There is, of course, no sign of the sun. Lary straightens up and salutes with the broom in the direction of the window. Smoker and I receive a shower of slowly falling gray clumps of dust mixed with cigarette butts.
And that was how that disgusting night ended. Not at the exact moment when we noticed the first glimpse of the coming morning, of course. And not even when the morning finally came. I mean, we realized that what surrounded us wasn’t the night anymore, but it was hardly possible to call that gray substance “morning.” A transition between one night and the next, that would be more accurate. Especially considering that none of us managed to either go to sleep or wake up properly. I don’t even remember if we had any breakfast that day. I don’t remember much at all, really.
Myself, at certain moments. Blind with the guitar next to me, and it’s dusk in the room again, must have been evening. Rows of empty bottles on the nightstand, even though I can’t recall anyone drinking. Lary’s angry yelp, as he lifts a bottle: “So that’s what they’ve been doing here, while we worry about them and stock up on provisions there.” By “there” he most likely meant the canteen, but was that lunch or breakfast? And “they” must have included me as well, because I don’t remember leaving the room or eating anything, which means I was among the drinkers.
Noble, pulling the blanket over sleeping Ginger. Black, in a cloud of smoke on his bed. Not much of him visible, just one eye and the cigarette, everything else covered by the crisscrossing white stripes of tape. Blind nodding to his own song. He’s grayish blue, the color of faded jeans. This must be how Lazarus looked right after having been told to rise up and walk. Still in the remains of the white sweater, reeking of wine and alcohol pads. Hunched over the guitar, twanging the strings, mumbling indistinctly. Something about a forest, empty paths, and the streams made bitter by the grass growing along them.
Ginger, sleeping with her hands tucked between her knees, curled up in the pillows. Hair like the scarlet feathers of a woodpecker shot through the heart, and everything else mundane and commonplace in comparison. Her lying there also feels routine, like something that’s always been thus, no one gives her a second look except for one person, who’s wrapping her in the blanket, like a miser hiding his treasure from prying eyes.
Lary picks up a bottle and shakes it indignantly.
“So that’s what they’ve been doing here, while we worry about them and stock up on provisions there!”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Black says. “It’s not worth it.”
I listen. I listen very carefully to the tone of his voice, almost gloating, and I wonder what could he, beaten, tired, and hungry, be gloating about. Then I look at Blind and understand what it is that’s making him gleeful there under the bandages. His happiness looks like Blind’s face with a swollen eye and a split lip. That on the day when they found a corpse. On the day when any scratch is a mark of involvement. Involvement and guilt. He doesn’t care that he’s completely covered with those marks, the important thing is that Blind’s got them.
Black stubs out his cigarette against the six-pack abs of the bodybuilder on a poster above his bed.
“What do I say to Ralph when he asks about the shiners?”
Beaten, tired, he earnestly solicits his packmates’ opinion regarding correct behavior in a tight spot. Not a reason at all for someone to break out in hives from the cheeks all the way down to the navel, the kind that are going to still itch a week later, yet I feel them coming, the tiny burning gnats spreading like wildfire, bitey and sticky-footed, as if someone has thrown a handful of them under my collar.
“Say whatever you were planning to when you kicked off the hysterics,” I suggest. “Or don’t say anything at all. Both of those choices work fine for your purposes.”
The sparks of rage directed my way seep through the strata of tape.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just that I wouldn’t be in such a rush to return to normal after a bout of insanity, if I were you. Didn’t you go nuts, Black? As recently as yesterday, if the memory serves. So hold on a bit with the reasonable questions. That would definitely look more natural.”
