Immobility by Brian Evenson Read Free Book Online Page A

wish he were wearing a suit himself. He squinted, ended up pulling his shirt high to cover his mouth, his nose. They passed an old track-and-field facility, with half-collapsed bleachers, and passed around another stadium just north of it, this one larger and in better condition. The mules gave it a wide berth.
    “Why are you avoiding it?” asked Horkai.
    “It might be someone’s home,” said the mule he was riding. “It will only slow us down to have to kill them.”
    A ruined motel, the remains of an old museum, a replica of a dinosaur skeleton collapsing outside it. They kept up a steady pace, the mules showing no signs of flagging. Another parking lot—this one larger and spattered with large shell craters. They crossed it, came on the other side to the largest street they’d seen so far, perhaps four lanes wide or perhaps six—difficult to tell with the state it was in. In his head he saw it as six, but couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or a memory. The road was buckled and torn, but more intact than the streets they’d seen before. On one corner were the remains of a pole and the metal blade of a street sign, but it had been scoured by sand or dust until it was bare metal. Nothing Road, thought Horkai. As good a name as any. Once they were on it, they moved more quickly.
    “It looks promising,” said the mule beside him, his voice just audible through the speaker. Either he wasn’t speaking directly into the microphone or his speaker had become clogged with dust.
    “Which one are you?” Horkai asked.
    The mule misstepped but caught himself. He drew a little closer, holding on to the other Q’s shoulder, his hand resting softly against Horkai’s side. “I’m the older one,” he said.
    “The first one,” said Horkai.
    The Q shook his head. “The first of the two of us,” he corrected. “But not the first one.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Horkai. “I can’t remember the name of the one who was oldest.”
    “I don’t think we told you the name of the one who’s the oldest.”
    “No,” said Horkai. “That’s not what I mean. The oldest of the two of you. Your name.”
    “Ah,” said the Q. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m Qatik.”
    “Qatik,” he said. “Of course you are.”
    “Why do you say of course? Is it inevitable?”
    Horkai shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just a way of speaking. Why were the two of you chosen for this?”
    “It is an honor to be chosen,” said Qatik.
    “Yes, but why?” asked Horkai. “Why you?”
    “You are our purpose.”
    “How did I come to be your purpose?”
    “You have always been our purpose,” said Qatik.
    They moved forward for a time in silence, Qatik still clinging to his brother. Horkai tried again.
    “What do you think of Rasmus?”
    For a moment Qatik didn’t speak. “What do you mean?” he finally said. “He is Rasmus.”
    “What do you mean by ‘He is Rasmus’?” asked Horkai, confused.
    “Exactly that,” said Qatik. “Rasmus is Rasmus and is no other.”
    “But that doesn’t explain what you think of him,” said Horkai. “Do you like him?”
    “He is Rasmus,” said Qatik. “He has his purpose. How can I judge how well he serves it? His purpose is different from our purpose and I do not understand it nearly as well as I do my own. That is proper. Surely you can see that?”
    “Yes, I suppose,” said Horkai. “But what does that have to do with whether you like him or not?”
    “Exactly. How can I like or dislike someone whose purpose I imperfectly understand? You, however, I can speak about with more authority. You are the burden. As far as I understand that portion of your purpose, you fulfill it admirably. You are sturdy but not overly heavy. You do not struggle when you are carried, you do not scream except when injured, and you do not fall off if you are not tied on. Burden, I like the way you fulfill your purpose.”
    “Call me Horkai,” he said. “And liking the way I fulfill my