Other Earths (collection)

“By ‘the boys,’ you mean men like us? Thomas Cradles?”

“Yeah.” He groped for something on the floor beside his chair, found it—a rag—and mopped sweat from his face. “Not all of them look like us. I guess their daddies slept with somebody different. But they all got the same name, least the ones I talked to did. Most push on through without stopping, they’re so damn eager to get into the tea forest.”

“Apparently you weren’t that eager.”

“Look at me.” He indicated his massive belly. “A man my size, I’m lucky I made it this far, what with the heat and all. I was about half dead when I got here. Took me a while to recover, and by the time I did, the urge wasn’t on me no more. That was strange, you know, ’cause I was flat-out desperate to get here. But hey, maybe the animal can’t use fat junkies. Anyhow, I figured me and Bian would squat a while and make a home for the boys. You know, give them a place to rest up, drink a few beers …get laid.” He shifted about in his chair, raising a dust. “Speaking of which, twenty bucks’ll buy you a ride on Bian. She might not look it, but she got a whole lot of move in that skinny ass.”

Bian cast a forlorn glance my way.

“I’ll pass,” I said. “What can you tell me about the tea forest?”

“Probably nothing you don’t know. Some boys been coming back through lately, ones that didn’t make it all the way to wherever. They’re saying the animal don’t need us no more. Whatever use it had for us, it’s about over with …Least that’s the feeling they got.”

“The animal?”

“Man, you don’t know much, do you? The animal. The creature-feature. It’s painted on the wall outside. You telling me you never seen it before?”

I told him what I had seen, the murals, the creature in my opium dream, and that I had sworn off drugs for fear of seeing it again.

“Well, there’s your problem, dude,” he said, and gave a sodden laugh. “I mean, shit! How you expect to pierce the veil of Maya, you don’t use drugs? You sure you’re a Cradle? ’Cause from what I can make out, most of us stayed stoned the whole damn trip.”

It was in my mind to tell him that if he was any example, most of us were serious fuck-ups; but instead I asked what he thought was going on.

“ ’Pears we all see it a little different,” he said. “This one ol’ boy, he told me he figured what we saw wasn’t exactly what was happening. It was like a symbol or a …I don’t know. Something.”

“A metaphor?”

He didn’t appear familiar with the word, but he said, “Yeah …like that. Everyone I’ve talked to pretty much agrees the animal needs us to protect it from something.” His brow furrowed. “Those splinters you saw when you were high? I reckon they’re like these stick figures I saw. Every time I did up, I’d see them standing around parts of the animal, guarding it like. Fucking weird, man. Scared the shit out of me. But I kept on seeing them ’cause I couldn’t do without ol’ Aunt Hazel.”

The reference eluded me.

“Heroin,” he said. “I had a monster habit. First week after I kicked, it was like I caught the superflu.” He had a swallow of beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now the next question you’re going to ask is, How come it chose us? Everybody’s got a theory. Some I’ve heard are fucking insane, but they all boil down to basically the same thing. Something about us Cradle boys is pure badass.”

His prideful grin told me that he was satisfied with this explanation and would be unlikely to have anything more intelligent to say on the subject. “You said some of them came back? Are they still here?”

He shook his head. “They couldn’t get shut of this place fast enough. If you’re after another opinion …way I hear it, some boys are still wandering around the fringe of the forest. They didn’t feel the urge strong enough, I guess. Or they were too weak and gave out. You could talk to them. The ones that come back used park boats, so getting to the forest ain’t nothing.”

Bian said something in Vietnamese, and the man said, “She wants to know if you’re going to fuck her.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

He relayed this information to Bian, who appeared relieved. “You can always change your mind. Bian don’t care. She’s a regular scout …ain’t you, darling?” He reached out and chucked her under the chin. “You don’t know what you’re missing. She’s got a real educated pussy.” He settled back in the chair and gave me a canny look. “I bet you’re a writer.”

Surprised, I said, “Yeah,” and asked how he knew.

“I didn’t know. Us Cradles tend to be literary types more often than not. And seems like the boys who ain’t interested in Bian are mostly writers …though there’s been a couple like to wore her out. But what I was getting at, seeing how you’re a writer, maybe you can make sense of their scribbles. I got a whole bunch of their notebooks.”

“You have their journals?”