Time to Go (9 page)

I get on the elevator and press the button for the lobby, but the door opens on a penthouse floor and then on the super dragging a garbage bag in the basement.

“Say, I was hoping you hadn't left and might drop by again. My wife says I was very rude not asking you in before. She says I forgot how much you lost ten years ago and how much I was personally spared. So come on in now to meet the missus and also for a stiff apologetic drink.”

I go into his apartment. It's almost palatial compared to his old basement flat. The television set is on. He hands me a drink. A woman comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

“My wife, Gerta. We had two kids, something the first wife didn't want, but they were snatched up from us during one of those harsh flus. Drink strong enough for you, Phil? And where you planning to bed down for the night if I can ask?”

“In a hotel downtown. I'll find one, thanks.”

“Lots of nice hotels in town.”

“Most are too expensive for the ordinary man,” Gerta says. “Expensive for us, maybe, but I don't believe for him. But what do you know about hotels here? You ever stay in one?”

“Our friends have told us about them.”

“She's right. Visiting friends who come through not so much to see us as a whole slew of people. I forgot about them.”

“I wish you wouldn't forget that maybe I don't forget.”

“I'm sorry. It seems all I'm telling people today is I'm sorry, but I am. To both of you for what I didn't remember and should have done.”

The television program concerns a hospital resident who wants to operate on a woman before she takes her first flight to Earth. This series about a traveling space hospital has been running a long time or perhaps this is a rerun, as I remember my daughters watching it. The patient says “Honestly, Doctor, is it plausible for me to think I'll ever reach my affianced alive?” The doctor bites his thumb. The super asks me how I like the set's reception. “Real sharp,” he says. “Like real life, if not clearer.”

“Sets have certainly progressed in the last few years,” Gerta says.

“Remember old lady Longmore, Phil? How she got the first giant color set in the building? Cost her a fortune it did, and she was never found either. All those unmarked graves under this building. All-tolled I'd say a few hundred.”

“Well, that's not very much for a new set,” Gerta says. “People. I meant people.”

“Lon!”

“Okay. She doesn't like me talking about it so I won't. But it has been ten years since it happened, which should be time enough to mention it without someone else getting upset.”

“I'd think so,” I say.

“You see?'” He refills my glass. The doctor says “Everything will go smoothly—I swear.”

“That's all I wanted to hear,” the patient says. She's put on a stretcher, wheeled through the hospital's many halls. Through a window in the operating room, Earth and passing spaceships and comets can be seen. A nurse fastens a surgical mask over the doctor's mouth, another nurse slaps a scalpel into his hand. “Gently does it now,” the doctor says, when the screen goes blank. “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice says. “We are having difficulty with our transmitters, so please stand by,” A sign on the screen says the regularly scheduled program will resume shortly. Court music from another century and country is played. Just as I'm beginning to enjoy a rare flute and double bassoon duet, the music stops and an army officer stares at the audience from behind a desk. “It's just like our first revolution here,” I say to Lon, “except this guy's got a pistol in his hand instead of a pointer. And much like my last region's revolution three years ago, except then there were two officers from different military branches sharing a stand-up mike.”

“This is not a television drama or news documentary,” the officer says. “I am the designated communications spokesman for the national government in power. Minor revolutionary activity has broken out on both sides of the border of this and the Central regions. All noncombatant citizens are ordered to evacuate any outdoor areas and stay in their business, living or shopping quarters till the conflict has ended. Most of the rebels have been defeated, tried and executed, but hundreds more need to be caught and exterminated before the two regions can be considered safe from siege and slaughter and the country at large free from similar outbreaks and bloodshed.”

A second officer appears on the now split screen. He says the president and his military staff will give a report soon from their permanent underground building, and then gives specific instructions to people in this region. “Though there's little chance the hostilities will increase or spread, go to the bottom of whatever building you're in or nearest to. Lie flat with your body against a wall till the all-clear sirens are sounded. If the sirens aren't working, then the signals may also be heard on your radios and TVs. If the radio and TV stations aren't operating, the all-clear will be delivered over bullhorns by servicemen dispatched to all populated areas.”

A message “Go to your building's lowest floor” flashes on the screen till it's replaced by the title and credits of a film dramatization of what people should do from the time they learn of a local armed disturbance till the moment the all-clear signal is made. Actors, carrying portable televisions and supplies, take elevators and stairs to their building's basement, undo their top buttons, buckles, laces, ties and belts, and lie face-down on the floor with their hands behind their heads—”But as far away from any wall with a window in it,” one child actress stands up to demonstrate and say, “because of the danger of flying glass.”

“If this position becomes unendurable,” an actor says, “try mine as a substitute,” He removes his shoes, empties his pockets of eyeglasses and sharp objects such as pens and keys, crouches down on his shins, crosses his feet, sticks his head between his chest and forearms—”Which in this position should be as huddled up to your knees as you can get them.”

“Looks like we've again got no place to go down to,” the super says. “And seems you'll have to stick it out with us, Phil, unless you think you can make it to a hotel in time.”

“Nonsense,” Gerta says. “Mr. Devine will stay here and think of it as his home till the city's no longer threatened.”

We hear faint reports of what seem like distant explosions and buildings crumbling to the ground.

“There it is,” the super says. “You hear it once you never forget.

Oh how I'm reminded from the last time when just our simple brownstone went. Remember, Phil? There we were, Gerta—my first wife and I having ourselves a fine old supper, when all of a sudden—”

“I thought it was around lunchtime when you said the first rumblings came.”

“Then a fine old lunch, which in those days were as big as our suppers are today, when all of a sudden—but why don't I stand you both to another drink?”

“Might as well,” Gerta says. “Mr. Devine—the same?”

Should I run up and get Georgia and Jimmy? Warn them at least, because maybe their television's on the blink and for some reason they didn't hear those explosions and cave-ins before, if that's what those sounds were. I start for the door.

“You don't want to be leaving now,” Gerta says.

“If he thinks he's got some better place to go to, let him. He's experienced and of age.”

“But it can't be safe out there. In fact, it's—Mr. Devine, where, you going?”

Outside their apartment people are lying on the floor, pressed against the walls, most in either of the two positions suggested in that film: mothers and fathers lying on their younger children, the elderly and sick with their medicines close-by, piles of food and beverages in communal out-of-the-way corners and in unbreakable containers, several televisions on showing that army communications officer with the anchor persons of the country's leading network news shows.

“Because of the thousands of skeptical phone calls we've received regarding the authenticity of the government's reports,” the officer says, “I've asked these people to appear with me to verify that a revolution is indeed taking place.”

I ring for the elevator. But it'll be bouncing me back and forth between penthouses and basements if it does come, so I run up the service steps, race down the hallway. I search for my keys. Hang the keys, and I rap on the door and ring the bell. Georgia says through it “Who's there, please?” and then “You lose your keys a second time today, Phil? That's so unlike you—really so rare,” and she opens the door.

“Who's it, hon?” a man says from somewhere inside. “Who's here with you besides Jimmy?” I ask her. “Beg your pardon, sir?” an elderly woman says.

“Excuse me, Miss, I mean, Ma'am, but I took it on my own to hurry all the tenants to the shelter below. There's a good chance the entire city's going to be directly involved in the war.”

“No picnic—we heard,” a man says, coming to the door. “But at least they didn't throw the bull this time, which—bad as the situation is—is the way we like it. ‘All civilians,' this spokesman guy said, ‘must take every precaution against antigovernment attack and cooperate with the government in every possible way,' which is how it should've been worded in that last revolt here: full of facts and open and aboveboard.”

“Ready?” the woman says to him. They leave, carrying supplies and a cat in a carrier.

I enter the apartment. It's much different than the one we had on the third floor. Smaller rooms, many more home appliances, recessed spotlights in the ceilings and linoleum looking like parquetry on the living and dining room floors. From the windows the neighborhood seems calm: no moving vehicles, only a trio of singing drunks walking in the middle of the street, though a mile or so downtown I see lots of smoke and what looks like fire.

A television's on in the bedroom. The picture focuses in on the president sitting at a long table with about forty military men. “Once again,” he says.

I get a beer and sit in front of the set. I prefer their thick carpet to the single prayer rug we had in our room. The sounds of gunfire, explosions and buildings collapsing get louder. They can't be coming from the television, as what's on now is the president introducing his family to us from what he previously described as his noise-and bombproof bunker.

I go to the window. A few foot soldiers are shooting at some civilians in the street. The civilians, who first seemed unarmed, fire back. A tank moves into the street from the avenue and machineguns what I suppose are the revolutionaries. Though maybe the revolutionaries captured the tank and the people in civilian dress are government soldiers made up to look like ordinary pedestrians so they can get closer to the tank to retake it or blow it up. A woman climbs on top of the tank, shoves something through a turret slit and jumps off as the tank explodes. Six tanks enter the block single file. I look back at the television set and see the same scene I just saw happening on the street continue to happen on the screen. The woman and several other people run into an apartment house. The lead tank swivels around and moves after them. I think this must be live or taped coverage of the fighting on in another city or maybe in a section of this city that looks very much like this one, till I recognize the number of this building's awning and the nymph statue in the middle of the working fountain in front, which I was admiring from inside the lobby just before I rang the super's bell.

“Georgia,” I shout. “Regina. Hurry up, and bring the kids. There's the wildest television show on you've ever seen. It's a street battle. Our street. With the tank cannons pointed straight at our lobby doors. Either the government or the revolutionaries have a mobile camera team outside, showing one of the armies destroying its enemies right there live for us on our TV screen.”

“I'll be right there,” Georgia says.

“In a second, love,” Regina says. They all come into the bedroom. Georgia and Regina sit on opposite sides of me on the floor—Georgia, as she likes to do, with her arm around my waist and fingers tucked into my belt, Regina with her head on my lap. Jimmy and Rose sit in front of us holding up Laurel, who's too young to stand on her own yet.

“I don't like this program,” Jimmy says. “Too gory.”

“Neither do I,” I say and I reach over the heads of the children.

But the television's a remote control unit and I can't find the little command box to shut it off or lower the sound.

Goodbye,” and she goes. I stay there, holding the gift I was about to give her. Had told her I was giving her. This afternoon, on the phone. I said “I'd like to come over with something for you.” She said “How come?” I said “Your birthday.” She said “You know I don't like to be reminded of those, but come ahead if you want, around seven, okay?” I came. She answered the door. From the door I could see a man sitting on a couch in the living room. She said “Come in.” I came in, gave her my coat, had the gift in a shopping bag the woman's store had put it in. “I have a friend here, I hope you don't mind,” she said. “Me? Mind? Don't be silly—but how good a friend?” “My business,” she said, “do you mind?” “No, of course not, why should I? Because you're right, it is your business.” We went into the living room. The man got up. “Don't get up,” I said. “It's no bother,” he said. “How do you do? Mike Sliven,” and he stuck out his hand. “Jules Dorsey,” and I stuck out mine. “Like a drink, Jules?” she said, as we shook hands, and I said “Yes, what do you have?” “Beer, wine, a little brandy, but I'd like to save that if you don't mind.” “Why should I mind? Though something hard is what I think I'd like. Beer.” “Light or dark?” she said. “Whatever you have most of,” I said. “I have six-packs of both.” “Then…dark,” I said. “I feel like a dark. Suddenly I feel very dark. Only kidding, of course,” I said to Mike and then turned to her so she'd also see I was only kidding. She went to the kitchen. Mike said “Now I remember your name. Arlene's spoken of you.” “I'm sure she had only the very best things to say of me too.” “She did and she didn't,” he said, “but you're kidding again, no doubt,” “Oh, I'm kidding, all right, or maybe I'm not. Say, who the hell are you anyway and what the hell you doing here? I thought Arlene was still only seeing me,” and I grabbed him off the couch. He was much bigger than I, but didn't protest. “Where's your coat and hat?” I said and he said “I didn't come with a hat and my coat's over there, in the closet.” “Then we're going to get it and you're going to leave with it,” I clutched his elbow and started walking him to the closet. Arlene came into the living room and said “Jules, what are you doing? –and where are you going, Mike?” “I think out,” he said. “Out,” I said. “I came over to give you a gift and take you to dinner for your birthday and later to spend the night with you here or at my place or even at a great hotel if you wish, and goddamnit that's what I'm going to do,” “What is it with you, Jules?—I've never heard you talk like that before.” “Do you mind?” I said. “No, I kind of like it. And Mike. Are you going to leave when someone tells you to, just like that?” “I think I have to,” he said, “since if there's one thing I don't like to do in life it's to get into or even put up a fight, especially when I see there's no chance of winning it.” I opened the closet. He got his coat. I opened the front door and he left. I locked the door. Bolted it, just in case he already had the keys. Then I turned around. Arlene was standing in the living room holding my glass of beer. She came into the foyer with it. I didn't move, just let her come. “You still want this?” she said. “No, the cognac,” I said. “It's brandy but good imported brandy,” “Then the brandy,” I said. “How do you want it?” “With ice.” “Coming right up,” and she went back to the kitchen. I followed her. She was reaching for the brandy on a cupboard shelf above her, had her back to me. I got up behind her—she didn't seem to know I was there—put my arms around her, pressed into her. She turned her head around, kissed me. We kissed. I started to undress her right there.