Grey (22 page)

"So shy," said Mother, touching her shoulder gently. "Could you do me a favor and get my bag? It's on the door of my trailer. Hurry! I have something for my son."

Maricell's eyes lit as though happy to do something for me. She turned and ran off.

"We'll drink a toast," said Mason, raising his cane. "We'll drink a grand toast. We'll drink to rebirth! To reincarnation. To resurrection. We're all saved by our brother,
the golden dancer
." The way he said it, so large and dramatically, I imagined he wanted to put it on their sign.

"Who's your friend?" asked Mother.

I introduced Walter.

"Hello, Michael Rivers' mother," he said bowing and then glancing toward my Loop car as if afraid it had left.

"I'm so glad you came," she said, touching him on the cheek and making him flinch. "I'm glad my son has friends."

Walter giggled uncomfortably.

"Mother," I whispered, "I have something to tell you."

Maricell, the speaker-girl, returned. She was out of breath and her nostrils flared as she breathed in and out. The skin beneath her nose was scarred, and I wondered what sort of an accident it had been. Handing a ratskin purse to Mother, Maricell gazed at me and began singing again. The song was haunting and eerily familiar. And as she sang, she gazed at me with so much hope, I had to look away, pretend to scrape mud from my shoes, because I knew I was going soon and figured that would disappoint her terribly.

"These are my last three today," whispered Mother, as she rooted around in her bag. Meanwhile, others began singing with the speaker-girl. "I can get more. Don't worry. Does your friend need any?"

"No," I said.

Walter held out his hand. "Two for me, please!"

Mother eyed him and placed one in each of our palms. Walter tossed his into his mouth and crunched it with glee. I hid mine in a secret pocket inside my jacket.

A woman, with skin that looked like scrambled eggs, stepped toward me. She touched my face gently, and then ran away just as quickly.

"Ari," cried Mother. "Come and say hello." She stopped five feet away, but wouldn't return. "Don't mind them," said Mother. "They didn't believe that you'd come." Her eyes got watery. "I didn't even know if I really believed. But you're here! Sweet, Michael, you've found the truth."

"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. "The truth is, I have plans for tonight."

"We all have plans!" she said, as if this were what she had longed to hear. As tears began down her face, she said, "We can have our future together."

Behind, I saw several of them bringing out a long table and chairs as if we were going to have some sort of a feast right out in the open. Others brought trays of what looked like roasted rats piled on metal plates. Mason directed everyone with his cane.

Mother kissed me on the cheek. "You're home. I'm so glad you're with
your
family."

I owed it to her to tell her about my plans for the show, but the way she had stressed
your
and now gazed intently at me, I asked, "My family?"

Turning, she looked at the others, who were all laughing, joking, and smiling, I felt they might never have been happier. "Before you came along," she said, "your father had trouble producing healthy children. He had more than six thousand with all sorts of women. Most didn't survive." She hugged me to her. "You were the best and the prettiest boy," she continued. "Even so," she waved toward the others with her left hand, "you needed lots of pieces from your siblings."

They sat me in the middle of the worn wooden table as if I were the guest of honor. Above, they had strung dozens of leds that glowed like tiny red planets. The speaker-girl handed me a tall stemmed glass filled with a clear, yellowish drink.

"Corn wine," she said, her eyes filled with happy tears.

I put it to my lips but just pretended to drink as I watched them talk, laugh, and make a dozen hopeful toasts. "What do you mean
pieces?"

"To fix what was wrong. You were deformed, like the rest."

"From now on," announced Mason, who had climbed atop his chair, "we'll be allowed inside the families' cities. We'll put on shows for them." He spun his cane in his hand and laughed as though he were drunk. "We can raise our ticket prices a hundred times. We'll get new tents. Better trucks. And new costumes for everyone."

After she poured for the others, the speaker-girl sat across from me. While they drank and celebrated, she stared at me as if she couldn't believe I existed. The man with the enormous genitals pointed at her.

"Sing, Maricell! Sing for our brother!"

She stood and did so. For the longest time, I couldn't place the song, and then I knew. It was her version of
Adjoining Tissue
. Only her odd, beautiful, and sad voice made the song poignant and serene in a way it never was before.

"You got your mouth from her," said Mother.

"My mouth?" I asked, afraid what this meant.

"Yours was too disfigured," she whispered. "You didn't have a working jawbone so, the doctors used Maricell's. It was just the right size."

I stared at the scar just below her nose and wondered if Mother could be right. Touching my face, I traced my lower jaw though my flesh as though I could tell if it were mine or not.

The young man without arms, only fingers, suggested that he and I dance together in their show. "I have ideas for us!" he said, his eyes wild and joyful.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk about that, Rex," said Mother. Whispering, she told me, I had gotten my arms from him.

"No," I said.

"Yes, tour father wanted you to have good, strong arms. Yours were thin, your bones, brittle."

As others made toasts and praised my arrival, I reached inside my jacket, under my shirt, and touched my shoulder as if searching for a seam or scar. I wasn't sure if I believed Mother or not, but as I scanned the faces around me, I began to see similarities to Father and me. One had a mouth the shape of his. Another had his nose. The speaker-girl's eyes resembled mine.

At the far end of the table, the boy with the mechanical heart stood and made a toast. Before Mother leaned toward me, I knew.

"After my heart attack," I guessed.

She nodded.

I didn't want any of it to be true, but I couldn't disbelieve it away either. It explained the way I felt sometimes. When I woke from the coma after my aneurysm I sensed that I was different, that I shouldn't be alive. Maybe I should have died. And maybe that was why I quit dancing, because I knew something was wrong. And was this what I had wanted to know all along? "Why?" I asked her. "Why them and why me?"

"Your father, Hiro Bruce Rivers." She gazed into my eyes with a wisdom and tenor I had never seen from her before. "He wanted to have a beautiful son. He did everything he could to make you perfect." Scanning their faces, she concluded, "Your brothers and sisters and your half brothers and half sisters were your spare parts."

"
Spare parts?"

After a deep breath she said, "For years I've debated whether or not to tell you . . . whether it was fair or you were ready." She combed hair from my cheek and said, "I think you're ready now."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

Spinning her empty glass, she stared forward and said, "You should ask your father."

"You won't tell me?"

"It's really between you two." Frowning, she added, "I think that's best."

"Mother!" Her quiet resolve was more frustrating than her usual hysteria, but she was right. It was between Father and I. As I glanced around, I felt like I should thank them, or apologize, or better yet, somehow give all of their flesh and bones back. "What should I do?"

"Dance with us." Tilting her head to the left, she smiled and added, "Dance with Tanoshi No Wah."

I wished I hadn't asked. As responsible as I felt, I didn't want to dance—I had vowed not to ever again. Besides, I didn't fit in here. Not that I wasn't obviously a freak in my own right, but I was a city boy. A family boy. I should be with Nora, drinking cream coffees, appreciating silences and colorless interiors.

Of course, I wasn't going to be that either. I was going to destroy Father and myself. Then again, maybe that would be my brothers and sisters' salvation: once RiverGroup, Father, and I were gone, none of them would be used again.

Looking Mother in the eye, I said, "I can't."

"You don't have to dance," she replied. "There are other possibilities. We're just glad that you found us and that you're here."

"I can't stay. I'm sorry, but I can't help. I have to destroy Father. I'm going to kill him, end RiverGroup, and save Nora." Now I expected Mother to have one of her fits. Instead, she gazed at me solemnly. "Because he is going to kill her," I explained. "There's no other way to stop him."

Her expression darkened. She bit her bottom lip and fixed her eyes on her empty glass. She said, "Not good," so quietly, it made me feel terrible.

"I know, but Tanoshi No Wah will be free," I said. "When Father and RiverGroup are gone, they won't be used anymore. That will be good, won't it?"

She touched her muddy hair, but still didn't look at me. "I don't think I told you, but I thought you would be a poet someday. I always hoped for a gentle and quiet life for you. Maybe because I knew it never would be." Smiling sadly, she shook her head once. "I didn't expect you to even visit me out here."

"Mother," I said, annoyed that she was now trying to guilt me. "I have to protect Nora. I love her. It's the only way."

She gazed at the others, the way a mother does, admiring not just the faces, but the spirits and souls.

I shouldn't have stopped, I told myself. Now, I felt hopeless and culpable. But what could I do? Staying was impossible, and I couldn't fathom anything else.

A voice in the distance screamed,
"Satins!"
Everyone at the table stood and started running as if for their lives. Several bumped into each other. The genitals-man fell to the ground.

"We must hide you," said Mother. "Wait here!" With that she dashed toward one of the metal trailers.

"Mother!" I cried. "What's wrong?" In the confusion and noise, she didn't hear. Maricell stopped before me. Her eyes were big and fearful. "You should go," she said in that buzzing voice of hers. Turning, she sprinted toward the tent as quickly as a fawn.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Walter. "We had better go," he said.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know, but you shouldn't be here in the slubs." Turning, he started toward my car half-skipping, half-running. "Come on!" he said.

I didn't know where Mother had gone. Everyone else was in a mad dash back and forth, as if they didn't know what to do.

Maybe Walter was right. I had the aru and I needed to get it to Joelene as soon as I could. Besides, my nitrocellulose suit would be arriving soon and I had my plans. I started after him. As we neared my car, the side door slid open. Walter tried to leap up into the opening, but only managed to get his torso into the car. His legs dangled over the edge. Once I shoved him in, I grabbed the side and swung myself up.

"RiverGroup compound," I said to the driver on the intercom.

Walter got himself seated. The side door slid closed. "What's going on?" she asked, as we began to taxi back to the road.

"I don't know," I said, as I fumbled with the safety belt.

The car slipped in the mud, for a moment, then we made a sharp turn onto the road.

"Look it!" said Walter.

Three very tall men, with crooked faces and beady eyes, were wearing shiny gold, military-cut uniforms. They stood beside the table where we had just sat. One of them, with heavy boots, knocked over the table with one tremendous kick. Trays of roasted rat and bottles of corn wine flew into the air and landed in the mud.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"They're terrible," was all Walter said.

One of the golden satins chased after the genitals-man. The satin produced a black stick, pointed it at him, and a bolt of lightening shot from the end. The genitals-man flopped forward into the mud as if dead. The speaker-girl dashed toward the satin and pounded him on his lower back with her little fists. The giant turned around, and using the electronic stick as a club, whacked her across the head. She fell sideways and lay still.

"No!"
I screamed as I tore off my seat belt. We were just taxiing past the tent, with the motors still revving, when I pressed the intercom. "Stop the car! Open the door!"

"No!" said Walter. "We have to go. They'll kill us! They don't care."

The car stopped and the side door slid open. When I started for it, Walter grasped my jacket. "Don't!" he said. "They're giants. They have killer sticks. They don't care who you are."

I tore myself from his grip.

"No!"
he screamed, as I jumped.

I landed in a slick spot and fell onto my face. Pushing myself up, I began running toward the satin who had killed the speaker-girl. "Son of a bitch!" I yelled.

The seven-foot-tall satin turned to me. Its skin was pallid, its eyes, light green. The long pointed nose hooked over the lips like a beak. He bared his yellow teeth, as if he relished an attack.

As I ran, I knew this was suicide. I wasn't going to help Joelene, kill Father, destroy RiverGroup, and protect Nora. I was going to be killed in the slubs for the death of my half sister. It was all wrong, but I couldn't and didn't want to stop. "You're dead!" I said, although I couldn't imagine how I could even hurt the thing.

As I landed a punch on its stomach, he grasped my head, as one might an orange, and lifted me off the ground. My face and ears were crushed under his thick, ironlike fingers. My neck felt like it might break and let my body fall.

"Let go!" I swung my fists as hard as I could at the arm that held me, but my blows slipped off the slick fabric like drops of rain.

Pointing the electric rod at my chest, he said, "You die." A loud crack and a white explosion came from the end of the stick.

The ground came up, crashed into my legs. I fell forward. The last thing I knew was the stench of burnt hair, and then I disappeared.