Marek Huberath - Nest of Worlds

“Screw them both,” muttered Zef. “Both at the same time…”

Silence.

“And you, Dave, is your Name by any chance Aeriel ?” Zef asked unexpectedly.

Gavein started. “That’s right,” he said.

“And how long were you at the altitude of seconds?”

“The pilot told us it was about twenty-seven hours.”

“You should get yourself checked, man, for leukemia.”

It was obvious now to Gavein why he had seen so many more planes at high altitude than low. They were simply packed together, like photons arriving from the stars.

Leo returned late, alone, and said that Gwenda and Haifan were watching over their burnt child. Tad had been detained by the police.

Pale and disheveled after a sleepless night, Haifan came home on the first morning bus. Aladar had died at sunrise, not regaining consciousness. Gwenda, her nerves shattered, had been admitted to the women’s section of the same hospital.

The mood was funereal. Gavein showed up to eat his macaroni and pizza and immediately left. He preferred to lie on his mattress or on the rug and stare at the ceiling, at a wall, at the telephone that was silent, not clattering once.

He went to see the movie starring Maslynnaya and Lola Low, because that was the only one playing in the neighborhood theaters. Zef was right: both actresses were well endowed. But it was boring: there was nothing to the story.

It’s the same here, no better, he thought sourly. Just as in Lavath, the films are given moronic plots. He had already come to this conclusion about the television fare.

While Gavein was in the theater, Hilgret received a fatal electric shock ironing clothes. She fell unconscious, the cord caught around her, and the current kept passing through her body. The rug caught fire from the iron. Edda returned in time to extinguish the flames but too late to save Hilgret.

When Gavein got back, the body had already been taken to the morgue. There was only a burnt hole in the rug.

“It’s stalking us,” said Edda, becoming hysterical. It lurks out there, waiting for the next victim… This, it’s only the beginning.”

“You’re right, Edda,” said Haifan. He had aged overnight. “Sometimes, for years at a time, nothing happens. Peace and contentment. Then suddenly, for no reason, everything is turned upside down, day after day. Our life goes slowly, then it races.”

Like the passage of time itself, Gavein thought. A plane ascends. The pilot thinks he is flying normally, but to the people on the ground he is almost motionless.

The next day, Hanning called to say that Mrs. Dave Throzz could be picked up now, at Port 0-2. He tried to be polite, even correcting himself: “Mrs. Magdalena Throzz.” The port was at the northern end of 2000th Street. Depending on the weather, it was a drive of from fifteen to twenty-five hours.

Gavein made a reservation for a microbus, since he hadn’t bought a car yet. The bus cost him twenty packets.

The weather wasn’t that bad, but the ride took twenty-six hours, because other passengers got on or got off en route. It was cheaper this way. Gavein could sleep under any conditions, and whenever he was the only passenger, he stretched out comfortably on a seat.

There were two drivers. Goft (from Gozzafath) had a puffy face and bags under his eyes. He said he was switching to another line of work soon. The second driver, Pat, was as old as Goft, gaunt, toothless, with sunken cheeks and gray skin. On the fingers of his right hand, he had tobacco stains, but he never smoked while he drove. He talked a lot, with a lisp. He talked about his wife and four children, two of whom had light hair, though the parents were both grays. Pat couldn’t get over that misfortune, because those two were his most capable offspring. They had no chance to get a higher education, being whites. The other two were studying engineering. When Pat talked, he leaned toward you, and his breath was fetid. Gavein twisted away from the smell. He found that if he pressed back, deep into his seat, Pat couldn’t follow, restrained by the safety belt. It was even better when Pat drove.

The 0-2 seaport turned out to be an enormous structure with a blank wall of red brick several kilometers long. At the base of the wall was a row of numbered doors. Inside the building went an endless hall, filled with glassed-in cubicles for officials, dozens of rope barriers, kiosks, and little shops.

Limping, Gavein picked his way through the crowds of travelers and waiting families. His feet hurt from being immobile so long. After twenty minutes, he found the right section. The secretary was a red.

That’s all they hire, he thought. But he was wrong: the red woman directed him to the correct person, a black woman. He went with her to the room where they kept the catalogues.

“The file should be here.” She put on her glasses to read the labels on the metal cabinets along the wall. In glasses she looked prettier—more intelligent.

She should keep them on her nose all the time, not in the pocket of her uniform, he thought.

She searched for the right file.

“Here’s transport number 077-12-11-4,” she said. “Hmm. Ah? Four years of compensation.” She looked at him over the paper. “You’re going to be surprised.”

“Something happened?”

“No, but the years go by. She has definitely changed. She might have forgotten you.”

“That’ll be my problem. I’d like to see her, as soon as I can.”

The official nodded: she understood. “Dave, you can call me Anabel, all right?” she said. “I don’t see her name in the register. Ra Mahleiné…?”

“Yes.”

“No one here by that name. There’s no Throzz either.” She went through a sheaf of papers carefully. “No, she’s not here.”

“What does that mean?”

“Dave, there’s another list. Though 324 women embarked, only 238 arrived. They had an epidemic on board.”

He said nothing for a moment. At last he managed to speak. “I won’t believe that until I see the body.” His throat was so tight, he could hardly get the words out.

The official was watching him.

He said, louder, “By law, the bodies must be frozen. But surely a list of the dead exists.” Anything was better than the uncertainty.

“Absolutely. The name will be on one list or another,” she agreed. She went through more papers. “Not here either,” she said after a while. “No Ra Mahleiné, no Mahleiné, no one by the name of Throzz. Perhaps there was some mistake.” She shrugged.

“I’m not leaving until I find out. But… that means, doesn’t it, she may still be alive.”

“Did she leave before or after your flight?”

He understood what she was suggesting: Ra Mahleiné might have changed her mind at the last minute. He had trusted his wife completely, not once considering the possibility that she would find someone else. The worm of doubt was planted in Gavein’s head—that was what the black official intended, this woman with wire glasses and the uniform of the maritime transport service.

“She left three weeks after I did,” he said. The worm was feasting, growing fat. “I won’t go until I’ve seen everyone who arrived,” he said, stressing each word.

“Listen, Dave. They’re in quarantine now. Longer than usual because of the epidemic on board. If she’s here, you’ll find her. Why don’t you come again, when the quarantine is lifted?” But she stopped, seeing the stony look in Gavein’s eye.

“I’ll wait here. Until this is resolved. I’ll sleep—” He pointed at the floor, which was covered with a thin carpet. It was not much worse than the rug in his room, which he had slept on several times.

“If it’s that important to you. But this will take a while.”