Human Sister (42 page)

About a half-hour before sundown, I went out to take Lily for her walk. I told the guard we would be retracing our steps of the morning to the pickup. But about a quarter of the way there, Lily and I turned back toward home. The guard asked what had happened. I told him about Lily’s cancer and arthritis, that she had started whining as if in pain, so I decided not to take her all the way to the back road. We would try to do that again the following morning.

He knelt down and petted her. “Poor old girl.”

I looked up toward the west. By darkening degrees sallow dusk was settling in.

Following tearful farewells with Grandma, Elio, Michael, and I broke through to the surface of the vineyard above the house at midnight, a time, we thought, when none of the vineyard workers or neighbors would be awake to notice us pull ourselves and our supplies up from a hole between two rows of chardonnay vines, then walk nearly one kilometer through thick fog to the pickup. Elio drove carefully, stopping fully at each stop and maintaining a speed under the relevant limits, so as not to draw the attention of any law enforcement that might have been operating in the middle of the night. The drive to Bodega Bay, the loading of our supplies onto the Lefcort cruiser, and our trip out to within 10 kilometers of Anzen went without a hitch. Our plan was still for Michael to take one of the subs down to Anzen to check things out. If all went well, he would return in four hours to this same location on the surface of the ocean to rendezvous with Elio and me. Elio and I would then climb aboard the second sub and follow Michael to our underwater hideaway.

The ocean was relatively calm where we stopped to launch the sub. Elio had gone below about a half-hour before to help Michael pack. I remained up top in the cabin, monitoring the pilot computer.

The designated time to launch Michael’s submersible came and went, but the computer showed no sign that Michael had, as yet, even sealed himself inside the sub. What were they doing? Was something wrong?

I looked for options on the computer and found “Video Monitor: Hold,” which I clicked. On the computer screen appeared Elio and Michael, hugging each other and kissing. Michael was standing half in, half above the submersible. All of the supplies we had placed beside the sub were packed, so everything appeared ready for launch. Then, through the monitor, I heard a buzzer sound in the hold, perhaps signaling that the launch was running behind schedule. I saw their lips part, their arms release each other.

“You’re my human brother,” Michael said. He appeared distraught, the outer edges of his mouth turned down, the integumentin between his eyebrows tightened into tiny folds.

“Ja,” Elio said. “I’m happy we’re brothers—and lovers.”

The buzzer sounded again, and again they hugged. This time I saw their tongues meet as they kissed.

I felt—I don’t know how I felt. Stunned, I guess. I’m not sure if it was then or minutes later that an acidic mixture of anger, disbelief, and the wild bottomless imaginings of jealousy—all the intimate things they might have done together—began corroding my insides.

“Michael, listen to me,” Elio said. “Sara and I will be back here to this very spot, on time. I love you. We both love you. We’ll be back, and we’ll go with you to Anzen.”

Michael blinked, and I saw a tear fall from one of his eyes.

“We’ll be back,” Elio said. “You just be sure you’re here when we get here. I promise, we’ll be back.”

Michael scooted down into the submersible’s pilot seat. The transparent hatch above him closed and sealed with a hermetic sigh. Their eyes fixed on each other; the hold beneath the submersible opened; swirling bubbles and the metallic edge of the hold sliced away their views of each other; and they parted quietly, going their separate ways, into the unknown future that swallows every good-bye.

As soon as the sub was launched, our boat resumed making its way through fog and light rain along a path that would have taken us, had we continued on it, to Magnasea’s mining platform. Elio came up from the hold and reported that the launch had gone well. I didn’t say anything, just nodded. Appearing sad, he walked to the starboard window and peered out into the gray blankness enveloping us. Was he worried about Michael’s safety? Was he worried about how he was going to keep his and Michael’s love a secret from me in the cramped quarters of Anzen? Was he rehearsing what to say to me when I found out? Would he assert that I had told him I was glad that they’d become best friends? That they loved each other? Would he remind me that I had let Michael feel my desires, had even let him participate in one of my masturbations?

And what would I say in response? Yes, that’s all true, but… But what?

Elio turned toward me from the window. “You think he’ll be all right?”

You promised never to keep secrets from me, I thought, but I said, “Yes. He knows the systems of the sub and of Anzen better than either of us. He’ll be fine.”

Elio nodded, then turned back toward the window, and the sour silence between us continued. I tried to remember: Had I seen any signs? I had often observed them hugging. And kissing, yes, but Michael kissed everyone and everything, it seemed, even the leaves of his plants. But not with his tongue. And they had held hands. Michael couldn’t help touching and caressing everything within reach. He’d often held Grandma’s and Grandpa’s hands, too. There was that one time, just a few days earlier, when during the discussion of Bashō’s frog haiku, they’d leaned their heads together and I’d thought: If I didn’t know better I’d think those two were lovers.

“It is memory that keeps each moment from being alone,” Michael had said.

For me, here in Anzen, each moment is haunted by memory.

Our boat proceeded on course, but Elio and I didn’t speak further, remaining locked like prisoners inside ourselves, holding fast our separate thoughts and secrets, unaware that we were wasting precious last moments. At the two-hour mark, we turned and headed back. Everything was going smoothly and we were nearing the rendezvous coordinates, when we were startled by the ringing of a bell that announced an incoming call to the boat’s phone. One ring, two rings, three—Elio and I stared at each other; then Elio pressed the Accept Audio Only button on the cabin wall.

“Hello,” Elio said.

“This is Casey. Remember me?”

I don’t know whether Elio did, but I remembered that voice. Elio didn’t answer. Perhaps he was too frightened.

“Listen, you perverse little shit,” Casey said. “You stop that boat right now, or we’ll stop you for good, just like we did your mother, on Mars.”

Elio looked at me. For an instant, I imagined him lying naked with Michael; then I nodded for him to respond.

“I’ve got to speak with Sara first,” Elio finally said. “She’s down below. Call me back in ten minutes.”

“No. Stop the boat right now.”

“We’re in the middle of the ocean, for Christ’s sake. Where do you think we’re going in ten minutes?”

There was a pause for about thirty seconds on Casey’s end. “You’ve got five minutes. That’s it.”

Elio pressed the End button, then nodded toward the cabin door. I followed him out onto the deck. He grabbed hold of the railing and peered out into the cold fog and drizzle, his hair flying in the wind of our motion. I leaned into the lee of his body and hugged him. I didn’t want to lose him, not to Michael, not to my anger or jealousy.

“I’m worried the cabin might be bugged,” he said. “How much time do we have till we get to the rendezvous?”

“Six minutes, give or take a few seconds.”

“What should I say when he calls back?”

Tell me that it’s not true, I thought, but I said, “Tell him I control the computer that pilots the cruiser and that you need a little more time to convince me to surrender. Tell him I’m frightened of the algetor.”

“What if he says no?”

“Try… try anything. Temporize, show progress, give him hope.”

I glanced out over the fog-shrouded sea. Had they grabbed Grandpa before he was able to kill himself? Had they tortured him? Forced him to talk? Out, up, down, sideways—all I could see was a dense gray-whiteness, and for an instant I had a feeling that I was a tiny bug stuck in the center of a bale of cotton.

The buzzer of the cruiser’s phone rang again. Elio and I ran back into the cabin. Elio answered. Casey asked why we hadn’t stopped yet. Elio told him that I was frightened of another interrogation on the algetor but that he was certain he could convince me to surrender. He just needed a little more time.

“No,” Casey said.

“Just five more minutes. Give me that much. I’ll convince her to stop by then.”

Without comment, Casey terminated the connection.

Within seconds I heard a plane approaching. I glanced at the computer: 97 seconds to rendezvous. The plane thundered overhead. A bomb exploded, swelling the sea in front of us. Our boat bucked violently. Elio and I were thrown against the back of the cabin.

“Bastards!” Elio shouted.

The cruiser quickly restabilized onto its course.

“How much time till we get to the rendezvous?” Elio whispered.

“About a minute,” I answered.

“I’ll run out and wave a white flag,” Elio said.

“They can’t see you in the fog.”

“What else can I do?”

He took off his jacket and shirt, pulled off his undershirt, and headed for the cabin door. I checked our position on the computer monitor, then looked back. Just before the cabin door closed behind him, I saw him waving his undershirt at the leaden sky. Then I heard the roar of an approaching plane and the rapid, loud popping sounds of fragments of ceiling, window, and furniture exploding all around me. The door flew open, and Elio ran toward me, waving frantically and shouting, “Get down! Get down!”

I covered my head with my arms and hunkered down against the computer desk. I heard things crack and shatter above me, where I’d stood just a moment before. The roar of the plane passed overhead. I opened my eyes.

Elio was on his knees about two meters in front of me. His hands cupped his chest. They were red. He looked at me, his face expressing astonishment. Then he reached out to me and his mouth opened, as though he wanted to tell me something, but no words came out.

I lunged toward him, crying, “No!”

He slumped against me, and his head fell onto my shoulder.

"Elio!" I screamed, but the only answer I received was what sounded like a sigh.

His head began sliding down from my shoulder. I struggled to keep my balance and hold his weight.

“Say something, Elio. Please!”

I felt the cruiser stop, and in the terrible stillness, I thought I could feel the AUAS beep calling Michael up into the hold.

It took all my strength to keep Elio from slipping off my shoulder.

“We’re here, Elio. We’re at the rendezvous. We have to go now.”

But he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“Michael!” I shouted. “Michael, hurry! Elio needs help!”

I again heard a plane approaching. I held Elio tightly, anticipating another volley of shots. But our cruiser had stopped, and the plane merely thundered overhead—the air, the boat, the shards of broken window on the floor, all trembling in the wake of its roar.

Michael bounded up the stairs from the hold. “What happened?”

I just shook my head. Michael pressed his fingers on one of Elio’s wrists, then on Elio’s neck and head. He took one of Elio’s blood-soaked hands and stroked it over one of his sensitive hands, and as he did, tears streamed down his face. I’d never seen Michael look so desperately sad.