12-09-2007, 12:45 AM
They sit without speaking for a long while. Fish takes off her boots. She puts them back on. She takes them off and shakes them upside down. Then she puts them back on.
“Stop that, Fish.” She does. They fall asleep. There isn’t much else to do. Em sleeps curled on his side. Fish sleeps on her back with her top hat over her eyes, some ways away from him.
Fish wakes first. It is dusk. A tree has grown behind her. Its roots are knotted and the branches thick, though green as a sapling’s. A few dead branches have fallen. Fish begins gathering them. Em opens his eyes.
“We eating tree today, Fish?”
“The night will be bitter cold, and filled with darkness.” Fish drops the sticks in a pile. Em looks at the tree apprehensively. He pulls out a deck of matches. He opens it. There are five left. He looks at Fish. Fish looks at the tree. A single leaf grows on it. Her boots rest at its base.
“We’ll be moving again tomorrow then.” Says Em. The light fails; the tree’s branches rapidly turn gray. Fish grabs her boots and puts them on. She doesn’t lace them all the way up. Gathering her sticks, she walks toward the horizon where the sun disappeared. Em hesitates. Then follows.
The stars come out. They argue about the names of constellations. Em points out Cancer, the crab. He accompanies it with a tasteless story. He laughs humorlessly. It sounds like two rocks hitting together. Fish points out the constellation Samabulou, the doll-faced monster and devourer of souls. They walk in silence after that.
They fall asleep in the grays before dawn. Em curled on his side. Fish some ways away on her back with a hand resting on her stomach. Fish wakes at noon. She sits up and watches Em’s back rise and fall. His black suit is rumpled and dusty. His bare feet are black. Fish speaks softly to herself.
“Black as black. Dusty as dirt. Lost-tired, lost shoes, silly-boy lost shirt. Black as black. Grimy-slippery cruel. Followed-lead poor tired Fish…” She falls silent. She can’t think of a word to rhyme. “Day breath wind cool…” There is wind. It comes up from behind her. It is cool. Fish turns. There are tiny snow-dusted mountains rising up on the horizon. Em stirs. He sits up and brushes off his jacket. It helps very little. Wetting his two pinkies he smoothes his dark eyebrows. Then he turns and sees the mountains.
“You wish to see the mountains, Fish?” He says with a smile. Fish says nothing. “I know some one who would pay good money…” He cups his hands suggestively. Fish covers her ears and squeezes her eyes shut. Em laughs and strides past her towards the white peaks. Fish glares at him, grabs up her bundle of sticks and follows. The sun beats down all afternoon. Their cheeks are rosy and sun burnt. Em’s still carry dirty streaks of rouge and long dark smears of eyeliner from days ago.
“How many days has it been, Fish?”
“The days pass faster than memory grasps.”
“So they do…”
They walk.
The light of the sun fades. A new light appears on the horizon. Em walks faster. Fish hangs back. Hours pass. The light gets bigger and rights itself into the square light of a window. Em is walking more slowly again. His feet bleed. The window is set in a large suburban house, complete with a large swimming pool and immaculately manicured lawn. Em smiles when he sees the pool. The grass ends abruptly, as if the lot had been cut out of some soccer mom’s dream and plunked down in the middle of nowhere.
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