Pasha Malla - People Park

So the protest? said Debbie. A bit of a bust.

I saw on In the Know about the statue. I’ll flip to it, only the UP button works, hold on.

Yeah. That was sort of awesome actually.

Was it you guys?

No. This was important to Pop. He wouldn’t have sabotaged it.

As the channels climbed higher the programming became more inane: a humming couple convinced they’d discovered an overtone that linked the universe, a man hosting a telethon to support his telethon, the Bookland channel where the shop’s mousy proprietor whispered reviews of novels no one would ever, ever read.

So this thing I went to, said Debbie, last night. This thing they’re doing in Whitehall.

What? You went to Whitehall ?

Sure. It’s fine, I don’t know what the big deal is. People think —

At night?

Not alone! With Calum, from the Room. I thought maybe I could write about it, but.

About what? What would you write about?

Well this is the thing. They’re doing something out there, those people — I don’t know how to describe it. Like a noise. . show. Sort of.

At channel 0 the set burst into static.

Hey, said Debbie. Don’t change the channel, it’s just like this —

But Adine kept flipping, the screen came alive with music and words, brief lucid flashes until she paused on channel 12, and Isa Lanyess.

Anyway, said Debbie, you need to see it. Or hear it. Or just come. I can’t stop thinking about it. I hated it sort of but I want to go back — maybe tonight.

And you want me to come. Tonight.

Not want. Well sure, want. But more I think it’s right up your alley. And also there’s that potluck earlier in Bebrog? We could go there first, then —

Can’t.

Why?

Tonight’s Raven’s big illustration . I mean, fug if I care, but it’s important to Sam. He’s out there all alone on the I. He hasn’t got anybody else.

A rigid silence fell between them.

It’s important to him, said Adine. He’s my brother.

She let the words hang, knew they boxed Debbie into a corner.

I have to go, Debbie said, standing.

Well thanks for stopping in.

In the kitchen the fridge hummed, from down on the street came a mother’s shout and a shrill reply from her child, and in the subsequent quiet Adine heard a sharp intake of a breath, either the inhalation of unspoken words or a stifled sob.

Fug, Deb! Are you crying now? What are you crying about?

I’m not crying! She paused. Adine? Please take off those glasses.

Adine laughed, turned up the TV. Isa Lanyess was interviewing Loopy about her missing statue: You must be destroyed, said Lanyess, which Loopy confirmed: Destroyed.

Adine? Please, come on. Take them off. It’s enough.

Enough what? Enough me doing my job? I don’t ask you to quit. . helping.

I miss you.

Right. You pop by to drop off a dead animal, then head right back out, now I won’t see you till tomorrow morning. Seems like your heart’s just bleeding to spend time together. Adine felt the current of her words hurtling her forward, she’d no idea what she might say next. Here it was, coldly: Are you sure you need me at all?

A jangle of keys, the deadbolt clopped open. As always, Debbie had locked them in.

That’s it? You’re leaving?

I have to go , Adine. People are waiting for me. I didn’t even have time to make anything, I’m showing up to this potluck without any food —

Stick your new pet in the oven for fifteen minutes, howbout?

The door opened. Into the apartment seeped the faintly fecal odour of some other tenant’s cookery. Adine, sensing Debbie hovering in the doorway, told her, You know what you do? You look for holes in people and you just burrow your way in to fill them up, you’re this little helpful worm. You need to start finding home in yourself, you need — Adine was interrupted by a great commotion coming from the TV. Loopy was livid: Of course I’ll always have the idea , but you can’t show people your ideas! It’s the thing that matters! And no one ever got to see the thing!

You hearing this? Adine said. Unbelievable. Eh? Deb?

The apartment felt emptied — or, more, the apartment emptied itself into Adine.

Fine! she called. Leave me. I don’t care!

Somewhere down the hallway, in another unit, someone sneezed. Adine was left with Isa Lanyess and Loopy, beseeching viewers to share with them, for one full minute, a ceremonious moment of hope and silence.

IS HE WALKING all the way across?

What? said Starx.

I can’t see him anymore. Can you? He went out on the bridge and now he’s just — gone.

Bailie, I don’t know, maybe he’s expressing himself over the side.

Peeing? You think?

No. No I don’t think .

Then? What’s he doing out there?

You’re so curious, go see.

They’d parked again by the onramp to Guardian Bridge. Above the Citywagon the bridge opened up: the crosshatch of beams and girders, all that black-painted steel, the setting sun carved through it in coppery spears. The bridge looked unfinished, a skeleton yet to be draped with skin.

No, I’m okay, said Olpert. I’ll wait here.

Me too, said Starx.

It was that time of day when the light seemed to slow and loosen before it collapsed into evening. Olpert always found this hour melancholy, maybe even nostalgic: before dusk, before nightfall, for a few careful moments the day took stock of what it had been.

He turned to Starx: What’s your favourite season?

Why, thanks for asking, Bailie! Starx faced him from the driver’s seat, the great bulk of him heaped there, head scraping the ceiling, arms wrapped around the steering column for lack of anywhere else to fit them. He seemed to be considering, his breath came in whistles and gasps. Finally he spoke: I think probably winter.

Winter. Why?

Oh, I don’t know. Probably because I’m packing such a massive heater — Starx nodded toward his lap — and the cold makes it easier to heave this monster around.

I like fall.

I’m kidding, right? Bailie? That was a joke?

I like fall because it feels like the end of the day, all the time.

You like the end of the day? Why?

Why? Olpert searched his thoughts: he was sure, as the sun painted everything golden, that he felt in these cautious, delicate moments most at home in the world. He tried to explain this to Starx, but when the words came out they sounded inadequate, even false, and when Olpert looked out again over the Narrows the light seemed cold and harsh.

I’m a nighttime fella myself, said Starx. And the reason why is that’s when I’m at my awesomest. But you? I can see it — the fall, twilight. They’re like in-between. You’re an in-between kinda guy.

Olpert pointed up the bridge: He’s coming.

Back down toward the Citywagon Raven was moving swiftly, twirling his whip at his side, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

What I’m saying, Bailie — Starx started the car — is that you’ve gotta start living . This in-between shet? It’s just waiting to die, man.

But you like the winter, Olpert said quietly. Doesn’t that mean you’re already dead?

Starx shifted into reverse. Shut your yap, Raven’s here, he said.

Gentlemen! cried the illustrationist, sliding into the backseat. One final question, Mr. Bailie, a most simple question. May I ask what it is you want?

I. . want?

Yes! What you most desire, Mr. Bailie — what is it?

Um. What do you mean?

In life, in love!

In love?

Mr. Bailie, would it be presumptuous to suggest that you are a man without desires? And, Mr. Starx, what about you? What about anyone here, in your nice-looking city?