Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

There was a queue at Dee’s American Eagle Liquor Store. More short hair, more tats, more staring. Two blokes even came out to watch as he got back into the car. A six-pack of Coronas and a bottle of tequila — frankly, it was going to take at least that much booze to calm his nerves. He drove round the corner and stopped in the car park of a Taco Bell. He would have gone in and got a sandwich, but there were more military nutjobs inside and he just couldn’t face it. The paranoia had woken him up, and he didn’t want to go back to his purple cave quite yet. Fuck it. He had everything he needed. He should just get on with what he came for. He could spend the night outside and wait for the sun to come up. It was still over eighty degrees. It wasn’t like he was going to get cold.

So he drove on, and after a couple of miles found a turn signed NATIONAL MONUMENT. Up ahead the sky was clear, blue-black. As he swung round, the headlights caught the shapes of huge cacti at the roadside, reaching their hands to the sky. He followed the road for half an hour or so, then stopped and switched off the engine. The sound of insects rose up in the darkness, an industrial sawing and scraping. He sat on the bonnet and drained a beer, gradually feeling his heart rate slow. He threw the empty bottle out into the darkness. It made a little thud as it hit the dirt.

He fished the plastic bag of peyote out of its hiding place under the passenger seat and ate a couple of the buttons. They were so bitter it was all he could do to keep them down and he swigged tequila to take the taste away. Bad idea. After he’d spent almost a minute trying not to retch, he had to give in and spit a nasty mess out onto the ground. Silhouetted against the sky was a rock formation, a huge rounded boulder that looked like the back of a big sleeping animal, topped with three teetering stacks of rock. It didn’t seem so far away. He wiped his mouth, dropped a few supplies into a plastic bag and started walking in its direction. In the bag the gun clinked loudly against the bottles and he had an idea it might accidentally go off, so he fished it out and tried to fit it into the waistband of his jeans. His trousers were too tight as it was and with the gun in there he had to walk like a constipated person. If he broke into a run, he’d probably shoot himself in the arse. He ended up just carrying it.

After ten minutes the rocks didn’t seem any nearer. He hadn’t brought a torch, and he kept stumbling. There were these little furry cacti dotted around, all at about knee height. They were very hard to see and he kept walking into them, getting spines stuck in his jeans. Despite himself he was beginning to think about snakes. And weren’t there wolves out here, or coyotes or whatever? Don’t be a pussy, he told himself. You’re the lead singer of a band. You’ve got a gun. You are Jim Morrison. You are the hero of your own adventure.

No one knew where he was. No one in the world. But then again, wasn’t that the point of coming out to the desert? You had to get lost to find yourself. Which sounded like the sort of thing Noah would say. Fucking Noah, it was all his fault. Checking the ground carefully, he sat down and had another beer, following it up with a few shots of tequila. So what if no one knew? How did life feel when people did know? No one really cared anyway. He had another go at the peyote, swallowing big lumps of it, trying to chew as little as possible. Something bright and white raced across the sky. The stars were like pinholes in a cloth. You could believe you were seeing through to some incredibly bright world on the other side of the darkness.

But the thought kept going round in his head. No one knew. No one knew. He took out his phone. He still had bars. She probably wouldn’t understand, but he called her anyway, just to hear her voice.

She picked up, sounding hoarse and sleepy.

“Baby? It’s me.”

“Nicky, it’s the middle of the night. I have to work in a couple of hours.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I have a really early call. Phone me later, OK?”

“What’s wrong with now?”

“I’m going to look like shit.”

“And that’s all you care about.”

“It’s my job.”

“Where are you?”

“Paris.”

“Again? Are you with someone?”

“Jesus, Nicky, not that. I’m asleep. Leave me alone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, leave you alone?”

“You sound drunk.”

“Not really. A little. I phoned to say I love you.”

“That’s nice.”

“I need you, baby.”

“Mmm.”

“I mean it.”

“Nicky, what’s going on? I had a call from Terry. He wanted to know if I’d heard from you. Has something happened?”

“I don’t know. No. Maybe. I walked out of the session.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated. I didn’t want to be there.”

“Where are you now?”

“No idea. In the middle of nowhere.”

“Where in the middle of nowhere?”

“The desert. Listen.”

He held the phone up so she could hear the insects.

“Isn’t that amazing?”

“What desert, Nicky? What are you doing out there?”

“Thinking about you. I want you to come. There’s nobody here for me, Anouk. Only you.”

“How can I come? I don’t have a magic carpet. What about the others? What about Jimmy? Or Terry? Why don’t you call Terry?”

“Because I don’t give a fuck about Terry. It’s all turned to shit, Nookie. You’re the only thing that matters. I mean it. You have to come and get me. I’m near a place called San — something. Get on a plane to L.A., OK? I’ll let you know where to come after that.”

“Nicky—”

“OK?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Just say you’ll do it. Just come, Nookie. You’re all I’ve got.”

“That’s not true. You’re just being dramatic.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m being. I’m serious.”

“I don’t understand you. Why do you always have to be this way?”

“Come. I want you to come. Just get on a plane. I’ll meet you at the airport. I love you.”

“Why now, Nicky? Why are you saying all this now?”

“Because it’s true.”

“You’re only saying it because you’re afraid. You think you’re going to lose me, so you say these dramatic things.”

“I mean it. If you don’t come, I don’t know what’ll happen.”

There was silence at her end. He could hear her sigh, shifting position in bed. He imagined someone else beside her, another man kissing her neck, stroking her hair.

“Anouk, I’m serious. If you don’t come I tell you I’ll do something stupid.”

“You’re always doing stupid things, Nicky. You’re a rock star. You get to do stupid things.”

“I’ll kill myself.”

“No you won’t.”

“I will. I’ve got a gun.”

“You’re full of shit, Nicky. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait. You think I’m full of shit? Listen.”

He held the phone up and fired the gun out into the darkness. There was a deafening bang. He didn’t expect the recoil to be so strong. It jerked his arm up and he stumbled backwards. The phone went flying.

“Oh, fuck. Nookie? Nookie, can you hear me? Shout if you can hear me. Shit.”

He had no idea where the thing had landed. The screen had gone dark. He kept shouting her name, then listening for a reply, shuffling around on his hands and knees like a dog. What had he done? Fuck fuck fuck. He took out his cigarette lighter, scouring the ground in little five-second bursts, flicking the thing off each time his fingers started to burn. He wondered if the phone had gone under a rock, turned one over, then thought he saw a snake. In a panic, he jumped to his feet and fired at it. This time the recoil made him step backwards and he tripped over one of the squat little cacti. The pain was excruciating. The calf of his left leg was now covered in spines, some of which had gone in quite deep. Even if he’d been able to take them out himself, he couldn’t see a thing. He had to get back to the car. At least in the car there was a light.