Aleksandar Hemon - The Making of Zombie Wars

“Teacher Josh, don’t be afraid. I will not have tell to your girlfriend. I understand.”

“Thank you,” Joshua said. He waited for her to say something else, to blame him or to shrug this whole thing off as merely sex. But she put her high-heel shoes on and thus fully resumed the shape he’d known from the classroom. There was no noise downstairs and a bubble of hope floated to the surface of the present: what if Stagger was gone, from his apartment, from this building, from Joshua’s life?

“Do you know my last name?” Ana asked.

“Of course I do. You’re in my class,” Joshua said. “It’s difficult to pronounce, though.”

“But that’s from my husband. Do you know my real last name?”

“No,” Joshua said. It had never occurred to him that she’d had a life before what she was now.

“It is Osim,” she said. “It means: ‘except.’”

“Except?”

“Yes. Like, everybody except me. Svi osim mene. ”

She bent over to kiss him on the forehead. “I will not go to your class no more. By the time you forget Ana Osim, you will have had good life. With everybody except me.”

She walked out without looking back and closed the door. It surprised him that he felt no regret, no loss. The stasis was instantly restored, even with Joshua there, the ceiling fan perfectly motionless. The hook was still there, but he was now relaxed. He picked up a pair of clean underwear from the floor and put it on. My soul, return to your resting place, because the Lord has rewarded you.

* * *

The moment he stepped off the last creaking step, before he could even touch the front lock, Stagger’s door opened. This time, Stagger donned an untied bathrobe, tiny spectacles on the bridge of his nose, as if he’d just been reading small-print poetry. In his hand, however, there was a long samurai sword. There were shards on the floor as far as Joshua could see inside his apartment. He glanced at Stagger’s feet expecting them to be shredded, but he wore a pair of frog-green Crocs.

“How was it?” Stagger asked.

“How was what?”

“Rolling in the hay with Ana. How was it? Good? Sounds like you’ve got some techniques, Jonjo.”

“None of your business.”

Stagger poked Joshua’s duffel bag with the tip of the sword, as if to inspect it. Joshua pressed his back against the wall, closely monitoring the sword, now between the door and him. Strangely, he was not afraid — he was, rather, going through the habitual motions of fear, as if he had yet to learn to live without it.

“It has to be my business, because you were banging away up there,” Stagger said. “All I was trying to do in my humble corner was enjoy some relaxing music.”

He casually leaned on the sword like Fred Astaire on a cane.

“You let her up there. You let her into my place without my permission. That was none of your business.”

“I was just being your friend, Jonjo! I’m the kind of guy who’d do anything for his buddies.”

“Could you put that sword away, please?” Joshua asked. “It looks ridiculous.”

Stagger looked at the sword in his hand as if he’d just discovered it was there and liked it too.

“Would you like to step in?” Stagger said. “Hang out?”

“You’re a fucking freak, Stagger! I need to go now.”

“I’m a freak? Look who’s talking! Don’t you have a girlfriend? One Kimiko Motherfucking Home? Would she be familiar with your techniques?”

Stagger now started throwing the sword up and then catching it by the blade. Joshua foresaw his hand being cut, but evidently Stagger had practiced, making a face as if to say: “How about this?”

“I’m moving out,” Joshua said.

“When?”

“This instant.”

“Your lease is not up yet.”

“I don’t care. I’m out.”

“I’m gonna have to keep the deposit.”

“Keep the damn deposit. In fact, keep all of my stuff. I’ll just send someone for the books.”

“Come on, Jonjo,” Stagger said, still holding the sword by the blade. “I like having you around.”

“I’m out. It was fun while it lasted.”

Stagger squeezed the blade and a trickle of blood spread along it.

“Maybe you want to keep a place for screwing your lady friend on the sly? I’ll lower the rent. You can tell Kimiko you moved out. It could be your love den. How about that?”

“It’s over, Stagger,” Joshua said and pushed past him to open the door.

“Let’s just have some beer and discuss it like men!” Stagger said. He followed Joshua onto the porch and then down the steps. “Hey! Jonjo! Don’t go! I’m your buddy!”

* * *

All across the wide world, spring was landing on its fairy feet. Everywhere, trees were budding and coming into leaves, ground thawing and earthworms stirring, dog shit defrosting and releasing the pungent stink that brought back memories of springs past. There was a whiff of awakening even in Chicago, where the April thaw was forever behind schedule, where the relentless winter made everything more sharp-edge real. All the living things on Magnolia — trees, squirrels, people — seemed to be involved in some secret chatter, readying themselves for the demands of rebirth. This is the gate to the Lord, the righteous shall walk through.

Once he’d stepped out of the gloom of the Stagger palace, Joshua felt his chest fill up with new air. Exhaling, he felt no guilt. None. He’d just cheated on his girlfriend, soon to be an official live-in one, for the first time ever; he went beyond his cowardice and crossed the line into a different Joshualand. And many years from now, after the evil cell had perhaps evolved into a mature goyter , he would have no regrets about missed chances. Feeling no remorse was a new and powerful sensation: the frigid snap in his lungs, the tingling fingertips on the duffel bag handle, the vapor of his own breath washing over his face. This was real, this Joshua in this aftermath, for whose actualization sex was just a prompt. It was like finding a new, big room in the overfurnished house of his self. This was freedom. The Lord provides food to all flesh, because His kindness is without end.

Buses stopped at stop signs; birds flew overhead without falling down; clouds floated like meringue zeppelins; sirens wailed; people moved on the outskirts of his life as mindlessly and reliably as movie extras. Leave when at the top, Michael Jordan taught us, retire while winning. Joshua had an urge to call Bernie to talk man to man, or even Bega, to brag, to assert himself. And what about me? Am I not entitled to this presence in the world, to myself as I am? May the conqueror conquer if capable of conquest. This was, he understood, why men cheat, why all mankind are liars — the power of acting without regret, the destruction of remorse. It wasn’t the sex: it was the freedom to take or do what you want. The presence of death, the gaping void, afforded entitlement. This was what wars were for.

Ana was gone, leaving no traces or demands. He went in, he went out, no harm done. And there was more: he was now someone with secrets, someone simultaneously operating in the inner and the outer world, like an actor or a spy. He was now possessed of shamelessness, like Ulysses responding “Nobody” to a Cyclops asking for his name. He acquired the unknowable, variable depths; he could be anyone he wanted to be, and if he didn’t like who he became, he could switch again, going in, going out. And who the fuck are you? he wanted to ask the random passersby. Who the fuck do you think you are? You are nothing but your lousy self! He walked up Magnolia with a determination he anticipated would look sexy to Kimmy. Tonight might be her turn to be handcuffed and beg a little. Oh, Jo! she’d say. Jo’s gone, baby, he’d say: I’m Levin. Joshua Levin.