Pasha Malla - People Park

The Friendly Farm! someone cried, wrangling a goat.

They’ve come to save us!

There’s room on my rhino, come on!

Nearby a family climbed aboard an elephant, a kid to each leg and the parents on either side of its trunk. Its mate was mounted and claimed as an explorer might some new planet, a woman knelt upon it, arms raised, howling at the moon. More people found floatables, a fleet of them bobbed in the water. Pearl held on, waves buffeted her from all sides. It’s a miracle, someone cried. A miracle is what it is!

This was all drowned out with a fat band of light and a purr of engines. Out of the dark appeared a mirror-windowed and sleekly aerodynamic yacht. A teenage girl waved from its helm. We’re here, she cried, the Lanyesses are here!

Pearl was pulled aboard, the pig went spinning off. Below decks, dozens of survivors wore matching stunned expressions and housecoats. Many sat with teacups dangling from their fingertips, others drifted in and out of private berths, from the lavatory emerged a bearded man in a white bathrobe monogrammed ISA .

A woman was close, eyes wide and empathic, hand out. Pearl took it to shake, realized it was clenched in a fist and holding a marker.

Hi, said the woman, I’m Isa Lanyess. Now, actually I was just going to number you so we don’t go over capacity. Turn your hand over?

She wrote the number 16 on the inside of Pearl’s wet wrist.

Still room for one-thirty more! We’ve already rescued our full capacity once, just getting everyone safe. Doing our part because we can. The woman turned to address all the newcomers, dazed and dripping. Good luck with the animaltronics, huh? Now, I’m out of robes but towels are coming out of the dryer soon. Anyone care for some hot cider?

Lanyess, said Pearl.

That’s us! We’ve got the yacht so we figured we might as well help —

You used to be a ballplayer. For the Y’s.

Maroons, pre-Y’s. Funny you’d know me that way. . Anyway it’s a small world!

A small world, said Pearl, and this small world responded by tilting vertiginously, swirling into a kaleidoscope of her family’s faces: Kellogg’s, Elsie-Anne’s, Gip’s. Lanyess caught Pearl by the elbows and said, Okay there, I got you, and a sob swelled and burst in Pearl’s throat. There, said Isa Lanyess, yes, let it out, holding her while she wept.

As The Know prowled People Park, scooping survivors from the water, the Podesta Tower’s rotations finally shuddered to a halt.

So that’s it, said the Mayor.

With the solar power exhausted the elevator was out too, Diamond-Wood stabbed vainly at the CALL button, shot the Mayor a look of panic and dismay. She blinked, her eyelids so heavy it was a struggle to raise them again. She’d never felt so tired.

If you want to leave, she said, there’s always the stairs.

The outdoor stairs?

Off the viewing deck was a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT with a diagram of a man fleeing flames. Diamond-Wood pushed it open: an alarm would have normally gone screaming through the building, instead the only sound was the muted putter of helicopters. Gripping the doorframe in a skydiver’s pose, Diamond-Wood gazed down into the floodwaters.

Go, said the Mayor, go if you want to. But do you see how they’ve abandoned you?

A soft wind rumpled his hair.

Go!

He paused. But then where, he said. How will they know where to find me? I get to the bottom and then what? And then I’m stuck there, and then the water keeps coming up. . look, everything’s gone — look!

Into the room drifted chemical vapours churned up from Lowell Canal. A trio in a bathtub paddled past, a shower-curtain sail bulged and hustled them toward the mainland, where the newscopters stroked the beach with fingers of white light.

Mrs. Mayor, I’m scared, what should I do?

She shrugged, turned away, looked out over the city.

Her view was that of a ship captain up in the bridge. Other than Podesta Tower only a few structures broke the flood’s surface: the tallest skyscrapers, the spire of the Grand Saloon, the top of the Thunder Wheel, where bodies swarmed and seethed.

How many hadn’t made it? There was no telling. The Mayor thought of elderly couples entombed in Fort Stone attics as the water crept upstairs, covetous Bebroggers who, retrieving jewellery, had fallen through sodden, wilting floors, or, citywide, the irrevocably lonely who’d spent lifetimes waiting for a chance to end it all — and here it was, dribbling obligingly up to their front doors. The trapped and stubborn, the stupid, the unlucky, the vain. . All those quiet secret deaths, happening unknowably in the night.

After this, she said, we will be even stronger as a city. This is just a test. It’ll pass.

She looked to Diamond-Wood for corroboration, but his back was to her. The smell from outside was ammonia, human waste, spoiled meat.

There’s a boat coming, said Diamond-Wood. I’m going. I’m sorry.

Okay, said the Mayor. Go, ye of little faith. She smiled. Yes, imagine us after this! Just like now, but better, touch green. Imagine it: a place like this one, but everyone’s happier. Or at least they believe themselves to be. What else do people need?

But, turning, the Mayor discovered the boy already gone, helped onto the deck of The Know by Edie Lanyess. The yacht went churning north — leaving Diamond-Wood’s crutches twirling in the water like the hands of a crazed malfunctioning clock.

WHAT ARE YOU doing, why have you sojourneyed from your stroking?

Olpert gestured with his oar: There’s people there, on the spire.

What do you conspire, evil one?

No, the cathedral spire. The Grand Saloon’s. They’re on the top of it.

And?

And we should rescue them.

Pop stared.

What? We shouldn’t? We should just leave them there?

Ah, and so now after a lifetime of esquivalience you wish to play the hero! You pretensualize restribution! Well fine, prehaps this will envisage the airs of your ways!

With an ironic curtsy Pop steered the boat south.

All around them watercraft loaded with people and belongings were crossing the Narrows. A little outboard-fitted junk putted by loaded low with people, sad and weary, eyes wide but unseeing.

Rats, said Pop. Desertioneers!

Olpert paddled. As they closed the distance he could hear the people — there were two — clinging to the spire calling, Help, help us, please.

The boat glided up alongside. Olpert looked at the two strangers, tried to show something firm and authoritative in his face that suggested all was okay. And then seeing who it was, his oar slipped from his hands into the water.

And now this, Pop howled. Some hero, he can’t even get a grip!

Debbie clapped. Pop Street, she said, Pop, you came for us.

The small woman beside her said, Who would have guessed?

Yes, said Pop, whom?

Debbie, said Olpert. I know you. We met. At the Taverne? On Thursday. .

Of course, evil one, we all are recognitive of every each other. This is some great phenomenology? Bah. It is life!

Olpert reached over the gunwales, steadied the houseboat against the spire, extended a trembling hand to Debbie.

Thanks, said Adine. Fiercely she levered herself past Olpert and aboard. Then she turned to help Debbie and Olpert stepped between them. It’s okay, he said. Let me.

Debbie eyed him curiously. She took his hand.

Hi, he said. I’m Olpert.

Olpert knows you, Deb, said Adine. A fan maybe. You sportos get all the love.

As Debbie climbed aboard the boat yawed, she lost her balance, fell into him.

Olpert folded her into his arms. She squirmed, he held her tight. Destiny!