Shya Scanlon - The Guild of Saint Cooper

“How many marshmallows have you fed that thing?” I asked.

The black kid reached out and started to pet it. “Nine-banded armadillos are the only other animal besides humans that can get leprosy.”

“I see,” I said. “Are you saying it’s a leper?”

He looked up at me like I was crazy.

The blond one held out another marshmallow. “Roscoe’s three-banded,” he said.

I walked to the bed, then stood against the glass wall and cupped my hands to see outside. I could see the moon in the sky, a couple lights either out on the water or on Bainbridge Island beyond, but not much else. It seemed even darker than it had on the way here, and I was growing more exhausted by the second.

“They say the darkest hour,” sang a voice behind me, “is right before the dawn.”

“ Buckets of Rain ,” I said, and turned around.

Russell stood in the doorway, flanked by the boys and wearing what I realized must be his standard attire: a white cotton button-down shirt, unbuttoned, and white drawstring cotton pants. He was barefoot. He patted the kids’ heads and nudged them out of the room. The armadillo had ambled over to the bookcase, where a low shelf padded with bright clothes apparently served as its home. Russell took a seat on the bed.

“Have you ever had a religious experience, Blake?”

“That depends,” I said, gently touching the egg on my head. “Is God angry with me?”

Russell chuckled. “You’re referring to your encounter this afternoon, I suppose. Zane said he found you in quite a state. I was terribly sorry to hear about it. Can I get you anything? Water? Aspirin?”

I shook my head. “I gotta say, you found yourself a great place to squat.”

“Squat, did you say?”

“Good one.”

Russell picked something off the bedspread and flicked it to the floor. “When the order came, I was going to leave the city like everyone else. I’d packed, I’d set up a place to live — I was going to stay with my brother in Boston — everything. Before I left, I decided to take a walk through the city, a sort of farewell stroll. It was a beautiful day, luminous cumulus clouds hanging in the air like ripe white fruit. I walked through Pike Place and then down and south along the waterfront, and as I was walking back through downtown I felt a drop on my arm, and then another. I assumed I’d passed under an air conditioner or some such, but the droplets increased, and soon enough it was raining lightly, and then more heavily, and moments later it was a downpour. I ducked into a doorway and looked out at the street, and I immediately saw the strangest thing: people across the street seemed to be moving along without so much as a flinch at the rain. No newspapers overhead, no open umbrellas, and as my eyes adjusted I realized that they were not, in fact, being rained on. I looked out and up and saw that indeed it was only raining on my side of the street. But not only was it contained to my side, it was only raining in the middle of the block, just over where I happened to be.”

His rhythmic tone seemed to have a sedative effect on me, and I found it more and more difficult to keep my eyes open. Russell, who’d been staring into the distance and playing with his chest hair while speaking, looked up and smiled. “Are you with me?”

“Raining in the middle of the block,” I said.

“Precisely. Well, I jumped back onto the sidewalk and hurried along the street — this was on Madison, between 3rd and 4th Avenues, and I was heading east, uphill. But I couldn’t seem to escape the rain! I was confused. I turned around and saw that it was no longer raining before the door I’d used for cover. I saw that in fact it was raining directly over my head and nowhere else .”

“Like in the cartoons.”

“Exactly like in the cartoons. Of course, at first I misread the sign — something that doubtless happens all the time. I was thinking, you know, raincloud equals bad. Doom, despair, depression. Received ideas, in other words. I kept walking, feeling like the city was washing its hands of me. Water cascaded over my face and soaked my clothing. But as I paid more attention, my feelings began to change. It was a warm rain, I noticed. It was a soft rain, despite its intensity. And perhaps because I was becoming resigned to it, no longer fighting it, I began to actually feel refreshed. In the heat of the day, it felt nice. People were beginning to stare, and I waved, or shrugged, and the more people stared, the better I felt, and I was walking by this very building, walking north along 4th Avenue, when suddenly I felt the rain slow down and then stop. And when it stopped, instead of feeling relief, I felt sad. Had I been abandoned? But I looked up and saw that it hadn’t stopped after all. It had instead veered off the sidewalk, toward the entrance of the library, where it was waiting for me. Waiting for me! I crossed over and entered the revolving doors and stood there, dripping wet. The staff was packing up books and no one paid me any attention, but I came inside and I looked around and I knew it would be my new home.”

By the time he stopped speaking it had grown measurably lighter in the room. I looked through the wall of windows and realized that I could now see outside — the interior reflection had melted back into the glass. Dawn was approaching. I felt incredibly tired. My legs seemed unsteady and I must have been weaving a bit, because Russell patted the bed, motioning for me to join him.

“Russell,” I began, and my tone must have signaled my reservations, because he held up his hand. I was just tired enough to obey, and walked over and took a seat. Russell put a hand on my shoulder.

“I know you’ve come here to demure, but I encourage you to look at the bigger picture.”

Footsteps made us both look up to see Aya enter the room.

She yawned, rubbed her eyes. “Giving him your spiel?”

Russell stood. “We made some progress. Sadly, the poor man is too tired for the discussion.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but—”

“Nonsense! You’ve had a long day, Blake. A long two days! I should have had you taken home straightaway. Aya, will you locate Zane?”

Aya stretched, her shirtsleeves falling back to reveal pure white arms like lines of cocaine.

“I’ll take him,” she said.

Behind the wheel Aya looked even smaller, more delicate than she normally did. She wore a gauzy, pale yellow dress that deepened the black of her hair, and she smelled yellow too: a tart citrus so fresh it seemed to bring the temperature down a couple of degrees. We drove north on Westlake, Lake Union off to the right, lower than it used to be and filled with the carnage of unclaimed boats.

“He’s not crazy, you know,” said Aya after a while.

“Russell? Of course not.”

“He likes you.”

“Well, I like him. I mean, we don’t…What do you think he wants from me?”

“He didn’t even get that far? Christ. He always spends too much time on the preamble. You’ve got to create tension by showing what’s at stake right away, and then you can move into the backstory. We’re working on his narrative technique.”

I glanced over to see how serious she was being.

“I know what he says he wants,” I said, “but surely he’s fully capable of—”

“Russell is a lonely man. More than anything, I think he wants companionship.”

We were nearing the Fremont Bridge, and I could already smell the brackish water. As we grew close I saw that Leather Vest was back on duty. To my surprise, Aya gave him a polite wave, and he waved too, grinning like a fool.

“You know that guy?”

“Sure. That’s Brian Leathervest.”

“You’re kidding me.”