Ambient (12 page)

"That's not the point," I said.

"What is the point?"

"Why do something that causes no good?"

"Chary thing to hear your lips drop. Where is this good to be
found so freely?"

"Somewhere-"

"Answer here, then. What do you get for the use of your
hands?"

"I'll be in charge of the company," I said, "and Avalon will
be with me."

"You'd wish other?"

"The same," I said, "in a different way."

"Your fears whelm over for love of your owners?"

"No."

"What will they obtain? One shuffles off the coil-"

"The other inherits the blessings."

"Deserved?"

"I suppose so," I said. "But I'm not sure."

"Have his senses bid long goodbyes, as you say?"

"He wasn't always like this, you know. Just in the past
year -'9

"The snow drifts thick?"

"Two rhinoplasties he's had. You could make a tea service
out of his nose."

"Why then toil for his betterment? In just admiration of his
holy glory?"

"No. We've got to have money, Enid. Godness knows your
businesses don't bring enough in-"

"Ah," she said. "Then for the long long green and a better's
taste. "

"Yes. "

"A taste better fitting our own soft mouths?"

"Of course."

"And your tidbit's mouth so well?"

"Yes."

"Is it for her rather than you that you ready for this?"

"For both of us," I said.

"Both?"

"For all."

"For her," said Enid. "As said, sight your own risk first. In
her paw would you lay your soul? Do you fret that if you do she
might leave you noddypeaked and bowelfettered?"

She wouldn't do that," I said. "I trust her."

"And what of your owner?"

"As much as I can."

"How far could you throw, then?"

"Far enough," I said. "It's just hard to tell. I have to run on
hunches and guesswork."

"His plays might miss the cushion?"

"Maybe. He's been so off and running for so long."

"So if the young one troubles so well," she said, "overthwart
him. Nail and faretheewell."

"It's the Old Man I'm supposed to-"

"Double their trouble. Carry off and pash them. First the one,
second the other. Squeeze their sheets and have their drippings
warm."

"It's not worth it," I said. "Slip doing that and I'm in the
street. If I'm unlucky."

"If luck shines?"

"I'll be dead."

"Beat me. What else to do?"

"What I'll be doing."

"If luck yields you'll be off no worse than most."

A middle-aged woman slipped at the edge of an excavation
and tumbled in. The rats set upon her before she could be dragged
out. Everyone listened to her screams, and watched.

"So worse is most that nothing bears so little bad. If loss nears,
Seamus, then lose all and be proudfull. "

"If that comes, it comes. I wish-"

"Wish and wing away. You could Hamlet for age over age,"
she said. "Hear me now before you pave your dark road, thripping fingers to perp and blast. My brother's soul I feel my own.
Your power is mightier than your sword. I've seen all. In light
you insinuate smooth. At dark's need you take your tyrant garb.
Let your inside traipse limber. Earplay the life and list to other
options. Time irons all and the pieces drop like maydown. Destiny's book is unreadable but you can steal the lines ahead. If
triumph comes, use gain to good effect. Salve the lost and damned
in New York's stews. Flea the owner's ears. Lift their dresses
high and rip their oysters' pearls. Be the Naz and still spend your
biscuit in your honey's little pot."

"That'd be the best," I said, thinking of Avalon; however it
went, we wouldn't be apart. If I had to leave Enid, though"But I'm afraid it'll slip through my hands if I try."

"Then take hands and grab," she said. "Even romance has a
room if a house is there to hold it."

We kept walking. At 12th was a small Ambient iglesee; the
inverted cross hung over the door. In the window was a ceramic
Jesus: he lay on his back, his arms outstretched; his wrists and
legs bled, the hump between his shoulders was scored and diced,
his head was bloodied, his guts poured out his side. A broad grin
calmed his face. Regular services and weekday affairs took place
at the iglesees; one Sunday each month--the one upcoming would
be this month's-all Ambients, original and voluntary, met at a
place they called Under the Rock. I knew where it was, but had
never gone there, for those meetings are offtouch to non-Ambients. When I first heard of the place, years before, I wondered
about the name. Upon the rock shall the church be, said Enid,
and under the rock will be we.

Only Catholic churches and Ambient iglesees served the purposes for which they were consecrated. I remembered when there
were many churches. Bad judgment by past government leaders
caused them, long before, to push through the acts that sanctified
America as a Christian nation in law so well as in spirit a year
before the Q documents were revealed.

The Q documents-discovered by a team of Israeli and American archaeologists-were the long-lost original gospels. They
detailed how Jesus, a trusting sort, was hired by Pilate to spread
confusion among warring Jewish factions; how Judas found out
and so betrayed his betrayer; how Jesus, pulled from the cross in
time's nick by those wishing to use the affair for their own effect,
recovered and was by accident seen by his horrified followers;
how some of his followers were so horrified that they wished to
kill him-again; how Jesus escaped with his wife, Mary Magdalene; how he died, at an advanced age, somewhere far from Gethsemane. You can infer the rest.

The documents were examined by all concerned until it was
admitted that there could be no doubt. My old Catholic church,
troubled by its own problems, felt that the matter certainly warranted further investigation in the future. America had little time to live fully as a Christian nation before the Ebb fulfilled itself.
Only vaguely did I recall posters in the subway, put up by
churchmen: photos of log-stacked Auschwitz victims, the message below reading Accept Christ And Live.

When we reached Sloan's we bashed through the curbside
crowds, busy victoring the spoils from the street bins. We passed
the barriers set up to thwart food rioters, went through the metal
detectors, and at last received a basket in exchange for our deposit. Enid ran down the aisles, dumping in horrors galore: Slurpies, Sugar Tarts, Whoopies, Stickies, and a brand of candy called
Braineaters, which came in the form of jelly-filled skulls. I picked
up a few apples and oranges, fresh from Spain, which at least
retained the skins in which they had been issued. To keep our
buys separate I stuck my fruits onto Enid's nails.

"We need toilet paper," I said, realizing as I said it that I
supposed mine would be supplied elsewhere for awhile.

"The tile is free for all to peel."

She threw a loaf of Softee bread into the basket; it bounced
out, as if trying to escape. We caught it near the dairy aisle.

"I've a bizarre idea," I said.

"Que?"

"Why don't you buy something healthy?" I said, looking over
the colorful labels and shiny bags in the basket.

"Porque?"

"Variety," I said, picking up a bag of Sugar Chips and shaking it; it rattled, as if filled with tacks. "It wouldn't kill you."

"Why enact what hasn't conclusion?"

I convinced her. She picked up a box of Soyream and a block
of Kraft Dairy Solid. She would even have gotten a carton of
eggs, but this month's New York delivery was consigned by the
government for our Italian friends, or friends of theirs, or friends
of someone's. There were other things needed, but the store was
out; no matter how much of anything came into Manhattan, it
was never enough.

Supplied, we aimed for the exit, returning our basket before
we entered the line. The mob resembled rush at the barricades,
but our line was short; we reached the cashier in less than half an
hour. The market had Vidiac; a bank of monitors hung above the
checkout aisles, but I didn't watch. I thumbed papers in the nearby
racks. There was a useful article detailing how vampires might
be distinguished, and thus avoided, in the work place; another
entitled IS YOUR SPOUSE A REINCARNATED SEX KILLER?
with the True Story of The Hackensack Ripper As Told By His
Ex-Wife From Beyond The Grave. Tiempo's cover article concerned the coming food explosion-sounded unpleasant-and,
past the features, several news photos-thus allowable-showed
dead young women decked in lingerie.

"Oneseen, allseen," said Enid, glancing over my shoulder.
"Man's pride dulls all." She tossed back the copy of McCall's
she'd been looking over; FORTY THINGS TO DO WITH MACARONI was the lead article.

Once we were rung Enid laid out two dollars; we stuffed the
goods into the bags we'd brought. Our trip home was calm; we
didn't talk. My mind drifted off to be with Avalon, and I counted
the minutes till I'd see her again.

"No visitors?" I asked Lester, when we returned.

"No blood," he said, extending one arm, balancing with the
other.

"I didn't ask that," I said. "You'd have licked it up, anyway. " Lester smiled, and bounced down the stairs. We went
inside.

I didn't have to leave just yet-it was only past noon-and so
I soaked my apples and oranges, having plucked them from Enid's head, carefully dropping the fruit into the sink one piece at a
time, so as not to splash out overmuch water. Enid turned suddenly, as if she'd been slapped.

"Memory returns," she said. "Tarry a mo. I've an add to your
repertoire. "

She ran back into the bedroom. My refrigerator consoled me.

---door ajar. Please shut. Door-"

I took out the apples and oranges, dried them, and slipped
them into my Krylar coat's pocket. Enid returned, carrying a new
button-push chainsaw that was no more than a foot and a half
long.

"I'm not going dancing," I said.

"Court and tease, then," she said. "On off's chance."

"It's rather puny, isn't it?"

"But marvel." She held the chainsaw away from us, turning
it on. As she pushed the button the saw shot outward, tripling its
length as it roared away.

"Cunning," I said, impressed. "A bit overmuch for what I
expect. "

"Then in event your expectation adjusts. Carry, for me if you
will."

"What if it goes off accidentally?" I asked. "I could lose
something. "

"As you could if you don't tote it," she said. "The safety's
on, till yours goes off."

"Where'd you get it?" I asked, noting the file marks obliterating the serial plate.

"A friend whose fingers burned with it. Encloak it in your
wrap. "

"All right. Gracias, Enid."

"Por mivida," she said, slipping it into one of my long coat's
inner pockets. "Seamus?"

"Yes?"

"I spec we'll glimpse sooner than you see," she said,
"But-"

"I'll be back in a couple of months."

"If but in other shape we ever clasp again," she said, "My
blood beats your heart allafter, everafter, till time's lovely end.
Take as you will. "

She kissed me; her spikes scratched my forehead. I didn't bleed
much.

"Too early on the light aroused," she said. "Left me drumbling poor and undermeal. I'm to bed and bideaway till eve crawls
up dark. "

"Take care."

She walked back into the bedroom, shedding her clothes as she
went. Before she went in she bent over to pick up one of her
bottles. I smiled as I looked at her massive gray flanks, thinking
of Lucy, the late rhinoceros. She'd be fine in my absence, I knew,
and so I worried about her not at all. Only Enid had kept me
straight and narrow, made me continue school, found the funds
that allowed me to do so, stood by me at every time of pain. But
her life was hers; mine was mine.

As I went downstairs I readied myself; I walked out, heading
over to Third Avenue. Jimmy always picked me up on the north
side of the 14th Street barricade, before we cruised uptown to
pick up Mister Dryden and Avalon. I'd be the last one in the car
today, it was so late.

The guards at the barricade's pedway looked to be vets of the
Brooklyn campaign, judging from their mien and their insignia.
When I showed them my IA card they waved me through, sans
exam, sans questioning. Just outside, some Army boys took turns
raping a woman; one standing near appeared to have rigged a
reproduction of his unit's insignia from a coat hanger and held
the decorative end over a fire. I turned my head, so as to pretend
I hadn't seen. Jimmy stood by the car, watching; when he saw
me he waved.

"Hop in," he said, looking up at the sunny gray sky. I slid in
beside him, nodding to Mister Dryden and Avalon who were in
the back, seated some feet apart. We took off, aiming toward
Broadway. Most of our trip passed in silence, as if by speaking
we feared we might break our bond and spoil our luck. On occasion a few words slipped out, as if to increase tension.

"Anything but party this afternoon?" Avalon asked; she lay
curled up in the back seat's corner. Mister Dryden sat in the seat
behind me, playing a game-to have judged from the beeps, and
lack of dialogue-on the IBM.

"Dad'11 want to sport after."

"And chapel?"

"You know Dad," he said.

Midtown and Times Square and the Clinton Twilight Zone were
as they ever were. After we entered the Upper West Secondary
Zone at Sixty-first, surroundings felt busy but not so tenuous (the
ridge east of Broadway, further up, was high enough to remain
above the water, it was believed, and so remained better kept).
At 120th West Harlem began. That Twilight Zone ran to 181st;
there, the Inwood Secondary Zone-boozhie-laden, like the Upper West-picked up.

At 119th, Jimmy patted my arm and motioned beyond the exit.

"Bullyrige it looks up there," he said.