The Cloud Atlas

“Or perhaps Paris -or Cairo,” Gurley said. “Why not just sit back and let the other boys do our job? Steal our medals. Win our war.” He drew himself up as best he could in the seat restraints. “Because, Belk. That's why. Because, one, as I told you, volunteers were few and far between at the meeting yesterday. While they fret over what to do, we've got the chance to leap ahead and seize the initiative in what may turn out to be the most important campaign of the war. I make fun of their fleas, but make no mistake, if that report is even ten percent right, it won't matter who wins in the Pacific-all those GIs will return home to stinking corpses strewn across the prairie.” I turned away, and he elbowed me so I'd turn back. “Because, two, there's already been a story published, so the potential for further fuckups is pretty high. With bacteria-encrusted bombs on the way, there's no question now of disposing with the ban. This must be kept secret.” Now he sank back. “And because, three, any chance to leave our fucking frozen Xanadu for warmer locales, even late winter Wyoming, is a chance we take.” He closed his eyes. “Really, Belk.”

I sat back, too, and thought about making a mistake when I handled our next bomb. Our next normal one. It wasn't the first time I'd thought this, but the reason for the mistake was changing. Early on in Alaska, I'd spent some long, lonely days daydreaming about-well, blowing myself up. Maybe doing it in such a way that I'd only be injured-lose a foot maybe, a finger or two. But you couldn't count on that. It was a safer bet to try to kill yourself outright.

But lately, I'd begun to think about Gurley.

“About the mind reader, though,” Gurley said after a few minutes, eyes still closed, and then added, “Lily is a lovely girl.” He waited. “Mmm?” I nodded, realized he couldn't see me nodding, and then grunted in agreement. I wasn't sure what would come out if I opened my mouth. “But you do realize,” he said, opening his eyes to catch mine, and then closing them again, “that she's a-that she's a busy woman. A businesswoman, in point of fact.”

“Yes,” I said. I wiped my palms on my knees.

“I'm just saying, don't grow too attached. Not that you have. It may seem like they're only six girls in all Anchorage, but there's more coming, all the time.”

Now I closed my eyes and leaned back. Not to go to sleep, but just to escape, somehow: the conversation, the plane, the mission, Gurley. I opened them when Gurley tapped me on the chest. I found him leaning as close to me as he could. “I guess what I'm saying is, just between you and me, I have a unique fondness for our mutual friend. And I'm thinking of-how shall I put it?-taking her off the market. For the duration, at least. Not sure I can see her back East, let alone Princeton, but then, I'm not sure I can see myself there anymore, either.”

“You're going to get… married?” I asked.

He looked at me. “In a gold carriage pulled by four white horses. You'll be a ringbearer, or flower girl.” He rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, Belk. If you were about ten years older and a hundred years more mature, we could manage a conversation on this topic. As it is, I don't know what's going to happen. And I don't want this to get around- but, yes, I have a soft spot for the girl. I care for her, and would like to take care of her.” He looked up toward the cockpit. “Which is why I want to take care of this mess, as quickly as possible.”

“Have you told her this?” I asked, probably sounding a bit too desperate. Why hadn't she told me this? Or was this why she was leaving Anchorage? To escape Gurley? Or elope with him?

“Yes,” he said, and thought for a moment. “Yes, I have. Which is the war's biggest surprise so far, Belk, if you're keeping track-bigger than Pearl Harbor, bigger than balloons and bigger than fleas. If you'd have told me before I enlisted that I'd return from the war with an Eskimo bride, tall enough to look me in the eye and-have you ever noticed, Belk? She has the most remarkable eyes. Jet black, almost. You look in those eyes, you're liable to forget your name, the date. And legs like- well, suffice to say, she's not the type you meet over punch at the Vassar mixer.” He pulled himself up. “Of course, I understand your meetings don't give you the opportunity to learn such details. She tells me you just consult her for palm readings.” He delivered this as both statement and question.

But I was thunderstruck that Lily had told him about me. She and I were the only ones with secrets. “She told you?”