David opened my husband’s mouth. Then he took a piece of cloth from his pocket and dipped it into the thermos, and then wrung the cloth into my husband’s mouth before wiping it around his gums, the inside of his cheeks, and his tongue. And then we all listened as my husband’s breathing became slower, and deeper, and less frequent, and then finally stopped altogether.
Fritz was the first to speak, but it was not to us, but to my husband. “I love you,” he said. “My Edward.” I realized then that he had been the last person to speak to my husband, because when I had finally seen him, on Thursday night, he was no longer responsive. He bent to kiss my husband on his lips, and although David looked away, I did not: I had never seen someone kiss my husband, and I never would again.
Then he stood. “What do we do?” he asked David, and David said, “I’ll take care of him.” Fritz nodded. “Thank you,” he said, “thank you so much, David. Thank you,” and I thought he was going to cry again, but he didn’t. “Well,” he said. He looked at me, next. “Goodbye, Charlie,” he said. “Thank you for—for being so kind to me. And to him.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said, but he shook his head.
“Yes, you did,” he said. “He cared about you.” He sighed, a long, shaky sigh, and picked up his bag. “I wish I had something of his,” he said, “something to remember him by.”
“You can have his bag,” I said. Earlier, we’d looked through his bag, as if it might contain a cure, or another heart, but there had only been his work uniform, and his papers, and a small twist of paper holding a few cashews, and his watch.
“Are you sure?” Fritz asked, and I said I was. “Thank you,” he said, and carefully placed my husband’s bag in his own.
David and I walked Fritz to the door. “Well,” he said again, and then he did begin to cry. He bowed to David, and then to me, and we bowed back to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, because he was crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I loved him so much.”
“We understand,” David said. “You don’t need to apologize.”
And then I remembered the notes. “Wait,” I told Fritz, and I went to the closet and took out the box and opened the envelope, and removed the notes. “These are yours,” I said, as I gave them to Fritz, and he looked at them and began crying again.
“Thank you,” he told me, “thank you.” For a moment, I thought he would touch me, but he didn’t, because it wasn’t done.
And then he opened the door and slipped out. We listened to him walk down the stairs, and down the hallway, and then there was the sound of him opening the front door, and letting it fall shut behind him, and then he was gone, and everything was silent once more.
* * *
Then the only thing to do was wait. At 23:00 precisely, I was to be waiting at the banks of Charles and Hudson Streets, where a boat would meet me. This boat would take me to another boat, a much bigger boat, and that boat would take me to a country I’d never heard of, called Iceland. In Iceland, I would be placed in isolation for three weeks, to make certain I wasn’t carrying the new illness, and then I would board a third boat, and that boat would take me to New Britain.
But David would not be meeting me at the shore. I would have to do it myself. He had some things to finish here, and so I wouldn’t see him again until I landed in Iceland. Hearing this, I began to cry once more. “You can do it, Charlie,” he said. “I know you can. You’ve been so brave. You are brave.” And finally, I wiped my eyes and nodded.
In the meantime, David said, I should stay inside and try to sleep, though I must be careful to leave with enough time. He would make sure my husband’s body was picked up and cremated, although not until after I had left. We were lucky the weather was cooperating, he said, but he still fit my husband into his cooling suit and turned it on, though he left his helmet off.
“It’s time for me to go,” he said. We stood at the door. “Do you remember the plan?” he asked. I nodded. “Do you have any questions?” he asked. I shook my head. Then he put his hands on my shoulders, and I flinched, but he held on. “Your grandfather would be proud of you, Charlie,” he said. “I am, too.” He released me. “I’ll see you in Iceland,” he said. “You’ll be a free woman.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but “I’ll see you,” I said in return, and he saluted me, as he had saluted the officer on Thursday night, and then he left.
I went back to my husband’s and my room, which was now my room, and which tomorrow would be somebody else’s room. I took three of the remaining coins from the drawer beneath my bed. I remember Grandfather telling me that certain cultures put gold coins over the eyes of their deceased, and some put coins under the dead person’s tongue. I can’t remember why they did this. But I did the same: One coin over each eye, one beneath his tongue. The rest of the coins I put in my bag. I wished I had remembered to give the extra chits we had to Fritz, but I had forgotten.
And then I lay down next to my husband. I put my arms around him. It was a little difficult because of the cooling suit, but I was still able to do it. It was the first time I had been so close to him, the first time I had touched him. I kissed his cheek, which was cold and smooth, like stone. I kissed his lips. I kissed his forehead. I touched his hair, his eyelids, his eyebrows, his nose. I kissed and touched him for a long time. I talked to him. I told him I was sorry. I told him I was going to New Britain. I told him that I would miss him, that I would never forget him. I told him I loved him. I thought of Fritz saying that my husband had cared about me. I had never imagined that I would actually meet the person who had written my husband those notes, but now I had.
When I woke, it was dark, and I was anxious because I had forgotten to set my alarm. But it was only just after 21:00. I took a shower, even though it was not a water day. I brushed my teeth, and put my toothbrush in my bag. I was afraid if I lay back down I would fall asleep again, so I instead sat on my own bed and stared at my husband. After a few minutes, I put his cooling helmet on, so his face and head wouldn’t begin to rot before he could be cremated. I knew it didn’t make a difference to him, or to anyone, really, but I didn’t want to think of his face turning black and soft. I had never spent so much time around a dead person, not even Grandfather—it was my husband who had overseen his cremation, not me, because I had been too upset.
At 22:20 I stood. I was wearing a plain black shirt and pants, as David had instructed. I put my bag over my shoulder. At the last minute, I added my papers, which David had said I wouldn’t need, but which I thought I might if I were stopped on the way over to the western banks. Then I took them out again, and put them under my pillow. I thought of the petri dish of pinkies I would now never be able to retrieve. “Goodbye, pinkies,” I said aloud. “Goodbye.” My heart was beating so fast that I was having trouble breathing.
I locked my apartment for the final time. I slid the keys beneath the door.
And then I was outside and I was walking west, almost like the walk I had taken just two nights ago. Above me, the moon was so bright that, even when the spotlights had arced away, I could still see where I was going. David had told me that after 21:00 the majority of the Flies would be diverted in order to form clusters around the hospitals and monitor high-density zones, in anticipation of tomorrow’s announcement, and, indeed, I saw only one or two, and instead of their normal drone, there was only silence.