Elvissey

by Jack Womack

  Does a beloved's actuality matter, while the image carries comfort enough? In such circumstance is actuality ever admitted, or even recognized? Who suffers profoundest regret, then, when truth rears ugly head: the worshiper, or the worshiped?

  John and I disbelieved in E's divinity; doubted even his worth. That served as demonstrable asset when Leverett assigned us. Still, during our training, while E's presence was daily extruded into our lives, it unavoidabled that we be baptized in his flood, however unwillingly. Feeling myself so drown, my surety sometimes wavered: it uncertained, whether if in so unyieldingly admitting my chosen messiah, I'd needlessly lost the grace of others more saving; I wondered whether my messiah as chosen had the look I wanted, or the one I needed.

  John's eyes no longer held any look; could either of us still save the other? Did we still want to? Pick messiahs, and spouses, with care.

  "How powered?" John asked, standing with me that afternoon as we examined our trip's transport; the garage was several levels beneath a generating plant, five blocks off Pelham Park Boulevard. Tak, the engineer-a slender man, Korean-descended, who evidenced only teenage years opened the auto's hood, that we might admire his work, and placed his hands into a shiny box to let its air shake loose their grime. The engine seen was a relic, agleam with mirrored flatware, with gray metal spotted and dabbed with white ceramic, spaghettied round with blue and red wires.

  "Employs standard batteries set, normally moded," said Tak. "In third gear, mainline engages, assuring full thrust. Speed one-twenty, top. Miles, mind, not k's."

  "The potemkin's single-batteried," said John. "It's car- buretored. The look's Smithsonian."

  "You're vizzing style sans substance. Actual motor secludes beneath in order to fool casual onlookers. Doubled weightload resulting, so adjust as needed when circumstanced, as on wet roads."

  The car's diamond eyes and metaled smile recalled an idol's look; I considered the sacrifices that must once have been offered unto it. As I circled its shell to open the driver's door, I gazed at the roofs parabolic slope, the chromestreaked sidewalls and black leatherette innards. "It's a total recreation?" I asked.

  "Only within," Tak said, wheeling himself within his handiwork. "1953 Hudson Hornet body, provided from the Dryden collection. Steel, coldrolled. Two tons' fun. Rustproofed. Reconditioned especially for the trip."

  "And bedecked in Brazilian funeral colors," John said.

  "Huescheme's reproduced from period ads. Blame's not mine." The car was duotoned bruise-purple below waistlevel, breadspread-yellow above; it resembled one of those tropical beetles occasionally used by jewelers.

  "The dash design couldn't remain so trad," Tak explained, beginning to decipher the two dozen dials. "Multiple readout devices are guised in old format where possible. Observe, por fav." John and I followed the route of his finger as it mapped the terrain. "Speedometer, here. Recompensa- tor. Lightrod inserted here, to allow better nightsight; pulls out when needed and automatically ignites. Battery gauge. Compass."

  "Compass? Where're the geographics?" asked John.

  "There'll be no satellite on that side to atlas in with," said Tak, prodding a stubby rod attached to the steering column. "Automatic transmission, three gears and reverse. AM radio, guaranteed against fadeout or sunspots." Switching its knob, he tuned in, bringing up the news.

  `-missile fell this morning in Mexico City exurbs sustaining minor damage. Seven hundred missing-"

  "Five hundred HP," Tak said, pressing the ignition. We tried to hear the actual engine's gentle whir beneath the soundtrack, a loud, rhythmic pounding. "Authentic V-8 engine sound. Inbuilt Lasereo on and offswitches automatically. Handy if otherworlders give ear as it's running. This is the flux monitor. Digitalizer, with necessary graphs available on demand. Geiger counter. Agitators, inside and out. Compensator. Tachometer. Area meteorologics panel here-"

  "What's this?" John asked, tapping a blue ovoid bolted onto the steering wheel.

  "Necker knob," said Tak. "Original accoutrement."

  "Purpose?"

  "For onehanding the wheel, freeing driver to fondle willing companions without dysfunctioning driving." Tak pointed at a red button located below the radio. "Most important. Your plan calls for returning to original entrance point after completion of mission, correct?"

  "AO," said John. "If possibled."

  "If OEP is unreachable, employ this. Only if danger demands. Otherwise, consider it nonexistent."

  "Why?" I asked. "What is it?"

  "Concealed as overdrive," Tak said. "In truth, an Alekhine device. Upon employment, transfer immediately effects and car crosses back to this world. Trauma to vehicle and occupants will be great upon application, increasing proportionate to speed at the instant of transferral. Inferences suggest that this method caused, if in unknown manner, all previous terminations. The Alekhine device kills as it cures, authorities believe. But-"

  "If needed," I said.

  "Pay up and chance," said Tak. "But there it is."

  "This screen," John said, fingering a blank rhomboid bordered by chrome ribbon. "Catalytic readings? Reconnai- sance tracker?"

  "Clock."

  The pills Leverett provided drained away my lingering dark with indecent haste; ten hours after I'd dosed, my skin's gray vanished beneath a wash of pink and crimson, as if in night an artist, possessed by artistic inspiration perhaps believed divine, came upon me while I slept, and bespattered without warning the canvas there found.

  "Bedaway, Iz," my husband said, calling to me through our bathroom door, on our predeparture evening. "Tomorrow'11 be yesterday too soon."

  "Hold the horses," I said, disrobing. Rinsing my flati- roned hair a final time, rubbing added blondness into every strand, I concluded my bleach. Standing naked before the mirror, I saw myself through blue lenses, recreated as desired, an artist's delight: Venus atremble at seaside, another regooded resident to best suit our eternal city; one showing neither black nor white, but golden. I eyed my new and forever-unfamiliar image, troubled and attracted, wondering how long it would take me to forget who I'd been. Would my persona change to match my appearance? Had it already changed?

  Prolonging my look overmuch, I began fearing that this metamorphosis was, rather, metastasis; soon enough supplanted that fright with a new one. Stepping into our bedroom, I allowed my husband to behold me. John lay bedded, staring ceilingways, confronting the dark.

  "Iz-?" he whispered.

  "Think I'll pass?" I asked, reclining alongside him, corpus to corpse. Rolling over toward me, he twitched as if galvanized; raised himself on one elbow and eyed me long, saying nothing. John studied me so closely as I'd studied myself, vizzing and revizzing my ashen hair, my watery eyes, my bleached skin. "Preferred?"

  "Yes," he said. "No. Yes-"

  "Which?" I asked.

  "Both. All. Iz-"

  He caressed my shoulder, as if to demonstrate to himself that I was more than cloud or nightmare, though no more harmful than either. Leverett's pills sedated John so efficaciously as had his old prescription, yet not to such degree, and those emotions he retained intensified anew. His lassitude ceased at once, that afternoon. By evening his soul seemed nearly to reemerge.

  "You've cat-tongued," I said. "Blurt."

  "Confusion overwhelmed. You appeared ghosted."

  "Foolish," I said, and smiled. "Grave matters you're minding, as ever."

  "Iz, it's-"

  "What's thought, then? Is my look better or worse?"

  "Unsayable," he said. "You're neither nor. You're a third."

  Rolling stomachways, pressing my face into my pillow as if to snuff breath, I wished I had a confessor near, who by telling me what I should think, would enable me to say what was thought.

  "What troubles, Iz?" John said. "It's told as seen. Unsayable because-"

  "I'll renew as I was, once returned," I said. "Bear up and blind eye till then."

  "Unsayable because neither. Better, worse; inapplicable. Different, nothing other.
Beauty surpasses, irregarded."

  My thoughts perversed: whose beauty? With careful move ment, John shifted his legs; during his clinicking the medicis finalized him for our trip, certifying him limber, reoiling, restringing, and rehanging all joints. Hauling himself onto me as if onto a raft, he clasped my face as if holding ostrichfruit, kissing me; I responded, full. Momentslong, all was nearly as once before; I rolled with him, wrapping myself round, and he held and crushed and pounded. But as I lay there beneath him I troubled anew, sensing sans reason that he'd gone elsewhere again, perhaps thinking of others or even of me as I'd been. This notion disconnected me, and however much I should have preferred to remain within my own body, I didn't, and allowed myself release. As in what children call cyberdreams, real enough to heartseize, I saw myself hovering above our bed, observing sans expression our thrashes below, wondering how it must feel.

  "Iz-"

  "Yes-?" I asked, uncertain from which of my figures my voice issued.

  "You there-?"

  ` y? "

  As he pushed himself inside me, he descended each time with hammerblows. I'd thought that as he raged the sickness would arise, and slow him, yet each violent shove only made more mindless his thrall. Without warning or desire, my soul lurched back into my flesh, cleaving body with spirit till both were bloodied.

  "Hurting," I shouted. "You're hurting me, John-"

  His eyeshades fluttered, flashing the blank white windows they hid. My husband muted while he bruised, vising me into immobility, giving no sign of hearing my pleas. My fright was rising high when he unexpectedly burst, shaking as if he were bombarded land. Coughing for several minutes afterward, he enabled air to reinvade his lungs. Reaching around his great shivering whiteness, I clutched my husband twoarmed; then, as mindlessly, tried squeezing his breath out, as if to kill him while I could.

  "Iz-" he said, gasping as he broke my hold.

  `John, " I shouted; recovered. "Bestill. Calm, calm yourself. John-"

  "Where were you?" he shouted, his air regained.

  "Where? With you-" He sighed; lay becalmed across me, his eyes pinching shut, racking and reracking, wetting my skin with tears. "You hurt me, John-"

  "You absented," he said. "I felt you go."

  "Forgive," I said, "Forgive, John, forgive, but you hurt me.

  "All's nulled when only one's pleased. Why did you fly?"

  "I thought I wasn't me. I didn't think I was. The feel's as different as the look."

  "You inspired so-" he said.

  "A blondie in your bed inspired as I never have."

  "You, you, only you-"

  "I could have been anyone," I said. "So your actions evidenced. You've never hurt me before, John, especially not bedded."

  With scarred hands he dried his eyes. "Not with you," he said. "Not deliberate, never. Never. Forgive, Iz, forgive-"

  "All we've done is forgive sans forgetting," I said. "It wearies."

  "I blanked, Iz. I never meant to hurt. Not you. Never."

  "So you blanked, I blanked. Lovemaking at last, and nobody home."

  We lay there listening to our sounds. Mayhap that explained his drugs' noneffect; he'd have bled himself into coma had true violence inhered. Mayhap a blinding exuberance of emotion astrayed him, the love of another surpassing all sense: nothing more, I retold myself, believing as I could. My husband appeared helpless as a beached whale as he lay there, his respiration gradually slowing as his sobs slipped away. The clock clicked midnight; our departure day arrived, and as it did, John spoke again.

  "Will we ever regood ourselves, Iz?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Forgiven, forgotten," I said. "Two renewed virgins who'd let their technik lapse. Nothing more."

  "Supposed," he said, petting my face. I wouldn't pull away, but didn't feel able to touch him again so soon. "Twelve hours till leavetaking, thereabouts."

  "Scared?" I asked.

  "No. You?" I shook my head, lying as he did; traced my fingers along an old riverbed topographing his cheek, regretful that he'd made hate rather than love to me. "Say we pass over, Iz, and naught changes between us. What then?" he asked.

  "Abey hopes while traveling, John," I said. "Don't dwell overmuch now. Earplay as we go, and we'll reconsider all, once returned. This may suffice, or may not."

  "It's facted I'm positive about this trip," he said, sounding unnervingly insistent, anxious for belief. "I've no negatives. Not one."

  "Known, love," I said. "Return first, then we'll see. Work as commanded till then."

  "Return's not guaranteed, Iz," he said.

  "Known."

  Laying his head on the pillow next to mine, engulfing my hand within his, John stared at me; I knew he saw into me as I saw into him, however much we forever fought our mutual trespasses. "The advantage, after all," he said. "Be near me always, Iz. Always. Will you be near me always?"

  I knew the answer he wanted to hear; it couldn't be mine, could never be mine. Death should hinge neither on another's desire, nor on the lack thereof, but should arrive accorded as it sees fit; as naturally, and unexpectedly, as love. "I'll try," I answered; but softly, minutes later, and I wasn't sure he was listening; but in his mind, he'd already heard.

  At morningside we donned our traveling clothes, bespoken for our journey; the researchers judged them era-appropriate. John wore a black double-breasted suit, white shirt, gray hat and a tie imprinted with neon swirls; I was ensembled with a blue pillbox hat and boat-necked sheath dress midcalf-long, clinging to my shape as burlap drapes potatoes. The shoes given me had toes so pointed and heels so spiked that they pained, merely to see; wearing unbeared, but I adjusted.

  We were driven to Dryco; while John and Leverett readied our car for removal, I went to see Judy, who'd wished to meet once more, predeparture. While waiting for her to unlink from her conferencees, I wandered through her office's inner reception area, hidden from executaries' stares, struggling to think of anything other than John, or our assignment; a new shipment of design elements awaited dispersal throughout her suite. I wondered where my desk would be, afterward.

  Judy stepped from her chamber; paused at her door; stared at me as if I were a stranger. "Iz?"

  "Howdy," I said; she frowned. "What's thought?"

  "That's apparel, over there? Their poor women," she said, eyeing me updown. "Such seachanges in you, Iz. None unknowing should see through the guise. Leverett said his candy'd perform its tricks, and for once he truthed."

  "It's unnatural," I said. "A stranger in myself. I feel inhabited."

  "You always have," she said.

  "Inhabited," I repeated. "Not inhibited."

  Crossing the room, she neared and embraced. "I've a secondary failsafe for you. In case." Thrusting her arm through the crook of my own, she led me into her chamber. "Mum it with Leverett, it's no matter of his. Scared, Iz?"

  "Greatly," I said.

  "Wise," she said, nodding. "Last eve I gutspilled to Seamus anew about this madness. But all're mindset, so all goes ahead. Nada to be done then but ready for disaster, and so lessen cost." Redecoration was underwaying, within her office. A sail-size portrait had been hung above her faux-log fireplace. Her drapes were drawn wide, and looking windowways I saw impenetrable layers of cloud without, streaming and bubbling and flash-lit by lightning.

  "When it rains here, does it rain there?" I said, posing inquiry to none who could answer; keening to know, all the same.

  "Leverett assures me these conditions are perfect. He's assured of all, except when he's not. Here, now," Judy said, handing me a small green compact. She glanced roundabout before conversing anew, as if even here others' eyes might peer onward. Her habit, I thought, but I waried as well. "Additional backup," she said. "As personally requested by me. I'll not hazard you overmuch, however carefree he clads the danger."

  "What is it?"

  "Another Alekhine device. If the Window's unreachable from wherever you wind up, how'11 you cross back?"

  "The car's equipped. We w
ere enlightened yesterday-"

  "If the car's stolen? Crashed? Commandeered? Additional backup, as I say. Purse it, let it slip your mind unless called for. Paint with it if desired; it's usable for that as well. A button within, mirror-hid, must be pressed for ten seconds to engage device."

  "Timeover we're told that uncontained transferral is impossibled," I said, slipping her gift into my purse. "That if we did, we'd freefloat between forever. As happened to Jake, they said-"

  "They know?" she said. "Situate yourself in something beforehand, then. By all accounts their world's unfit for brown people, however, white you show. The place inbe- tween might be preferred, if perchance you're uncovered." "It'll work for two or more?" I asked.

  "For one, certain," Judy sighed; shrugged. "Who's to tell, Iz?" She paused to insert her teeth, as if prepping to greet family members. "For the duration Leverett's hands will steer you. His project is to be overseen by him as Seamus wishes. Mayhap it'll work as proposed, but I'll not turn blue waiting. After your return, my hands can reach you once more, and if Leverett aims you or the company wrong thereafter, I'll hash him sure when the moment comes."

  Unexpressed rage tightened her face's muscles; veins in her temples throbbed as if to split. Only two years separated us, truthed; the look she'd grown into aged her a dozen more. "Such oldline thoughts bear regooding, I'd be told," I said.

  "And I'd be telling. Do as said, not as done." She eyeshut, and sighed; breathed deep as if to take the pipe. "This is a house of the damned, undoubted, Iz. My time's forever spent staring at shadows, seeing what moves. Cleaning others' messes, boiling others' stews. Stepping on razors, all the while, and who's to help? Seamus is mindlost, and no longer hears what needs hearing. I'm fit to spring."