“Thank you,” she says. She manages a smile. Is it a guilt gift, an apology? The roses for the wife after the husband’s furtive tumble with the office co-worker? But she’s not a wife.
“Got you some paper too. Couple of school notebooks, drugstore still carried them, I guess for pleeb kids who couldn’t afford the Wi-Fi tabs. Couple of rollerball pens, pencils. Felt markers.”
“How did you know I wanted those?” she says.
“I worked with a mind reader, once upon a time,” he says. “Cursive’s a Gardener skill, right? Figured you’d want to be keeping track of the days. Hey, what about a hug?”
“I’d get you all muddy,” she says, relenting, smiling.
“I’ve been dirtier.”
How could she not put her arms around him, despite her slug-slippery fingers?
And the sun is shining, and there are bees, among the yellow squash flowers. “You know what I really need?” she says to Zeb’s smoky beard. “Some reading glasses. And a hive.”
“Consider them yours.” There’s a pause. “I wanted you to look at this.”
From inside his sleeve he pulls out a shoe: a sandal. It’s handmade, with recycled materials: tire-tread sole, bicycle inner tube straps, silver duct tape accents. Although earth-stained, it’s not very worn. “Gardener,” Toby says. She remembers the fashion well, or rather the lack of it. Then she qualifies: “Or maybe it is. Not that other people didn’t make those, I guess.”
Already she has a picture in her head: Adam One and the surviving Gardeners, hunkered down in one of their Ararat hidey holes – the old mushroom-growing cellars, for instance – cobbling away by candlelight at their handcrafted sandals like a burrowful of elves, nibbling on their stores of honey and soybits while above their heads the cities flamed and collapsed and the human race melted away to nothingness. She wants so much to believe it that it can’t possibly be true.
“Where did you find it?” she asks.
“Near the piglet kill,” Zeb says. “I didn’t show the others.”
“You think it’s Adam. You think he’s still alive. You think he left this for you – or for someone – on purpose.” These aren’t questions.
“So do you,” says Zeb. “You think it too.”
“Don’t hope too much,” she says. “Hope can ruin you.”
“Okay. You’re right. But still.”
“If you’re right,” she says, “wouldn’t Adam be looking for you?”
Blacklight Headlamp
The Story of Zeb and Fuck
You don’t need to tell them a story every time. Come with me, instead. You can skip a night.
I already skipped one night. I can’t disappoint them too much. They might leave here and go back to the beach, and then they’d be easy to attack. Those Painballers would … I’d never forgive myself if …
Okay. But make it short?
I’m not sure that’s possible. They ask a lot of questions.
Tell them to piss off.
They wouldn’t understand that. They think piss is a good thing. Like fuck – they think there’s an invisible entity called Fuck. A helper of Crake’s in time of need. And of Jimmy’s, because they heard him saying Oh fuck.
I’m with them. Fuck! An invisible entity! A helper in time of need! Dead right!
They want to hear a story about him. About him and you, actually. The two of you, having boyish adventures. You’re both stars at the moment. They’ve been pestering me about it, that story.
Can I listen in?
No. You’d laugh.
See this mouth? Virtual duct tape! If I had some Krazy Glue, I could … Hey, I could glue my mouth to your …
Don’t be so warped.
Life is warped. I’m just in synch.
Thank you for the fish.
See, I am wearing the red hat, and I have listened to the round shiny thing I wear on my arm.
Tonight I will tell you the story of Zeb and Fuck. As you have asked me to do.
Once Zeb had left his home, where his father and his mother were not kind to him, he wandered around in the chaos. He did not know where to go next, and he did not know where his brother, Adam, was, who was his only friend and helper.
Yes, Fuck was his friend and helper too, but he could not be seen.
No, that is not an animal over there in the dark behind the shrub. That is Zeb. He is not laughing, he is coughing.
So, Zeb’s brother, Adam, was his only friend and helper that he could see and touch. Was Adam lost? Had he been stolen away? Zeb did not know, and that made him feel sad.
But Fuck kept him company and gave him advice. Fuck lived in the air and flew around like a bird, which was how he could be with Zeb one minute, and then with Crake, and then also with Snowman-the-Jimmy. He could be in many places at once. If you were in trouble and you called to him – Oh Fuck! – he would always be there, just when you needed him. And as soon as you said his name, you would feel better.
Yes, Zeb does have a bad cough. But you do not need to purr on him right now.
Yes, it would be good to have a friend and helper like Fuck. I wish I had one too.