by Unknown
The girl was right behind her.
“The tree,” said Evie. “I can’t believe it. At least it didn’t hit the house.”
“Was it the wind?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” What else?
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. It’s not your fault! He should have watered it more.”
“Who?”
“Dan. My husband.”
“I didn’t see his name on the mailbox.”
It was there. Dan & Eve Markham. She remembered the day he placed the adhesive letters on the box at the curb. He had done that, hadn’t he? Unless they had peeled off.
She considered the broken tree, and felt a pang of sadness. They had neglected the backyard for so long. Once there had been a garden, lush and vibrant. How many years ago? With all the dead plants, and now this, it looked more like a cemetery overrun with weeds. But there was nothing to do about it now.
“Dan won’t be very happy, when he gets home.”
“What does your husband do?” asked the girl, as they walked back to the living room.
“He has a bookstore—we do. New and used. Minor Arcana, on Main and Second.”
“Is that where he is now?”
“I hope not. This is his day off.” Mine, too, she thought. At least it was supposed to be.
Still, it was good that she was not alone. If she had not answered the doorbell, she would have been in the shower when it happened. She imagined herself running through the house at the sound of the crash, dripping water.
“I’m glad you were here,” Evie said.
“So am I.”
“Do you want more water?”
“He must be very smart, your husband.”
Evie laughed, releasing the tension. “He’s the most intelligent man I ever met. That’s why I married him. Or one of the reasons.”
“Did he get his degree?”
“Well, not quite. He spent years at college, but he never graduated. He only took the classes he liked.” It seemed a peculiar question. “What about your husband?”
“He has his own business. And he’s very smart, too. We’re going to have a nice house, with lots of windows, just like this one. As soon as we get settled.”
Evie leaned back in the chair and took a better look at the younger woman. Actually she might not have been so young, after all; it was hard to tell. Her hair was unstylish, as if she had cut it herself and was now waiting to see how it would grow out. The windows were behind the sofa so that her features were backlighted, neutral, but Evie was sure that she wore no makeup. Her legs were strong and well-shaped, with small ankles. And there was the wristwatch, a man’s Swiss Army model, above her left arm. But no ring.
She met dozens of people every day, many absolute strangers who came into the store in search of a book. Some of them did not know the name of the author or the title, or even what exactly they were looking for. Evie knew how to talk to them, to put them at their ease and make them feel comfortable, to draw them out and learn what they were really after. Sometimes they did not want anything but conversation. In that case she still tried to satisfy them before sending them on their way, so that they would come back. Now, however, she was not in the shop, and this was not a customer. What the young woman wanted was unclear. Evie felt at a disadvantage. This one knew the power of silence. It was a way of maintaining the upper hand. But for what purpose?
“So you have children of your own?” Of course she does, Evie thought. She hadn’t said so, not exactly, but why else would she be interested in the school?
“Do you?”
“One son,” said Evie. “His name’s Edward. He just turned thirteen.”
She decided to leave it at that. Her natural impulse would have been to tell the woman all about Eddie, as much as she could stand to hear, his brilliance and precocity. But now for some reason she felt instinctively protective. She was relieved that he was not here.
“Is he at school?”
“Not today. It’s Saturday. Remember?”
“Then where?”
Evie was conscious of a chill in the air. She fingered the edge of the robe, pulling it closed at her throat.
“With a friend.” Yes, the Oshidari boy, over on Bradfield. That was right, wasn’t it?
“Is your husband coming back?”
“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’d like to…meet him.”
Evie stood. “Excuse me. I have to get ready now.”
“Are you sure?”
What did that mean? “I’m afraid so. It’s late.”
“Is it?”
Danny, she thought, where are you? “What does that watch of yours say?”
The woman looked at her wrist. She tapped the crystal. “It stopped.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Evie went to the bedroom doorway and peered in at the clock on the nightstand.
“It’s twelve-thirty!” she said.
“You should have a watch.”
“I do,” Evie snapped. “I took it off for my shower, and then you rang the bell.”
“You need a clock in the living room. I’m going to have one, in my new house.”
Evie pulled the front door wide. “I’m sure you will,” she said. “Good-bye.”
In the bedroom, she glanced around for some sign of her husband’s clothes, even his socks by the bed, but they were not there. They were with the laundry, waiting to be washed. Weren’t they? She had the urge to go to the back porch, where the washer and dryer were, just to be sure. There was no time. But if she did, she could look in at her son’s room on the way. Why? To see that his clothes, his possessions were still there? She scanned the empty bedroom, frantic. Where were her son’s childhood drawings? She had taped them to the wall years ago, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she?
She felt fear then, rising up through her body, going for her throat. Her hands clenched into fists, her fingers so small, her knuckles white as bones ready to pop through the skin. Where was her ring? Had she taken it off in the bathroom?
She struggled to form a name on her lips. Dan, she thought. That was it. And the name of her son. Edward.
Where were they?
A warm wind filled the room, flushing her cheeks.
The front door, she realized. She had left it open.
She went back to the living room.
There was the woman, in the doorway. She was standing in profile again, the hot wind blowing past her into the house, catching her dress so that it billowed out from her body. Now, the dress inflated with air, she appeared to be much heavier, by twenty or thirty pounds at least. The heat blurred, creating a mirage between Evie and the door, so that the woman’s legs seemed suddenly thick, grown strong enough to carry the added weight, her ankles swollen and bloated.
“What do you want from me?” Evie said, reeling.
The hot wind subsided, moving on, and something left the house. The woman’s dress deflated, hanging once more in loose folds. But, as Evie watched, she saw with perfect clarity that the woman was no longer slender. The front of the dress remained distended like a balloon, straining to cover a round, unmistakably swollen belly, where before it had been absolutely flat and empty.
“Nothing,” said the other woman, and twisted the gold ring on her left hand. Then she turned to leave at last, smiling as if she had a secret, something too new and too personal, too private to share with anyone, least of all a stranger, just yet.
House of Cool Air
By William F. Wu
Some stories hit us with such sheer force of their originality and uniqueness of vision, we know instantly we have found a quintessential Borderlands story. ”House of Cool Air” is one of them. Its author, Bill Wu, has been one of those terribly under-rated writers who has labored for a long time in the science fiction genre. The tale below marks one of his first forays into dark fantasy and it is an impressive one. To say it’s a tour de force of psycholog
ical horror and disturbing surrealism does not begin to describe what a wonderful piece of writing you are about to experience.
He shifted uncomfortably on the rounded top of the thick wooden post. His bony bare feet almost covered it completely as he squatted on it, carefully keeping his balance. When his legs began to hurt from that position, he would sit down on the top of the post and let his legs dangle down the sides, but that was more uncomfortable. The top of the smoothly-polished, dark brown post was a hard seat for someone who was not allowed clothes at home.
Across the big bedroom, the girls were experimenting with a makeup kit and brushing their hair in different ways. They stroked little brushes on brightly colored pallets and then brushed the colors on their faces.
“Here,” said Lena, who was thirteen. She wore a plaid outfit she called a jumper, that was mostly red and yellow. As she spoke, she gave a blue hairbrush to June, who was twelve. Both of them had dark, shiny brown hair. “You might like this one.”
“Yeah?” June looked at herself in the mirror over the wide dresser.
The dark brown dresser was the same color as their hair and had elaborate, curliqued brass drawer handles that were almost as shiny as the mirror itself. “I want to look like you. How do I do it?”
“I’ll show you.”
The blonde, Mitten, was eleven, the same as he was. She was the baby of the three sisters and the prettiest, who looked almost exactly like a young version of their mother.
He turned to look outside the one big window in the room. The post was so high over the rich stone blue carpet that he could see a long way down. This room was on the third floor of the mansion and today it overlooked an expanse of fine green lawn bounded on all sides by tall trees and heavy undergrowth. The bushes and trees were full of lush, dark green leaves that swayed in the hot, humid summer sunlight.
“I want to try the blue hair band,” said Mitten, sorting through a pile of plastic hair bands, brushes, combs, and little colored bottles.
“Go ahead,” said Lena, watching June try to look like her.
The only sound besides those of the girls was the quiet hum of air conditioning. He was always cold in the house, just as he was always nude in the house. It came from being skinny, he decided, hugging the ribs that he could feel on his sides. He wasn’t tall for eleven, but proportionally, he had long arms and legs. His thin toes and fingers were especially cold, and so was his grip, as they called it.
In the summer, the air conditioning was always strong. At other times of the year, the cold came in from outside. Of course, there was no school now, during summer, so he didn’t do anything all day.
“Do I look like you now?” June asked hopefully, looking at Lena with her eyes wide.
“That’s very close.” As Lena reassured her and fussed with her hair, he could just see himself, partly behind Mitten. He was darker than they were and his black hair contrasted sharply against Mitten’s blonde waves. No one had ever explained why he was in this family.
The shiny brass doorknob clicked as it turned from the outside.
Then suddenly the door was thrown open. It banged against the wall stop, but Charlotte, the girls’ mother, kept it from bouncing back with one arm as she marched into the room.
“Who left that mess in the hall bathroom?” She glared at the three sisters.
He sat very still, every muscle tense. Charlotte had very shiny, wavy blonde hair and light blue eyes. Her features were always pretty, no matter what her mood. Today she wore a casual white dress with blue vertical pinstripes. It had a widely scooped, very low-cut front with white lace around the edge. Her large, twin-rounded softness nearly bulged all the way out of it. Around her slender waist, the dress was still snug. Below its knee length hem, her legs were firm and shapely.
He always enjoyed looking at her, but he was deeply afraid of her. His gaze went to her knees and stayed there.
All three girls stood in a line with their hands clasped in front of them, the way they had been taught.
“I did,” Mitt said primly. “I forgot to clean it up.”
“All right.” Charlotte looked down at her a moment and sighed.
Then she caught his eye and nodded. When he was squatting on the post and she was standing, his head was at the same level as hers.
Obediently, he dropped to the carpet and stood in front of her with his feet apart. His thin toes anxiously curled, clutching at the deep carpet. Her perfume was light and tangy. Mitt came to stand next to her mother. Charlotte put her hands under his arms and suddenly slammed her knee up into what the girls called his marbles, making her blue and white skirt bounce on her thigh.
Pain shot down to his knees and up through his abdomen, as it always did. He went limp, but she caught his weight under his arms, then shifted him out of the way. She held him up from the side and he saw Mitt step in front of him. Mitt also jerked her slender, bony knee up between his legs. Pain raced through him again and he felt Charlotte ease him to the floor, where he lay curled on the carpet, gasping.
“Now you see what you’ve done to him?” Charlotte said sternly.
“Go clean up the hall bathroom or I’ll make you do it again.” She strode out of the room but left the door open. Mitt hurried out after her.
As he lay motionless at the base of the post, he heard one of the other girls close the door.
“I’m glad she wasn’t mad at me,” said June.
“We didn’t do it,” said Lena. “Here. You can try some of my makeup if you want.”
He remained where he was about as long as usual. After a while, he heard Mitt come back in and resume playing with her sisters. When he could, he climbed back onto the post and sat with his legs dangling.
His marbles and his knees still hurt. He watched the girls, hoping they wouldn’t make another mess.
They didn’t. Later they went down to dinner and Mitt brought up his plate. To eat on the post, he had to grip it with his legs and hold one hand under his plate with two fingers hooked around the handle of his mug. He was used to it, but he still had to be careful.
The girls were out of the room most of the evening, apparently downstairs. While they were gone, he hopped down from the post and climbed up to his bed. That was allowed.
Lena and June, being the elder two, slept in a set of bunk beds along one wall. The beds were made of dark, polished wood similar to that of the dresser. As the eldest, Lena had claimed the top one. Mitt slept in a canopied bed against the opposite wall, under the big window.
A wide closet filled one of the walls between them. All three girls had identical white sheets with bluebirds flying on them and matching blue blankets and quilted bedspreads with little blue and white checks.
A horizontal cabinet stretched over the closet, with its own doors.
His pallet was up there, and a couple of shelves held the clothes that he wore out of the house and to school. To reach it, he climbed up a ladder that had been secured to the wall on one side of the closet doors. It was a metal ladder and the rungs were always cold, once he was up on the white sheet of his pallet, he lay in a position where he could look down through the window and see the green lawn.
The yellowish rays of late sunlight angled across it, throwing long shadows of trees and bushes. No one was there.
He would be glad when fall came, because he liked school. After a while, he fumbled through a small stack of books by the edge of his bed. He picked a short one about a stuffed rabbit that he liked and read it again. After he had finished the book, he knew bed time was coming soon. As usual, he used the bathroom that opened off the bedroom; they all shared it. By the time the girls came in, he was back in bed, under the covers.
Also as usual, he switched his bed lamp off so they wouldn’t see him too easily. Lena turned on the wall switch by the door, which controlled all three bedside lamps for the girls. In the three pools of light they gave off, he watched them undress, as he did every night.
Lena flipped her shiny dark hair out
of the way and took off her white blouse. She wore a white bra under it, much smaller than her mother’s. After unhooking it and tossing it into the laundry hamper, she idly rubbed the red welts it had left for a moment. Then she pulled down her skirt, stepped out of it, and went to her dresser in her white underpants for a nightgown.
Some nights, they were talkative and giggly. Other nights, they argued or maybe Lena and June would tease Mitt about something.
Tonight, though, they were quiet and seemed tired.
June looked a lot like Lena. She had a bra but only wore it on special occasions or with certain clothes. It was smaller than Lena’s.
When Lena had taken a lavender lilac print nightgown out of her drawer,
June went to get hers that matched it.
He was most interested in Mitt tonight. Her facial features made her look so much like her mother that he expected she would someday be almost like a twin to her. Also, with her blonde hair, she stood out from her older sisters. Most of all, though, she was his age today and just as skinny and bony as he was. Sometimes he wondered what she thought about different things, but he never asked. Now she undressed to her white underpants, as her sisters had, but she put on green cotton pajamas instead of a nightgown.
He was relieved when they had all slid into bed and Lena turned off the lights. Of course, they hardly ever paid any deliberate attention to him. Still, watching was allowed, but a stiff grip was grounds for slamming him. He had one every night at this time.
He drifted off to sleep as they did.
Hours later, a loud, distant thud woke him up in darkness. He had a vague feeling that the house had just vibrated, even all the way up in this room. The girls stirred slightly in their beds.
A faint noise outside got his attention. It happened again and sounded like a shout. He had never heard anything like that before, outside the house at night.
Curious, he sat up and moved so that he could see out the window.
Lights on the outside of the mansion lit up the grounds. A girl he had never seen before was running nude across the grass in the summer night. He rose up on his knees, fascinated. As she ran, her short, limp black hair bounced on her head. She was skinny, like him, and looked like she might be his age.