by Jack Womack
"Perhaps that wasn't so productive a tour as we'd have wished," said Malloy, straightening his jacket, offering Leverett a pocket square to assist in blotting his blood.
"E," I said. "Forgive. I didn't expect-"
"Sunday night, Isabel," he whispered, tugging his wig farther down onto his head. "You promised. Once it's done, it's done."
"They'll regret," I heard Leverett say; turned to watch him smearing his blood from his mouth. "They'll regret."
Once back at the hotel I stopped at John's room. Our imbroglio had thrown off our evening's schedule, and we'd returned an hour earlier than planned. My husband's door opened as I rapped it; before coming inside I'd stared upward through the square trees and saw that his room's light was on. I hesitated before entering, wanting only to go to my room and sleep; against my wishes I'd been kept wakeful that afternoon, and now everything I looked upon shimmered with a hallucinatory sheen. Wandering in, closing but not locking the door behind me, I saw John lying on his bed. If the situation hadn't felt so dreamlike I surely would have screamed, and awakened him; still, frightened that I had come upon my husband as I'd always feared I one day would, I waited until I discerned breath uplifting his chest before I approached.
John meditated; he'd so tranced himself as to be unaware of my presence. Feeling safer once I'd ascertained he was outbodied, unwilling to ponder why I felt so blessed, I stared round his room, seeing a dupe of my own. He'd tossed his jacket onto a chair, as he'd always done at home; his copy of Knifelife lay openfaced upon it. Picking up the booklet, I read the page's sole passage, Jake's Golden Rule:
Love dead. Hate living.
He'd underlined the words; I suspected he'd memorized them long before. A domestic compulsion overcame me; as I lifted his jacket, thinking I should hang it up for him, I puzzled over its weight. Spotting his fruit pocketed within, feeling unexpected hunger, I drew the bag out, at once detecting a strong chemical odor, an ammoniac parfum; in my addled state I started to wonder how dried fruit could turn, and opened the bag. However long I tried, afterward, to convince myself that in my half-awake state I'd only misinterpreted what visibled, I knew then and know now that when I dropped the bag I saw ears spill out onto the oriental carpet.
John began muttering as I started edging doorways; lowvoicing as if he sleepspoke, he began a litany, seeming to stir himself slowly into consciousness with his chant.
"Living must live," he said. "Living must live. Life demands purpose. Life demands purpose. Purpose essentials living. Living must live. Living must-"
Even at our meet, we'd masked ourselves with our preferred looks, the ones we could bear to show to others; throughout our years together, the gilding we'd long overcoated enabled us to continue the worship of icons that in no way resembled the people underneath. When had my disguise slipped away? Was it still there? He medusaed me when his fell from his face that night; I couldn't see how I would ever be as anything other than stone to him again. His lidded eyes were tearing; he shifted his feet, as if he were running from whatever rose up in his dreams. Before my husband could reembody himself I'd left his room, and run to my own. Several hours later I heard him come by; I still lay sleepless, seeing ears whenever I shut my eyes. He knocked twice; called my name through the doublelocked door.
"Forgive," he said, and walked away. Believing I felt kicks within, I pulled the covers over my head, and thought of my baby; uncertained whether my image still, if ever, matched its look.
11
"Thank you for lying," I told Malloy.
"It's one of the more challenging arts," he said, pulling my chair out for me once the maitre d' showed us to our table. "Easy to do, but hard to do well. When Leverett asked where you were I told him I'd sent you forth to resolve certain unspecified matters regarding tomorrow night's affair. At first he insisted upon retrieving you but I stalled until he grew confused; it didn't take long."
"When you called me this afternoon I couldn't imagine what you'd said-"
"Said whatever he needed to hear. Shortnotice romance, nothing better." Malloy whisked his napkin from the tabletop and lapped it. "Willy's presence undoubtedly added weight to my argument."
"Was John around-?"
"For a time, this morning. Then Leverett sailed him off to investigate our avenues of retreat, following the fest. Hadn't returned when I left to meet you. Please pardon, Isabel, but I can't imagine the two of you married."
"We're divorcing when we return next week," I told him. "I'm divorcing. It's as well-"
"Quite a row you had last night, then?" he asked; I nodded, applying an additional glaze on my own art. "Content yourself tonight, then. Something you'll always get in England is good food."
A nearby mural, blocked along its low end by other diners' heads, was cloaked at topside and throughout its length by hanging tapestries bearing multihue designs so intricate as to appear woven by schizophrenics. The illustration visible depicted a cat pulling a gigantic root from the earth; a dog stood in back of the cat, encircling its waist with his paws, and several children as well were linked behind the dog. Hundreds of long swords and knives hung from the ceiling, aimed toward every guest. On the wall nearest the kitchen were ill-drawn portraits of a Black Virgin, the late Ayatollah, and the King of This World, his silver jumpsuit appearing him as most resplendent of all. "What kind of restaurant is this?" I asked.
"Irani-Polish," said Malloy. "Multicult at its most suspect, but highly recommended by those who should know, unless they've been funning me. Let's scan the offerings."
With nimble fingers he entered our greeting into the table's inbuilt keyboard; the menu onscreened, scrolling out appetizers and entrees. Each dish was listed with trilingual descriptives, seemingly arrived at through sequential translation, beginning with Farsi, progressing to Polish, at last stumbling into English.
"Grotty Fowl in Grease," Malloy said, reading. "Boiled Head in Glass. Various Slice of Typical Meat. Spinach Testes. Crab Legs of Lamb. Dear, this isn't promising-"
"My appetite's still lagging," I said.
"Mm. Mine just crossed the dateline."
Our blond, turbaned waiter returned, placing a bowl of carrot jam and bottle of chicken fat on our table between the electric candles. "What's wanted, people?"
"Let's gamble, shall we?" said Malloy. "Bring us tonight's specials, and a bottle of house red."
"Excellent choice," said the waiter, appearing grateful for not having to enter our order. As he raced kitchenways I felt a headtwinge, which passed so soon as it knifed. Though I tried not to evidence distress my face must have shown more than I intended.
"Something hurting you, Isabel?"
"Headache," I said.
"I've aspirin," he said, reaching into one of his long coat's pockets.
"It doesn't relieve," I said. "It's gone now. I was treated a couple of months ago, and ever since-"
"Treated for what?" Malloy asked. "Were you cancered, then?"
I nodded. "All gone now, the doctors tell me-"
"American doctors?" he asked, shuddering as if he chilled. "Saw a documentary on them not long ago. Suggesting England could learn something. Depends on what's being taught, in my opinion. See someone else while you're here, and be assured of what they're telling you."
"I didn't think your healthing was any better than ours."
"Oh, for the public it's worse," said Malloy. "But I've a Harley chopper. Call him in the morning and go to his office."
"You mean go tomorrow?"
"Here's his number." Malloy handed me a card upon which he'd scrawled his doctor's listing. "Tell him I told him to see you. He'll not fuss, he's a tradesman like any other."
"Thank you," I said, slipping the card into my bag, shoving aside my compact in order to find my addresser.
"That'll provide you with reason enough to keep from rushing back to the epicenter, as well."
"What happened today?" I asked. "How was it?"
"Appalling," Malloy said. An explosion outside r
attled the room's curtained windows. "How's one so discom bobulated as Leverett kept his position? Do only psychopaths reach the top in America? He's driving us mad."
"I'm unsurprised-" I said.
"He sends out orders and rescinds them ten minutes later," said Malloy, "then he starts bellowing about the schedule being derailed. Trying to accomplish one thing, he disrupts three others. Boy E's got the bloody flux, Leverett's coming over to him every five minutes to remind him of something else he needs to do or say tomorrow night, each more important than the one previously told. When I tele- commed in with Madam in New York to aware her of this behavior she refused to even hear me out."
"Leverett's written his own program, and she desires that he follow it through-"
"The more nervejangled he gets, the faster he goes, the less he gets done. You can't even understand him once he starts letting loose with the bizspeak, he starts shouting across rooms into phones that aren't there, twirls dervishlike from desk to desk. From afar he layered this project with a fine patina of workability. After seeing him in action I don't see why he wasn't given the hook some time ago."
"Interoffice politics," I said. "He eked his way into Mister O'Malley's good graces in order to underway the project. That's another reason why Madam refuses to interfere-"
"It's as well this'll be done over here after tomorrow night," Malloy said. "We'd all be heaving ourselves out windows if it all went on much longer. Ah, here we go." Our waiter returned, and placed our food before us; shook our wine vigorously before unscrewing the bottlecap. "That should detonate quite nicely, I'd think."
"The lovebirds' hearty treat," the waiter said, smiling as he filled our glasses. We stared at what he'd left us. An oversized slab sprinkled with orange-colored strips and oozing a glutinous sauce blanketed Malloy's plate. Seven sodden pirogi lay on mine, ringed round by sliced tomatoes so unripe as to resemble bleached wood. Malloy moued his lips; cut off a corner of his slab and chewed it cautiously, as if fearful it might blow up in his mouth. He worked it for a while, appearing not to have so much difficulty in rending the lump as he did in swallowing it. Picking up my knife and fork I clipped dough from one of my pirogi; a pale glazed ball evidenced within.
"Eye for an eye, I'd hazard," said Malloy. Closing my own I tabled my utensils, and pushed away my plate. He sipped his glass of wine.
"A good year?" I asked.
"For sugared vinegar, yes," he said, mouthwashing with water. "I'm terribly sorry about this, Isabel-"
"I'm appetiteless, as told. Drop concern." Malloy must have hungered unto starvation's point, and so he continued to eat. "How does E strike you? As regards what's intended-"
"Boozbambled," Malloy said. "Dazed and confused. It's to be expected, isn't it? Pardon, Isabel, one moment." He circled round in his seat as our dishladen waiter dashed by. "Excuse me." The waiter paused; his smile reappeared, as if he'd plugged it back in. "What am I eating?"
"Piece a cod."
"Which passeth all understanding." Malloy laid his napkin across the remains. "Let's air it awhile and see if that helps. Where am I, what was being said? Oh, right. I shouldn't depend heavily on Boy E's upswing if I were you. I'm doubtful he can carry the load, whatever his similarities to the original. All this double world business appalls me, mind you. I've never been much for science."
"It's an awful place, over there-"
"Undoubted. The notion that every buffoon I've ever encountered will be wandering about mucking up over there as well, years from now . . ." He paused. "It's a dumbfounder, to be sure."
"He wants to go back," I said. "I told him I'd do what I could after tomorrow night-"
"Send him back tonight if you can," said Malloy. "Nip the bud before it blossoms. If it's doable, do it. Would that I had the say here, I'd have canceled tomorrow yesterday."
"Why? Not that I disagree, but-"
"Your own reasons would suffice, I'm sure," he said. "There's no more plan to this than a Japanese city. Take crowd control, if you will. Something of a misnomer during an Elvissey, don't you know. Thirty thousand are expected to show tomorrow night, streetswarming round the cathedral from Moorgate to Farringdon and halfway up to the Barbican. Now, those Elvies last night were rousers but the ones tomorrow'11 be the true believers, sure, and here our security's down two-thirds. Leverett's deeply taken by the municipal force but they'll skedaddle first time they're sneezed at, it's unfailing. Second trouble shows they'll shove their little yellow poppers in their tunics and zippo. Something else now: has the boy ever been out in public before? I don't mean performance, I mean has he been out at all?"
"Very little," I said. "In New York he's been housed all the time. He was prepped while interiored, Leverett wanted him fresh-"
"He's like an unshelled crab," Malloy said. "The slightest noise racks him. Coconut dropped on a car outside the office this afternoon, set off the alarm. He pitched an impressive fit, believe me."
"Are you inputted on this environad I gather Leverett's arranging?"
Malloy shook his head. "Not in my contract to hear. He's full tilt on it, I'm sure. He's got new weather charts onscreening every hour-"
"If it's anything largescale there's likelihood it won't take as desired-"
"The whole's as doubtful as the parts," Malloy said. "He's in a dreamworld, isn't he? Convinced himself they'll all hail and wail once they know Dryco's backing this. Mad, absolutely mad. The Elvies never gave, even when the company could have stood to read 'em their redundancy report. That'll never happen now. We've known this for years, mind you, there's only so long a time you can keep the lid on unteachables. He ought to be grateful it's all gone well as long as it has."
The restaurant doors swung open, smashing against the maitre d's desk; a man aflame threw himself in, falling floorways. He looked to have been tardipped; his smoke grayed the room as he burned through the rug. Two waiters and one of the chefs set upon him with extinguishers, lathering him until he was doused. It possibled that our fellow diners were too stunned to react, but I doubted it; they, and the nonparticipatory waiters, continued about their business as if nothing untoward onwent. As the maitre d' stepped forward to oversee the man's removal, a fellow at a table nearby lifted his hand, signaling. "Dessert menu?" he asked.
"Seems like our cue," Malloy said. "This was a pointless exercise, all told."
"Not so," I said.
"Good to get out, true." He threw a sheaf of edies on the table as payment, stood and assisted me in rising. "You'll need an escort back, as seen. They'll be laying in all over out there by now."
"It'll be like this outside-?" I asked, holding my mouth open so as to lessen the odor.
"Livelier," Malloy said, holding open the soot-blackened door. "Never fear." We exited into Charing Cross and bore north toward Oxford as a flameflower burst from the corner's window, spraying glass, sending celebrants sailing. "They get Foyles every year," he said, his face ruddied with fire's reflectives. "No night like the Guy's night."
Singsong sirens echoed off the buildings as firecars shot by; one undertook its uplift as it leveled with us, and we had but seconds to doorway ourselves to avoid being tossed in its wake. In the street's midst was an overturned bus, burning freely as crowds highstepped round its blaze, adding their crackers to the sparks it threw. Three young girls armed with newsprint torches chased another, laughing and shouting. A liqrystal advertiser attached to a kindled shopfront close by continued rolling its list: Cadbury's Is Good Chocolate/ Travel the Underground /French Lessons With Strict Teacher Voicebox 432A6. Many of the street's palms had been lit at topside, appearing the road as a tunnel lined with carnival flambeaux.
"Every year this happens?" I asked as we set out once more. Malloy nodded.
"Got to get it out of them somehow," he said. "This generally does the trick." Another structure, across the way in Denmark Street, flared and blew. Those evidently responsible scattered through the smoke. "Let's take a secondary, avoid the main action," he said, lefting us down a
narrow passage. "Don't rattle so," he said, taking my arm. "I'll guide. This'll lead us back to Soho Square, and then around to your hotel."
"What'll you do, after-?" I asked.
"Wend my way homeward," he said. "Stop off for a quick one, maybe, I do hate to eat on an empty stomach. Look there, would you. They've got one wickered."
As we emerged into the square's encompassing lanes I saw what was meant. A straw construction in mannequin's form was centered near the small park's statue; within its conflagrated rushes a wraith screamed. Those encircling matched the screams in volume, if not intensity. Onlookers watched from windows above, their faces yellowed in the glow.
"The Elvii participate in this?" I asked.
"These are normal Londoners, all," he said. "Scattered tourists as well come annually to escapade, as in Pamplona. But those who follow the King look upon all this as nothing more than secular exhibitionism, and therefore unworthy of energy better directed toward their beloved."
"It's ..." London had changed so since I was here last, or else I saw it now as I'd not before. When I'd worked with Judy I'd traveled worldwide with her, on occasion, seeing Dryco's cities, or the cities Dryco once held; never before had I been to a place so reminiscent of what New York once had been, and surely would have been still, had it not been regooded. "I'm wordless."