Just a Couple of Days (41 page)

THE BOOK O' BILLETS-DOUX

 

148
Loki was a fine pup. Playful, energetic, and eager to please, he was already almost as big as Ratdog. This is not to say that he weighed anything. I've held bags of popcorn that were heavier. Nevertheless, every tendon in my legs groaned out my throat as I got up from huddling against the door of the main library. I had done an excellent job of shredding my muscle fibers in my goofy gallop around campus. Loki licked my face encouragingly. “Okay, okay, boy,” I said.

I was hungry. I seem to remember resolving that my body could use a fast, as I had become chronically constipated from our survival fare's almost complete lack of dietary fiber. Whenever I could muster a movement, pardon me, it was like shitting shards of shrapnel. Sophia, beamingly proud of her colon, was forever lecturing me on the importance of periodically denying yourself food. According to her, fasting provides a physical and spiritual cleanse, and gives you a visceral experience of your own connection to the Earth and the cycle of life. She's probably correct. She's even shown me research that demonstrates the greater longevity of animals fed low-calorie diets relative to animals fed high-calorie diets. That may be so, but I've always been an American, and I like to keep my belly full. I was famished, and any notions of a healthy asceticism now struck me as ludicrous. I wanted some food. Besides, I had a puppy to feed.

Where to get food in the middle of a deserted city? Most
supermarkets have no more than a six-day supply of food on hand, and I was certain they had already been emptied by the quarantined population. Although emergency food had been air-dropped around the city, my chances of locating any of this fare seemed equally unlikely, at least in the short term. I thought about catching a squirrel, but the fastest human alive would starve before they'd succeed in that small task. No, as a human, my survival depended on others, or the food others had left behind. My best bet, I decided, was Blip and Sophia's 50 percent self-sufficient dome on the outskirts of town. They had a solar-powered refrigerator and a pantry outfitted for survivalist health nuts. I figured I would either encounter them and have to be okay with the consequences, or raid their well-stocked pantry and refrigerator like an insolent raccoon. With any luck, I could live well for a couple of seasons.

So I headed for my car. As I approached it, I saw what appeared to be a weathered parking ticket stuck under the windshield wiper. This, of course, was ridiculous. I was not parked illegally, and such laws were now meaningless anyway. As it turned out, it was indeed a parking ticket, though it was written for Blip's car, not mine. Along with a gigantic smiley face, Blip had scrawled a note on the back. It was short and simple.

“The dervish spoke the truth.”

 

149
After a few moments of deliberation with the seat belt buckle in my hand, I decided not to put it on. I would be the only car on the road, after all, and I was no longer intoxicated, although the overflow of adrenaline was still giving me the shakes. I was confident I could avoid hitting any stationary
objects, even though I was about to do every forbidden thing I had always wanted to do with an automobile. I pulled out of my parking space, revved the engine, and laid rubber on my way out of the parking lot. I careened wildly around corners, tires squealing, the whole deal. It was much easier than running, and satisfied nicely the demands of the leftover epinephrine still tickling my nervous system. Despite being tossed about by the forces of inertia, Loki enjoyed himself as well and yipped along with my yowls and yee-haws.

I headed for the freeway, with every intention of finding out if my car could actually move at 125 miles per hour, as the speedometer claimed. On my way, however, racing down a straightaway, I suddenly caught sight of a lone pedestrian on the side of the road. He didn't even look toward me as I roared by. He was gazing instead at a stop sign, as if perhaps he was waiting for it to turn green.

His unexpected presence unnerved me, and after I was a good way past him, I slowed to the speed limit, locked my doors, pulled my seat belt on, and thanked the American dream that I had been driving with my windows closed and the heater on. I hadn't really anticipated encountering anyone. This complicated matters. I did not feel at all prepared to meet my fate. This was my luxury. I knew the larger circumstances, but with a little ingenuity I felt I could delay the inevitable until I decided it was the proper time.

When is the proper time? According to Blip's comrade-in-spray-paint,
NOW
! is the proper time. As I approached Graffiti Bridge, however, I realized that
NOW
! had already happened,
NOW
! was old news. The message, which had broadcast
NOW
!
the last I was aware, had been changed, presumably by Blip. He hadn't changed much, simply and neatly shifting the meaning by adding a single letter K.

It would be the final proclamation of Graffiti Bridge.

KNOW
!

 

150
And so I took up domicile at Blip and Sophia's dome, where, as I said, I found the encyclopedia of religion lying on the floor. Clearly, they were no longer in residence. I considered myself a house sitter. I kept the place neat, and paid myself in food—mostly beans, rice, nuts, sprouts, potatoes, and vitamins. It was an excellent place to take shelter for the region's mild winter. I've lost weight and become much more regular. Thanks to their paranoid self-sufficiency, I even have a limited amount of electricity. Between their solar panels, windmill, and a backup propane-powered generator, I have a stove, refrigerator, and a computer, although I can't reasonably use more than one of them at the same time. I have a television and radio as well, but there is never anything on. It's just as well. I spend most of my time reading their books and editing, writing, and rewriting my manuscript. It's coming along.

Other than Loki, I haven't seen another soul since I arrived here months ago. I have, however, heard one. Blip and Sophia told me their dome was haunted, and by my reckoning, I'd have to agree. Every few nights I jolt awake to what sounds like a Sunday paper being thrown across the room. Sophia dubbed it “the paper poltergeist.” While I have no training in parapsychology, I have exhaustively investigated the phenomenon and have been
unable to discover a physical cause, or even propose an alternative hypothesis. Other than repeatedly startling the living night-lights out of me, the paper poltergeist seems harmless enough. Hence, the most I can do is echo Blip's glib reasoning on the matter whenever the paper goes bump in the night.

“What you do not fear cannot hurt you.”

 

151
Alone. Sometime around the beginning of February, it dawned on me that there was no reason to get dressed. Although it was crisp outside, domes are known for their excellent resistance to drafts. I was quite comfortable inside, and Loki didn't seem to give one lick of a vegan milk bone whether I clothed myself or not.

Shortly after I decided to go naked (or half naked, anyway, as I could not resist wearing at least a towel or a robe most of the time), I came across a curious book in Blip and Sophia's bookcase. It was bound in rainbow tie-dyed fabric, and it was handwritten in deliberate, perfect penmanship. The title was written on the first page,
The Book o' Billets-doux
.

Its hundred pages were filled with dialogues between two characters named Rosehips and Sweetlick, ostensible aliases for Sophia and Blip. I picked my favorite passages and inserted them into this manuscript, both for posterity's sake and for a reason that is about to become clear. Here follows the final passage from
The Book o' Billets-doux
.

THE BOOK O' BILLETS-DOUX