Morgan Nyberg - Since Tomorrow

The girl took hold of Granville’s poncho and used it to pull herself up onto her knees. The hands and the nails were clean. There was a strong and beautiful smell of flowers. The pubescent breast was there like a moon in the half-dark. The nipple nudged the wool of Granville’s poncho as she tilted her head back and opened her mouth. She did not take her eyes from his. He could see the pink of her tongue. He held his finger down to her. She closed rough lips around it. He felt her tongue run over and over the tip of the finger.

She slid her lips down and off the finger. Then she turned and crawled back to the women. They made a space, and she curled on her side among them. While never looking away from the two men, the five women each laid a hand on the child.

Langley closed his hand around the bag and took it away from Granville with a small tug. He said “Ain’t she somethin’?”

Granville cleared his throat. “You can say that again. I mean….”

“So, you like my house?”

Granville nodded enthusiastically.

“Think you could live here?”

“Oh yeah. I could live here.”

“What Frost wouldn’t give to know the secrets of this building, eh, soldier?”

“That’s true too. I mean, what he wouldn’t give.”

“I’m sure he’d like to know where I keep the women. In case he wanted to try and get them out of here. I bet he’d like to know where my soldiers sleep too. In case he decided to attack. How much food we got. So’s he could decide to try and starve us out or not. Whether this place could burn. You think this place could burn, Planville?”

“It’s not made of wood. But Frost already knows that. So…. I mean….”

“There you go! More important information about Frost — Frost ain’t going to try and burn me out!” With his free hand he slapped Granville on the shoulder. Then he slid the skag back into his pocket. “But it’s plain as day that bitch ain’t good for nothin’.” He reached under his sweater and drew out a long hunting knife. “Only thing she’s good for is sending a message to Frost.”

The women all started whimpering, except for Snow, who lay quiet among them.

Langley pivoted the knife so that the handle was toward Granville. The handle was made of antler. One side of it was dark and rough, the other paler and smooth. Granville said “Go on, take it. I trust you. I trust all my soldiers.”

Granville put his hand behind his back.

Langley jabbed the handle toward Granville. “It’s sharp as a god damn razor. You know what a razor is? Just grab hold of her hair, and pull her head back, and one slice and it’s over. Hey, you all right, soldier? You look kind of white.”

Granville smiled weakly, gave a little groan. He did not move his hand toward the knife.

“It’s the air in here, ain’t it? It’s the smell comin’ off of that disgustin bunch. Or is it that smell comin’ off of Snow? It’s got your head spinnin’, ain’t it? It’s called perfume. Dior. Never mind, I don’t want no blood in here anyways. Which would smell even worse. You can take her outside and do it.” Langley stood there for a minute, holding the knife for Granville to take, looking straight into his eyes. Then he said “After breakfast.”

He winked and put the knife away under his sweater. “Come on.” He started toward the doorway and signalled with his head for Granville to follow. “I got a few things I want to show you before we eat. Things a new soldier ought to know. I want to show you where my soldiers sleep. I want to show you how much food we got. Some parts of this building would burn, did you know that? If someone shot a burnin’ arrow through a window? I’ll show you what I’m talkin’ about. There’s other ways to get out of this place too. Emergency exits they used to call them. In case any of us ever wants to make a quick escape. I’ll show you the roof too. It’s astoundin’ what a person can see from up there.”

“It was a bad idea. Bad idea” said Frost. He shook his head. He looked very tired.

“Maybe” said Daniel Charlie. “But it was his idea. Nobody forced him.”

Frost, Daniel Charlie and Wing stood in light rain at the cusp of Fundy’s Bridge. They had spears and bows. Wing’s men, Nordel, Bridgeport, Pender, Mitchell and Burnaby stood in a group nearby. Like Frost and Daniel Charlie and Wing they were looking northward, toward the big building near the foot of the bridge.

Wing said “He done somethin’ good. He can be proud of himself now. Not like before. Bad idea, good idea — it don’t matter.” From under his rabbit skin hat his fine white hair hung down to the soaked fabric of his red warm-up jacket.

Frost and Daniel Charlie turned and looked at him for a minute. Finding no rejoinder to his philosophy, they gave their attention again to the big building. Frost took off his glasses and slipped them into a pocket under his poncho. He raised the binoculars. “I can see into his windows from here. If it wasn’t dark inside I could see what they were doing.”

Daniel Charlie said “If we had any ham we could have ham and eggs if we had any eggs.”

Frost lowered the binoculars, said in a low and weary voice “Tell me that again in a few days. After we’re done with this business. If I’m still alive I’ll laugh.”

Wing scratched his chin. The wisp of white beard trembled.

Frost said “What?”

Wing said “I’m just thinkin’ — have I ever seen you laugh?”

Frost raised the binoculars again. He saw Langley and Granville on the roof. They were standing at the edge. He said “Can you see them?”

Daniel Charlie said “From here I can even tell the colour of Granville’s hair. What do you think’s goin’ on?”

Frost said nothing.

Langley stepped behind Granville. With his thumbs and index fingers he made circles around his eyes. He looked toward Frost and the others and held that pose for a few seconds. Then he spread his arms, raised a foot and rammed it into Granville’s back. Frost closed his eyes, but he heard Granville’s scream as he fell, sharp as a the cry of a gull.

It finished on a dark and windy afternoon of late winter.

Frost stood with Tyrell halfway down his bridge toward Town, looking through the binoculars and making low sounds of disgust and anger. He said “You still want to be a general?”

“The only thing I want to do is what you tell me to do.”

“You were never one for diplomacy. So I know you’re not lying.”

“What the hell is diplomacy?”

“Answered like a true general.” Frost looked down at Tyrell, who was more than a head shorter. Frost’s curly beard was matted and disordered. Wrinkles had grown deep on his forehead and around his blue eyes, into which pain was set finally like a lens of ice. And yet he smiled.

In what appeared to be a ceremonial gesture they slowly swept their bows aside. They embraced. Frost kissed Tyrell’s hair and let his cheek rest for a few seconds against the cropped grey curls. Then he stood back and slipped the binoculars from around his neck. “Here, General. Your work is cut out for you.”

But Tyrell shook his head. “Even with the one eye I got I can see what the cockroach is up to.”

At the bottom about fifty soldiers were arranged in rows across the full width of the bridge. In front of the soldiers stood a mass of emaciated men and women, naked or wrapped or partially wrapped in torn sheets of plastic. As if it were an aspect of the wind that was increasing as the day darkened, a general moaning rose from this crowd, punctuated by occasional braying cries. The addicts scuffled in place and moved their arms in cramped gesticulations of confusion and terror and turned again and again to look behind them, where the soldiers stood with crossbows raised.