Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(72)
Quoting Einstein, Alex said, “You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.”
“Said the man fleeing Dachau’s oven.”
“Such a zealot,” my father moaned, the words dripping with disappointment. “You claim to defend our traditional homeland yet the method of your defense is exactly what lost that land to begin with.”
I could feel my cheeks flushing, hear my voice rising. “I’m not saying war is good! And I’m not saying that going around the world attacking people is right. It’s not! It’s a last resort, always! If there’s any other way to solve problems, any way to avoid bloodshed…but when they’re coming for you, when you know they’re coming, when they won’t listen and it’s too late to even run, you have to defend yourself. You have to fight!”
I’d done the one thing I’d sworn against. I had allowed my heart to take command. “Oh, Hannah.” Alex chuckled victoriously through his nose, his hands stretched out sympathetically. “Hannah, Hannah.” Only my brother could make me hate the sound of my name. Hannah, you’re such a child. Hannah, don’t be so hysterical. Hannah, if you’d just let me help you be more like me maybe Papa would love you as much as he loves me.
“You intellectual coward!” I hissed. “Both of you! Sheltering behind books and quotes and other people’s protection! But what are you going to do when reality’s jackboot comes crashing through your door?”
My fist shook at Father, then to the ghosts on the mantel; all those lives now reduced to piles of shoes, eyeglasses, gold fillings, and ashes.
“What did you do for them?” I shouted at my frozen audience. “When the letters stopped coming, when your whole class enlisted. Where were you?”
I leaned over my father, fixing my gaze on the passive, cool, utterly unresponsive brain. Because that was all he’d become now; no heart, no soul, nothing but dispassionate gray matter. “You stayed. You hid. You didn’t make a difference.” I didn’t realize I was crying until I saw a tear stain his shirt. “You didn’t even try.” Through blurring vision, I sputtered to Alex, “And you won’t either, when they come for you, you won’t resist.” Over my shoulder I said, “You’ll just lie there and die.”
Passing the kitchen, I heard Mother putting away the dishes. I couldn’t condemn her for not coming to my defense. She never had. She never knew she could. Amid the china clatter and the dull thud of cabinet doors, I could hear her muttering to herself. Soft and steady with the repetitive musicality of prayer. As the door closed behind me, I caught the last lines of the Hashkiveinu.
JOURNAL ENTRY #15
October 15
I’ve just read back over all my previous entries. I don’t recognize who wrote them. A life lived by a stranger. Somebody I can barely remember.
If only time travel was as easy as turning a page. Flip back to a couple days ago, warn that person I used to be.
That morning, October 13, the alarm woke me at seven, hours later than I’d planned. Dan told me he’d reset my phone after waking up around midnight. He thought sleep was more important than helping him with stakes. I saw that he still had a few more to finish but he just smiled and said, “Why don’t you check the garden.”
He already had, saw what had happened, knew how happy it would make me.
It felt like Christmas morning. More pale arches rising from the soil. Yesterday’s strongest seedlings had managed to raise their entire bean up into the air. I could see the beginnings of tiny green leaves growing from the split. More little shoots, volunteers from the compost. Rice grass taller by at least half an inch. All in one night!
“You’ll need to support them,” that was Dan calling from the kitchen, “I mean, when they get taller. Isn’t that what you do for plants, you tie them to things, like tomato cages? Or baskets? What are they called?” He was behind me now, hand on the doorframe, smiling down at me. “We still got, like, a whole ton of little thin bamboo branches. Once we get time, you know, down the line, I can help you turn them into those cage-things or whatever.”
His arms around me, his kiss goodbye. Off to work, coconut stabber on his hip, spear in one hand and bread knife in the other. The Common House was almost denuded of bamboo. A dozen or so stalks to go. It wouldn’t take long, and when he stepped out onto the driveway, we couldn’t see or hear anything from the ridge. Still, I couldn’t help but utter “Be careful,” and got a grunting, caveman spear to chest in reply. I returned his salute with one of my own, a raised middle finger and the silently mouthed, “Love you.”
I stayed in the open doorway, shivering in the freezing air, watching him pass Effie and Palomino on their way to Reinhardt’s. It was Effie’s turn to take over from me, and despite her friendly wave, I suddenly worried that she thought I’d abandoned him. Of course, she didn’t, and of course I didn’t need to run over and explain how he’d kicked me out. But I did anyway, and ended up being grateful for the chat. She had good news. Finally, some positive stories from the Boothes’ car radio.
She told me they’d got that crazy shooter on the I-90. The road was open now, supplies in, evacuees out. The Canadians, just like in Katrina, were also on their way. The president had finally swallowed his pride (that’s what Carmen thought) and allowed foreign relief efforts in through the north. And because Seattle was “secured” (I guess that means no more riots), the authorities could focus on the towns damaged by Rainier.