was talking about, and when Dan said, “Yeah, you totally got in between her and the cat.” I looked at them both like they were crazy, then down at the ground I was standing on. It was, in fact, right in the puma’s path. How did I get there? I literally cannot remember!
“That was pretty badass, you know.” That was Dan, surprised and, what, a little aroused?
“You didn’t even think about it, did you?” Mostar asked pridefully. “All instinct, eh?”
Before I could come up with a response, the sound of footsteps turned our heads. Palomino came running over, holding what looked like a pillowcase in her hands.
Mostar started to say, “Hello, Little Doll, what have you…”
But she ran past us, into our house, then a few seconds later, came right back out, and gave Mostar a big hug. Mostar returned it, kissed the top of her head, and sang, “Thank you, Lutko Moja.”*2
Then she turned and hugged me! I just stood there like an idiot, frozen for a second, before awkwardly rubbing her back. She didn’t seem to mind. She looked up at me with a big smile, gave me another squeeze, then ran back to her house.
After a moment of shared puzzlement, we traced her steps inside, and found the pillowcase resting next to the garage door.
It was full of beans, or rather, it was full of her little beanbag fidgeters that were spilling their beans out from cutoff corners. There’re over a hundred in total. I haven’t stopped counting since. Red, black, white, speckled brown. I don’t know all the types, and I can’t imagine that all of them will germinate. Again, do I soak them? Wet paper towel? No idea. I’ll probably just stick them straight into the mud. There’s enough here to fill the whole garden. How much food will that produce? Enough to feed the whole neighborhood?
Village. Need.
Thank you, Pal.
*1 “Adversity introduces us to ourselves” was originally attributed to Albert Einstein, but spoken in this particular version by President George W. Bush on September 14, 2001, at the National Day of Prayer and Remembrance Service at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.
*2 Lutko moja: Little doll.
The unearthly cries swirled through the darkness into our open-walled hut and enveloped us….It was the sound of Satan.
—BIRUTE M. F. GALDIKAS, Reflections of Eden: My Years with the Orangutans of Borneo
JOURNAL ENTRY #8
October 7
Screams! They woke us up tonight. I felt the bed bounce as Dan jumped over to the window. I got up groggily and followed him out onto the back balcony. The first thing I noticed was the night’s chill, coldest yet. Then more screams, echoing clearly from the woods. Not human. The same hissing growls I’d heard from the mountain lion that afternoon.
Rrraaawww. Rraaaawwww.
But they weren’t alone. Another sound, underneath, like the bass in a song. Deeper, fuller. At first, I couldn’t make it out, but then it rose to the same howls I’d heard before. That first time when I’d been hiking, the second time when I’d been chased. But it was much louder now, as powerful as the heavy, spoiled smell. Again, familiar. This was real. Not a figment in my head, not a spot in my eye. There was definitely another animal out there with that cat.
Those screams, the sharp hisses. The puma sounded angry or scared. The howls boomed, then rose to high chatters. I’d never heard anything like it. No, that’s not entirely true. I’d never heard anything exactly like it.
I’ve heard monkeys before. From nature shows, and at the zoo. Monkeys or apes. But much louder, much more powerful. It was like I could feel the sound waves hitting me, like the windows might rattle if they’d been any closer. The cat’s screams suddenly changed, from growling rage to rapid, staccato yowls.
Rawrawraw!
Fighting.
Quick, sharp. Grunts of muscles working and muffled growls trying to escape a full mouth?
Then a roar, rising above the rest. Deep, bellowing, as the puma’s voice cracked into this horrible wail.
And then it was all over. Utter silence. I realized that Dan and I had been holding hands tightly, so tight that I could feel the blood rush back into my fingers when he let go. He said, “Wait,” and went downstairs. I started to say something after him. He paused at the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.” It was so quiet I could hear him locking the front and back doors. I’m not sure why. Not like animals can open a door. Can a bear? Can they use their paws or claws or whatever they have to manipulate a knob? It has to be a bear. At least I know I’m not crazy. What else could fight a mountain lion?
And how did it end? Did one chase the other away? Or are they both out there now, circling our houses?
I’ve just gone to the bedroom’s front windows. Lights are on all over the village. Everyone except the Durants. No one is coming out though. Dan just came in and closed and locked the balcony door, then got back into bed. “Nothing more to do,” he said to me, just, I think, to reassure me. I asked if we should go knock on Mostar’s door, maybe ask her if she’s heard sounds like that before. Dan’s against it. What’s the point? Wait till morning light to see. Maybe he’s just scared. Nothing wrong with that. So am I. Also noticed he locked the bedroom door. No argument there.
And he just turned over like every
thing’s fine. Jealous. He’s exhausted from cleaning our roof and Reinhardt’s. All I did was catalog the man’s kitchen. A lot of frozen diet meals. Maybe I should copy them down here from my other list. Something to do to help me sleep? Boring enough.
No, screw it. Time for half an Ativan. No, Ambien.
JOURNAL ENTRY #9
October 8
Bad idea. I still couldn’t sleep. I tried. So easy for Dan. Zero to sixty. He just crashed out, snoring away. I was so pissed. At myself this time. It was my idea to get rid of all our DVDs when we moved. All uploaded to the cloud.
Cloud.
What a beautiful image, something pretty and puffy way up in the sky. Heaven. What a lie. I remember one of Dan’s former business partners talking about the “data parks,” the real cloud. I remember him saying that the Pacific Northwest was packed with data parks because of the cheap hydroelectric power. I wonder if one of those parks was buried under boiling mud. People’s personal data: work projects, financial records, priceless photographs they scanned because someone told them it was safer than leaving them in a house that could burn or flood. That was just one of ten thousand thoughts that kept me awake last night.
I should have felt bad for all those people, but right then, all I could do was miss the new Downton Abbey. It’s supposed to be set in the ’40s! They even showed those teaser shots of Lady Mary in a uniform with that bombed out London backdrop. Could Granny Dowager still be alive? What about Robert and Cora? They specifically didn’t show the whole cast because they wanted to torture us about who was still alive by then. Bastards!
Even just one classic. Just Princess Bride. Of course, I never thought to download it. Losing the cloud was “incontheivable.”
No TV, and no books! Again, my genius. No more paper novels because they’re all on my Kindle, which I hadn’t charged to save power. Yay.
So, I took half of an Ambien and got back into bed to wait for it to kick in. And it did, but I didn’t know that yet. I sat there in the dark, waiting for delicious sleep to roll over me, and when it didn’t, I got back up for the other half. I didn’t know how stoned I was. That’s why I lit the candle.