The Descent

She  was   furious   with   the   group's   smugness.   They   had   depended   on   Ike   for everything.  Without  him,  they  might  be  dead  or  lost.  He  had  been  true  to  them,  but now, when he needed them, they  were  not true  to him.

We were  his  ruin.  She  saw  that  now.  They  had  doomed  Ike  with  their  dependence. He  would  have  been  a  thousand  miles  away  if  not  for  their  weakness  and  ignorance and  pride.  That's  what  had  kept  him  bound  to  them.  Guardian  angels  were  like  that. Doomed by  their pathos.

But  blaming  the  group  was  a  dodge,  Ali  had  to  admit.  For  it  was  her  weakness,  her

ignorance,  her  pride  that  had  bound  Ike  –  not  to  them,  but  to  her.  The  group's well-being  was  merely  a  collateral  benefit.  The  uncomfortable  truth  was  that  he  had promised himself to her.

Ali sorted her thoughts as she picked her way  along the river.  In  the  beginning  Ike's allegiance  to  her  had  been  unwanted,  a  vexation.  She  had  buried  the  fact  of  his devotion  under  a  heap  of  her  own  fictions,  satisfying  herself  that  he  pursued  the depths for reasons of his own, for his  fabled  lost  lover  or  for  revenge.  Maybe  that  had been so in the beginning, but it no longer was. She knew that. Ike  was here for her.

She  found  him  in  a  field  of  night,  no  light,  no  weapon.  He  was  sitting  faced  toward the river  in  his  lotus  position,  his  back  bare  to  any  enemies.  He  had  cast  himself  onto the mercy  of this savage  desert.

'Ike,' she said.

His  shaggy  head  stayed  poised  and  still.  Her  light  cast  his  shadow  onto  the  black water,  where  it  was  immediately  forfeit.  What  a  place,  she  thought.  Darkness  so hungry it devoured  other darkness.

She  came  closer  and  took  off  her  backpack.  'You  missed  your  own  funeral,'  she joked. 'They  sent a feast.'

Not a motion. Even his lungs did not move. He was going deep. Escaping.

'Ike,' she said. 'I know you can hear me.'

One  of  his  hands  rested  in  his  lap;  the  fingertips  of  his  other  hand  touched  the ground with all the weight of an insect.

She felt like a trespasser.  But this wasn't contemplation she  was  invading,  it  was  the start  of madness. He couldn't win, not by  himself.

Ali  approached  from  one  side.  From  behind  he  looked  at  peace.  Then  she  saw  that his  face  was  drawn.  'I  don't  know  what's  going  on,'  she  said.  He  was  resisting  her within his statue  stillness. His jaw was clenched.

'Enough,' she said, and opened her pack and  pulled  out  the  medical  kit.  'I'm  cleaning those cuts.'

Ali  started  brusquely  with  the  Betadine  sponge.  But  she  slowed.  The  flesh  itself slowed her. She ran her fingers along his back, and the bone  and  muscle  and  hadal  ink and  scar  tissue  and  the  calluses  from  his  pack  straps  astonished  her.  This  was  the body of a slave. He had been harrowed. Every  mark  was the mark  of use.

It  disconcerted  her.  She  had  known  the  damned  in  many  of  their  incarnations,  as prisoners  and  prostitutes  and  killers  and  banished  lepers.  But  she  had  never  met  a slave. Such creatures  weren't  supposed to exist  in this age.

Ali  was  surprised  at  how  well  his  shoulder  fit  in  her  hand.  Then  she  recovered herself with a tidy  pat. 'You'll survive,'  she told him.

She  walked  a  little  distance  away  and  sat  down.  For  the  rest  of  that  night,  she  lay curled  in  a  ball  with  his  shotgun,  protecting  Ike  while  he  finished  returning  to  the world.

Am not I

A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me?

– WILLIAM BLAKE, 'The Fly'

18

GOOD MORNING

Health Sciences Center, University of Colorado, Denver

Yamamoto emerged  from the elevator  with a smile.

'Morning!' she sang to a janitor mopping up a roof leak.

'I don't see no sun,' he grumbled.

They  had  an  old-fashioned  blizzard  raging  out  there,  four-foot  drifts,  minus  nine degrees. They  were  under siege. She would have  the lab to herself today.

Yamamoto found last night's guard still on duty,  asleep. She sent him off to the dorm to  get  some  rest  and  hot  food.  'And  don't  come  back  until  this  afternoon,'  she  said.  'I can hold down the fort myself. No one's coming in anyway.'

She was like that these  days,  mother  to  the  world.  Her  hair  was  thicker,  her  cheeks in constant  bloom.  She  hummed  to  the  Womb,  as  her  husband  called  it.  Three  more months.