Pym_ A Novel - Mat Johnson [115]
“What do you want?” I said this more to the gathered army than the two men who had been sent to represent them. As if they could understand me.
“There is no need to yell. In betraying the Gods, you have already garnered their attention.” Pym seemed more sober than usual; either they had cut him off before he reached his limit, or he was taking his job seriously.
“I’m about to betray your natural-born cracker ass if you don’t get the hell out of here,” Jeffree offered by way of bluster. This however went unfilmed, as even Carlton Damon Carter was more engrossed in recording the legion of warriors that stood just beyond.
“Control your man,” Pym said to me, his spittle nearly covering every inch of the dozen feet between him and our door. I could see that no one wanted this conflict to end quicker than the man that stood before me, although for entirely different reasons than mine. Somewhere back in Tekeli-li there was a cool glass of fermented khrud waiting for him, its contents still and forlorn, and Pym missed it no less than any man had yearned for his true love. “We are here to discuss this civilly and calmly. Let us end the distractions and attend to the matter at hand.”
“Which is what, cracker?” Jeffree snapped back. It was easy to be brave on the other side of that door, particularly standing as he did behind me, his momentary human shield. Our attempts at seizing the argument were pointless, though, because I noticed for the first time that Pym was not even looking at me or Jeffree. Instead, he was addressing the lady of the house, whom Pym perceived had the most authority of those present. Mrs. Karvel for her part responded to the Nantucketer’s attention by moving farther away from the door, leaving me up front as her clear surrogate.
“I speak of the ceasing of your great fire, and the fans to blow their heat into the corridors of Heaven,” Pym hissed back at us. It was clear he assumed that we were well aware of his grievance. That this was not simply a part of our knowledge but the key part of our intent that he was exposing.
“The exhaust fan,” Nathaniel interjected. “You’ve got to turn off that exhaust fan; it’s blowing hot air right into the village. That’s what’s melting everything. Just take care of that and everybody will be fine. Nobody gets hurt. Everything can go back to normal.” His voice cracked, and the last word was perhaps an unconscious notification that there simply was no more normal to retreat to.
“The heat of your device is destroying the great city, vanishing paradise itself. We know not how you do it, nor do we care, but the assault must cease and for the solid foundation of our world to continue,” Pym explained.
“That’s all they want, Chris. Just go take care of this … whatever you have to shut off, and let’s end this thing.”
“And of course we will also need the return of the human chattel which owes its labor to the citizens of Tekeli-li, such as you yourself are surely aware. But nothing more, I assure you, honorable lady,” Pym said past me again to Mrs. Karvel. “This theft cannot be tolerated.” This last statement was directed at all of us, even Nathaniel standing beside him. When Mrs. Karvel, who I wasn’t sure even understood that she was being addressed directly, made no response to him, the aged Caucasoid followed up his statement. “The latter might be negotiated if the former is abided by.”
“Then you would be willing to talk this out, then?” Mrs. Karvel unexpectedly stepped forward, burning the side of my hand with her cigarette as she pushed past. “To handle this thing like decent, civil Americans?” Mrs. Karvel asked him. I don’t know what she made of the odd man in his cultlike white robes making demands of us, out here in the epicenter of nowhere, but Mrs. Karvel was clearly a smart woman, and a smart woman made the best of whatever situation she was presented with. “Y’all will be my guests then, mine and my husband’s. We’ll do this nice and friendly like. You tell your people, or whatever