The Wall of the Sky, the Wall of the Eye

SLEEPY PEOPLE

He was no danger to her. Judith Map felt that immediately. He lay on the porch, one arm flung out across her doormat, obscuring the word WELCOME. She’d come home late from work. The street was silent, apart from crickets chirping and a far-off siren. She could see his chest rise and fall calmly. She turned her key in the door and stepped past him.

Inside, she switched on the porch light, and looked at him through the glass pane at the top of the door. He wore jeans and workboots, and a tee-shirt which read QUICK’S LITTLE ALASKA. It was the name of the bar at the corner where her street met Schermerhorn Avenue, three blocks away. It was called Little Alaska because of the air conditioning.

A car pulled into a drive up the street, headlights flaring over the porch where he lay. Another of her neighbors coming home. The street led nowhere, and the only cars that went past were cars that belonged to houses there. Nobody on her street walked except Judith. But the man on the porch must have walked, or been carried. From the bar, she guessed.

She opened the door and lifted his arms and shoulders from underneath and dragged him across the threshold. His head lolled. The carpet at the entry bunched under his back, so that she had to nudge it away with her toe. She grunted, heard her own rough breath. His was still calm. She draped his arms over his stomach, and stepped out onto the porch. No one was watching. She shut the door.

She dragged him a little farther into the room, to the space between the sofa and the coffee table. She felt a little trickle of sweat under her arms. It was enough, she’d moved him enough. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. When she went back in to look at him she was struck by the beauty of his features at rest. She felt she understood him. Though she didn’t understand how he had gotten to her porch.

She’d heard about the sleepy people, but she’d never met one before.

She climbed over the back of the sofa and sat with her legs crossed and peered down at him. Her heart was beating fast. She wasn’t frightened. She wondered if she should bring him a blanket, then remembered that the sleepy people conserved energy, kept themselves warm. He’d been on the porch, after all. Though really this was the kind of night where it was as warm outdoors as in. A perfectly calm night, as if it had settled itself around his sleeping body. She was the only thing agitated, her breath unsteady. But she wasn’t frightened.

Should she move him back to the porch? He might have wanted to be there. He fit nicely between the couch and the coffee table, though. She climbed over the back again, and went to her bedroom door. From that vantage he was completely out of sight. What if someone were looking for him? It would be someone from the bar, from Little Alaska. They might have left him here just because they couldn’t carry him anymore, intending to come back. Certainly her neighbors wouldn’t leave a sleepy man on her porch. But the people in the bar, the militia, never left the bar. She tangled again in the mystery of his arrival on her porch.

It didn’t matter. She was suddenly exhausted. She pictured herself stretched out on the sofa, alongside him but perched above. It was absurd, she decided, and thrust it aside. She went into the bedroom and locked the door, quickly. That too was absurd; she might as well have left him on the porch. It was as though she wanted to abdicate the house to him and reduce her own space to the single room.

She unlocked the door, and left it ajar. She could see the back of the sofa from her bed. She could hear him breathe.

She didn’t dream, but woke thinking of him. She got out of bed to check; he was still there. His arm was threaded through the legs of the coffee table. She pictured him flinging his arms, gesticulating in the night. Otherwise he lay there exactly as she’d left him. She went to the kitchen and made herself coffee.

When she was ready for work she lifted his shoulders again and dragged him around the other side of the sofa, and back out to the porch. She didn’t want to lock him inside. What else she wanted wasn’t clear, but she shouldn’t lock him inside. Her back grew strong from moving him daily, she imagined reading in an eighteenth-century novel. His boots clunked, one after another, over the doorjamb. She propped his head and shoulders slightly, just because it seemed righter for daytime. Anyone could see him from the street.

There were only two other people left in her office, Tom and Eva. There had been six people working there when she started, two years before. It was telephone work. They were collecting information. The information was highly specific: the price of carpets and hardware, the cost of garbage collection and plumbing repair. The rent board had hired them to study the legitimacy of an appeal by the commission of landlords for a cost-related increase in fixed rents. She conducted phone interviews with suppliers, repairmen, and landlords picked at random. They weren’t necessarily the landlords who’d requested the increase, and they didn’t always understand the questions she asked.

Halfway through the morning she called Eva’s cubicle instead of the next number on her list.

“A sleepy man came to my house,” she said.

“Sleeping?” said Eva.

“He’s sleeping, yes. But sleepy, also. One of the sleepy people.”

“Do you have any houseplants?” said Eva, whispering.

“Yes.”

“They make plants grow,” said Eva. “If you put them in the same room. Also sharpen razor blades.”

“Really?”

“That’s all I know. I better go, I’ve got a call.”

“Thanks,” said Judith.

“Sure. I think you have to put the plants pretty close to them.”

“Okay.”

She went back to work. She knew that Eva and Tom spoke on the phone between their cubicles all the time. Tom and Eva were in love, she guessed. They never spoke in front of her.

She walked home a little early. He was still there, propped beside the door where she’d left him. She realized she’d been holding her breath. The evening sun cast the whole porch in yellow glaze, and the sleepy man seemed to her like a diver figurine resting at the bottom of a golden aquarium. She almost didn’t want to intrude. But she went past him, let herself in, dropped her keys on the sofa. There was half a casserole in the refrigerator; she moved it to the oven.

She poured herself a glass of wine to go with the leftovers, and sat drinking and just nibbling, poking at the food. Through the window the porch framed a sunset that glowed and died like an ember. The street was very quiet. He was still outside, his head just below the window frame.

A dog barked. It was night. She thought of how it wasn’t safe to leave him out all night. There were the people that roamed making trouble, the dinosaurs. They sometimes found this street, though it led nowhere particular, though it was just one of so many residential streets. She’d heard them, and seen her neighbors’ torn-up lawns, wrecked mailboxes. A sleepy person would be a natural target for the dinosaurs.

Every sleepy person should have someone to take care of them, she thought. That seemed simple enough.

She went out and lifted his shoulders and dragged him inside. This time she got him up onto the sofa, first sitting him against it, then hoisting him up like a baby into a car seat, finally swinging his legs up so that he turned and sank against the pillows. She closed the curtains and got her wineglass and brought it over and sat with him, perching her buttocks on the lip of cushion left free. The margin wasn’t enough, and she slid down to the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. She’d taken his place.

She emptied her glass and put it on the coffee table. Outside, the dog barked again.

She turned in the little coffin-like space and was faced with his middle. His Little Alaska tee-shirt had bunched up where she’d gripped him under his shoulders. His stomach was almost black with hair. It whorled in a devilish vee in and out of his navel and into his jeans. She was very close, having turned there. She propped herself with her elbows on the coffee table. He wasn’t fat but the jeans were tight on his hips, and there was a pinkish imprint of seam where they pinched his flesh. His fly was fastened with steel buttons. She undid the first. She could smell him a little. Her mouth tasted like wine.

The buttons had worn out their buttonholes. She only had to nudge them apart. His penis was beating slightly, like it had a little heart of its own. She covered it with her hand, then put her lips to her knuckles. His hair tickled her nose. Under her hand his penis was twitching, growing in little throbs. His chest rose and fell as steadily as before.

She pushed the backing cushions off the sofa to make room to fit her knee, and moved his arms up above his head, so that he resembled some sculpture she’d seen, a saint or slave carved in marble. But with stubble. Saint Stubble of Little Alaska, she thought. His erection was taut against his stomach now, the dewy pink head nestled in his black hair.

She slipped out of her underwear and clambered on top, then reached down and placed him with her hand. She was very wet. He sighed. She imagined that he was pretending to be asleep. But he wasn’t, really. She moved slowly, keeping him inside. The backs of her thighs were a little cold.

She brought herself to orgasm, bracing her other hand against his collarbone, not hurrying. She pitched forward. He grunted gently. Outside the dog was barking. She slid to the side and then, knees a bit tangled in her stockings and skirt, to the floor below him again.

She daubed at them both with her underwear, and buttoned him up. She stood and pulled her skirt up and it was as if nothing had happened, except her smeared underwear was on the floor and she felt a coolness and a trickling on the inside of her thighs. She ran a bath. Then she went out to him again and arranged his teeshirt so it covered his stomach, and fit his arms back at his sides.

Something was wrong. The more she restored him, the deader he looked, as if she were a mortician. She moved him with difficulty to the easy chair, which was an improvement. It seemed to put more of an end to the affair. Then, a little guiltily, as though it should have been the first thing she’d done on coming home, she gathered the houseplants. There were four of them, a fern, a spiderplant, a tall thing that was some kind of succulent, with fat, fleshy plumes, and a small fist-like cactus with white wisps of hair instead of spines. She arrayed them near his chair.

He slept on. She got into the bath.

When she got home from work the next day, the plants already seemed bigger, and the fern, the most flexible of the four, was definitely bent towards him, as if in the direction of sunlight. His position was changed too, his head tipped forward, chin on his chest, and his arms were folded. It gave him a decisive, even obstinate look. She put her things on the sofa and went into the kitchen.

After dinner she put on her coat again and went out onto the porch. The street was quiet. It was a cold night. It looked safe. She closed the door.

Perhaps the people in the bar would know something about the sleepy man.

Quick’s Little Alaska was a perfect cube, like a children’s block that had been disguised with scribbles of neon and daubs of graffiti and surrounded with Dumpsters and parked or abandoned cars so it could pass as a building. The cars on Schermerhorn Avenue raced by, oblivious. Judith herself didn’t know anyone with a car anymore. Eva and Tom walked all the way downtown to work, like she did. Judith suspected the people inside Quick’s, the militia, hadn’t driven their cars, if they had cars, for a long time. The cars around the bar didn’t look like they’d been started in a while. They all had cat footprints on the windshields and hoods.

It was chilly inside, as advertised. Everyone at the bar turned when she stepped through the door. Farther inside, at the cluster of tables, nobody seemed particularly interested. She recognized some of the faces, others were new. She took a deep breath and went to the bar.

The music playing was slurred and slow, a voice and a trumpet winding down like an uncranked engine.

The man working the bar was one she remembered from the last time she’d come in, years ago. He was the son of Quick, the owner. His hair was red, like his father’s. He moved over to where she stood and cleared away an empty bottle. He obviously remembered her too. “What can I do you for, Judith?” he said. “Looking for someone?”

“Not exactly,” she said. She knew that Quick’s son meant someone in particular: John, who had been Judith’s husband once. John was sitting in the back of the bar, at one of the tables. He was part of the militia now. He was a general. Judith tried not to look his way.

“Do you sell tee-shirts?” she said.

In answer Quick’s son reached underneath the bar and pulled out a shirt identical to the one the sleepy man wore.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said.

“You want one?”

“No. There’s a man — he had one. I was wondering if you knew him.”

Quick’s son didn’t answer, but the man beside her at the bar turned and said, “Where’d you see him?”

He had a beard and was wearing a sweater with leather patches and the kind of hat she imagined men wore on fishing boats.

“He was sleeping on my porch,” she said.

The bearded man raised his eyebrow and said, “Give the lady a drink, Red.”

“She didn’t order anything,” said Quick’s son.

“I don’t need anything,” Judith said. “Do you know the man, the one who was sleeping?”

The bearded man raised a finger and said, “Lieutenant?”

A woman a seat away from him rested her elbow on the bar and peered at him and Judith over the top of her half-glasses.

“Lady’s looking for Danny-boy,” said the bearded man.

“I’m not looking for him,” Judith said quickly. “I wanted to know if he came from here.” Danny-boy, she thought. If that was his name, if they meant the same person.

“Sure, sure,” said the older woman. “We understand what you mean. Danny-boy giving you trouble?”

“No,” said Judith. “So he was here? He lived in the bar?”

“He’s Absent without Leave,” said the bearded man. “It sounds like you have information concerning his whereabouts.” He took a large finishing swallow of his drink. “Another like that, Red,” he said to Quick’s son, who was leaning on his side of the bar. “And don’t listen in on privileged communication.”

“Okay, okay,” said Quick’s son.

“Danny-boy’s not in any trouble, is he?” said the older woman, removing her half-glasses. They were strung around her neck by a red cord and rested crookedly in her cleavage.

“No,” said Judith again, a little confused. If anything, she was getting him into trouble by coming here.

“Sounds like he’s found himself a woman,” said the bearded man.

“Sergeant, we don’t presume anything around here,” said the older woman, the lieutenant. “We operate on the basis of verifiable fact.”

Quick’s son was still leaning in from his side of the bar, listening. They’d attracted another listener, too, a man with a cane, but no limp. He had hawk-like eyes and a gigantic nose. He stepped over and hung his cane on the bar.

“One of our scouts has been contacted, Admiral,” said the woman, moving her eyebrows significantly.

The admiral turned and looked sharply at Judith, then reached out and pinched her chin. Judith jerked her head away. “Excellent disguise,” said the man.

“Not her,” said the lieutenant. “She’s a civilian volunteer.”

“Scout, that’s a good one,” said the sergeant. “Dannyboy couldn’t scout the inside of his eyelids.”

Judith didn’t like agreeing with the abrasive sergeant, but she did want them to understand. “He’s sleepy,” she said.

“Who isn’t?” said the admiral. “I’m interested in his findings, not his feelings.” He turned and scowled across the bar. “Scotch, Quick.”

Quick’s son hurried to his bottles. Two other members of the militia joined them from the tables at the back of the room. A young woman in overalls, with a crewcut, and John, who had long ago been Judith’s husband. “Hello, Judith,” John said.

“General Map,” said the admiral. “Hail.”

“You joining our merry band?” John said to Judith, ignoring the admiral.

“I was just — I just had a question,” said Judith.

“She’s playing Betsy Crocker to a Benedict Arnold,” said the sergeant sneeringly.

“Don’t you mean Betsy Ross?” said the lieutenant.

Quick’s son put a whiskey on the bar in front of the admiral, then opened two bottles of beer and handed them to the woman in overalls, who passed one to John. Quick’s son still hadn’t refilled the sergeant’s glass, Judith noticed.

“Danny-boy?” said John to the lieutenant. She nodded sagely.

“He’s taken up position on a porch,” said the admiral, and then added, “As per my orders,” and shot a fierce look at the sergeant.

Judith opened her mouth to say that he wasn’t actually on the porch anymore, that he’d been moved inside. But she didn’t speak.

“So what’s the problem?” said John, his eyes on Judith.

“Communication is poor-to-nonexistent,” said the admiral, with a hard look in his eyes.

“Snoring, however, is highly satisfactory,” japed the sergeant.

“Admiral, why don’t you buy the young lady a drink?” said the lieutenant. “I hate to see her empty-handed.”

“It’s fine,” said Judith.

“Make it a round for the house,” said the sergeant. “That’s the only way I’ll ever get a drink around here.”

“We’ll reestablish communication when we need to,” said John to the admiral. “For the time being let’s leave Danny-boy where he is. Deep in mufti.”

The woman in overalls suddenly laughed.

“In mufti?” said the sergeant puzzledly.

“A round for the house,” said John. “I’m buying.”

“Mighty white of you, General,” said the lieutenant. But John was already headed back to his table.

“Mighty white of you, General,” echoed the sergeant in a mocking whine.

“Young lady, I wonder if perhaps you would accompany me to a booth?” said the admiral to Judith.

“No thank you,” she said. “I have to go.”

In another day the cactus had grown extra knobs, on the side that faced him. Almost like tumors, she thought. The needle-fur over the new growth was downy, like a baby’s first hair. It was overweighted on that side now, and nearly tipping its pot. She turned it so the new growth faced away from him.

The other three had proliferated too. The spiderplant had cast new trailers over his ankle, and the fern and the succulent were both turned towards him, and thicker and shinier on his side. He was like Ring Arthur, she thought. The land, the crops, grew when he was well and died when he was sick. Or was it the other way? Ring Midas, maybe that was righter. Golden touch. She wanted him to have a title or rank, like the others from the bar. Danny-boy didn’t seem enough.

Porch Ring. Arthur Midas, Porch Ring. Maybe she should move him out to the porch again.

Instead she moved the plants all a little farther away, then stood back and looked. She was embarrassed for him, somehow, in a cozy chair surrounded by the eager foliage. It was too feminine, not really kingly at all, let alone military. She thought of the famous painting of the Midwestern farmer parting the cattails to find the nude sleeping there. He was still as inappropriate, as unexpected as that. The plants seemed to make it worse.

If she took him and the plants out together to the porch, they would be camouflage, not decoration. But it was too cold; the fern would die. And she wanted him inside. So she took them away to their original spots in the house. They’d basked enough, and what was happening to the cactus didn’t necessarily seem so healthy anyway. Denuded of the plants he looked dead again, but she had an idea.

In the closet was her television, on a rolling metal stand. She didn’t watch it anymore. It had gone from all news about militias forming and dinosaurs to replaying old shows that weren’t about anything at all. She rolled it out of the closet to a spot in front of his chair and plugged it in, set the volume low, and stepped behind it to watch him. Perfect. He was transformed, restored. The flickering glow seemed to animate his features. It reminded her of when she found him, that first day, on the porch.

She went to the closet and took out a large cardboard mailing tube. It was still marked with stamps and stickers. She put one end in his lap and pointed the other across his shoulder, and arranged his arms around it as though it were a rifle. She tipped his head forward a bit so he seemed more attentive. If the dinosaurs looked in her window, they would see him keeping watch, waiting. Though it was hard to see it really as a rifle; they would think he was holding a bazooka, a flame thrower. Or a cardboard tube.

Finished, she knelt and let her head rest against his knee briefly. His breathing was soft and steady, as always. He was a good sleeper, she thought. He was getting good sleep. She touched his thigh. It felt nice. But that part of their relationship had to wait, she decided. He shouldn’t be undressed now, she shouldn’t be thinking of that.

“He made the plants grow.”

She’d just learned that in one shop 70-watt lightbulbs were selling for two dollars and fifty cents apiece, while in another shop, a few blocks away from the first, they cost almost ten dollars. Then she’d called Eva.

“They all do that, I told you.”

“Do you — have you known a sleepy person?”

“Well—” Eva giggled.

Out of the corner of her eye Judith saw Tom go from his cubicle to the door of Eva’s. “Just a sec,” said Eva.

Judith could make out their talk, though Eva must have had her hand over the mouthpiece. “Who’s on the phone?” said Tom.

“It’s Judith. We’re talking.”

“Hurry up, I want to go to lunch.”

Eva came back on the line. “I have to go,” she said.

When she got home, Judith saw that the new growths on the cactus had sagged, like little deflated balloons. The hair on them was thin and disordered. She brought the cactus back into the living room and put it on the floor at his feet, in front of the television.

That night from her bedroom, just as she was drifting off to the sound of the voices on the television, she heard him pad to the bathroom and pee. The sound of his urine falling into the little pool went on forever, and the tone rose, as if he were filling the bowl completely. Finally it stopped, and there came the sound of the faucet, then a slapping and slurping noise that she decided meant he was drinking from his cupped hands. He left the bathroom without flushing the toilet.

In the morning she saw he’d gotten to his chair and retaken the tube into his arms, though he was holding it more like a pillow than a rifle, hugging it to his chest, his grizzled cheek resting against it. A little stream of drool was soaked into the cardboard. She restored the tube to rifle position, then turned the television off for the day.

The cactus had already reinflated nicely.

At work she found that her phone couldn’t be used to call the other cubicles anymore.

They arrived while she was brushing her teeth before bed. She was in a robe. It was a warm night. His television was on now, a reassuring monotone of chatter. They broke the front window with a rock from the yard. When she came out of the bathroom to look, someone had a foot through the broken window, tangling in the blind, and someone else was pounding on the front door. She opened it, and they came at her.

It was a group of dinosaurs, five of them, three male and two female. They looked young, younger than dinosaurs looked in the news. She wondered if any of them were even twenty. The first two through the door grabbed her by the arms. One pulled her wet toothbrush from her hand and threw it under the table. The last stepped in and closed the door.

“Drop it,” one of them yelled. His hair was fluffed into an enormous Afro, and he wore a pumpkin-colored satin jacket with a fluted waist and sleeves. He poked a small knife toward the sleepy man and said again, “Drop it.” Another dinosaur, a teenage girl, dashed forward and jerked the cardboard tube out of the sleepy man’s arms, releasing it to clatter to the floor beside his chair.

“He’s asleep,” said Judith.

Keeping the knife at waist-level, the dinosaur with the Afro squinted at the sleepy man. “Sure he is,” he said. “Be rough with her. We’ll see how he likes that.”

“What?” said the teenage girl.

“Be rough with her,” said the one with the Afro. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

They threw Judith back against the sofa. Her robe was flung open, revealing her body to them. She was wearing panties, nothing else. She was conscious of her appendectomy scar. The teenage girl took the knife and perched at the other end, on the arm of the sofa. “Sit still,” she said.

“Search for stuff,” said the dinosaur with the Afro to the others.

“What stuff?” said one of the other dinosaurs.

“Shut up,” said the dinosaur with the Afro. “You know what I mean.”

The dinosaurs began tearing up the house, two in the bedroom, two in the kitchen. They cleared cabinets with a sweeping arm, dumped every drawer and container on the floor, then tipped each piece of furniture onto its front, away from the wall. It didn’t seem to Judith that they were really searching for anything, more like a ritual destruction. Even for that it was halfhearted.

The dinosaur with the Afro came out of her bedroom with both hands full of stuffing. They’d slashed her bed. He tossed the handfuls, and the stuffing scattered in clumps over Judith and the sofa. She pulled her robe closed.

“We’ve been watching you,” he said, sneering.

Judith didn’t say anything. The other dinosaurs came out and stood gathered there in front of her.

“We watch everyone,” the dinosaur said after a moment, as though he’d decided he didn’t want her to feel special after all.

“On this street?” said Judith. She wasn’t sure she understood what he meant.

“We’ve never been here before. You’d know if we’d been here, believe me.” The other dinosaurs laughed. One of them was poking at the sleepy man, checking his pockets and under the cushions of his chair.

“What did you see?” she asked him.

“You live like robots,” he said. “Don’t ask me any more questions.”

One of the dinosaurs stepped up and pulled her hair and poked her gently in the eye. “Sorry,” he said. Judith covered her eye with her hand. Another of the dinosaurs tuned the television to a station playing music, and turned the volume up so loud that the throb of the bass line was like an elephant’s footsteps muffled in static.

“Hold her,” said the dinosaur with the Afro. The girl on the sofa and the boy who’d poked Judith took her arms now and pinned her back against the cushions.

“What are you doing?” said Judith, frightened.

“Quiet.” The one giving the orders pulled a roll of duct tape from his jacket. Judith thought: $12.99. He ripped a short patch of tape from the roll and pasted it across her mouth and, inadvertently, her nose. She could breathe through only one nostril. Suddenly all of her attention was devoted to the need to continue breathing.

The leader pulled open her robe and tore away her panties. They were old and ripped easily. He hurled the rent garment at the sleepy man, and it spread like a butterfly across his stomach and the arm of his chair. “Wake him up,” said the leader. “Make him watch.”

The sleepy man’s head was to one side, his jaw slack. His right arm was still curled up beside his shoulder where it had held the cardboard tube. Judith wondered if they could sense the peacefulness that came from him. She saw in the corner of her vision that someone had knocked over the cactus, and it lay beside its pot in a sprawl of pebbles and dirt. She tried to struggle, but her arms were pinned back.

“Wake him up,” said the leader again. He unfastened his belt and knelt between Judith’s legs on the sofa. He didn’t have an erection.

Judith tried to say, “He’s asleep” but couldn’t make a sound, and the effort drained her of air, so she had to focus on breathing again. Her entire head felt hot with blood, and her body felt cold and numb. The dinosaur’s hand was on her chest, pressing her down as she tried to breathe. She imagined that her head was bright red and her body white and empty, sagging like the deflated growths of the cactus. She couldn’t feel her body, just her bright hot head and the burning hand of the dinosaur against her chest.

“Wake him.”

She saw that one of the dinosaurs, the eye poker, was slapping at the sleepy man now. Another was behind him, lifting the back of his chair, then jolting it down on the floor. She could barely hear the sounds over the noise of the television.

“Fuck, man.”

“Is he dead?”

“Dead to the world.”

He’s only sleeping, thought Judith.

The leader made a disgusted sound and awkwardly got himself free of the sofa and the tangle of Judith’s legs and robe. Judith felt his handprint fade from her chest. He went to the sleepy man and lifted his right eyelid, carefully, like a doctor. The other dinosaurs all watched. Then he buckled his belt and buttoned his pants. The television still blared, but it was the only sound. The girl released Judith’s arm. Judith tugged the duct tape away from her nose. One of the dinosaurs that had been trying to wake the sleepy man was in the kitchen now, eating something. Another was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth with Judith’s toothbrush. Judith pulled her robe closed.

The leader picked up the mailing tube and broke it easily over his knee. The halves didn’t separate, but remained bound by a flexible curl of cardboard. The dinosaur who’d been in the kitchen emerged, chewing, and holding a big piece of bread. The leader slapped it out of his hand, and it landed on the sleepy man’s lap, with the panties.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Can I take a shower?” said the tooth-brushing one from the bathroom.

Judith tore the patch of tape clear of her mouth. “It’s okay,” she said.

“Shut up,” said the leader, pointing at her, but his heart definitely wasn’t in it.

Judith cleaned up the mess and put everything that wasn’t broken back in its place. She repotted the cactus, which didn’t seem any the worse for wear, and put it on the kitchen windowsill where it had been before. Let the new growth take care of itself one way or the other, she thought. She didn’t really need a bigger cactus.

Then she moved him from upright in the chair to supine on the sofa. She realized now how much better that was, how much less pretentious. She considered putting him out on the porch, but that seemed a little extreme. What happened wasn’t his fault. The television went back into the closet; she didn’t know who she was fooling with that one. She missed falling asleep to the sound of his breathing anyway.

At work the next morning she was alone in the office, wondering what had happened to Tom and Eva, and whether she would always be alone here now, when she thought to check a calendar and discovered it was Saturday. She wasn’t supposed to be at work.

The militia came the following day. It had been raining through the night, and the air smelled washed. The sky was gray. They massed on her porch, admiral, lieutenant, sergeant, general, and others. They all wore baseball caps or hunting hats. Quick’s son was along, carrying a pair of sagging duffel bags. Perhaps he’d been deputized, Judith thought. If that was the word for it. They knocked on her door, and when she came out, it was the admiral who addressed her. He carried a walking stick, and he gestured with the end of it.

“They raped you, didn’t they?” he said.

“Not really,” she said.

“Brave girl,” said the admiral, shaking his head. Then he raised his stick and turned to the others. “They must be stopped,” he declared.

“I don’t think they’re around,” Judith said. “They went away.”

“We’ll find them,” said the admiral.

“They can feel us breathing down their necks,” said the sergeant, chuckling.

Judith had heard of this, of militias going mobile all of a sudden.

“We’ve come for Danny-boy,” said the lieutenant. There was a note of sympathy in her voice, but Judith couldn’t read her eyes, which were shaded with a green acetate insert behind her glasses.

“He’s asleep,” said Judith.

“R and R is over,” said the sergeant.

“Besides, his mission’s accomplished,” said the admiral. “This position’s no longer useful — it’s behind us.”

How did you know it was in front of you before? Judith wondered. But the sergeant and Quick’s son were already past her and inside. They went to the sofa and took him by his arms, the sergeant saying, “Now is the time for all good men—”

John, Judith’s former husband, stood a little behind the others, on the porch steps. The younger woman in the overalls stood with him. Judith looked at him. Suppressing a smile, he held out his hands and said, “It’s true, Judith. A good scout has to stay ahead.”

“I don’t think he came here to scout,” she said.

The sergeant and Quick’s son had him up and walking, sort of. His head was drooped forward, and Judith could see that if they let go, he’d crumple. Yet he was planting one foot after another, moving forward. She felt a little proud, oddly enough. They got him through the door and across the porch, where John and the younger woman helped him down the steps and held him while Quick’s son retook his duffel bags. No one but Quick’s son had to carry any luggage, which testified to his low status within the militia. If he could even be said to be a part of it, Judith corrected. The sleepy man might only be a scout, but he was obviously crucial to them.

The admiral poked the end of his walking stick at the mat in front of her door. “What’s this?”

The sergeant turned his head. “It says welcome,” he said.

“That’s hardly advisable,” said the admiral.

The sergeant lifted the mat. “Might make a heck of a chest protector,” he said, sizing it across his stomach. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” said Judith.

The sergeant tucked the edge of the mat into his belt, so it projected like a section of cone from his waist, terminating at chin level. “Hey hey!” he said, beaming.

“We’re off, then,” said the lieutenant, moving aside to let the admiral use the steps. She clasped Judith’s hand in both of hers. “For everything, thanks.” Judith nodded, and the lieutenant turned away.

John and the younger woman had walked the sleepy man out to the curb. The rest of the militia trickled across the yard and bunched around them. Several of them put a hand out to help support the sleepy man, and they began to advance along the pavement. The sleepy man looked conspicuous among them without a hat, Judith thought. She hoped they’d find him one.

She stood and watched them from the porch. Soon they were at the end of the block, just a little black knot headed into the mist. She couldn’t make out the sleepy man, couldn’t distinguish any of them. God help him, she thought, then corrected it to, God help them. But that wasn’t right either. God bless them? God bless us all? Just before they were completely out of sight she narrowed it to a curt God bless, as though someone had only sneezed.