Sourland

Was he drunk? Deranged? High on drugs? (Halfway Leah remembered, she’d heard that the Gottschalks’ brilliant but unstable son had had a chronic drug problem — unless that was the Richters’ son, who’d dropped out of Yale and disappeared somewhere in northern Maine.)

“My news is — the Apocalypse has happened — in an eye-blink, it was accomplished.” Woods spoke excitedly, yet calmly. “Still we persevere as if we were alive, that’s the get of our species.”

“Really? And when was this ‘Apocalypse’?”

“For some, it was just yesterday. For others, tomorrow. There isn’t just a single Apocalypse of course, but many — as many as there are individuals. There is no way to speak of such things adequately. There is simply not the vocabulary. But make no mistake” — Woods shook his head gravely, with a pained little smile — “you will be punished.”

Now it was you. Leah shivered, she’d been thinking that Woods was speaking with cavalier magnanimity of we.

“But why? — ‘punished’?”

“‘Why’?” Woods bared big chunky damp teeth in a semblance of a grin. “Are you kidding, Mrs. Zalk?”

“I–I don’t think so. I’m asking you seriously.”

A rush of feeling came over her. Guilty excitement, apprehension. For Woods was right: why should she escape punishment? A Caucasian woman of a privileged class, the wife of a prominent scientist — long the youngest and one of the more attractive wives in any gathering — a loved woman — a cherished woman — how vain, to imagine that this condition could persevere!

“Global warming is just one of the imminent catastrophes. The seas will rise, the rivers will flood — the seashores will be washed away. Cities like New Orleans will be washed away. History itself will be washed away, into oblivion. It happened to the other planets — the ‘Ice Giants,’ long ago. No one laments the passing of those life-forms — none remain, to lament or to rejoice. In our soupy-warm Earth atmosphere there will arise super-bugs for which ‘medical science’ can devise no vaccines or antibiotics. There will arise genetic mutations, malformations. These are the ‘Devil’s frolicks’ — as it used to be said. Entire species will vanish — not just minuscule subspecies but major, mammalian species like our own. There will be as many catastrophes as there are individuals — for each is an individual ‘fate.’ But you will all be punished — when the knowledge catches up with you.”

“You’ve said that but — why? Why ‘punished’? By whom?”

Leah spoke with an uneasy lightness. This was the way of Harris — Harris and his scientist-friends — when confronted with the quasi-profound proclamations of non-scientists.

The pain between her eyes was throbbing now and her eyes blinked away tears. A kind of scrim separating her from the world — from the otherness of the world — and from invasive personalities like Woods’s — had seemed to be failing her, frayed and tearing. She’d been susceptible to headaches all her life but now pain came more readily, you could say intimately. Harris — who rarely had headaches — tried to be sympathetic with her stooping to brush his lips against her forehead. Poor Leah! Is it all better now?

Yes she told him. Oh yes much better thank you!

Though in fact no. Except in fairy tales no true pain is mitigated by a kiss.

“Because you’d had the knowledge, and hadn’t acted upon it. Your generation — your predecessors — and now mine. Human greed, corruption — indifference. Humankind has always known what the ‘good life’ is — except it’s fucking bor-ing.”

Woods spoke cheerily and as if by rote. There was a curious — chilling — disjunction between the accusation of his words and the playful banter of his voice and again Leah was reminded of an actor’s face — a mask-face — fitted on the young man’s head like something wrapped in place. Defensively she said: “Evolution — that means change — ‘evolving.’ Species have always passed away into extinction, and been replaced by other species. But no species can replace us.”

“Wrong again, Mrs. Zalk! I hope your distinguished-scientist husband didn’t tell you something so foolish. Homo sapiens will certainly be replaced. Nature will not miss us.”

Woods laughed baring his big chunky teeth. Leah stared at him in dislike, repugnance. This arrogant young man had so rattled her, she couldn’t seem to think coherently. Badly she’d been wanting to leave him — to return to the comforting din of the party — by now Harris would have noticed her absence, and would be concerned — but she couldn’t seem to move her legs. In a festive gesture Woods poured more wine into Leah’s glass and into his own but quickly Leah set her glass aside, on the slightly rotted porch railing. Woods lifted his glass in a mock-salute, and drank.

“Yes — we will miss one another, Mrs. Zalk — but nature will not miss us. That’s our tragedy!”

“How old are you, Woods?”

“Forty-three.”

“‘Forty-three’!”

Leah wanted to protest But you were a boy just yesterday — last year. What has happened to you…

Woods’s face was unlined, unblemished, yet the eyes were not a young man’s eyes. Through the wire- rimmed glasses you could see these eyes, with disturbing clarity.

He’s mad Leah thought. Something has destroyed his brain — his soul.

“Well. I–I think I should be getting back to my party — people will be wondering where I am. And you should come, too, Woods — it’s cold out here.”

This was so: the balmy May afternoon had darkened by degrees into a chilly windblown dusk. Dead leaves on the broken oak limbs rattled irritably in the wind as if trying to speak. Quickly Leah retreated before Woods could clasp her hand again in his crushing grip.

She would leave her unsettling companion gazing after her, leaning against the porch railing that sagged beneath his weight. Cigarette in one hand, wineglass in the other, and the purloined bottle of Burgundy near-empty on the porch floor at his feet.

How warm — unpleasantly warm — the interior of the house was, after the fresh air of outdoors.

At the threshold of the crowded living room Leah paused. Her vision was blurred as if she’d just stepped inside out of a bright glaring place and her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darker interior. In a panic Leah looked for Harris, to appeal to him. She looked for Harris, to make things right. He would slip his arm around her, to comfort her. Gravely he would ask her what was wrong, why was she so upset, gently he would laugh at her and assure her that there was nothing to be upset about, what did it matter if a drunken young man had spoken foolishly to her — what did any of that matter when the birthday party Leah had planned for him was a great success, all their parties in this marvelous old house were great successes, and he loved her.

Harris didn’t seem to be in the living room talking with his friends — they must have moved into another room. The party seemed to have become noisier. Everyone was shouting. From all directions came a harsh tearing laughter. The pianist who’d been playing Liszt so beautifully had departed, it seemed — now there was a harsher species of music — a tape perhaps — what sounded like electronic music — German industrial rock music? — primitive and percussive, deafening. Who were these people? Was Leah expected to know these people? A few of the faces were familiar — vaguely familiar — others were certainly strangers. Someone had dared to take down Harris’s wonderful photographs from his world travels — in their place were ugly splotched canvases, crookedly hung. The dazzling-yellow sprigs of forsythia had been replaced by vases of artificial flowers with slick red plastic stamens — birds of paradise? The rental tables were larger than Leah had wished and covered with garish red-striped tablecloths — who had ordered these? Without asking her permission the caterers’ assistants had rearranged furniture, Harris’s handsome old Steinway grand piano had been shoved rudely into an alcove of the living room and folding chairs had been set up in place of Leah’s rattan chairs in the sunroom. The buffet service had begun, guests were crowding eagerly forward. In a panic Leah pushed blindly through the line of strangers looking for — someone — whom she was desperate to find — a person, a man, from whom she’d been separated — in the confusion and peril of the moment she could not have named who it was, but she would know