The Crooked God Machine (13 page)

I then realized my fingers were ticking like bombs and would soon obliterate me. I cried out, turning my face away from my hands.

Leda awoke and saw me about to burst. She pulled me close to her and pressed my fingers into her ribs.

"No. Don't," I told her, "you'll kill us both."

“Breathe,” Leda said.

“See them? See Delilah in the corner? And there’s Teddy, waiting for me.”

"Just breathe, Charles. Learn how to breathe."

She encircled me in her arms, drew me into her gravity. She held onto me until my fingers stopped being bombs and Teddy and Delilah disappeared from the room. Momma and Sissy finished their slip implant advertisements and left to go watch television amidst the melting snow. I lay down in bed with the sweat peeling off my forehead, sick to my stomach.

"You don't have to pay any attention to that anymore. It doesn't mean anything anymore," she said when we were alone, "Just learn how to breathe."

She held onto me and wouldn't let go.

Chapter Four

The girl in the wolf mask and the old man visited me again. This time they brought a lie detector and my high school algebra teacher. The old man hooked me up to the lie detector on the porch, his hands shaking so badly that he could barely tighten the straps around my fingers.

My algebra teacher took out my school records from his briefcase and read off my grades for every test, notes from my conduct for every semester.

“Quiet, and unusually restrained,” he read, “Completes all of his homework on time. Good grades, but never pushes himself. His only deviant behavior seems to be associating with Jeanine Hart, the delinquent sister of one of our graduating prophets.”

“Is this really necessary?” I asked while the girl in the wolf mask took out her interrogation notes.

“I feel we didn’t get to know each other under the best of circumstances,” she said, “Holland, will you tighten those straps? They look a little loose.”

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked.

“Of course you have,” the girl said, “we just don’t know what it is yet. Comfortable?”

I turned my head, but from where I was sitting in the chair I couldn’t see the graph behind me. All I heard was the thin scribble of the mechanical arm moving against the paper, reading my nerves. My pulse. My heartbeat sat on my tongue.

“Now, we’re going to start out with a few test questions,” the girl said, “what is your name?”

“Charles,” I said.

“How old are you, Charles?”

“Twenty-five,” I said.

“What is the town called where you live?”

“Edgewater,” I said.

It seemed as if I spoke not from my mouth, but from the mouth of a gravelly, stone-edged creature living inside of me. I felt it press against my lungs, the inside of my eyes. Everything became blurry, even sounds and texture. The swamp trees blurred into the background, and my ancient algebra teacher stepped inside of his silhouette. I couldn’t feel the straps of the lie detector on my arm, or the wooden boards underneath my feet. All I felt was the creature, and the heartbeat.

“I really have to be going,” I said.

“Negative,” she said, “We went to the town hall and checked your records. We know you don’t have a job. And, well, look at the graph. It says you’re lying.”

With hardly a pause, she continued her list of questions.

“What is the nature of your association with the prophet Ezekiel?”

“What?” I asked.

“Just answer the question, all right?”

“Under what authority are you doing this?”

“God’s,” the girl said abruptly.

“As I recall, God appointed a government for this sort of thing.”

The old man spit yellow phlegm into his hand and wiped it off onto his pants.

“Listen, we’re not the ones on trial here,” he said.

“So I’m on trial now?” I asked.

“Stop it! This is nonsense!” the girl said.

She stamped a foot down, rattling the porch. Her wolf mask slipped down past her eyes. She grabbed the mask in both hands before it fell and pushed it back into place.

I laughed. My heartbeat receded from my mouth and absorbed itself back into my ribcage. Everything came back into focus, and the three people standing in front of me suddenly lost all their hard edges, looked silly and tattered and sad.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll stop. I’ll answer your questions.”

“Something tells me you’re not taking this seriously, young man,” my high school algebra teacher said.

“No, no, I’m taking it seriously. I’ll hear what Missy has to say.”

The girl flinched when I spoke her name.

I thought of Leda several nights ago, whispering to me what the ocean said to her. Her whispered, “don’t be afraid.” I laughed again. I couldn’t hold it back. Behind me the lie detector scribbled my nerves down on the paper.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s not important,” I said, “what was the question again?”

The girl looked down at the paper once more. She paused, heavy limbs, breathing through her mouth, and for a whole minute her eyes searched the text.

“What is the nature of your association with the prophet Ezekiel?” she finally said.

“He’s a friend,” I said, “we met in grade school.”

“Have you ever had sexual relations with Ezekiel?”

I burst out laughing.

“This isn’t funny!” The girl said.

The old man’s head snapped up. He moved with spastic, almost convulsive motions. I thought his bones might pop out of joint and dance straight out of his skin.

“Control yourself, Missy,” the old man said.

“No, I’ve never had sexual relations with Ezekiel,” I said.

“What would you consider your sexual orientation?”

“I suppose I’ve never thought about,” I said.

“What do you mean you’ve never thought about it?” the girl said.

“Well, have you?” I asked, “I just never thought we had a choice one way or the other.”

“You better move onto the next question,” the old man told Missy.

“Yeah, okay. Fine,” the girl said, and she cleared her throat loud enough to swallow the noise of the scribbling lie detector.

“What’s the question?” I asked when she didn’t speak.

“I’m getting to it, all right,” she said.

“Tormenting a poor child,” my high school algebra teacher, “this won’t look good on your final judgment, you know.”

The creature inside of me laughed with my voice. I covered my mouth with both hands to try to keep it from escaping, but I wasn’t fast enough.

“It seems like you’ve already decided that I’m guilty,” the creature said.

“I think that’s enough questioning for now,” he said, “it’s clear that we won’t get very far with this today. Come along, you two.”

The old man ripped the straps of the lie detector off of me and tucked the huge machine underneath his arm. The girl in the wolf mask burst into tears, and my algebra teacher put his arm around her shoulders.

“There now, dear. I’m sure the hell shuttles will take him away soon. He was always a fucked up kid. Nobody liked him in school. Not to worry.”

He touched her on the cheek, her breast, and led her away as she cried inside of her wolf mask. The old man lugging the lie detector followed after.

***

Right before nightfall Leda came over to my house with a suitcase. It’d been the first time I’d seen her after the night of the ice storm. She looked wild, eyes ready to eat me alive, hair in static knots.

“I thought I’d stay a while,” she said, “if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes,” I said, unsure if she was being serious or not, “that’s fine. You can put your suitcase in my room.”

When we got to my room she placed the suitcase up against the wall and then lay down on my bed, her arms over her head, her dress riding up her legs.

“I think they’re going to get me soon,” I said.

“Who?” she asked.

“The Apocalypse Brigade,” I said, “or the monsters outside. Or God.”

I lay down beside her on the bed.

“I think I might’ve scared them, isn’t that strange? Because I remembered what you said to me the night before, and suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

“It wasn’t true what I said,” Leda said, “it just sounded good at the time.”

“You’re scared right now,” I said, “otherwise you wouldn’t say that.”

Leda touched my arm. Her hand was slick with sweat.

“Charles,” she whispered.

“What is it?” I asked. I touched her stomach, her face.

“I think I could learn to trust you,” she said.

She took my hand in my own. She kissed each of my fingers, one after the other.

“All that I can think about is you,” she said, “You’re a good person, you know? Do you know how rare that is?”

She touched the ends of her hair and laughed.

“Let’s not talk anymore,” she said, “when I get nervous I say things that have been said too many times.”

Leda knelt on the bed in front of me.

“I shouldn’t have said any of those things to you that night. I don’t want you to go away,” I said.

“I won’t,” she said.

She touched my face, and dropped her hand again. Then she grasped the bottom of her dress in two fists, so tightly that her knuckles protruded from her hands with the strain. She pulled her dress up, slowly. In the light of my room the cotton looked like cast-iron.

She threw her head back. She pulled her dress up over her legs, her thighs. Scars like little birds crisscrossed her skin.

Her name lingered on my tongue, though I hadn't even realized I'd spoken it. I wanted to tell her that she didn't have to do this for me, lay out her past quivering and raw. She didn't have to show me the skin of her inner thighs, criss-crossed with scars like little birds, or the edge of her cotton panties, out of place and vibrant on her heated skin. But I couldn't move, couldn't speak. All I could do was keep holding onto her shoulders.

She tried to pull the dress up over her head.

“Help me,” she said, “don't you know I'm in love with you?”

I unraveled her out of her dress and tossed it onto the floor.

“Leda,” I said.

I grasped her waist to pull her closer to me, but instead of skin I touched something dry and crumbling. I looked down. A chain of daisies, browning, almost dead, were tied around her waist.

“Don't touch,” she said, “I have three more flowers to lose.”

“What?”

“I want a nine flower waist,” she said.

I paused. My hands hovered in the air next to her waist.

“I know, it's silly, but I can't stop,” she said, “nine would be the perfect number.”

I opened my mouth to speak but she grasped the back of my head and pulled my mouth into hers. The motion was clumsy, almost violent.

“I just wanted to be beautiful, but look at me now,” she said, “feel this. I'm hardly human anymore.”

She took my hand in her own and guided me to touch her cheek, her nose, her neck.

“Enough of that,” I said, pulling my hand away and “you're beautiful. I don't want to hear any more of this.”

I pulled her into me.

She was softer than I imagined, even though her body was disappearing underneath me, swallowed by flowers. She spilled into me. I’d never been able to touch her like this, grasp her, and take whole chunks of her. I kissed her neck, her stomach. I knelt down and I kissed her between the legs. She tasted like I thought she would.

She tried to take my clothes off, but I had to help her because she was clumsy, uncertain. She wiped the sweat off of her forehead. I wanted to tell her that we can do this another time, but my mouth wouldn’t speak.

She grasped my penis and pushed it inside of here, one fluid motion. She gasped. I couldn’t breathe, my brain contained no intact memory of this act. I thought of the voice in the waves. I pinned myself to the waves. I rocked inside her slow, like if I moved too recklessly we might shipwreck ourselves.

She turned her head to the side. She grasped my arm, my shoulder, like she thought she was going to fall if she didn’t hold on. I closed my eyes. A small, low noise escaped from my throat.

Leda pushed me off of her. I pulled away and she propped herself up on her elbows, flung her hair back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“From behind,” she said, “It’s been so long. I want to watch the window.”

“What?”

“Let me watch the window. I want to see what’s coming for me. Look it in the eyes.”

I pulled out of her and turned her over. I buried my fingers in her hair and drove into her again. She cried out. I tasted her sweat. It seeped through my skin. For one moment the shadows fled and I couldn’t feel the bed sheets underneath me. I only felt her, touched her, everything but her flushed skin and her unfolded vulva turned into concrete.

“I love you, Leda,” I said.

“I know. Fuck me,” she said, “please.”

She squeezed my penis inside of her, pinned my body to her. I wanted to peel away the layers of her, pink by pink, each one unfolded until her womb busted down. I slipped my fingers inside of her, licked the juice away. I pulled her hair, fistfuls, until she was forced to throw her head back as I pumped into her. She groaned. The walls peeled away. I thought my head might peel back away as well, a smear on the wall.

I dug my nails into the back of her neck and saw the hint of a tattoo, poorly inked, blue at the edges.

I slowed down my pace, even though she squirmed underneath me, pushed against me. The tattoo was well hidden at the base of her skull, I made out the symbol. A number.

“What is that?” I asked, “on your head?”

Her body stopped responding to me.

“Stop,” Leda said.

“What?”

“Stop. I said stop.”

She stood up and I slipped out of her. I touched her shoulder. She grabbed my hand and pushed it away like it was a foreign creature. She knelt with the headboard at her back, quivering, hands in front of her breasts

“What did you see?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“No, you saw it. Tell me. What did you see?”

She gathered up her dress and hugged it to her chest. The wildness came back into her face, a knobby tree ready to bloom out of her skin and grow over her head.