Dhalgren Read Online Free Page B

Beside it was an army messpan, insides caked with dead mold. Something by his moving foot crinkled.
    He reached down. One of the orchid's petals snagged; he picked up a package of… bread? The wrapper was twisted closed. Back under the street lamp, he balanced it on his fingers, through the blades, and opened the cellophane.
    He had wondered about food.
    He had wondered about sleep.
    But he knew the paralysis of wonder.
    The first slice had a tenpenny nailhead of muzzy green in the corner; the second and third, the same. The nail, he thought, was through the loaf. The top slice was dry on one side. Nothing else was wrong—except the green vein; and it was only that penicillium stuff. He could eat around it
    I'm not hungry.
    He replaced the slices, folded the cellophane, carried it back, and wedged it behind the stacked papers.
    As he returned to the lamp, a can clattered from his sandal, defining the silence. He wandered away through it, gazing up for some hint of the hazed-out moon—
    Breaking glass brought his eyes to street level.
    He was afraid, and he was curious; but fear had been so constant, it was a dull and lazy emotion, now; the curiosity was alive:
    He sprinted to the nearest wall, moved along it rehearsing his apprehensions of all terrible that might happen. He passed a doorway, noted it for ducking, and kept on to the corner. Voices now. And more glass.
    He peered around the building edge.
    Three people vaulted from a shattered display window to join two waiting. Barking, a dog followed them to the sidewalk. One man wanted to climb back in; did. Two others took off down the block.
    The dog circled, loped his way—
    He pulled back, free hand grinding on the brick.
    The dog, crouched and dancing ten feet off, barked, barked, barked again.
    Dim light slathered canine tongue and teeth. Its eyes (he swallowed, hard) were glistening red, without white or pupil, smooth as crimson glass.
    The man came back out the window. One in the group turned and shouted: "Muriel!" (It could have been a woman.) The dog wheeled and fled after.
    Another street lamp, blocks down, gave them momentary silhouette.
    As he stepped from the wall, his breath unraveled the silence, shocked him as much as if someone had called his… name? Pondering, he crossed the street toward the corner of the loading porch. On tracks under the awning, four- and six-foot butcher hooks swung gently—though there was no wind. In fact, he reflected, it would take a pretty hefty wind to start them swinging—
    "Hey!"
    Hands, free and flowered, jumped to protect his face. He whirled, crouching.
    "You down there!"
    He looked up, with hunched shoulders.
    Smoke rolled about the building top, eight stories above.
    "What you doing, huh?"
    He lowered his hands.
    The voice was rasp rough, sounded near drunk.
    He called: "Nothing!" and wished his heart would still. "Just walking around."
    Behind scarves of smoke, someone stood at the cornice. "What you been up to this evening?"
    "Nothing, I said." He took a breath: "I just got here, over the bridge. About a half hour ago."
    "Where'd you get the orchid?"
    "Huh?" He raised his hand again. The street lamp dribbled light down a blade. "This?"
    "Yeah."
    "Some women gave it to me. When I was crossing the bridge."
    "I saw you looking around the corner at the hubbub. I couldn't tell from up here—was it scorpions?"
    "Huh?"
    "I said, was it scorpions?"
    "It was a bunch of people trying to break into a store, I think. They had a dog with them."
    After silence, gravelly laughter grew. "You really haven't been here long, kid?"
    "I—" and realized the repetition—"just got here."
    "You out to go exploring by yourself? Or you want company for a bit."
    The guy's eyes, he reflected, must be awfully good. "Company… I guess."
    "I'll be there in a minute."
    He didn't see the figure go; there was too much smoke. And after he'd watched several doorways for several minutes, he figured the man had changed his mind.
    "Here you go," from