“I didn’t see it until it was too late, when I was quote-unquote ‘dead,’ and the relationship between the Communities and the Group became clear to me.”
Micah’s posture was so straight, he looked like a kid about to get measured at the doctor’s. He seemed pathetic, and that shocked Cal. This was a first.
“Don’t pity me,” Micah said suddenly, as if he could read it on Cal’s face. “Only a select few were in on my little stunt and know I’m alive. Most people in the Group are still committed to what matters, as I am.” He smiled. “We’ll take back the cause. We can go back to L.A. and reclaim the Echo Park encampment. Or we can settle somewhere else until we’re able to infiltrate another Community. Being a colonist is surprisingly easy, let me tell you.”
“And Peter’s in on this plan of yours?”
“Peter’s from the Land, so his loyalties are muddled. But he’s starting to get it. Especially when August, Sailor, and Dave are on my side, too.”
“What about me and Frida? What about our baby?”
Micah sighed, his head in his hands. “I need you for debate, California.”
“This isn’t the academic decathlon. I don’t want to talk you through your terrorist fantasies. Which probably won’t work, and if they do, well, then, we’re fucked. My kid is fucked.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want to stay here. With my family. I’ll gladly be a shill.”
Micah said nothing, and Cal noted there was no sign of surprise on his face. Of course he knew what Cal wanted.
“Promise me,” Cal said.
“Promise you what?”
“That my child will be okay. That you’ll protect him and that you’ll look out for your sister.”
Micah said nothing at first, and then, “In some ways, Frida is all I have left.”
Cal waited. He needed more.
“You know I’ll keep her safe,” Micah said finally.
It was enough of a promise for Cal. For now.
Cal nodded to the bookcase. “I want to take the Kant to my bedroom. I’ll smuggle it under my shirt if I have to.”
Micah laughed in his face. “Hell, no.”
Cal laughed, too. He could picture the title page, a mimeograph of the original. He could smell the book’s interior: like almonds and wood chips, the glue sweet as warm milk. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined that scent. And then he thought of the Forms in the dark, how he’d understood them, how he had anticipated each one before he passed it, as if he’d known them all his life. He would need to keep himself here. He would need to help Micah, but not the way Micah wanted him to.
“Let’s figure out another plan, okay?” Cal said.
He wouldn’t tell Frida any of this, at least not until the plan had been perfected, and maybe not even then, not if keeping it a secret meant she would sleep soundly at night. She needed to rest for the baby. She would be happier not knowing, as long as he had her best interests in mind. As long as he kept demanding information from Micah and was being smart, she’d be satisfied. She could trust him to make decisions for their family.
Cal sat down on the couch again. “There’s got to be another way to return the Group to its pure beginning, to cause problems for the Communities.” Even as he said these words, their cheesy call to arms, their rah-rah-rah cheerleading, he felt their power. He did want to find a better way.
“I’m listening,” Micah said.
“I have no idea what that is yet. But there has to be something. There’s always another way to approach the text, isn’t there?”
“Oh, baby, talk nerdy to me,” Micah replied, but he was listening.
“There has to be a better plan,” Cal said.
Before they left the room, Micah went to the bookcase and pulled out the Kant.
“Stuff it into your jacket, and don’t let anyone see it. And I mean it, Cal, not anyone, not even Frida. If you do, I swear I will cut off your balls with a paring knife.”
Cal took the book, nodding. It was his victory, and both of them knew it.
19
Frida couldn’t tell if she’d overslept because it was always dark these days when she woke up. She’d fallen asleep to the sound of rain, imagining the Land turning soggy and slippery as she remained safe and dry inside the Hotel, but all was quiet now. It must have stopped. Good. Cal had spent the last few nights on security, and Frida didn’t want him getting soaked and sick.
Now that the boards had been nailed to their bedroom window, it was night all the time. The darkness and damp and the smell of people sleeping reminded Frida of the Millers’ house. On the coldest days, she and Cal used to crawl into bed, into that corner where the mattress fit perfectly, and force themselves to sleep as long as they could.