Susan Pfeffer - This World We Live In

“Sure,” Alex said. I get the feeling chopping wood is one thing he isn’t going to miss at the monastery.

We walked back to the houses and got our bikes. It was as warm a day as I could remember, almost muggy, and we biked slowly.

“No country this time,” I said. “Let’s do Fresh Meadows instead.”

“All right,” Alex said.

Well, that was easy. Maybe he was in an agreeable mood. Or maybe he didn’t like looking at half-eaten bodies any more than I did.

When I was a kid, I used to fantasize about living in Fresh Meadows. It’s at the other end of town from us, five or six miles away, and it’s where the doctors and lawyers live. Or lived before everything happened.

“These are nice houses,” Alex said as we climbed our way through an already shattered window. “The rich kids lived here, huh?”

“No one was rich in Howell,” I said. “But the richer kids lived here.”

“I like your house better,” Alex said. “It reminds me of home. All the people stepping over each other. We were pretty crowded.”

I pictured Alex and Julie and Carlos living in a filthy tenement, with everybody yelling in Spanish and hitting each other. “Where was that?” I asked.

“West End Avenue and Eighty-eighth Street,” Alex said.

There went my tenement fantasy. Actually, there went most of my ideas about Alex and Julie and where they came from. It costs a lot more money to live on West End Avenue and Eighty-eighth Street than it does to live in Fresh Meadows.

I guess Alex sensed my surprise. “My father was the super,” he said. “Not much salary, but they let us live in the basement apartment, by the laundry room and the furnace.”

“Oh,” I said. “No wonder our house reminds you of home.”

Alex laughed. “It’s better than I made it sound,” he said. “It was a nice apartment. But crowded and noisy.”

We walked through the house together, taking whatever pickings we could find. I taught Alex the cosmetic bag trick, and he admired the travel-sized shampoos and soaps. We went through three houses that way, all of them previously ransacked, probably more than once. But each had a little something we could use, and we both enjoyed the quiet and the nice furnishings.

“No food today,” I said. “No misers in this neighborhood.”

“No,” Alex said. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Are there special places for rich people, do you think?” I asked. “Did you ever see any?”

“There are safe towns,” Alex said. “But they’re hidden. Even Carlos couldn’t find one.”

Syl had mentioned trucks going to safe towns. Truckers must know where they were located even if the Marines didn’t.

“We’re safe enough where we are,” I said. “We have food and shelter. Julie would be safe, too, if you let her stay with us.”

“No,” Alex said. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“But why?” I cried. “Charlie’s staying. He’s no more a part of the family than you are.”

“Did you hear yourself?” Alex asked. “That’s exactly why Julie has to go. No matter how much you say you love her, she isn’t a part of your family. She’s Carlos’s sister and mine, not yours.”

“Carlos isn’t here,” I said. “We are. You could be, too. You could both stay with us.”

“No,” Alex said. “Carlos told us what we should do, and we’re doing it.”

“You really will make a great monk,” I said. “You have the obedience thing down pat.”

“I have no idea what kind of monk I’ll be,” Alex said. “Or even if the order will take me in.”

“Wait a second,” I said. “You’re dumping Julie with some nuns and then you’re going to Ohio on the off chance you can become a monk? Are you serious?”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Alex said. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “Maybe I don’t understand, but you didn’t know if I would. You may know Latin and calculus and how to hot-wire a car, but you don’t know anything about me. I don’t think you know anything about anybody except yourself.”

Alex looked around at what had once been a very nice living room, now covered with ash and broken glass. “I’ll tell you what I know,” he said. “Everywhere there’s death. You think that pile of bodies was the worst thing I’ve ever seen? Or the corpse with the dog beside it? That was nothing. Every day for a year I’ve seen worse. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why God lets me live when so many people have died horrible, lonely deaths. People better than I’ll ever be. For a long time I thought I was alive to protect Julie, but every plan I’ve made for her failed. Now I’m trusting in Carlos’s decision. And if God shows us mercy and gives Julie the protection I can’t, I’ll go to Ohio and beg the Franciscans to take me in and devote the rest of my life to serving Christ and my church. That’s everything I know, Miranda. Everything.”

He was crying. For days I hadn’t known he could smile, and now I found he could cry.

“Stay until Tuesday,” I said. “Go into town and get the food. Do that for Dad and Lisa, all right?”

He took a deep breath and wiped the tears off his cheeks. “Tuesday,” he said. “What’s today?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, but then I counted back to last Monday. That’s how we tell time: Monday to Monday. “It’s Thursday,” I said. “That’s just a long weekend.”

“All right,” he said. “We’ll leave on Tuesday. No more arguments.”

“None,” I said, but I felt a glimmer of hope.

Maybe Alex really does listen to me.

I opened one of the cans of dog food and put some in Horton’s bowl. When I checked this evening, he hadn’t touched it.

A couple of days ago Jon asked permission to give Horton a little bit of the shad. We have so much food in the house, Mom agreed, but Horton ended up not eating it.

He’s gotten so thin. He seems comfortable, and he can get up and down furniture and laps. Sure, he mostly sleeps, but he always sleeps a lot.

I’d hoped when everybody left, especially Gabriel, Horton would start eating again. I know he was eating a little before they came, because I fed him when Jon was away.

When Julie was in the house, Jon was distracted, and even now he’s spending most of his free time with her, either here or at Mrs. Nesbitt’s. But she’ll be gone in a couple of days, unless Alex changes his mind, and then Jon is going to have to face what’s going on with Horton.

If he can. If any of us can.

Charlie popped in, just like a neighbor might, to invite us over for Sunday prayer service, followed by dinner.

Syl said yes right away and Matt nodded. Jon said he would if he could pray with Alex and Julie, and Charlie said of course, they were hoping Jon would join them.

That left Mom and me. I said yes, more for the dinner than the prayers. Mom thought about it and said she didn’t have that many chances to be alone and whenever one came along, she grabbed it, so she’d stay home.

“You could come just for the dinner,” Charlie said. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Mom said, which we all knew meant “no, thank you.”

We’re in and out of both houses all day long. Julie comes over every morning for lessons with Jon, and more often than not, Jon eats supper at Dad’s. Syl goes over for Bible study. Mom sends me over with something for them, or Alex comes over with something for us, and Charlie and Mom have formed their own book club. One of them reads a mystery, then gives it to the other, and then they discuss it.

But Charlie always comes over here to see Mom. Mom never goes there. I can’t decide if it’s because she doesn’t want to see Mrs. Nesbitt’s house filled with other people or if it’s Dad and Lisa she’s avoiding. Maybe she thinks they want to avoid her. It can’t be easy for Mom having them so close by, but she might think it’s just as hard for them having her so near.