The Female of the Species. Lionel Shriver
claims Ol-Kai-zer bleeds!” a native braved at last. “Show us the arm of Ol-Kai-zer!”
“Since when,” said Corgie, “do you tell me to do anything?”
Since never. His eyes razed the crowd, rich and dangerous. Il-Ororen went silent, back in church. Corgie stood over them, his eyes rather than his gun poised, aimed at them, cocked, until Dugon ran back with a jug of wine sloshing in each hand. He stopped, breathing hard, and then lifted them reverently to Corgie on his porch. With one final freezing glance, Corgie turned his back on Il-Ororen and returned to Gray.
“Intimidation isn’t going to hold them very long,” said Gray dully from the bed.
“Why not? It’s held them for five years. Now, drink this.” Gray had several sips, then shook her head. “More.” He poured it in her mouth until the wine dribbled down her chin.
“Just like a man,” said Gray, wiping the wine away with her good arm. “Trying to get me drunk.”
“That’s right,” said Charles, “this is what I should have done to you a long time ago.” Charles leaned over and kissed her lightly between the eyes. “Now drink some more.”
“No, Charles, I can’t. It’s just making me sick. Besides, it’s not going to make that much difference and you know it.”
Charles stood up and sighed; Gray realized that he was interested in getting her drunk partly in order to put off resetting her arm. Charles looked down at it, its temporary dressing beginning to show red; his face paled.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”
“I bluff with them all the time,” said Corgie, gesturing outside. “This …”
“You’re not in your train set anymore.”
Charles looked up and down the length of Gray Kaiser, as if memorizing her hard. “You do seem life-size.”
“Go ahead, Charles.”
It was one thing to shoot a piece of clay in the chest; it was quite another to work the bone back into the skin of a woman who actually existed. Corgie took a long swig of wine.
Corgie picked up her arm and put it down again. Breathed. Tried again. Breathed.
Charles did it. He straightened her arm, and worked that horrible red thing back inside her limb, closing the folds of her flesh over the bone, burying the secret of her mortality back where it belonged. He took one of the sticks from his model monument as a splint and swathed the break with parachute silk. When he was finished, the sweat was pouring down his cheeks as freely as down Gray’s. Breathing heavily, they wiped the moisture from each other’s face.
The chant outside had changed. “Show the arm of Ol-Kaizer!”
“Maybe we should show it to them,” said Charles. “They might be impressed. I did a good job.” And Charles did seem more proud of this achievement than she had ever seen him be of his dominance over Il-Ororen, or even of his precious architecture.
The tone of the gathering outside was angrier now. It sounded like nothing less than a lynch mob. Once in a while a stone hit the side of the cabin.
Gray lay on the bed, trying to keep her mind steady, for she felt she’d need a clear head soon. She was right. Corgie began to clean his gun.
“I’m sorry,” said Gray.
“For what?”
“For that uproar. It’s my fault.”
Corgie stopped oiling his trigger. “It’s not your fault you broke your goddamned arm. I mean, you’re not a god, are you? Isn’t that the whole goddamned problem? I swear, you get into this stuff too deep, you start believing it, and you look down at a cut on your arm and, sure, the natives are surprised you bleed, but the thing is, so are you. Well, we bleed. And it’s hard enough to go around bleeding all over the goddamned place without feeling guilty about it. I mean, for Christ’s sake, Kaiser, doesn’t it hurt?”
Gray shrugged, winced, let her shoulders carefully back down.
Charles went back to cleaning his gun, ramming the rod down its barrel. “I’m telling you,” he continued, thrusting the rod in and out, “you’ve seen too many real, real stupid movies, Kaiser. The old ones, maybe, without any sound. God, give me a woman who screams once in a while. Give me a woman who cries sometimes, and who throws her arms around your goddamned neck and begs for forgiveness—”
“Forgiveness!”
“Woman looks down at a broken arm as if she’s some kind of robot with a few wires cut. Comes in here to be repaired. Practically took out my soldering iron by mistake, Kaiser.”
A rain of stones pattered against the front wall of the cabin.
“Charles,” Gray asked carefully, “have they ever gotten upset like this before?”
“No.” He tried to sound casual.
“Charles,” said Gray, “your airplane doesn’t work, does it?”
Corgie laughed, beautifully. “I’d love to be in that movie of yours, Kaiser. The one where the two of us leave in a cloud of dust and turn into a speck in the sky. That’s a nice ending.”
“You mean it doesn’t,” said Gray heavily.
“Of course, then there’s the helium balloon.”
“What?”
“You know, when I give Odinaye an honorary degree for being so smart—and hell, a purple heart for bravery; the guy’s first-rate, let’s face it—and float off and leave the Emerald City behind.”
“And I click my heels. We’ve made these jokes before.”
“For once in my life I have more important things to think about than new jokes. We’re going to have to make do with the old ones.”
The whole cabin shook. Corgie checked out the window and shot over the head of a man grappling up a stilt; the warrior dropped back to the ground.
“Charles, what if they storm the cabin? Are the two of us just going to pick them off as fast as they come?”
“Us! Since when do you approve of shooting people?”
She looked down. “Since now, maybe.”
“No, Gray,” said Charles sadly. “We might squelch this for a little while, but one rifle is nothing. Here this gun is like a scepter. The kingdom’s falling, Gray, and without a kingdom a scepter is a stick. Now, come here.” She came over to the window wrapped in a blanket; keeping an eye outside, Corgie made her a sling. He told her while he tied the knot, “I’ve always wanted to be in a revolution. I’m just surprised to end up on this side of things is all.” The cabin shook again; Charles turned away from his handiwork with tired irritation, to shoot once more over the head of a would-be visitor and have him drop to the ground. “Show the arm of Ol-Kai-zer!” rang through the room.
“Would it help if I went out to them?” asked Gray.
“They’d run you straight through,” said Charles calmly. “Christ-like, but still not very appealing. Now, go get dressed. Put together a little food and a knife and some water. Pronto.” He gave her a pat on the ass, as if treating himself to a moment of pleasant masculine condescension.
“What for?”
“You’re going on a trip. The back pole is still an exit they don’t know about. The trail is covered in brush all the way to the cliffs, right? Now get going.”
“Then,” she said uncertainly, “I should put together enough food and water for two.”
Charles fired another shot. When he turned around again he looked angry. “Don’t just stand there,” he said in the same tone he used with Il-Ororen. “Move it.”