The Final Circle of Paradise

"Listen, I wasn't concerned about him."

"Too bad. But all right, pick him up, and let's go."

Stepping into the shadow of the apple trees, I watched them drag the drunk by the gate. He was wheezing horribly.

The house was quiet. I went to my quarters, undressed, and took a hot shower. My shirt and shorts smelled of tear gas and were covered with the greasy spots of the luminous liquid. I threw them into the hamper. Next, I inspected myself in the mirror and marveled once more at how lightly I had gotten away: a bump behind the ear, a sizable contusion on the left shoulder, and some scraped ribs. Also skinned knuckles.

On the night table, I discovered a notice which respectfully suggested that I deposit a sum to cover the rent for the apartment for the first thirty days. The sum was quite considerable, but tolerable. I counted out a few credits and stuffed them into the thoughtfully provided envelope, and then lay down on the bed with my hands behind my head. The sheets were cool and crisp, and a salty sea breeze blew in through the open window. The phonor susurrated cozily behind my ear. I intended to think awhile before falling asleep, but was too exhausted and quickly dozed off.

Later, some noise in the background awakened me, and I grew alert and listened with eyes wide open.

Somewhere nearby, someone either cried or sang in a thin childish voice. I got up cautiously and leaned out the open window. The thin halting voice was intoning: "… having stayed in the grave but a short time, they come out and live among the living as though alive." There was the sound of sobs. From far away like the keening of a mosquito came the chant "Shi-vers! Shi-vers!" The pitiable little voice went on – "Blood and earth mixed together they can't eat." I thought that it was Vousi, drunk and lamenting upstairs in her room, and called out softly, "Vousi!" No one replied, The thin voice cried out: "Hence from my hair, hence from my flesh, hence from my bones," and I knew who it was. I climbed over the window sill, jumped onto the lawn, and went to the apple grove, listening to the sobbing. Light appeared through the trees, and soon I came to a garage. The doors were cracked open and I looked in. Inside was a huge shiny Opel. Two candles were burning on the workbench.

There was a smell of gasoline and hot wax. Under the candles, seated on a work stool, was Len, dressed in a full-length white gown, in bare feet, with a thick, well-worn book on his knees. He regarded me with wide-open eyes, his face completely white and frozen with terror.

"What are you doing here?" I said loudly and entered.

He continued to look at me in silence and started to tremble. I could hear his teeth chattering.

"Len, old friend," I said, "I guess you didn't recognize me. It's me – Ivan."

He dropped the book and hid his hands in his armpits. As earlier today, in the morning, his face beaded with cold sweat.

I sat down alongside of him and put my arm around his shoulders. He collapsed against me weakly. He shook all over. I looked at the book. A certain Doctor Neuf had blessed the human race with An Introduction to the Science of Necrological Phenomena. I kicked the book under the bench.

'Whose ear is that?" I asked loudly.

"Mo… Mama's…"

"A very nice Ford."

"It's not a Ford. It's an Opel."

"You're right – it is an Opel… a couple of hundred miles per hour I would guess…"

"Yes."

"Where did you get the candles?"

"I bought them."

"Is that right! I didn't know that they sold candles in our time. Is your bulb burned out? I went out in the garden, you know, to get an apple off a tree, and then I saw the light in the garage."

He moved closer to me and said, "Don't leave for a while yet, will you?"

"OK. What do you say we blow out the lights and go to my place?"

"No, I can't go there."

"Where can't you go?"

"In the house and to your place." He was talking with tremendous conviction. "For quite a while yet. Until they fall asleep."

"Who?"

"They."

"Who are – they?"

"They – you hear?"

I listened. There was only the rustle of branches in the wind and somewhere very far away the cry of: "Shi-vers! Shi-vers!"'

"I don't hear anything special," I said.

"That's because you don't know. You are new here and they don't bother the new ones."

"But who are they, after all?"

"All of them. You've seen the fink with the buttons?"

"Pete? Yes, I saw him. But why is he a fink? In my opinion, he's an entirely respectable man."

Len jumped up.

"Come on," he said in a whisper, "I'll show you. But be quiet."

We came out of the garage, crept up to the house, and turned a corner. Len held my hand all the time; his palm was cold and wet…

"There – look," he said.