Lydia Millet - Ghost Lights

He sat down on a deep window ledge, feet planted far apart on the sidewalk, and raised his face to the sky. He took a deep breath and then looked level again, gazed in front of him. A car or two passed. Across the street there was a store that seemed to sell things made of ugly plastic. The objects festooned the windows brightly but their nature was unclear. . he had always thought of himself as competent, but then he came down here and had to do everything through proxies — all he did was delegate tasks to those who were more qualified. His own qualifications, it turned out, were limited to Service business. He had no qualifications outside those narrow parameters.

And yet back home, day in, day out, he walked around like a competent man.

That was what his country did for people like him. It specialized them. They knew how to live, day in, day out, in one highly specific undertaking. They thrived in their tunnels, however narrow. Manual laborers knew more. Manual laborers, many of them, could perform myriad tasks if called upon to do so, but white collars like himself knew only one thing.

He was a surplus human, a product of a swollen civilization. He was a widget among men.

When civilization fell and government went with it, his people would die off, replaced by bricklayers, plumbers and mechanics — replaced by farmers, weavers, and electricians who could forage through the ruins for generators and fuse boxes and wire. There would be no more use for his kind.

Could he adapt, given time? Possibly. Although with some difficulty. His former mantle of confidence would fall away; losing authority, he would become a kind of beggar. He and the bohemians. Clearly they were even more useless than he was. This was why, no doubt, he partly identified with them. The presence of other broadly useless humans offered a certain comfort. . more comfort even than Gretel, in fact, who had been so kind to him, because the young and beautiful were in their own privileged category. They would always be needed, or wanted, at least. The young and beautiful were an end in themselves. Even in the postscript to civilization, the young and beautiful would seldom be forced to beg. Plus they were good breeding stock.

In any case civilization was not quite falling at the moment. It was on its way down, collapsing in slow motion, but it had some good years left in it yet. Chances were he would continue to be what he was, live out his life as a widget, and never be called upon to learn to, say, butcher a calf.

There was Brady, coming out the front door. He nodded briskly at Hal, shook a cigarette out of a packet and lit it.

Brady, too, was a human widget.

“My prediction,” said Brady, after a first inhale, “is they keep him in overnight. Maybe one more night for good measure. I don’t think we’re looking at a serious situation.”

“Jesus,” said Hal. “That’s great to hear.”

He didn’t quite trust Brady. Brady was not smart enough, he suspected. But still it offered some relief.

“Can I talk to him by myself? Or do the cops always have to be there?”

“Give ’em another five minutes,” said Brady. “You should be able to get some face time then.”

•

Bail was not an option, apparently. T. had not been arrested, he told Hal, sitting in the interview room again with the door wide open. He was being detained, but no charges had been brought. He was staying on a voluntary basis, until they were satisfied he was not a flight risk.

“As a courtesy,” he explained.

“You’re staying in prison as a courtesy? Why be courteous? I don’t get it. They have no right to keep you.”

“It’s all right, Hal,” said T. calmly. “Really. They’re doing a search for the body, just in case. Mostly the riverbanks, is all they can manage. Manpower issue I guess. But if they don’t find anything in the next twenty-four hours, the lawyer said, I’ll be free to leave. And if they do find it, they’ll conduct an autopsy. Verify my story.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Hal.

“It’s OK. Really. It’s not a problem for me.”

“Do you even know the, you know, the conditions? Have you gone to where they’re going to keep you?”

“Not yet. It’s just down the street.”

“And the lawyer advised you to go along with this? I mean we have money. You know. There’s plenty of it. We should be able to post a bond. You could stay at my hotel while they do their search. Their autopsy.”

“I don’t think they’ll find the body,” said T. “I think the animals got to it.”

He seemed matter-of-fact about the prospect.

“Listen. T. Why not stay in my hotel? You want to — I don’t know — have to use the toilet in front of perfect strangers? Eat gruel?”

“My own cell, they said. It’s not a high-security thing. There are private showers. And it’s just for one night.”

“I don’t know,” said Hal, shaking his head. He felt fretful. T. was not practical; in his new form he had become irresponsible, flaky. Could he be trusted even with self-preservation? “Maybe we should call a lawyer in the U.S. Someone famous. Get a referral, at least. I don’t know about this.”

“You know how you could help?”

“Just tell me.”

“If you could arrange for the flight out, a couple days down the road, that’d be great. I was thinking of walking, but now I have other plans.”

“Ha ha.”

“No, really. I was going to try to walk home, at one point.”

“In delirium, I assume.”

“I just wanted to do it. But now I think we should maybe go ahead and get back, if that works for you.”

“Good thinking.”

“Mr. Stern?”

Jorge was at the door.

“We can move you on now, sir.”

Hal stood, scraping his chair back.

“I’ll keep close tabs on you,” he told T. “That’s for sure.”

“I appreciate your concern, Hal. I do.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“See you,” said T.

The young lawyer had told Brady about a party, and Brady told Hal. There was always a party, apparently.

Brady called the hotel room and invited Hal to join them. He himself was not driving back to Belmopan, but staying overnight in Belize City. It was a party held by a company, a company that had just opened a Belize location and was looking to make friends.

This meant, Brady explained, there would be ample libations. Hal was welcome to come with them.

Could they promise, asked Hal, a supernumerary nipple?

But he had nothing better to do. He was waiting for them in his room, bored, freshly showered, flipping through channels, when the telephone rang.

“I talked to T.,” said Susan breathlessly.

“They’re letting him make calls, then,” said Hal. “Good sign. Glad to hear it.”

“Hal, he’s crazy. Do you know what he said to me? He wants to dissolve the corporation. He wants to give away everything.”

“I told you he would need some adjustment time. Didn’t I?”

“ Adjustment time? He’s delusional. Hal! I don’t know what to do!”

“Just wait till he gets back. There’s nothing you can do till then anyway.”

“He wants me to start right away. He wants us to pull out of everything. I mean it’s crazy. I don’t even know if it’s going to be possible. Or legal. Seriously.”

“Just sit tight till we get back, OK? He’s being detained. He needs to get home and get his bearings. Regroup. I warned you about this, honey. Right? Just try to be patient. I have us on a return flight the day after tomorrow.”

“You do? When?”

“We get in late. Evening.”

“I can’t believe this. Hal, he’s raving.”

“Actually, he seems fairly rational to me.”