Waking Gods
Page 53
—I’m sorry. The “conspiracy puker”?
—Oh, you don’t know that one.
—I’ve never been kicked out of a bar.
—I told them we were having a good time, minding our own business, when this kid with a White Sox baseball cap bumped into us and threw up on my feet. Right on my shoes. I went to the bathroom to clean it up, but Kara was so grossed out she threw up herself. You know. What kind of establishment are you guys running? People throwing up on other people’s shoes! This is my wedding night!
—Did they let you back in?
—Of course. Twenty minutes later, Kara got into a fight with two guys who were harassing a girl. She didn’t even know the girl, they just pissed her off. They took it outside, so we didn’t get thrown out again.
—Did Kara win?
—What do you think? Kara can’t handle her liquor, but she can take two assholes anytime. Could. But she fell on a piece of broken glass, cut her hand pretty bad.
We took a cab to the hotel. We were both done for. Kara could barely walk. She was bleeding. We must have been pretty loud because we woke up Bob in the next room trying to get our door to open with that stupid plastic card. He was pissed at first but then he saw Kara’s hand. It was a pretty nasty cut. He said we had to disinfect that thing and put a proper bandage on it—she’d Scotch-taped a few napkins on her hand at the bar before we left. We sat in the corridor while Bob went to the lobby to get a first-aid kit. They didn’t have anything, so we put Kara on the couch in Bob’s room and he drove me around town looking for a CVS or anything else that was open. By the time we got back, Kara was sound asleep. I tried to wake her up, but she was just gone. We cleaned her hand and put a nice white bandage on it—well, Bob did—and we let her sleep. I stayed up with Bob. He didn’t know who we were, so we emptied the minibar talking about what it’s like to sell plumbing supplies across the Midwest. Fun night.
—I’m sorry your wedding night didn’t go as planned.
—No, I meant it! It was a fun night.
—I miss her. So much.
—She loved you like a sister.
—…What about Eva? That’s her name, right? How is she?
—Eva is…Eva’s OK…I guess. She knew. Somehow she knew Kara was her mother.
—How did she know?
—I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her about it. I figured that meant she also knew about me, that I’m her father, and I can’t be that right now.
—You’re gonna have to be something to her, Vincent. You’re all she’s got.
—That’s…what I wanted to talk to you about. I—
—What is it?
—I’d like you to take care of her.
—Vincent, this is—
—Just for a while. I need to get away from all this.
—She needs you.
—I’m no good to her right now.
—Vincent, the parents she’s known all her life were killed right in front of her. Then she somehow figures out Kara’s her biological mother, and she has to watch her die the very next day. Now the world’s coming to an end and she’s all alone in an underground military base. She needs her father, not some strange woman she’s never met. She needs you, and I don’t think she can wait until you get over your grief. You don’t know how to be a father right now? Fine! I’m sure she has no idea how to be your daughter either. You’re just gonna have to figure this out together.
—I’m not saying I’ll give her the silent treatment for the rest of her life. I’m not ready to be her father now, today.
—Vincent, I don’t think you’re listening. No one cares whether you’re ready or not. It’s not up to you. You’re her father, you can’t change that.
—…
—What would Kara say?
—That’s not fair. I don’t know how! I can’t! I think the kid is doing better than I am anyway.
—Like I said, I haven’t met her yet.
—You haven’t asked her to try Kara’s station?
—She’s a minor, Vincent. I would need her parents to sign off on it. That’s you.
—You haven’t asked me either.
—I was afraid you’d say yes.
—You don’t want her to try?
—Oh, I want her to try. I’m curious, like everyone else. Part of me also wants us to put up a fight. But if it were my daughter, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere near that robot.
—I wanna fight them too. I don’t want us to go quietly. I…I want to avenge Kara more than anything. But I don’t want Eva’s life to be just that. Violence.
—What will you do?
—I have no idea.
—You said you needed to get away. Take her with you.
—And go where?
—Anywhere you want.
—I could—
—What?
—I could, maybe, take her back to Canada, find a quiet place, as far away from the city as possible. You know, try to give her something that feels like a normal life, even if it’s only for a short while.
—That’s a beautiful idea.
—No it’s not. It’s a stupid idea. It’s a movie scene: small wooden shack, by a creek. Young girl playing in the grass. I’m not a farmer. Even if I were, I won’t buy a farm! We’ll end up sleeping in my car, begging for food.
—You don’t have a car.
—I don’t have papers to cross the border with a ten-year-old either.
—I’m not sure people care about these things anymore.
—Oh, they care. I’m not the only one who thought Canada might be safer. There are tens of thousands of people massing at the border. So far, they’ve used tear gas, rubber bullets. About a dozen people were killed. I don’t think they’re letting anyone through, even with the right papers.
—You can stay here. It doesn’t have a creek, or grass, but it’s safe, at least for the moment.
—Not sure how safe it is for Eva. I don’t think they’ll just let her leave.
—Who is “they”? Eugene is in Geneva trying to stop everyone from bombing their own people. It’s just me running this place right now.
—There’s a guard on Eva’s door.
—Why?
—You know why. We’re guests here, Rose. You may be running what’s left of the EDC, but this is an American base, full of American soldiers, and they don’t take orders from us.
—Oh, you don’t know that one.
—I’ve never been kicked out of a bar.
—I told them we were having a good time, minding our own business, when this kid with a White Sox baseball cap bumped into us and threw up on my feet. Right on my shoes. I went to the bathroom to clean it up, but Kara was so grossed out she threw up herself. You know. What kind of establishment are you guys running? People throwing up on other people’s shoes! This is my wedding night!
—Did they let you back in?
—Of course. Twenty minutes later, Kara got into a fight with two guys who were harassing a girl. She didn’t even know the girl, they just pissed her off. They took it outside, so we didn’t get thrown out again.
—Did Kara win?
—What do you think? Kara can’t handle her liquor, but she can take two assholes anytime. Could. But she fell on a piece of broken glass, cut her hand pretty bad.
We took a cab to the hotel. We were both done for. Kara could barely walk. She was bleeding. We must have been pretty loud because we woke up Bob in the next room trying to get our door to open with that stupid plastic card. He was pissed at first but then he saw Kara’s hand. It was a pretty nasty cut. He said we had to disinfect that thing and put a proper bandage on it—she’d Scotch-taped a few napkins on her hand at the bar before we left. We sat in the corridor while Bob went to the lobby to get a first-aid kit. They didn’t have anything, so we put Kara on the couch in Bob’s room and he drove me around town looking for a CVS or anything else that was open. By the time we got back, Kara was sound asleep. I tried to wake her up, but she was just gone. We cleaned her hand and put a nice white bandage on it—well, Bob did—and we let her sleep. I stayed up with Bob. He didn’t know who we were, so we emptied the minibar talking about what it’s like to sell plumbing supplies across the Midwest. Fun night.
—I’m sorry your wedding night didn’t go as planned.
—No, I meant it! It was a fun night.
—I miss her. So much.
—She loved you like a sister.
—…What about Eva? That’s her name, right? How is she?
—Eva is…Eva’s OK…I guess. She knew. Somehow she knew Kara was her mother.
—How did she know?
—I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her about it. I figured that meant she also knew about me, that I’m her father, and I can’t be that right now.
—You’re gonna have to be something to her, Vincent. You’re all she’s got.
—That’s…what I wanted to talk to you about. I—
—What is it?
—I’d like you to take care of her.
—Vincent, this is—
—Just for a while. I need to get away from all this.
—She needs you.
—I’m no good to her right now.
—Vincent, the parents she’s known all her life were killed right in front of her. Then she somehow figures out Kara’s her biological mother, and she has to watch her die the very next day. Now the world’s coming to an end and she’s all alone in an underground military base. She needs her father, not some strange woman she’s never met. She needs you, and I don’t think she can wait until you get over your grief. You don’t know how to be a father right now? Fine! I’m sure she has no idea how to be your daughter either. You’re just gonna have to figure this out together.
—I’m not saying I’ll give her the silent treatment for the rest of her life. I’m not ready to be her father now, today.
—Vincent, I don’t think you’re listening. No one cares whether you’re ready or not. It’s not up to you. You’re her father, you can’t change that.
—…
—What would Kara say?
—That’s not fair. I don’t know how! I can’t! I think the kid is doing better than I am anyway.
—Like I said, I haven’t met her yet.
—You haven’t asked her to try Kara’s station?
—She’s a minor, Vincent. I would need her parents to sign off on it. That’s you.
—You haven’t asked me either.
—I was afraid you’d say yes.
—You don’t want her to try?
—Oh, I want her to try. I’m curious, like everyone else. Part of me also wants us to put up a fight. But if it were my daughter, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere near that robot.
—I wanna fight them too. I don’t want us to go quietly. I…I want to avenge Kara more than anything. But I don’t want Eva’s life to be just that. Violence.
—What will you do?
—I have no idea.
—You said you needed to get away. Take her with you.
—And go where?
—Anywhere you want.
—I could—
—What?
—I could, maybe, take her back to Canada, find a quiet place, as far away from the city as possible. You know, try to give her something that feels like a normal life, even if it’s only for a short while.
—That’s a beautiful idea.
—No it’s not. It’s a stupid idea. It’s a movie scene: small wooden shack, by a creek. Young girl playing in the grass. I’m not a farmer. Even if I were, I won’t buy a farm! We’ll end up sleeping in my car, begging for food.
—You don’t have a car.
—I don’t have papers to cross the border with a ten-year-old either.
—I’m not sure people care about these things anymore.
—Oh, they care. I’m not the only one who thought Canada might be safer. There are tens of thousands of people massing at the border. So far, they’ve used tear gas, rubber bullets. About a dozen people were killed. I don’t think they’re letting anyone through, even with the right papers.
—You can stay here. It doesn’t have a creek, or grass, but it’s safe, at least for the moment.
—Not sure how safe it is for Eva. I don’t think they’ll just let her leave.
—Who is “they”? Eugene is in Geneva trying to stop everyone from bombing their own people. It’s just me running this place right now.
—There’s a guard on Eva’s door.
—Why?
—You know why. We’re guests here, Rose. You may be running what’s left of the EDC, but this is an American base, full of American soldiers, and they don’t take orders from us.
