China Mountain Zhang (27 page)
Read China Mountain Zhang Online
Authors: Maureen F. McHugh
Still, I like coming out once in awhile. There’s no real distance in the ridge, no vista, no perspective. Everything feels inside. Most of the time I don’t think about it, but when I get outside in the sunlight I always find myself stretching. Unfortunately when I stretch in the ARC the powerpack digs into my back, but it still feels good.
Walking on Mars is difficult. I’ve tried to make a kind of path to the tank but the stones are wobbly and there’s no flat place to put my feet. I pick my way across, arms waving for balance, and check the filters.
They’re full of sand, but they’re built for that. I empty them but the next sandstorm will fill them. The big, black O
2
holding tank looks fine. I take the panel off. My fingers are cold. Just my luck, the last suit I had overheated, this one doesn’t heat at all. The panel covering the instrument readouts is, of course, on the windward side. I turn my back into the wind, hoping the backpack will keep me a little warmer. It’s only about ten centimeters thick at the dorsal ridge, not very protective, and even so the backs of my legs begin to get cold. Everything looks fine, all the quaintly old-fashioned L.E.D.s registering the way they should. There’s no way to jack into the system out here, no external jack on the ARC anyway.
2
holding tank looks fine. I take the panel off. My fingers are cold. Just my luck, the last suit I had overheated, this one doesn’t heat at all. The panel covering the instrument readouts is, of course, on the windward side. I turn my back into the wind, hoping the backpack will keep me a little warmer. It’s only about ten centimeters thick at the dorsal ridge, not very protective, and even so the backs of my legs begin to get cold. Everything looks fine, all the quaintly old-fashioned L.E.D.s registering the way they should. There’s no way to jack into the system out here, no external jack on the ARC anyway.
I pick my way back to the airlock and squat, pull the door closed over my head and crank it shut, feel the goosebumps on my arms and thighs while the pump tries to force most of the CO
2
out.
2
out.
The ladder is still there, too. I swing down to it.
Martine is standing by the screen door with two trays of seedlings. She was supposed to be building a bee box, either she finished or she’s taking a break. She waits while I pop the helmet. “How’s the tank?”
“Fine,” I say. “I emptied the filters. The heater doesn’t work on this thing.”
“I thought you were back in a hurry.” She puts down the trays.
“Have you seen Min?” I ask.
“The cat? She’s up on the ductwork, in a snit.”
“She doesn’t like the suit either,” I say.
Bright words. I didn’t expect to find anything wrong out there. Maybe it’s not the system. Maybe I’ll find the problem reprogramming.
“Are you going to check the programming this afternoon?” Martine asks.
“Not this afternoon,” I say, “I’ve been fiddling with this thing for days, I’ve got to get caught up on some other things.” I don’t look at Martine. Martine gets right down to things and if it takes all night, it takes all night. But I’m not Martine.
The bed is too warm, I can’t get comfortable. I’m aware I’m keeping Martine awake, I should go and sleep in the other room, but I’m not really awake or asleep, and if I get up she’ll ask what I’m doing. I don’t know if she prefers sleeping with me or not. I
think
that we have a decent sex life, I mean she’s never said anything one way or another. Not that she should have to, of course. I mean that the
act
seems satisfying enough to her, and although she once made the comment that she had gotten accustomed to sleeping alone, I feel she prefers to have someone in bed with her now. I have tried to make her feel it was a good idea to marry me, that it benefited her as much as it did me. I am grateful, for myself and for Theresa.
think
that we have a decent sex life, I mean she’s never said anything one way or another. Not that she should have to, of course. I mean that the
act
seems satisfying enough to her, and although she once made the comment that she had gotten accustomed to sleeping alone, I feel she prefers to have someone in bed with her now. I have tried to make her feel it was a good idea to marry me, that it benefited her as much as it did me. I am grateful, for myself and for Theresa.
Sometimes I feel as if I carry this marriage on my back. There were times I felt trapped by my first marriage, by Geri, and the obligation of a child in that situation, it’s a normal enough feeling in any marriage and I’m certain that there are times Martine
wonders why she ever took us on. But I have to believe that this marriage is what Martine wants.
wonders why she ever took us on. But I have to believe that this marriage is what Martine wants.
I jerk awake, the alarm has gone off and for a moment I am thinking that it can’t be morning and I can see the chron blinking 2:18 in blue numbers, and then I realize it’s Martine’s alarm signaling that the air mixture is off somewhere. A leak. Sometimes she’ll have three in a month, sometimes we’ll go three months without one.
I hear her get out of bed, listen to her move around the room, out into the main room. I won’t be able to go back to sleep until she leaves, and I won’t really sleep well until she’s back, which tonight probably means I won’t get much sleep because it usually takes a couple of hours.
I hear her come back, the light is on in the main room and I am trying to avoid it, digging my face in the crook of my arm. “Alexi?” she says.
“Hmm?” I say.
“The alarm is from our yards.”
“What?” I say.
“The alarm.” She speaks quietly, but doesn’t whisper. “It’s ours, the air mixture is off in our goat yards. It’s pretty far off in the new yard, not as bad in the old.”
I get out of bed, grab my pants and check the system. Our system shows a high CO
2
level in the old yard so I jack in to manually raise the O
2
levels but I can’t manipulate the system. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do and the relays feel frozen.
2
level in the old yard so I jack in to manually raise the O
2
levels but I can’t manipulate the system. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do and the relays feel frozen.
I jack out, run a clear, jack back in. I feel the tension that says I’m controlling the regulator and change it, but instead of changing it freezes up on me again. I know we’re screwed. That’s not programming, that’s a glitch in the actual system.
Martine is waiting. “The system’s frozen,” I say. “It’s not regulating the house or the yards.” I shut it down, throwing everything on the little back-up manual system. Then I jack in and
turn on the lights in the yards and the kitchen. “I don’t know how high the CO
2
is out there, I don’t know if the system was registering correctly or not.”
turn on the lights in the yards and the kitchen. “I don’t know how high the CO
2
is out there, I don’t know if the system was registering correctly or not.”
“I’ll test,” Martine says.
“Put one up in the kitchen, too.” I use the back-up system to start cycling CO
2
out of the yards, but it can take a couple of hours. I check the house temperature, we’re running a little cold.
2
out of the yards, but it can take a couple of hours. I check the house temperature, we’re running a little cold.
The O
2
levels in the kitchen are a little high. I wonder why the system would do better in the house than in the yards. I hear Martine calling me from the garden.
2
levels in the kitchen are a little high. I wonder why the system would do better in the house than in the yards. I hear Martine calling me from the garden.
“Alexi, there’s too much CO
2
, the goats are groggy.”
2
, the goats are groggy.”
“It’s okay in here, how’s the garden?”
“It’s all right.” Martine frowns. “I can’t put the goats in the garden.”
They’d have a field day and we’d never see strawberries again. “Bring them in the kitchen,” I say.
Martine looks at me as if I have lost my mind. “Nineteen goats in our kitchen?”
“What else are you going to do with them? It’ll be a couple of hours before the air quality is all right in the yard.”
I use furniture to block off the kitchen from the Main Room.
“What are you doing?” Theresa asks. She’s standing in the hall, wearing her white nightgown, her hair sleep-tangled and her first under her chin the way she used to do when she was younger.
“The air mixture is bad in the goat yards,” I say. “We’re going to put the goats in the kitchen. Can you go out and help, hold the doors open? Go get your slippers.”
Martine comes in, a goat under each arm. She drops them splay-legged on the floor, and one of the nannies, Carlotta, I think, folds to her knees with a plop. The goats close their slit-pupiled eyes. I climb over the furniture and follow her back to the new yard. The air smells stale, or is it just because I know? The goats lie around, most not bothering to move when we come in. Strange sight, all the quiescent goats, black and whites, whites, bearded.
I pick up a nanny and Einstein, who, groggy or not, manages to knock me in the chin tossing his head. Next trip back he is standing just in the door to the kitchen, shaking his head to warn me back.
I pick up a nanny and Einstein, who, groggy or not, manages to knock me in the chin tossing his head. Next trip back he is standing just in the door to the kitchen, shaking his head to warn me back.
“Theresa?” I call. She climbs over furniture. “Keep Einstein, baby.”
She pulls the goat away from the door and sits down on the floor with him. Martine and I haul goats. They’re not heavy, just not made for carrying. They’re better for Martine, I pick them up and like as not they struggle.
Coming through the garden with my fourth armload of goat I hear hooves on the kitchen floor. Carlotta is on her feet. “Well, we’re not going to have brain-damaged goats,” Martine says, coming towards me on her way for her next armload of goat.
“How could you tell a difference?” I ask.
Nineteen goats fill Martine’s kitchen. They revive awfully fast and clamber all over each other.
“Do you think we’ll be able to put them back in the yard to milk them?” Martine asks.
“Yeah,” I say, “in a couple of hours they should be all right. You two go on back to bed, I’ll watch goats.”
“Come on, Theresa,” Martine says.
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” Theresa asks.
“Why not?” I ask.
“’Cause of all this,” she says, exasperated. “I won’t be rested.”
“Life’s tough,” I say. “Go to bed now so you’ll be rested.”
“Dad,” she says, “I need to help.”
“Nothing to do. Go on.”
She says good night rather sullenly and climbs over the furniture. I sit up on the counter.
“Dad!” I hear her call.
“What?”
“My light won’t go on.”
I hear Martine say, “You don’t need a light to sleep.”
“Go to sleep!” I call, reinforcement, I hope. The lights are on the system. Everything is on the system. Which reminds me that I have to increase the O
2
to the kitchen, nineteen goats are going to use a lot of air. I climb—rather awkwardly actually—over my furniture barricade and Martine comes back down the hall. “I want to increase O
2
in the house,” I say. “Go on to sleep.”
2
to the kitchen, nineteen goats are going to use a lot of air. I climb—rather awkwardly actually—over my furniture barricade and Martine comes back down the hall. “I want to increase O
2
in the house,” I say. “Go on to sleep.”
“I won’t be able to go back to sleep now,” she says.
“Well, go lie down, then,” I say. Behind us something clunks and thumps at the barricade and Einstein is in the living room.
I start after the goat, who takes off down the hall, and Martine and I finally corner him in the bathroom.
“That furniture isn’t going to stop him,” Martine says. Einstein is a shaggy white goat, the kind that look like someone threw a stringy carpet over them.
“Any ideas?” I ask.
Martine thinks a moment and then closes the bathroom door. “Let him stew,” she says, “there’s nothing he can hurt in there.”
His hooves clatter on the bathroom tile. It’s dark in there. I hear a muted bleat. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Einstein sound nervous. Maybe he’ll have a nervous breakdown and never be right again. It’s not that I don’t like Einstein, exactly, it’s just that he’s always been a pain. As Martine says, he’s smart.
“Did you lock Einstein in the bathroom?” Theresa calls from her bedroom.
“Yes,” I answer, “do you need to go?”
“No,” she says, to my relief.
“Go to sleep, Theresa.”
I help Martine climb over the barricade, and shove the table more solidly against it. We wade through goat and perch side by side on the counter.
“Do you want a shirt?” Martine asks.
“Not bad enough to go get one,” I answer. “You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”
Martine touches her hair self-consciously, barely brushing it with her fingertips, then smooths it firmly.
“It looks all right,” I say.
Startled, she drops her hand in her lap. Martine takes personal compliments badly. “Cleo!” she snaps at a goat pushing at the barricade. Cleo doesn’t stop and Martine sighes but doesn’t go after her.
Oh, I’m tired. And things are a mess. “We’re almost out of indicator packs, aren’t we?” I ask.
“I imagine,” Martine says. “In the morning I’ll pick some up, and tell Equipment that our system is down. Can you fix it?”
“No,” I say.
“I didn’t think so,” Martine says and sighs again.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“Can you keep the air mixture good manually?”
I shrug. “After a fashion. I guess if I had to I could make some sort of automatic regulator. I don’t know if I could do the house, the garden and both goat yards.”
“Then we’ll close off the new yard and sell some of the goats,” Martine says. “We’ll see if we can run one yard on manual, at least until we get a new system.”
“It might have to wait until the next window,” I say. The next window is over a year away.
“We could get one on the free market in New Arizona,” she says.
“We don’t have the credit,” I say.
“We can borrow.”
I don’t say anything.
After a moment she takes my hand. “Alexi,” she says, “this isn’t the end of everything, we’re not going to lose the place. We may have to give up beer and lemonade and sell strawberries and green beans for awhile.”
“It’s a lot of money,” I say.
Irritated, she says, “You are the most paranoid man imaginable.
You think this is debt, you wouldn’t believe what I did to get this place started.”
You think this is debt, you wouldn’t believe what I did to get this place started.”
“Things don’t always go right,” I point out.
“And they don’t always go wrong, either. And stop talking so quietly. You know, whenever you’re upset about something it’s as if you had to iron all the expression out of your voice.”
Other books
Thunderstruck by Erik Larson
Death by Scones by Jennifer Fischetto
The Millionaire's Redemption by Margaret Tanner
Untamed by Elizabeth Lowell
Bogota Blessings by E. A. West
Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica by Sexsmith, Sinclair, Miriam Zoila Perez, Wendi Kali, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Gigi Frost, BB Rydell, Amelia Thornton, Dilo Keith, Vie La Guerre, Anna Watson
Cheating on Myself by Erin Downing
The Seven Storey Mountain: Fiftieth-Anniversary Edition by Merton, Thomas
Dragon's Lust by Savannah Reardon
Raven Strike by Dale Brown and Jim DeFelice
