All Over Creation. Ruth Ozeki

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СКАЧАТЬ got it. “Is it frozen?”

      “Yeah, but you can defrost it in the microwave.”

      “Where’d you find it?”

      “Char sets traps down by the rail yards.”

      “Hey, that’s sick,” Frankie said.

      The kid smiled shyly.

      Frank hesitated now. “We never had a rat in the fryer before.”

      “Hey,” Lilith said. “Rodents happen.”

      He led them to the service entrance, unlocked the door, and flicked on the overhead fluorescents. The four of them filed in after him, carrying empty metal drums. Illuminated against the white tile, they looked mangy and sly. Frankie eyed them as he stashed his skateboard in the corner. He looked at the mud on the floor, dislodged from the deeply treaded soles of their combat boots, and he wondered if they were going to freak out and rob him and tie him up and stick him in the freezer, and if they did, would the police be able to trace them from the footprints? He’d heard about cults. Even hippie retards could lose it. They headed straight for the kitchen.

      “Hey,” Frank called after them. “Just give me a minute, will ya?” He kept his jacket on and put on his cap. If he was going to get locked in the freezer, he wanted to be in uniform. By the time he got to the kitchen, they were draining the fryers. They even knew where the fresh oil was kept.

      “You just go about your chores there,” Geek said. “We’ll take care of this.”

      The entire operation took less than half an hour. Frank held the door as Y and Geek hauled out three drums of old fry oil. Lilith followed, carrying two industrial-size wheels of toilet paper and a couple stacks of coffee filters. Char sidled up to Frank and handed him the rat in a Big Mac container.

      “Char’s already nuked it for you,” said Geek. “Just tell your boss you made an executive decision.”

      Frank looked down at the oily rodent, curled in the hamburger container.

      “Thanks, Frank Perdue.” Lilith handed the heavy rolls to Char. She rested her hands on Frank’s shoulders, then reached up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Spinning on her steel-toed combat boot, she waved and floated out the door.

      “Sure thing,” he said to the empty doorway. He felt the blood, like windburn, redden his face. He heard a noise and spotted Char—the huge, dark eyes watching from behind the curtain of hair, the quizzical smile. Frank scowled and raised his middle finger, flipping the kid the bird, and in response the kid slowly stuck out a slim, red tongue. A silver ball lay on its spongy surface like a shiny offering, then, quick as a wink, the tongue was gone. The kid grinned and slipped out the door, past Geek, who was coming back in.

      “You did us a solid, bro,” he said. “We’ll be over in the Kmart lot. Come by after work. Have a meal. Char’s an awesome cook.”

      Frankie stood in the doorway like a hostess watching the guests leave the party. He sighed and closed the door. You do someone a favor, he thought, surveying the black boot prints marring the linoleum, and what do you get? A rat in a box and the privilege of cleaning up after. But heading back from school that afternoon, he decided to swing by the Kmart after all. Dudes like that didn’t just show up every day, and anything was better than going home.

      Not that it was a home. He lived with an asshole named Nuland, who injured his back in a factory accident and took in foster kids to supplement his disability. Frankie slept on a stinking couch in the living room, but Nuland kicked him off first thing in the morning so he could lay there all day and fart and watch the tube. It didn’t matter. They were just killing time until Frankie was eighteen and out of the system. Nuland had made a pile off him for the last two years, and Frank lived rent free and did whatever he wanted. It was an okay arrangement, but it was not a home.

      The Spudnik was different. When the mute kid opened the door for him and let him inside, it felt exactly the way Frankie imagined a home should feel. It smelled like old socks and french fries, young sweat and dander—smells that were familiar and alive, and his penis twitched in response to the burrowlike warmth. There were other smells, too, new and strange. Candles burning. Musty incense. Shampoo. Food. The lights had all been turned down, and candles flickered. Lilith and Y were sitting cross-legged in the corner with their eyes shut. They were meditating, Geek whispered. Frank sat down to watch. A videotape of the ocean was playing over their heads on a monitor set into the transom above the front seats—a long, low, continuous shot of waves lapping gently on a pebbly beach. The watery sounds drowned out the noise of the parking lot and the highway beyond. Frank closed his eyes, too. He had never felt so relaxed in his life.

      When they were done meditating, Geek rolled a joint. Char was cooking dinner, stirring a stew pot. The kid’s hair was damp, like a hedgehog who’d crawled out from a shrub into the rain. Warm, fragrant steam rose from the pot.

      “Smells good,” Frank said.

      The kid glanced up, then looked away, but not before the quick grin, like the beam from a moving flashlight, flickered through the mat of hair.

      “Char’s pretty nonverbal,” Geek offered. “Awesome cook, but not much of a conversationalist. From Montreal. Been traveling with us for a couple of months now.”

      “What do you guys do anyway? Just bum around?”

      “Not exactly. We’re activists.”

      “What’s that?”

      “You know. Political activists.”

      “Oh.” Frank thought for a bit. “You mean, like politicians?”

      “Oh, shit!” Y laughed, snorting smoke. “That’s very amusing.”

      Frank didn’t get it. Or rather, he got it that Y and the others were laughing at him, and ordinarily that would have made him want to bust someone’s head open, but now, with the pot and all, it really didn’t matter. He figured eventually they would stop laughing, and then someone would explain. Frankie sat back and waited.

      “You’re not kidding, are you?” Geek said.

      Frank shook his head.

      “You’re perfectly serious.”

      Frank nodded.

      Geek peered into Frankie’s face. “Wow.” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses. “Check it out,” he said. “We target a range of food-related issues. Right now it’s genetic engineering. We drive around the country to communities and engage with the people and do actions. Basic biotech. Consciousness Raising 101. We’re the Seeds of Resistance—that’s our name. We also publish a ’zine and a Web site. . . .”

      “Bio-what?”

      “Oh, jeez. Don’t you know anything?”

      Frank shook his head.

      “Biotechnology,” Geek said. “Robocrops. Frankenfoods. Fish genes spliced into tomatoes. Bacterial DNA into potatoes. Corn and—”

      “Cool! You do all that stuff right in here?”

      “What СКАЧАТЬ