After the War (V)

So, I guess this is where I would say it gets interesting.

“Tell me … can those people even read? Not English, but do they have their own language to read and write these noble savages you always talk about?” asked Olivia, her voice loudening ever so slightly.

“No.” Dr. Prang snickered the tiniest bit, and continued to rationalize his admiration for those simple people in a way progressively more agreeable to a sentimental old WASP. “Not as such. But then again, very few hunter-gatherer tribes in isolation ever develop their own written language . . .In the timeline of civilization it . ..uh . .” And never quite getting there.

“Ahh, Joolius? “ Bobby Quinn had broken our silence.

I stood up abruptly: “I think we should go into a room, maybe have a look outside,”

“But whose room?” Prang asked.

“Why, we’ll go into your room Stamp. It was your idea!” said Devonshire, a fair trade I suppose.

“I’ve been wanting to see what you’ve done to the place. Yes, let’s move in there!” Dr. Prang added.

And so began the first in a series of self-inflicted shots to the foot. My room, of course, lacked the necessary prestige for the dignitary in the group, and as I ran through the list of social contraband in my house I realized that both Br. Quinn and Dr. Jiles would be outright offended, or at least claim to be. There were no crosses, there was no pre-nuclear tidiness in dress rehearsal for future expansion, there was enough food in the icebox to make perhaps one meal but it was without a doubt vegetarian.

In the dark we jockeyed for positions, everyone immediately onboard for the migration despite everyone’s attempts to sneer at at least one other resident, myself included. Without comment Wes’s bodyguards followed us out of the room and into the slightly better lit hallway. They stood outside after we had all entered.

“So what exactly is the procedure on that kind of thing, Wes?” I asked once we had entered the room, still within earshot of the bodyguards themselves. “They don’t have to come in here and do a sweep or anything?”

I led us into the kitchen and living room area; the very clear, hot conditions that had perhaps contributed to the blackout also gave us potent natural light.

“Well, I generally keep them out of private residences. I’d get rid of them entirely if I could.”

There were enough seats for everyone but myself. It was, however, cool on the hardwood floor and I was tempted to stretch out and lay on it. By chance Dr. Jiles sat closest to me and immediately began asking the first round of questions to psychoanalyze me without alerting me to her intentions. Her approach struck me as the least “slick” of all the neighbors.

“So, Julius. . . are you married?”

“Yes.” I said. Where is your wife?

“Where is your wife?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Really . . . .hmmm

“Really? Hmm.”

“Yeah, she left earlier this morning. I’m sure she had some things planned.” At which she would clearly and without fail try to bait me into further explaining the situation between my supposed kindred spirit and me.

“I see. . .”

“We have an arrangement so that I can work. If she was here all of the time with me I wouldn’t get any work done.”

“Is that true?” Or do you want to retain some of your independence?

“Yes. When we first moved in it was like a honeymoon.”

“And what’s wrong with that? You two must love each other.”

“Yes. I. . . we do.” Is she pregnant?

“So . .. do you two plan on having children?”

“Frankly, I have about a million things I need to get done before I think about bringing an adult into this world.” At which I predicted she would be taken aback.

“My . .these ambitious youngsters today.” She said to Br. Quinn I believe. “Julius, you must know that you will never be satisfied without love in your life. Love is the . . . “

“Look!” said Dr. Prang, who was standing at the window and looking out over the city. “People are beginning to gather below.”

“My heavens, why?” asked Dr. Jiles. Everyone looked at her except for Dr. Prang and I. Prang perhaps because he somehow expected her questions, and myself because I was less interested in their content than in the ripples they caused. Why would people come out of homes and businesses now that the lights had gone out? Wouldn’t even more come out because of heat and the time of day?

“Because something has changed. Don’t you see, Dr. Jiles? Something has changed in their environment. Something significant, and that means that all bets are off.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” I added “There is a mild panic with this kind of thing” oh my god, where is Lois? “People want to form larger groups.”

“But, don’t they expect the lights to just come right back on?”

“It’s hot,” said Wes, perched, with the silhouette of a hulking comedian, on a stool. The most distant from his closest neighbor and looking tired as he raised his water glass.

“Heat builds pressure.” Dr. Prang added “Chemically and . .uhm .. .socially.”

Br. Quinn wiped sweat off his brow, I caught him looking at my stack of magazines on the floor. No one was sure what to do exactly, although Wes probably had the best course of action; or else he looked the most dignified silent. I again found myself wanting to film these people; now even more isolated from their environments and even more surreal and sharp-edged. They nearly appeared with small, neat captions below stating their name and affiliation.

I stood up to open the window and Wes promptly fell out of the stool and on his side. Br. Quinn and Dr. Prang ran to help him back up. His face was not flush with embarrassment, he did not thank the extra hands. He sat back on the stool and shortly explained what had happened.

“All I did was shift my weight a bit. I guess I’m too big for this stool.”

“Should I open the window?” I asked, careful to not make any overt move to rock the boat.

“Well .I don’t know. . .”

“But, it’s so hot out .. perhaps we can keep some of the cooler air trapped.”

“But we’re on the 12^th floor, we should get some kind of breeze . . .”