Kim Robinson - New York 2140

Franklin shook his head. “Remarkable. And you, Stefan?”

“I am Stefan Melville de Madison.”

“You’re wards of the building. Or maybe Lame Ass. Charlotte made that your legal status. So if you want to go out, at least take that wristpad.”

“All right already,” Stefan conceded. “We can always zap it later,” he explained to Roberto, forestalling Roberto’s expostulations.

“For now, I’ll go out with them,” Mr. Hexter said. “We’re going to go out and see how things are looking since the storm.”

“We’re going to go muskrat hunting!”

Franklin nodded at this. “Good. Mr. Hexter will be your electronic bracelet.”

“I am indeed powerfully attached to my friends,” the old man said, shaking his head as if it were a bad habit.

“Besides, what about our gold,” Roberto demanded. “Here you are trying to lock us down and you’re keeping our own gold away from us.”

“No no,” Franklin said. “Your gold is yours. What’s left of it anyway. We’ve got it in Vlade’s safe so you don’t make a big necklace out of it and then go swimming while you’re wearing it. It’s doing fine. More than fine. You know that. The Indian central bank loves you. And I used some of what they paid you to short housing, so now you are rich. By the time I’m done you’ll be about fifty times richer than you were with the gold. The only remaining question is whether anyone will be left standing to pay you.”

“Cool.”

“I want a gold doubloon to pierce and put around my neck on a necklace.”

“I think they’re guineas, and haven’t you heard those stories of guys getting beheaded by thieves going after their gold necklaces?”

“No.” The boys looked a little thoughtful at this. “Does that really happen?”

“Sure, this is New York, remember?”

“Okay, well, I still want one of the coins, for in my pocket.”

“That seems fair. As long as you’re wristpadded, so we can recover your body.”

“Deal.”

Then it was back to singing a b c d e f g, h i j k et cetera. At this point they sang it whenever they wanted to drive Mr. Hexter to something more interesting than reading.

Today, with Franklin Garr off to join the Cloisterclusterfuck, as he called it, they used the song to convince Mr. H to agree to a cruise around the city.

Their boat was no worse for wear, and they puttered about the canals of the neighborhood checking things out. The hurricane had ripped off all the leaves, so the terraces and rooftops looked bare, and many a canal was still clogged with debris. But they were able to get through most of them, and city crews were out in force working on the cleanup. There was a dank vegetable jungly smell in the air, and many people on the water were wearing white face masks. Mr. Hexter snorted at this. “Little do they know they’re depriving themselves of needed nutrients and helpful microbiome teammates.”

They found that the most common arboreal survivors of the wind’s onslaught had been potted trees, which had presumably been knocked on their sides and remained prone through the storm, and now only had to be lifted upright to restore some green to the scene. They looked battered but unbowed; they were like the city itself, Mr. Hexter declared.

Up in the intertidal things were truly squalid. Around Fiftieth the high water mark of the storm surge was obvious, an irregular wall of junk steaming in the criminal humidity. Mr. Hexter said it looked like the barricades of Les Miserables: windows intact in their frames, shutters, chairs, boat hulls, trash cans, pallets, boxes, cans, and many branches, or even trees entire, roots and all. This long barrier reef complicated getting from lower Manhattan onto dry land, and it was interesting to see the city workers concentrate on certain avenue canals to establish functioning floater docks: Tenth, Sixth, Fifth, Lex.

Everywhere people were out and about, either looking for things or just living their summer lives. Refugee residents, hanging out all ragged. It was like everyone had been turned into Huck and Pap, or like the whole city had turned into the Street of Fundy on a fast ebb.

“Why didn’t they take over the uptown towers?” Stefan asked the old man.

“They tried and it didn’t work.”

“So what?” Roberto said. “That was only one night! What if they kept trying every day?”

“It doesn’t occur to them.”

“Why not?”

“They call it hegemony.”

“Not another word!”

Hexter laughed at that. “Yes another word. The war of words! Greek in this case, I think.”

“Hedge money? Like Franklin Garr?”

“No, he- ge -mony. Means, hmm… means the agreement of people to being dominated, without guns having to be pointed in your face all the time. Even if you’re treated badly. You just go along with it.”

“But that’s stupid.”

“Well, we’re social animals, I guess you’d have to say.”

“So we’re all stupid, you’re saying. We’re like—”

“We’re like zombies!”

Hexter laughed. “That’s how I always used to think of it. Did you ever see Vampires Versus Zombies ? No, you didn’t. A very great movie. The vampires fly around sucking the blood of working people. That’s the best blood to suck. When the workers are drained they turn into zombies, so the vampires fly somewhere else and drop in on a new population, leaving behind the zombies, who stagger around dead at that point.”

“So that would be their he-ge-mony,” Roberto said carefully.

“You are so good. So yeah, more and more people get their blood sucked and turn into zombies, and then when they’re almost all zombies—”

“All but one!”

“All but two.”

“Right, you two. But then the zombies decide it’s time to revolt.”

“About time!”

“Better late than never.”

“Exactly. So the zombies all slouch off toward the vampire castle, determined to invade. But they’re very slow. At first the vampires just laugh. But there’s no new blood for them to suck either, so the vampires are slowing down too. Eventually the whole movie is in slow motion, it’s hilarious. The zombies keep falling apart when they hit somebody, and the vampires can only bite. They’re pretty weak on both sides. As usual the scene goes on too long. But finally the zombies just kind of crush the vampires under the weight of their detached limbs. The end.”

“I want to see that.”

“Me too!”

“Me too,” Hexter said.

As they motored about they kept an eye peeled for wildlife, muskrats in particular, but anything would do. Hexter said, “The Indians figured that bears were the big brothers of beavers, and beavers were the big brothers of muskrats. The bigger ones protected the littler ones, I guess. Or the bigger ones never ate the littler ones.”

“What about otters?”

“Oh no, otters are vicious killers. Playful but vicious.”

“It’s hard to understand how they could kill anything, their mouths are so small.”

“It’s a matter of attitude, I guess. Hey look, there’s a nest up on that cornice. Peregrine falcon, it looks like. They’re so cool.”

“They drop like rocks!”

“Like arrows shot down. I know. So, this is as close to a swamp as we’ve got now, this part of the intertidal at Fifty-fifth and Madison. That’s because it was a swamp, back before the city was here. This was the Kill of Schepmoes, I think. I call it the Two Stooges Swamp. Now it’s kind of come back. You see those willows and alders growing right out of the ground. And the old spring is back to springing.”