This Is the Night (38 page)

After his meal, another walk for Lance back to his cell, past the politicals, the bootleggers, and the Substance-smashers. Back in his cell, he starts to pick up his Foreign book, but soon puts it down to stare out of the thin bars of his window, where he can see bushes and trees and even a backyard with a small, empty sandbox. The sun begins to set, dinner will soon be served. A guard walks by and slides his mail for the day through the slot. For a moment, he is sure he recognizes Lorrie’s neat and stiff handwriting, but before he can inspect the letter, the guard interrupts.

“Did you hear?” asks the guard.

“Hear what?” Lance says.

“The prime minister,” the guard tells him. “He’s dead. Right now on the steps of parliament, those coward Coyotes are giving speeches. Seems there’s more of them than we thought. And that’s not all. Just as his death was announced there was an attack up in Western City North, a bomb right in front of the induction center. The prime minister dead. Hard to believe, no? May the Young Savior forgive him for all his sins.”

Through the window, Lance can see the deep red shine of distant craggy mountains, a tall and heavy tree just beyond the perimeter fence swaying in the hot wind, and a fully grown eagle circling over the bare, dusty courtyard. The tents of the men in the detox zone are empty, ready for new arrivals. Though the colors of rock, bird, and tree overwhelm him, even amid such overwhelming beauty, there are times we should not be so happy.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to Larry Sirott, the kindest, bravest person I have ever known.

I thank Charles Baxter, whose fiction and thoughts on its creation are my own kind of scripture. Further thanks to Wendy Lichtman, the first person to tell me I needed to write every day.

The majority of this book was written in public libraries in Minneapolis, Berkeley, and San Francisco; I extend my utmost appreciation to these three library systems.

I am enormously appreciative of Noah Ballard’s guidance and insight. Carmen Johnson’s deep understanding of my project and her remarkable talent for spotting the unnecessary improved this book immeasurably.

I’m indebted to Michael David Lukas for his perceptive readings of early versions of this work. Special shout out to Benjamin Rombro and my fellow Freakersons.

The love and support of Harriet Charney and Irisa Charney-Sirott have been invaluable.

Thanks to Lo, my earnest companion on a million walks around the city. You’ve expanded my heart in new directions.

Finally, I am grateful for Leah, my dream come true.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2015 Jameson Costello

Jonah C. Sirott, a graduate of the University of Minnesota’s MFA program, grew up in Berkeley, California. He lives in San Francisco.