When it seemed Judy Wiener was taking an extraordinarily long time
in the bathroom Radix knock on the door. She didn't answer. "Are you
alright in there?"
He heard a soft "Yes, I'm alright" so he waited for her in the living
room. Eventually she came out and stepped boldly in front of him.
"How do I look?" she asked.
Taken aback by her new perky manner he didn't know what to say. Her
dress looked rumpled, though he didn't think anyone would notice. "You
look presentable to the world, " he said, getting up to go.
Just before they stepped out the door, she paused, searching in her
bag. He turned to her; she looked in his face, and leaned against the
wall. "What's the matter? Lost something?" he asked. "It's nothing," she
answered.
He put his arms around her, and once again felt her body trembling
close to him; her breath on his ear. "We've got to get back," he told
her.
The afternoon light filled their eyes as they stepped outside. The street
was empty of the hangabouts. Cars went by. Those shiny bulging plastic
bags of garbage hadn't been picked up. The usual lounging faces were
nowhere to be seen.
Where was Carlos? He was supposed to be at his new job, outside the
bodega, some sort of Security job. There had been an attempted
robbery, men in ski masks waving pistols and demanding money. The
bodega owner had fired his gun, killing one of the men. Since that
incident he'd hired Carlos to sit on the dumpster and confront any
suspicious people before they came in.
Carlos was now a holoperos. His job was to nab the holope, or dash
inside and lock the door. Right at that moment Carlos was nowhere
near his post.
No one took notice of them except a middle-aged man from across the
street who sat at the third floor window with the guard rail, smoking
and looking down. Not once had he ever made a friendly gesture, a
wave or a smile, when he saw Radix. Just his face looking out, half in
shadow, minding its own business.
There was no real need to hurry back since it was near the school
dismissal hour. With classes still in session kids were probably
preparing to stream out the exits into the afternoon streets.
On an impulse he decided to take the route through the local streets,
staying off the highway which would be dense with traffic heading for
the bridge. If he took the local streets, then the Expressway for a few
miles, then back to local streets, they'd get there in half an hour.
"Michael." He heard the soft questioning tone in the voice and shrank a
little from it. "All of this…"
"All of what?"
"What happened today. All that happened, wouldn't have happened, if
Xavier hadn't died, and there was no funeral to attend." He hadn't
anticipated words so contorted. "What do you think it means? Aren't
you a little curious about what it means?"
"I don't know what it means. Do we have to attach meaning to
everything?"
"This morning everything started so, you know…. unrehearsed. First
we couldn't find the funeral home. Next, we're together looking into
the coffin. One moment we were back there, and now we are here.
It's as if we weren't in control of anything that happened."
"I thought you said there was nothing to worry about."
"It's not about the school. How can we do this? Move from one thing to
the next like this, and not be worried about, you know, how it adds
up."
They were waiting for the traffic lights to change, on a slight incline
in the roadway, so that Radix kept his foot on the gas pedal. They
were at a crowded intersection, with bodegas at the corners, a
shopping strip with a string of stores on either side, all with weather-
beaten awnings; cars taking up every inch of space near the curb.
He glanced at her, wondering what had come over her. Maybe he
should have given her more time to compose herself ̶ not just rush
away from the building back to school. Their intimacy, so frantic
with relief, wasn't likely to repeat itself ̶ not under the same
circumstances. Like a dropped anchor the day's chain of events was
pulling itself out of the water. But now was definitely not the time
and the place for this conversation.
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!, a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 