Where'd You Park Your Spaceship?, page 35
Warn me about a book?
This is a little strange.
Yes. A book. I know it’s just a book…but…
She pauses. This is not a person who seems to have any
difficulty with words. Just remember that I warned you…
I bought the book.
Which I’ve had with me for I don’t know how many laps.
But never read.
Until tonight.
I begin reading.
I inhale the first seventeen pages.
I stop and put the book down.
I realize I’m shaking.
What am I reading?
The Skolnick writes about this place his people called home.
He calls it THE ANGELS. He claims that millions and
millions of people lived there. I find this hard to believe.
Millions and millions of people lived in the same place on
Earth?
A CIRCLE is ten thousand people and then you build
another one. Otherwise you’d have sprawling,
unorganized chaos. Everybody knows that.
He describes a street-which I can only assume is like a
path or a trail-that is 26 miles long. How is that possible?
26 miles? It’s called SUNSET.
The Skolnick walks the length of this SUNSET and writes
about what he sees.
That’s it.
That’s the writing.
That’s the first part of the book.
He’s not conquering anything or climbing anything or
swimming or sailing or riding a bike or doing anything
dangerous.
And yet his writing.
The things he sees.
The things he notices.
The claims and observations and descriptions.
I don’t know what to make of it.
I have been learning about Earth my entire life. Ma’ir
Dobie taught us about the widening gap. Ma’am Kirti
wanted us to be very clear about why the Earth ended.
Sir Pong had a lot to say about CULTURES.
But that was all rather general. Drawings. Numbers.
Statistics. Percentages.
All that was from a distance.
Removed.
Looking back on how it was.
But this.
The Skolnick. This is specific. Particular. Granular.
He was there.
He writes about something called concrete and guns and
food and buildings and places that aren’t safe. I don’t
know what he means by that. He keeps using this word
neighborhood. I assume that’s like a CIRCLE. But
constantly changing. Shifting. Evolving. These people
moving in, those people moving out. More money, less
money. These people eat this kind of food, those people
eat that kind of food.
It’s profoundly unsettling. Turbulent. Churning. All these
different people in the same place, coming and going.
I keep reading.
It’s a feeling I pick up in these pages.
An unsettling energy.
An electricity.
A movement, a motion.
I keep trying to figure out who is in charge.
It’s as if The Skolnick is walking along describing how it is
RIGHT NOW knowing that it will soon be SOMETHING
ELSE.
Like the whole thing is in free fall.
Like it could go in any one of a thousand directions.
Terrifying. But thrilling.
I put the book down.
I see what Gilbs meant.
The key and the drawer makes sense now.
It almost feels forbidden.
The Angels.
There’s something intoxicating there.
Something so compelling about that ARRANGEMENT.
Which isn’t really an ARRANGEMENT.
More like the absence of an ARRANGEMENT.
Or an ARRANGEMENT that EVERYBODY is in charge of which means NO ONE is in charge.
It’s free to be whatever it’s going to be.
Who’s in charge?
No one?
Everyone?
Alive.
That’s the word that comes to me.
There’s something ALIVE about what The Skolnick
describes.
Some life force that can’t be quelled.
And yet.
I understand what Noon Yeah meant by that word
MARGINS.
She kept saying There aren’t any.
I get that.
I see that in The Angels.
The Angles is engulfed in margins. Drowning in them.
Choking on them.
If someone doesn’t stay on the ARRANGEMENTS things
go off the rails very, very quickly.
But that’s also what makes it so…vital.
That other way.
To let it play out.
To see what happens.
To allow the friction and freedom and conflict.
Walking down that street with the Skolnick.
I’m agitated. Troubled. Bothered.
Lit up.
I go to sleep, thinking about The Angels.
Imagining what it was like there.
*
Click.
The light in the corner comes on.
Noon Yeah.
I sit up in bed.
I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep.
We have a problem.
She says this like it’s something I need to know.
She’s wearing my Dill Tudd lightning bolt jacket.
I correct her. YOU have a problem.
She’s having none of it. It’s your problem as well.
I am wide awake now. No. NOT my problem. MY problem
is my disc doesn’t work. If somebody would fix MY disc
then I could go back to filing my reports and doing my
job.
She holds up her hand.
Stop talking. Seriously. It’s not helping.
She is so maddening.
It’s helping me.
That sounded a little pathetic.
She tilts her head down, rubs her eyes, like you do when
you have a headache.
I can’t find him.
Ohhhhhhhhh. I do that long Ohhhhhh to buy some time.
Dill Tudd?
Something wells up within me. I think it’s joy.
What a fascinating admission from you. You can’t find Dill
Tudd?
I say it again, without the question mark.
You can’t find Dill Tudd.
This is so fun to say.
But wait-you can find anybody! You found me. THAT’S
YOUR JOB. Are you having trouble doing your job Noon
Yeah?
I cannot conceal my delight.
She does not enjoy this.
Let me just make sure I fully grasp your situation: Since I
last saw you, you’ve been searching for a guy to remove
but you can’t locate him. And we all know you can’t
GRAIN someone you can’t FIND! THE POETRY of it
ALONE!
I stand up on the bed and do a little dance move.
I sit down, leaning against the wall.
Noon Yeah can’t find Dill Tudd. What a satisfying
sentence. I just want to stop and savor that. With all of
your training and all the laps you’ve been doing this-has
this ever happened to you?
I wait.
She doesn’t say anything.
Is this the first time you haven’t been able to find
someone?
I slide forward so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, right
in front of her.
I think it is. I think this is a first for you. Kind of a blow to
the self esteem, innit? You’ve been doing this for how
long?
I am so into this.
You know what’s interesting? I don’t know anything about
you. You reveal nothing. Ever. You show up at the bakery
and you’re everybody’s new best friend but I watch you-you
don’t give anything away to anybody, ever. It’s actually
quite impressive-how you appear to connect without
actually connecting-
She points to my clothes.
I see you aren’t sleeping naked anymore.
I shake my head.
Don’t change the subject. Okay…yeah…that was only one
time and I woke up and SOMEONE was in my room so
NOT DOING THAT AGAIN. But let’s go back to the matter
at hand. Which is YOU. I can barely say it without
laughing. You really do have a problem. You can’t GRAIN
someone you can’t FIND!
Am I taunting her?
I think I am.
Sitting here on the edge of my bed in a rented flat on
Firdus talking to an ASSASSIN who travels the galaxy
GRAINING people.
You can’t find Dill Tudd.
I say it again because it brings me so much pleasure.
She starts taking off her boots.
What are you doing?
She looks up. Taking off my boots.
Yeah, but…why?
She leans back in the chair.
He’s totally off the grid. There’s no record of him
anywhere. Dill Tudd officially DOESN’T EXIST. Do you
know how difficult that is to do?
I am instantly filled with admiration for Dill Tudd.
Still doesn’t explain why you’re taking off your boots. And
then I get it.
No.
She smiles.
Yes.
I do not like where this is going.
No. As in NO.
As if saying NO twice will sway her in any way.
Her boots are off. She’s wearing green coveralls. She
stands up, unzips them, and takes them off. Now she’s in
a t-shirt and…what are those? Shorts? Tights?
In any other situation with any other woman on any other
planet this would be thrilling.
You’re not…
She gets on the bed.
I am.
No, you’re not.
She lies down next to where I was just sleeping.
There are thin red vertical scars on her ankles.
She adjusts her pillow.
She interlaces her hands behind her head.
You and me are going to be spending some time together.
I sit in the chair.
I put my feet up on the end of the bed.
You’re in my bed.
She laughs. There he is again! Doing what he does best-
NOTICING. Heen Gru-Bares! He doesn’t miss a thing.
I kind of enjoy it when she mocks me.
I think it has something to do with being seen.
I point to the bed. What are you doing?
She adjusts the covers. My job.
I hate this.
This feeling that she’s in control.
That I’m being played.
That I’m behind.
Your job is not sleeping next to me.
Actually it is.
Because of Dill Tudd?
Precisely.
Because you can’t find him. But HE does find ME every
few days-
You got it. So if I’m with you, I’ll find Dill Tudd.
But you don’t have to sleep here.
Do you have another bed?
No. What are you going to do when I go to work?
Go to work.
Things have turned. She’s enjoying this.
Where are you going to work?
Where you work.
At the bakery?
Yes, that is where you work.
She says this like I am very, very slow.
You’re going to work with me at the bakery? That’s not
possible.
Lan Zing thinks it is.
I put my head in my hands. Moments ago I was taunting
her about her failure to do her job. Now this.
You talked to Lan Zing?
Yeah, she hired me.
You got a job at the bakery? I say it more to myself than to
her. Doing what?
Tea.
Tea?
Tea.
We don’t serve tea at the bakery.
You do now.
What do you know about tea?
Enough to get a job at the bakery so I can be with you all
day.
She pats the bed next to her.
And night.
She gets under the covers.
I stand up.
You don’t brush your teeth or wash your face before bed?
I have no idea why I care about this. I think it has
something to do with distracting myself with details when
I get anxious.
Already did.
You already brushed your teeth-Where?
Where? She looks at me like I have two heads. In the
bathroom.
My bathroom?
Yes. That’s where people do these things.
Again. She’s so under my skin.
You got ready for bed in MY bathroom?
Yes. Although…we both work for the same people. Who
pay for your flat, correct? And we’re both on the job…you
see where I’m going with this?
No. I don’t.
It’s technically OUR bathroom.
Resistance to this madness feels futile.
You got ready in OUR bathroom!
I shout it. Like she’s violated some deep trust between us.
She calmly responds. I did.
Where was I?
Sleeping.
I go into the bathroom. I open the drawers. The second
drawer on the right is full of her things. Neatly organized. I
turn around. There’s a small hand towel of hers hanging
on the hook. I go out into the hall. I check the closet. It’s
full of her clothes. There are two empty bags on the top
shelf. Those silver boots she wore the first time she
appeared in my room are lined up on the floor next to
those black boots she wore with that red skirt and shirt.
Apparently I have been keeping track of what she’s been
wearing. Without realizing it.
I come back into the bedroom. Her eyes are closed and
she’s got her palms together over her heart. She’s taking
long, slow breaths.
I lean against the wall and watch her.
I find it mesmerizing.
I don’t know if it’s because this is all so strange and
surreal and terrifying and heartbreaking.
Or because there’s a woman in my bed. And that hasn’t
happened in a long time.
She opens her eyes. Let’s go to sleep. We have a big day
tomorrow.
She says it like we do this every night.
I turn off the light and get in bed.
We lie in the dark, quiet.
Noon Yeah?
Yes, Heen.
Do you do this with other SIGN 5’s?
Do what?
You’re lying next to me in my bed.
It seems important to point this out.
No. She says it softly.
NO, as in you don’t USUALLY do this. Or NO as in you’ve
never done this?
I have no idea why this clarification matters to me.
Heen Gru-Bares you are relentless.
That’s exactly how I feel about you.
Me??? I’m just doing my job.
She tries to sound innocent. It kind of works. But I see
her.
No, no-that’s the thing. Anytime you get pressed on WHO
YOU ARE, anytime I get close to the YOU-the real YOU, the YOU behind the YOU-you immediately back away and blame the job.
She doesn’t respond.
Just the sound of her breathing.
Our breathing.
Only with you.
It hangs there between us, above us.
Only me?
Yes, you. This has never happened.
I’m unique. I find this funny.
You are unique. Being in bed with someone has happened, of course, but not this kind of being in bed-
You’ve never had a problem finding someone you’re
supposed to GRAIN. So you’ve never had to stick close to
a person who is the only way for you to find that person…
It’s so satisfying to repeat the jam she’s in.
Pretty much.
So at this point you’re just improvising. You have no idea
how this is going to play out.
I ALWAYS get the job done.
Steel in her voice. But also a faint hint of her trying to
convince herself. Just a hint. I jump on it.
That is the second dumbest thing I’ve heard someone say
this week.
I can feel her curiosity. What was the first?
I do my best impression of myself. YOU MESSED WITH
THE WRONG SERIES 5.
She does a half snort, half laugh. It’s lovely. That WAS the
most ridiculous thing I’ve heard someone say. Not just this
week but in a long, long time.
The air changes between us.
Lighter. Looser.
Well, you saying I ALWAYS GET THE JOB DONE gives my
YOU MESSED WITH THE WRONG SERIES 5 a run for its
money.
She sighs. Heen?
Yes, Noon Yeah.
Can we stop talking and go to sleep?
Weariness in her voice. A little ache.
There’s a person in there.
An actual human.
With a heart.
Maybe.
*
A smell.
It’s wonderful.
I open my eyes.
Morning.
I look to my right.
No Noon Yeah.
I walk out to the kitchen.
She’s cutting fruit on the counter.
Morning! I love mornings. Did I already tell you that?
There’s something cooking in a pan.
She’s wearing a wool sweater of mine. Her hair is wet.
Hold on.
The SUNS are up.
What time is it? Panic in my voice.
You’re good. I already talked to Lan Zing. We’re going in
late to work.
It’s the nonchalance in her voice that I find infuriating.
You say that like you’re in charge of my schedule.
