IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE by Dolores J. Nurss
Volume
II: Tests of Fire and Blood
Chapter 38 Smoke
Monday, May 25, 2708,
continued
(All my mothers and all my
fathers, you feel so gloriously present right this minute, this precious minute
when we laugh, we feel so happy, we trade jokes like we could live forever, and
I know that just around the corner we all could die at once. All my mothers and all my fathers, you know
why I have to do now what I must--you have always understood everything I
do. I bask in your approval. All my mothers, smiles as
bright as red as blood, all my fathers, grinning teeth that shine like the
bullets in your bandoleers. I remember
all your hands--big, rough hands that guided me as gently as you would the
wires on a bomb. I remember each and
every one of you, though the names blur one into another over the years. I remember all your love. So let us take our pleasure
while we can, let all fear burn away, exhale it like a fading smoke. You knew how to laugh between the blasts, you
knew how to cherish the bright red moments between birth and death, you knew
and you know still and you fold in sweetly all around me. Let us revel, bright as bullets flashing
through the air, for our flight through this life may pass as briefly. For this precious moment, let us LIVE!) (Why do I keep walking back to the tobacconist? Why do I enter the darkness of the shop, stroll
through the hemmed-in aisles, hardly room for a man my size to move, cautiously
opening apothecary jars, breathing in the musty scent of different blends? What draws me here? “Are you going to buy something this time?” drawls the man at the
counter. “Yes, Jake—are you?” asks a high voice at my elbow. Only one woman has that accent in the known
parts of Til. I turn and frown down at
the platinum blonde, posed to show off her curves—does she never stop posing? “What are you doing here, Zanne?” “Stalking you,” she says, and smiles. “What are you doing
here?” “I wish I knew.” “Curious about smoking?” she asks, and then her eyes light up with
something slightly evil. “So am I!” “Remember what happened the last time you tried your telepathy on
me?” She pouts, and punches my arm.
“I never did get back my acupuncture skills, you beast!” “Anyway, you’re wrong. I’m
not curious. I have smoked tobacco
before—twice.” She plays with my lapel.
“Have you indeed, bad boy? But
aren’t all of us bad girls and boys curious?
I’ll try anything twice.” She
sashays up to the counter and asks, “Do you sell single cigarettes?” When he nods she slips out her card, and he
shows no surprise that it’s the iridescent ID of an agent. “Two, then, and a pack of matches. Mild—for beginners.” “Beginners, plural?” I ask. “Oh, very well!” she says.
“Make his stronger.” “No! Mine? Zanne, I...” “Oh come on, Jake! I don’t
need telepathy to see you want one more go.”
She hooks my arm in hers, the other hand clutching the plain brown bag,
and leads me to a quiet park around the corner, just one tree in a small grass
lawn, with a border of flowers. Benches ring the the tree, and we sit on
one. I also see ash trays, on
weather-greened brass stands. The
backsides of shops ring all but the entrance.
People who wish to smoke discreetly come here from the shop. “You staked this out ahead of time?” “No, silly, I found it by smell, just now. Here...you light mine, and I’ll light yours.” Okay. I admit it. It tastes good to me. Smoke...why do I picture great clouds of
smoke, when it swirls so thinly, a fading stroke of white upon the air? Great clouds of smoke in a place of
warehouses... “Ooo, I could get used to this!”
Zanne leans on my shoulder, looking dizzy, though she holds her
cigarette with aplomb. “You’d better not,” I say...and then my eyes fix on the cigarette
in her hand. Her lipstick has rimmed it
in red...red ring...blood red. “Anything
new, anything worthwhile, must pass through a ring of blood,” I say before I
know I’m speaking. She sits up so suddenly she pales.
“Jake, are you having one of your fits?” “It’s not a fit!” I snap, and come to myself again, wondering why
on earth I’m making myself sick on tobacco.
“It’s a vision—a fragment of a vision.”
I stub the cigarette out, barely used, and leave it in the ashtray. Maybe some bum will think it a lucky find. She does the same, saying, “I’m taking you home. Right now.”
She looks a little green, herself. “I can find my own way home.” “You can get lost in these fits.
Randy would kill me if I didn’t see you back safely.” “Zanne...” but she presses a finger to my lips. “Not another word! I
wouldn’t want you to lose whatever you need to write down.” “Z...” “Nope.” She tugs me to my
feet. Then she smiles and bumps the
knuckles of her left hand against my own, saying, “We lefties have to stick
together, remember?” I nod and go with her. I
have no argument for that.) I wake from drowsing to the
cabbie saying, "Here's the place, folks--lousy dump, if you ask me, but
there's no accounting for taste."
So I pay her off and we tumble out of the car at twilight into a
shoreside district of neglected warehouses and closed-down factories, their
high little windows mostly broken and their gates locked shut for good. Didn't Jonathan once say something about
neglect of trade? Happens, when people
in power hear no feedback from those who actually do the work. We have arrived some blocks
away from the rendezvous point, as planned.
Earlier than planned, though—Speedy knew her business better than most,
or else not yet well enough to run up the price when her customers fall
asleep. So we kill time for awhile,
huddled in a warehouse doorway, passing a cigarette back and forth between us
till the twilight ripens into night, just loitering teenagers in the bad part
of town, don't mind us. (I finish typing, then rub the bridge of my nose. I can still smell the tobacco on my
fingers. I wish I had the rest of that
cigarette. Damn Zanne!) Now, oh so casually, we
stroll under cover of dark over towards the pier to meet the rest--a rotted and
abandoned scaffold teetering over oily water, next to a boarded-up bait
shop. Clean or not, the sound and the
scent of the sea restores my soul even in these surroundings. And oh, the freshness of that ocean
breeze! Already I can make out the
silhouette of the other two crews on the safer, landward side of the pier--did
we delay too long, perhaps? Maybe we
shouldn't have lit that second cigarette. "You utter
moron!" I hear Lucinda shout. "I said rested, not limp!" Kief just laughs in reply,
then suddenly grabs her and swings her back into a kiss that would make a
tango-dancer blush and I just stop breathing.
"I love it when your eyes flash, Luci." I hurry up and hiss,
"Could you two keep it down? We
could hear you a block away." Then
I smell the marijuana. Kief shrugs. "'Sall right, Deirdre. No one hangs out here 'cept other juvenile
delinquents. We blend right in." "Yeah, you smell like
'em too--gonna die young like 'em?"
Lucinda drops her voice but the tone scolds just as loudly. Kief laughs again and
doesn't drop his voice at all. "Oh,
of course. Won't we all?" Teo says, "Go easy on
us, Luci--you know we had to calm the twins down any way we could." "You didn't have to
pass the joint back and forth between all of you." "Oh, but we
did--wouldn't look natural any other way.
And the cabbie wanted his share, too." "Oh great!" she
spits. "I'm lucky you got here
alive!" "But we made
sure," Imad pipes up, "to put the twins in the middle of all the
passes--they got twice as much as we did."
He almost looks convincingly sober when he says it, too. "Right. Ohhh right." She paces critically around Kief who slouches
there trying hard not to giggle at her scowl.
"In the middle--sitting on Kief's lap, am I right? Am I right?" He bursts out laughing and
gasps, "You know, you’ve got a point!
You definitely..." more helpless laughter, "...have a...have
a...oh my!" "A point." She stands firmly planted in front of him
now, and leans into his face. "AND
YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THEIR FORNICATIN' LEADER!” "Lucinda!" I
plead. "Keep it down!" "If we had any other
night to do this, I'd postpone the mission right this minute. But our information only allows us this one
chance, when the guards plan to sneak out for a local poker
marathon." Her grin glints in the
dark. "I only hope they get better
cards than you've just dealt me." Kief pulls himself up
straight and says, "I'm fine, Lucinda.
I can do the job." "You'd better,"
she says, then holds out her hands.
"But give me your gun." "What?" "You heard me." "Aw come on,
Lucinda! You know I'm the best goddam
marksman this lil' revolution ever..." "At any other time,
you bet. But I want Deirdre to take your
gun tonight." My face turns hot, then
cold. "No, wait!" "She doesn't want
it, Luci." "That's an order--both
of you." Reluctantly Kief pulls a
sawed-off rifle from its hiding-place in his bedroll. "You'll see the sense of this when
you're back in your right mind, Kief," she says in a milder voice. Slowly I shrug the weight
of the rifle onto my shoulder, feeling dangerous and conspicuous. Sawed-off’s a hard weapon to aim; Lucinda
knows more about my abilities than I like. (I stare at what I just typed.
Good Lord. And no way to warn...someone.) As we move towards our
objective, I feel a shiver down my spine.
I strain to hear any step past ours over the melancholy slap of water
against the docks. But nothing, nothing,
nobody comes this way at night. Except
for us. |
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