Pariah

Two tabs later Abe slipped off into narcotized slumber, his body in the exact spot Ruth’s had been. He slept the untroubled sleep of a babe.

29

“You can’t be thinking of keeping it,” Alan said, trying to sound as reasonable and nonjudgmental as possible.

“And why not?”

“Why not?” Alan had so many reasons at the ready he was at a loss for words. How could she be seriously considering taking this baby to term? He was astonished she’d even been able to conceive. Maybe it wasn’t even his. That was possible. But what the hell did that matter? His, Mike’s, whoever’s. This was no time to be bringing new life into the world. He tapped the home pregnancy tester on his knee. “Why not? I really want to phrase this right. I don’t want to be patronizing or insulting or anything like that, because you’re an intelligent woman and…”

“And you’re already being patronizing. If you’re going to hammer me with a whole laundry list of how shitty it is out there, spare me. I’m not blind, I’m not stupid. I’m fully abreast of the state of the world.”

“Then how can you justify such a selfish act? How could you even remotely think having a baby is a good idea? Just explain it to me. I really want to hear your rationalization, because that’s all it will be. Fuck it, I’m sorry, but there is no good rationale for it. None. Forget telling me. I don’t want to hear it. It would be some irrational female desire to procreate. You need something that will love you unconditionally? That’s the apex of selfishness.”

“Who said anything about that? Don’t go putting words in my mouth!”

“Then explain it. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m totally wrong. Please. Enlighten me.”

Ellen smacked Alan across the face, hard. “You’re totally patronizing me, you asshole.”

“I don’t mean to be,” Alan said, rubbing his stinging cheek, suppressing the innate urge to retaliate. “This is a very emotional moment. Let’s calm down.”

Ellen sat and stewed, eyeing Alan with newfound scorn. Sure, she was good enough to fuck, but like most men it was only if the rutting was consequence free that it was desirable. Alan hadn’t seemed to object to boning her without the benefit of a condom. What, did he assume she was taking precautions? Didn’t most men put the burden of responsibility on the woman? Alan had seemed so atypical at first, but now? Since the reintroduction to creature comforts like video he’d been a lot less attentive to her needs. Sex, at times, seemed a chore that she’d cajoled him into performing. He’d rather watch movies and comedy shows.

And Mona. Presently she was posing with her clothes on, but how long would that last? First a little “innocent” modeling fully draped, as the artistes say. Then, when she’s gotten used to posing, comes the suggestion of undraped sessions. Then, the artist-and Alan had elaborated his theory on the inborn oversexedness of artists during one of their own postcoital bouts of pillow talk-puts the moves on his quarry, and bango, Alan’s boning Mona. What would she be like in the throes of passion? Could she even feel passion? Would she suddenly become a chatterbox? Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Or would she just lie there like a corpse? Maybe Alan would like that.

“You just don’t know what it’s like,” Ellen said, somewhat cryptically.

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“I lost a child! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

That Alan had been through three abortions probably wouldn’t count, so he kept mum.

“No, of course you don’t.”

Even Mike, her daughter’s father, hadn’t been as psychically wounded by her death as Ellen had. Men just couldn’t feel that connection. With men the whole procreation equation came down to: SPURT! My work is done.

“Does the human race just call it quits?” Ellen shouted. “Like Peggy Lee said, is that all there is? I can’t believe that. Those things out there can’t run on empty forever. Someday they’ll start dropping and then it will be time for us to rebuild and repopulate. That’s the function of every organism, Alan. To perpetuate its kind. Is that so bad?”

“It’s not that it’s bad, exactly, but what kind of risk are you willing to take? What are you basing this optimism on? You see those things out there as being transitory? Maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right. But since their advent they’ve shown no sign of going away. Sure, they’re rotting. You can see it. You can smell it! But they don’t give up the ghost and fall down. Not unless you put them down by force. Maybe I could see what you’re doing as a positive thing if they were keeling over out there, but they’re not. They’re not. Can’t you wait? Wouldn’t that be a reasonable compromise? I could make peace with being a dad a lot easier if I didn’t think that giving birth was the ultimate form of child abuse at this point.”

“Who says you’re the father? Maybe this is Mike’s, in which case this is also my last piece of my husband. Plus, how can I get rid of it?”

Alan had no answer. It was pointless to argue. He leaned over and gave her knee a tender squeeze, mute capitulation, if not actual encouragement. Ellen sat back on the couch and softly began to sing, “Is that all there is, is that all there is…”

“They can’t last forever,” Abe said, his voice chemically softened.

Alan paced Abe’s floor, periodically looking out the window at the mob.

“Tell them that,” the younger man said, agitated by his exchange with Ellen. They don’t seem to have gotten that memo.”

“Eventually they’ll run out of steam. Maybe not in my lifetime, but-”

“I’ll repeat myself: tell them that. They don’t seem to be going anywhere. Who’s to say we outlast them? They’ve been running on empty for months. With the exception of Mike, none of us have gone and fed the flock, so what, they’ll just do us a kindness and drop?”

“I’ve seen some of them do just that,” Abe said. “Drop. They can’t keep going on and on and on, eternally. And if we can outlast them, that’ll mean we can get out of this building and move on.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere. That’s immaterial at this point. But you’ve gotta cling to some kind of hope. You have to be optimistic,” Abe said.

Alan looked at the old man with befuddlement. Though he wasn’t about to spill the beans about Ellen’s natal bombshell, Alan had come up here to commiserate with the resident curmudgeon, to buttress his negative worldview. Instead he was having a chat with Pollyanna. Abe sat in his armchair, shirt open and little round belly pooched out over his undone slacks. His face unnaturally beatific, he resembled a scrawny Jewish Buddha.

“You’re going to make me laugh,” Alan marveled, “and I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

“Why? Why laugh? Hope is the most vital asset we have. It’s all we as a species ever really ever had. Hope is the only reason to get up in the morning.”

“Who are you?”

“You’ve gotta have hope,” replied the old man.

“If you start to sing, I’m gonna scream.”

“The stuff I’m taking, I wouldn’t care.”

“Stuff?”

“Mona’s a heckuva pharmacist.” Abe closed his eyes, chuckling to himself. “A heckuva pharmacist.”

“So I sent her out for more of that rope and some other stuff,” Eddie said, his smile devious.

“Why?” Dave asked.

“I got me an idea for some leisure activities, but mainly I wanted her out of the way for a while. I wanna check out her digs, snoop around and see if I can figure out what her secret is.”

“You still on about that?” Dave whined, pondering the vagueness of Eddie’s unspecified “leisure activities.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m still on about it. She gets to go out, Einstein. She gets to leave the