The Old Man looked again at the neon coursing through the tubes. The design of architecture had once meant something to him. He remembered living in a time when architecture was at war with itself. The old being swept away for the new. You could tell, he remembered, when you walked into someone’s house, a restaurant, even a gas station, what the architect’s idea of the future was. Glass blocks seemed so outdated to him at the time. That was all he could remember.
The snake was good. The two men stood in the parking lot as the Old Man ate it out of a bowl using a bent spoon. All this had survived the apocalypse under neon tubes humming and buzzing, manufactured before the world was the way it would be.
“Built it the year before the war. I did. I built it.” Mirrored Sunglasses never looked straight on at the Old Man. Always to the side or over his shoulder.
The moon would be full tonight. The last curled bits of snake were scooped up in a red sauce that might have been either peppers or ketchup, as the Old Man remembered ketchup to taste. Finally, the bent spoon clanged loudly against the silence that stood between them.
“Finished?” Mirrored Sunglasses held out a gnarled hand to take the bowl and spoon. The Old Man moved the bowl toward the hand noticing it didn’t move farther than initially extended. Another hand would always reach to meet what was offered. This one didn’t. When the bowl touched the fingertips of Mirrored Sunglasses, the tips curled instantly and the bowl was jerked away.
“Good huh? Made it myself.”
It was, nodded the Old Man.
Mirrored Sunglasses didn’t say anything and for a brief moment confusion crossed the craggy face beneath the sunglasses.
Mirrored Sunglasses is blind.
“Sure is. The best. Always got lots of snake. Always snake. Not much else but there is always snake.”
Blind, thought the Old Man. Blind for how long? Alone. No village. How had he survived? Who knew.
“Like a dip in the pool now? Then we can get you fixed up for the night. A real hotel room. Betcha never thought you’d have that again. I’ve kept ready since the bombs. Sometimes folk stay awhile. Like to stay for awhile?”
The Old Man considered the moon and the desert. It would be a good night for putting some distance toward the old town. But the chance of finding salvage after the moon went down was poor. He needed good light.
But wasn’t this place salvage? Was a motel beyond the wasteland with power salvage?
“That would be kind of you to put me up for the night.”
“A dip in the pool first? A good swim and you’ll sleep like a dead sailor.”
“Maybe in the morning. I think I need to lie down. It’s been a long few days.”
Mirrored Sunglasses turned to the office, muttering that the Old Man should follow along. Moments later he handed the Old Man a card.
“Room five. Card unlocks it like one of them fancy hotels before the war, ’member ’em?”
The Old Man looked at it. Had he ever stayed in a hotel with a card as a key? He had a vague memory of once having done so. A laughing girl at his shoulder as he ran the card through a slot and red became green and there was some meaning to him at that moment. Young. It must have meant something to a young man. The meaning of it now was lost among the blown sand and dying heat of a world where cards did not open locks. That was the work of crowbars.
“I’ll knock on your door before dawn. Then you can have a swim while the water’s still cold.”
The Old Man said that would be fine and left the office. Five was on the bottom floor, halfway down the long end of the capital L that was the shape of the place.
Inside the room it was quiet. It was not his shed where light came through at all angles and where the wind brought the unwanted gift of sand. Or where the business of the village could always be listened to. Comforted by. This room was too quiet. A quiet he had not experienced for many years.
He flicked a switch on the wall and one lamp cast a thin cone of light against the gloom. He lay on the bedspread. It was thick and stiff. It smelled of heavy dust.
Already his eyes were closing. For a moment he awoke and realized he had been sleeping. He needed to turn off the light. But he was too tired. More tired than he had ever been.
I feel as if I am made of grease. I must turn off the light. I would be a bad guest if I didn’t turn off the light and used up all the power. He flailed and heard the lamp fall.
He was asleep.
Chapter 10
In the dream he was awake in the hotel room, knowing he must turn off the light or he’d run down the power of the motel. Cars were pulling up in the parking lot as the bombs went off. Lots of bombs.
And then he was awake. There were no bombs. No sound. No cars.
HE WILL KILL U!!!
A jolt of blue fire raced across muscles and arms. Above him the letters of the words were written in glowing yellow light on the ceiling. They seemed to grow larger as he stared at them. The room was dark.
‘I must be hallucinating,’ he thought. He closed his eyes and tried to rub them, but his arm would barely move.
I am so tired.
When he opened his eyes again he saw the words.
HE WILL KILL U!!!
I must be going crazy.
Sweating, he pushed himself up and realized he was breathing heavy. Too heavy. With more effort than it should have taken, he got the lamp upright and switched it on again. Nothing happened.
I must have broken the bulb.
He looked upward, and again the glowing warning remained above his head. The letters were made up of little stars and moons. Planets with rings. He knew those things, those glow-in-the-dark shapes. A girl he once knew. He remembered her to be sad. Or maybe he was the one who was sad. But she had put glow-in-the-dark planets and stars on her ceiling. He remembered lying next to her in the dark as music played nearby. He remembered the sadness though he could not say whether it had been his or hers.
Someone had written those words on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark planets and stars. Standing with more effort than it should have taken, he stood on the bed to examine them. They were real. He peeled off a star. Held it between his thumb and forefinger.
He moved to the window and parted the curtains. The moon had fallen to the other side of the sky.
Dawn in a few hours.
He looked once more at the warning.
Taking his satchel, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. He crossed the walkway heading into the parking lot. His huaraches scraped quietly. He kept his eyes on the dark office door.
“No swim, my friend?” Mirrored Sunglasses stood in the doorway of the room next to him, his arm cradling a double-barreled shotgun.
“You’re not thinking of running off without paying your bill?”
Was he truly blind?
Ahead the moon sank into the black horizon turning the silver nightscape a dark blue.
“How’d you know?” asked Mirrored Sunglasses.
The Old Man swallowed thickly.
When did I last have some water? I am thirstier than I should be.
“Tell me. It won’t do you no good not to.”
“Some words written on the ceiling.”
Mirrored Sunglasses moved the shotgun to the other arm. He seemed to stare off, considering a different
