As the sun rose behind them, the women reached the sea where Abdullah and his men were loading their new brides onto their boats—some of them still bound at the toes and knees from their infibulations—and slaughtered the men savagely before they even knew they were under attack. Hardly a man cried out, and none even fought, so stunned were they to be beset by a horde of wild-eyed women.
How the red blood flew in the red light of dawn! The waves lapping at the shore were tinted with it. The sand drank it like precious water, and the seabutter absorbed its flavor. The women dipped into the men’s supplies and soon feasted exultantly.
Bilqis gave each infibulated girl a jile and made her desecrate one of the Arabs’ corpses, throwing his organs into the sea and crying out, “Yemaya, it is yours!”
Their celebration was short-lived. They had run for hours, and when they’d filled their stomachs, their faces gleaming like ebony and mahogany in the firelight, they soon collapsed in heaps. Resting one upon the other, they dreamed of entering the blaze of the flame of the sun, lighted with the splendour thereof, and made of it shields, saved themselves by their confidence—and not themselves only, but all those who travel in the footprints of wisdom.
Nice Press You Got There…
Louis hunched over his desk in the damp basement where he now worked. He looked up at the shewanella globes glowing overhead, so unlike the sunny windows in his ancestral family business. He sniffed the spicy, vaguely rotten odor of the vegetable ink of the day’s papers in the next room.
“Three hundred!” The voice of Esther Barrington pealed, and her three co-workers added applause.
“That’s great!” Lou said. “The best day yet. Let’s see the new disguises.” The four of them plunged into a pile of hats and scarves, sunglasses, wigs, baggy pants, and platform shoes. They came out looking utterly different, and by stuffing their clothing layers with the newspapers they were smuggling, they looked much heavier as well.
“Let me see if the coast is clear.” Lou ducked out the door and up the steps to street level. The eight bodyguards who’d volunteered to protect him were in position: two flanking the steps, two on the roof of the brownstone across the street, one at each street corner, and he assumed the ones by the coal chute entrance out back were in position as well. They breathed steam, hands in their coat pockets, stomping now and then to bring blood into their feet. In the waning evening sunlight, no one else was in sight.
He stepped inside. A few minutes later, one compatriot scuttled out the front door. Another quickly jumped out of the coal chute trapdoor and walked off. After a little while, the other two distributors left by the same egresses.
Lou tidied up his workspace and bundled up for the walk home. Just as he approached the door, he heard shots ring out. Sniper fire from across the street! He paused, made sure his own weapons were accessible, loaded, and ready to go. He heard more gunfire—mostly single shots, as ammunition wasn’t to be wasted.
He stuck his head out the front door and called, “Stand down!”
The two nearest guards waited. One of them shouted, “What the Hell? We’re here to protect you.”
“No. I don’t want anyone to die for me. I’m an old man who’s lived a better life than I’ve had any right to expect. You have your whole life ahead of you. Go on home to your family. I’ll take a few of the damn government criminals with me if they try to kidnap me, but you go. Tell the rest of them I said so.”
He drew his 9-mm, cradled his AR-15, and stood in the doorway. The two men held their hands up for a truce. Soon, they and the two at the end of the street were backing off. The government men advanced unimpeded, and Lou waved his arms at the snipers to make sure they didn’t misinterpret the situation.
The government men approached. Lou had his guns pointed at the ground, and they approached with theirs down as well. There were eight of them slowly walking up.
“Louis Stonegood?” The leader didn’t wait for him to answer. “You’re under arrest. We’ll need you to come with us, please.”
“Are you threatening to shoot me if I don’t come with you? Because that’s kidnapping.”
“You’re under arrest. Come with us, or we’ll have no choice but to use force.”
“Oh, really?” Louis asked. He cut his eyes to the streetcorner. The bodyguards had returned, but at their backs were at least fifty to a hundred individuals—some of them in armor and toting shotguns and expensive rifles, a few with full-auto military grade weapons, and some with nothing more than a handgun and a look of grim determination. The other end of the block was similarly populated.
The men facing Lou immediately formed an outwards-facing defensive circle as the crowd approached. They silently blocked the street about ten feet away from the tableaux of Lou and the goons.
The leader of the government contingent loudly announced, “Louis Stonegood, I am here to place you under arrest for tax evasion. You’re in the business of producing a newspaper for profit, and you haven’t paid taxes on any of your sales or income.”
Whitehaired, grizzled, and slightly stooped, Louis let out a belly laugh. “You confiscated my land and a building that’s been in my family for four generations! You stole my printing press! I think if anyone should be arrested here, it’s you!”
Affirmative buzzes from the crowd made the government men shift nervously.
The leader seemed at a loss for what to do. A dog barked in the distance. Someone coughed. The stalemate continued. Someone in the back of the crowd racked a slide on a pistol.
The click blessed the leader with sudden resolution. “Alright. In light of what you’ve reported, I’m authorized to have the tax collector meet with you in person to negotiate a resolution.”
“The only way I’d agree to that is if you return my property first.”
“I am not at liberty to make such an offer.”
“I don’t ever want to hear the word ‘liberty’ in the mouth of from the likes of you again,” Lou sneered. “I will meet with you—at noon tomorrow at the Register offices, accompanied by the individuals of my choice. I think if you’ll agree to that, these good people might oblige themselves to move out of the way and let you leave.”
The men sidled back-to-back through the parting crowd. Once they were gone, Lou holstered his weapons and lost himself in the embraces of his protecting flock.
#
The next day at noon, a more organized crowd of the same size assembled around the dry fountain in the center of the Highfield square. Lou led them down the street to the front door of the familiar edifice. He stepped up onto the veranda, flanked by Esther on his right and his cousin Alf on his left. Two guards blocked their entry.
“Only you, Mr. Stonegood.”
“Those were not the terms I agreed to.”
“The president said only you.”
“Very well.” Lou turned his back to the guards and prepared to step off the stoop.
The front door opened. “Wait.” Steve called. Lou stopped but didn’t turn.
“There’s been a misunderstanding. Of course your, er, associates can come with you.”
Lou raised his hands, palm out, to the crowd. They erupted in applause, which he acknowledged with a diffident nod. He turned, and the three of them sauntered inside.
Lou entered the office…his office, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Steve sitting behind his grandfather’s desk. But he forced himself to breathe normally and shook Steve’s hand when it was offered.
“Mr. Stonegood. A delight to see you!”
“A feeling I fervently wish was mutual,” smiled Lou.
“I apologize for the recent unpleasantness.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“But it is something. Let’s not beat around the bush. You’re part of a community, Mr. Stonegood, and you’ve had it largely to yourself for the last couple of years. You’ve built up a political reputation hereabouts, while the actual government was struggling to get back on its feet, but that’s over n
ow. You’re a man of substance and means, and as we know two things are certain in this world. One of them is taxes!” He let out a plummy, jovial chuckle.
“And the other one is death. Do you really want to make me a martyr?” Stonegood countered.
Steve laughed. “Of course it won’t come to that, Mr. Stonegood!”
“Of course.”
“We have calculated the amount of income you have received according to our posted exchange rates for US dollars, estimating that one third of your sales are in silver, one third in amoxicillin, and one third in food. I have the calculations right here.” He tossed a page onto the desktop, which acknowledged with a nod. He didn’t pick it up.
After a moment’s hesitation, Steve continued, “Over the fourteen months you operated it, we calculate your income from publishing the Register at $10,500 US. The current income tax rate is 35%. That brings your tax liability—less the standard deduction—to $2,835.”
“I see.”
“We will accept payment in silver, food, or amoxicillin equivalent to the US Dollar amount, according to the exchange rates on page two of the document.” He nodded at the document.
Lou didn’t even look at it. “You have already confiscated my property and suppressed my freedom of speech.”
“Don’t be foolish. You’re free to say or write whatever you want.”
“Not to change the subject, but how many papers are you selling, Mr. Brannen?”
“We distribute our entire press run every day. As you know, the presses will produce about 2,500 papers running full-time. We have had some technical issues, so on some days—”
“That’s not what I asked. When I walk around town, I see the papers used to make tires for light vehicles. I’ve seen them used to cover broken windows, to mop up spills, and to insulate cellars and crawlspaces. But I haven’t seen anyone reading one. So, that’s why I ask: how many are you selling?”
Steve smiled, but reddened slightly.
Lou pressed on. “Because people aren’t willing to pay for something they don’t value, are they? For example, you asked me to pay you $2,835 just now. I don’t see that I receive anything of value in exchange for that, so I’m not willing to pay it.”
“You know you’ll subject yourself to arrest as a tax avoider if you don’t pay your taxes.”
“So, you’re selling me my freedom? Or more precisely, offering to refrain from taking my freedom from me if I pay you? Leaving off the fact that that meets the definition of criminal extortion, what makes you think that my freedom is worth $2,835 without my printing press and family property?”
Steve’s brow furrowed for an instant. Then he twigged and said, “So, you’re saying you’ll pay your taxes if your property is returned to you?”
“It’s obviously worthless to you.”
“Hmm.” Steve sat upright and thought for a moment. “Alright, I agree.”
“Very good. How shall we transact the exchange?”
“How soon can you have the payment to us?”
Lou picked up the papers, flipped to the page with the exchange rates, nodded. “These rates seem fair. Is tomorrow at noon convenient for you?”
“Very much so. We’ll see you at our compound at twelve o’clock tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll need to inspect the property you’re returning beforehand. We’ll meet here.”
They shook hands. Lou and his companions walked out the front door. Lou cleared his throat, and the chattering throng quieted.
“Fellow citizens,” he began, “I am pleased to announce that, in exchange for merchandise priced at just under $3,000, the occupiers will return the Register to my possession at noon tomorrow. I welcome you all to join me in celebration immediately afterwards!”
“I’ll bring the beer. First barrel’s on me!” bellowed Paul Erikks, the town brewer and publican. A rowdy cheer rang out. Someone brought out a harmonica, and someone else had a guitar. The main crowd began to drift apart, but a small group stayed behind to hear the music. A woman started to sing in a high, clear voice.
“Where are you headed?” Alf asked. “I’ll walk with you to be sure you make it safely.”
“That’s a good question.” Lou said. “These people aren’t above kidnapping me, justifying it based on their delusion of representing some sort of collective higher good. I probably shouldn’t go home tonight.” He waved a hand airily, as if he hadn’t just described being arrested and disappeared. “Any suggestions?”
Esther offered a grin that made her brown eyes sparkle. “Did I mention I’m Italian on my mother’s side?”
“No, but I don’t see…oh.”
“My cousin Dom has a guest bedroom. I’m sure he’d put you up. It’s not far.”
The three of them headed towards the section of town where its best deli still operated, though with a drastically reduced inventory. As the strains of music became fainter behind them, Lou smiled. “That’s one thing I’m glad of since things changed: people make their own music again. I’m sure it won’t be long before someone re-invents the Victrola.”
“Oh, we can skip the wind-up stage,” said Alf. “Those biobatteries will bring us to powered record players as soon as someone cobbles together a way to record sound without plastic. Didn’t they used to use wax?”
“Not sure what kind of wax. I think it was some sort of plastic coated with a natural resin. But with a concept, someone will figure out the details. Human ingenuity is truly miraculous.” Lou looked dreamy and linked arms with Esther and Alf.
“But still. I love hearing voices singing their own songs in the street.”
#
By eleven o’clock Friday morning, the town square of Highfield had taken on a party atmosphere. The harmonica, guitar and voice ensemble had acquired a drummer, a saxophonist, and a bagpiper. It was unseasonably warm, and several enterprising kids had set up stands selling apple- and berry-juice cocktails garnished with sprigs of mint. A mule wagon laden with folding wooden benches and tables pulled up, and so did another with barrels, buckets, baskets, and gear to set up a wood-fired grill. Teenagers collected in gaggles and prides, littler children dashed about underfoot, and adults sat on benches or blankets and chitchatted.
At eleven fifty-five, Lou, Esther, and Alf walked up the street, each carrying a visibly heavy canvas bag in their arms. “Déjà vu,” she whispered.
“Yeah, but much more cheerful vibe this time,” said Alf.
They mounted the steps, and today, the guards deferentially opened the door for them. Inside, they entered the office, set their three bags on the floor with a clank.
“Is that…silver?”
“All silver coins: Buffaloes, Eagles, Maple Leaves, Kangaroos, Libertads, and pre-’64 dimes, quarters, and half-dollars. Figured it was the easiest to carry.” They were all three perspiring a bit and breathing fairly heavily, so ease of carrying was relative. “Oh, and this.” He pulled a smaller sack out of his pocket and dropped it on top of the bigger ones; it landed with a soft clack. “Broad-spectrum beta-lactam, mostly amoxicillin.”
Steve rose. “You wanted to inspect the premises?”
“It seems only reasonable.”
“Very well. Follow me.”
Star Light, Star Bright
When the women awakened with their enemies’ bodies at their feet, they realized they had a sacred undertaking before them. They stumbled to their feet and saw a throng of women staring at them: Somali, Habesha, Issa, and Afar women were side by side, united in their wonder. All of them had awakened at dawn from dreams of a new star shining from the top of the desolate mountain Gabal Elba, and of this woman in her green silk robe, with a star shining from within her belly, brighter by far than anything they had ever seen.
Bilqis stood, and a gasp rang from the crowd.
“It is her.”
“She is the one from my dream!”
“The one with the star.”
“I dreamed she ran on the feet of a gnu.”
Hands reached out to take the arms of sisters and cousins. Muslim women and Christians mingled as the crowd moved in, hands out to bring Bilqis’s retinue to their feet. Bilqis raised her arms and began her overwhelming, undulating inundation of sound. Each woman felt the tones echo and vibrate within her own womb. Those who’d been cut felt the phantom pain of lost nerve endings and tissues that would never engorge—buried beneath their parents’ doorjambs and abandoned, but never forgotten.
It coursed through them as rage, joy, sorrow, and hope. Their eyesight grew grey, then red, then radiantly green in rhythm with the music’s cry, and they began to spin and dance. Even the girls of the compound—who had run a marathon the day before, most of them barefoot—began to step and glide and lean. Soon, the entire seashore was occupied by a mass of female flesh greeting the sunrise, heedless of the night before or the day to come.
How terrifying to fall under those feet! But no one fell. Little girls and aged women teetered, but there was always a hand, an arm, a thigh, to counterbalance, lift, or spin them out of danger. No thanks were given, and none expected, for at that moment, they shared one being.
The sun began to heat their skin, and they slowed and finally stopped, sinking to the ground in dhuhr to the light within each of them—shining most brightly from Bilqis herself.
Bilqis stood and addressed them, and each woman heard her words in her own language.
“Meala has been robbed of her man, the Chinese who came to her in a boat. Meala will tell her story now.”
Meala stood. Her eyes swept out over the sea of colorful shawls and beads and braids and bands, bare breasts and covered heads. She saw a flame burning above each woman, of the same plasma that fueled the sun shining deep within her belly.
Meala spoke:
I left mother. I left father.
I saved only myself and She who is my self.
I forgave Father.
I forgave Mother.
I have found forgiveness,
I have reached forgiveness,
Eupocalypse Box Set Page 50