Read Online The Sea Came in at Midnight by Steve Erickson - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Erickson
Ads: Link
her coat and stand naked among the tombstones while he plotted the shifting courses and charted the swirling clockwork.
By this time she had gotten so used to being naked that she wore her nakedness like a persona. The sex between them changed to something no longer indifferent but, for his part, possessed, like the rest of his life. At his insistence she began sleeping with him in his bed, even when they didn’t have sex, and she would wake in the morning with his arms clutching her close. Of course you are free, she remembered his newspaper ad had read, to end the arrangement and leave at any moment, but the very nature of the arrangement had changed now, she knew that, whether or not he acknowledged it.
So she never doubted what he had in mind the night they drove out to the desert. By now night and day meant nothing to him, he slept only moments here and there; and the night they drove out to the desert, three hours northeast of Los Angeles, the sky was on fire with stars. She was uneasy the whole way, exhausted, but her anxiety and the cold kept her awake, and he kept looking over at her as though trying to decide exactly what to do with her, as though he was as uncertain as she exactly what desire or revelation or madness was dictating the moment. They drove out toward San Bernardino and then up through the Cajon Pass, flying out across the desert highway in the dark, Liszt and industrial music on the tape player. Somewhere in the desolation between Barstow and Las Vegas, he finally pulled over. He turned off the engine but not the ignition, turning up the music because it had gotten particularly depraved and he wanted to be able to hear it outside the car. He got out of the car and went around to the other side and opened her door. “Get out,” he said.
“What are we doing,” she said.
“Just get out.”
“No.”
“No noes,” he snarled, “just yeses.”
“No,” she said. She sat in the passenger’s seat looking up at him. She knew what he was going to do, she knew exactly what he had in mind: “I know exactly what you have in mind,” she said. “You’re going to drag me out into the desert and stick me next to a cactus and then you’re going to drive back to L.A. and study your fucking calendar. And then you somehow think—because you’ve gone completely off the deep end—you somehow think you’re going to drive back out here in seven or eight hours and just pick me up again. And what you don’t understand, because you are completely out of your mind, what you don’t understand is that in seven or eight hours I’ll be dead. I’ll be dead because I’ll have frozen to death or some motorcycle gang will have come by and raped me and killed me, or some wild animal will have eaten me or … or maybe I won’t be dead, maybe I’ll just have had a really unpleasant experience. No. I quit. We can waive the pension plan. ‘You’re free to end the arrangement and leave at any moment,’ that’s what your ad said. This is the moment.”
“No noes”—his whisper rose to a pathetic howl—“just yeses.” He stumbled out into the desert, thrashing clockwise among the overgrowth; she could tell one of his headaches had returned. He kept pressing his temples harder and harder, blue eyes about to pop from their sockets; and then trampling the desert shrubbery, he clutched his head as though barely containing it in his hands, trying to hold it together. “Timelines of chaos!” he cried hoarsely to the desert night, “the anarchy of the age!”
“Jesus,” she muttered, reaching over and pulling her door shut and locking it, though she wasn’t really sure who was the bigger point-misser here, the Occupant or her. She slid over to the driver’s seat, closed the door on the driver’s side and locked it too, and stepped on the gas. Because she had never driven a car before, she had to figure out how to shift it into gear, and while she was figuring that out, he finally understood what was
By this time she had gotten so used to being naked that she wore her nakedness like a persona. The sex between them changed to something no longer indifferent but, for his part, possessed, like the rest of his life. At his insistence she began sleeping with him in his bed, even when they didn’t have sex, and she would wake in the morning with his arms clutching her close. Of course you are free, she remembered his newspaper ad had read, to end the arrangement and leave at any moment, but the very nature of the arrangement had changed now, she knew that, whether or not he acknowledged it.
So she never doubted what he had in mind the night they drove out to the desert. By now night and day meant nothing to him, he slept only moments here and there; and the night they drove out to the desert, three hours northeast of Los Angeles, the sky was on fire with stars. She was uneasy the whole way, exhausted, but her anxiety and the cold kept her awake, and he kept looking over at her as though trying to decide exactly what to do with her, as though he was as uncertain as she exactly what desire or revelation or madness was dictating the moment. They drove out toward San Bernardino and then up through the Cajon Pass, flying out across the desert highway in the dark, Liszt and industrial music on the tape player. Somewhere in the desolation between Barstow and Las Vegas, he finally pulled over. He turned off the engine but not the ignition, turning up the music because it had gotten particularly depraved and he wanted to be able to hear it outside the car. He got out of the car and went around to the other side and opened her door. “Get out,” he said.
“What are we doing,” she said.
“Just get out.”
“No.”
“No noes,” he snarled, “just yeses.”
“No,” she said. She sat in the passenger’s seat looking up at him. She knew what he was going to do, she knew exactly what he had in mind: “I know exactly what you have in mind,” she said. “You’re going to drag me out into the desert and stick me next to a cactus and then you’re going to drive back to L.A. and study your fucking calendar. And then you somehow think—because you’ve gone completely off the deep end—you somehow think you’re going to drive back out here in seven or eight hours and just pick me up again. And what you don’t understand, because you are completely out of your mind, what you don’t understand is that in seven or eight hours I’ll be dead. I’ll be dead because I’ll have frozen to death or some motorcycle gang will have come by and raped me and killed me, or some wild animal will have eaten me or … or maybe I won’t be dead, maybe I’ll just have had a really unpleasant experience. No. I quit. We can waive the pension plan. ‘You’re free to end the arrangement and leave at any moment,’ that’s what your ad said. This is the moment.”
“No noes”—his whisper rose to a pathetic howl—“just yeses.” He stumbled out into the desert, thrashing clockwise among the overgrowth; she could tell one of his headaches had returned. He kept pressing his temples harder and harder, blue eyes about to pop from their sockets; and then trampling the desert shrubbery, he clutched his head as though barely containing it in his hands, trying to hold it together. “Timelines of chaos!” he cried hoarsely to the desert night, “the anarchy of the age!”
“Jesus,” she muttered, reaching over and pulling her door shut and locking it, though she wasn’t really sure who was the bigger point-misser here, the Occupant or her. She slid over to the driver’s seat, closed the door on the driver’s side and locked it too, and stepped on the gas. Because she had never driven a car before, she had to figure out how to shift it into gear, and while she was figuring that out, he finally understood what was
Similar Books
