Shadow Traffic

The Justice Society

159 The Justice Society It began when the air in his apartment changed. It grew heavier, becoming almost filmy, and had a faint but definite acrid smell. When he started to feel hotter and woke up in the night perspiring , he looked in his bathroom mirror. His hazel eyes looked watery and his hair seemed grayer—his whole face looked as if the pale gray of his hair had spread over, it covering his normal color. Was it the flu? His doctor ruled that out. Of course, his doctor knew about his somewhat hypochondriacal nature, also knew he’d been a painter once. He all but said it was due to his easily stimulated imagination or to staying inside too much where he now worked with his computer. But whatever it was persisted—his apartment still felt occupied—and tonight when he felt something move (not on the floor exactly, but over it) and the air smell worse than ever, he finally became convinced that hell had invaded it and he ran out of his place to find a bar. Would his drink never come? He’d taken a wrong turn and missed his usual place and was now at one that seemed to be run by the lazy and will-less. When it finally came he took two deep swallows and closed his eyes, trying to imagine he was at a beach or else in a grove filled with pine needles that led to a clear lake. shadow traffic 160 “Hey, bud,” someone said, forcing him to open his eyes. Sure enough, a surprisingly well-dressed man was sitting next to him, and Mason immediately tried to recall whether the man had actually said, “Hey, bud” or “Hey, bro.” “Bro” would be more ridiculous , although a warmer attempt at communication, whereas “bud” was more appropriate for the occasion but also, somehow, more anachronistic. He moved his head a few degrees toward the man and nodded , then returned to his drink. Already he’d made up his mind to leave probably after his first drink and definitely after his second . He wouldn’t go home, of course, not after what happened. Instead, he’d go to the bar he meant to go to in the first place, where people left you alone. What was this now? The man had turned toward him again and cleared his throat. He was either going to gargle in front of him or else assault him with more words. “Hell of a wind out there tonight,” the man said. His blue eyes darted around uneasily as if a wind was moving them. “You got that right,” he said, to say something, but worried that now he’d encouraged the man too much. Then a silence followed while the man drank. Perhaps it would be over now. Once more he altered the angle of his head to his left, but the man began talking again anyway. “You come to this place much?” “No, this is my first time. Took a wrong turn somewhere and wound up here. What about you?” “I’ve come here once or twice, when other places were too crowded.” “Yuh, there’s not much here, is there?” “It’s pretty minimal,” the man said. “Sort of how I picture hell,” he said, then regretted his words, The Justice Society 161 shivered even as he thought of his apartment, but the man laughed. “I hear you,” he said. Hear what? Know what? Just what do you think you could know about me, he thought, thinking of his home with a shudder , and how could you know it, Mason wanted to say, but of course had to keep what had happened to his home a secret. “There’ve been many nights when I felt the same way, when it was like being in a part of hell. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen anymore, but it used to.” He turned toward the man again. “So, what’s the secret? Why doesn’t it happen anymore?” The man sighed a little. It was barely audible but Mason heard it almost as if the man felt he was the one being put upon. “You really want to know? OK, first I had to absolutely come clean with myself.” The man paused as if to let the impact of his fatuous revelation sink in. He cleared his throat portentously again before resuming. “Then I heard about...