The Depths

[Near]

Near decides that this volley’s point goes to him, since Jude apparently can neither be bothered to recall nor invent a concrete answer to the question of Courtland’s purported interestingness and scuttles back to the safety of his favorite bland insult.

(The audience calls back in chorus, How much of an asshole is he?)

Unacknowledged to both Jude and, mostly, Near himself, is the disappointment that comes in a small sharp shape like a rock rattling around the heel of a shoe -- how the asking might have been an admission of the curiosity that he has never been able to cure himself of. How he might have been hoping for a real answer, One Weird Fact About Courtland, if just to sneer at it once it was out there. But maybe there’s nothing after all, maybe he hit a bullseye with the assumption of Jude believing that being interested in Jude is in and of itself an interesting trait. He certainly seems to take offense at the suggestion that his having weird fucking mind powers does not automatically make him fascinating.

The drawer Near reaches down toward has been off its track for at least a month, which is a good excuse to yank it open with a satisfyingly violent jerk that makes the heap of loose silverware inside jangle. He sifts out a fork and then a second fork, drops one on the counter. Plastic carryout cutlery is no good for anything.

“Probably not,” he says, although what does he know, maybe it’s one of those things tons of people have but don’t talk about, like irritable bowel syndrome. “Pretty sure I only know one guy who can burp the alphabet backwards, too. Have you ever done a single useful thing with … whatever it is? Seriously. Because it didn't seem like you weren’t doing anything all that great then except fucking with bottles, and you’re definitely not now.”

[Jude]

Jude tenses at the yank of the drawer, as it is he who has been pulled. For some reason he has never thought about whether Near would hurt him. Near does not seem like the hurting type, and Jude has known many of that breed. But now, for a moment, he does wonder. He has caused Near to be dumped and he has apparently found a sore spot with Courtland. Maybe this is where Near puts Jude in his place with a steak knife.

The embarrassing truth is that Jude never listened intently to technical explanations of what he can do. The core members of the cult include an ex-physicist, an archaeologist, an archivist, a divinity college dropout. They all have different ways of putting it. What it boils down to is that Jude and his twin can bypass laws of space and entropy. They are conduits of immense power; they are keys which can open up a door to a world beyond this one.

In line with not drawing the wrong kind of attention, Jude has mostly contained himself to parlor tricks, petty acts of revenge, and crossing state lines. He once again has the feeling that Near thinks he is a wizard. And a stupid one.

I could explode your stupid head feels like the apotheosis of a schoolyard insult. "What useful things have you done in your life?" Near shoots back. "Before I take a lecture from you." Not a sterling response, but an improvement on empty threats.

[Near]

“Depends on who you ask.” Near has made a series of conscious decisions to minimize his own value to society. See: every important life decision. Nevertheless, even little things, viewed from the right angle against a narrow enough field, might be considered useful. He has confiscated car keys from drunks and returned lost credit cards. He has let people in trouble crash on his couch. He has given change to people on street corners. Occasionally he will return a shopping cart left in the middle of a parking lot to its designated area. Bonus: he has not only bought dinner for an astonishingly ungrateful Jude, he has also not drop-kicked Jude out of the apartment, which you might think Jude, who is apparently in no hurry to leave, would see some benefit to himself in. It is impossible to imagine Jude, even in the context of normal day-to-day life, minus the whole powers crap, intentionally doing something that is helpful for another person. Near can only imagine him walking right past the stray cart, not even noticing its existence.

But it’s not really a question. It’s not a question, and it’s not an answer. It’s just Jude making noises because he feels cornered. Can’t answer the question about Courtland, can’t justify the whole “I’m special because I have magic powers” act because they’re not good for shit except possibly ending the world. Can’t have a conversation. So he’s turning Near’s taunt back on him.

“But nothing, probably,” he concludes with a dry chuckle. “It’s not really apples to apples though, is it? With me not having all the cool magic powers. What exactly can you do? Besides unbreaking bottles and disappearing acts?” The latter, he supposes, was useful to Jude. Maybe the former was enough to impress old Dad. The recycling implications! An intelligent man could really corner the market. He's serious, though. More serious. For years his impression of whatever the hell Jude can do has flattened into "some vague bullshit." Now here's the wonderboy in the flesh, and it's time to sort it out.


“I remember you said something about looking into the past or the present or the future. How’s that working for you? You have to come get this, you know. I’m not waiting your table.”

[Jude]

"Everything depends on who you ask," Jude says, utterly exasperated. Who you ask determines the weather, what time it is, whether it's a good day or a bad day. He is asking one specific person: Near. It is just like Near to dodge every question, or provide the most slippery non-answer.

The question Near asks though is more concrete. What can Jude do? Jude looks at Near a little harder, with narrowed eyes. He is considering answering -- even though no answer has ever satisfied Near. Nothing satisfies Near. He is a bored, unsatisfied man.

He gets up off the couch and comes to the kitchen with a sigh. It would be easier for Near to just bring the food to the coffee table, but fine. "Your bowls?" he says, opening one cabinet and checking it. Wrong cabinet, spice cabinet. He moves to the next.

Jude thinks of asking, Do you really want to know?, but then Near will say whatever, he doesn't, sulky little boy that he is. Again, Jude has never been in charge of his own explanations, and in his cross-country tours he has been preaching to the choir: they already knew the verses. They were assured of his ability to change -- end -- the world.

"I can change one thing into another thing. I can bring dead things back to life. I can fold space -- like you would fold a piece of paper, and touch the opposite ends together -- then cross it. Then unfold it." He finds the bowls in the cabinet and brings them down. "I don't usually resurrect anything though. It's..." He wrinkles his eyebrows together. "My Family said it was distracting." He glances around the counter. "Where's the mango lassi?"

[Near]

Near shakes his head.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe the ludicrous scope of what Jude describes himself as being able to do. He does believe it. Sort of. At least he’s seen enough evidence to believe that Jude is capable of doing something out of the ordinary, so why not all that? It’s just that Jude standing there shoeless in Near’s kitchen, digging through cabinets as he proclaims the breadth of his godlike powers, makes the possession of godlike powers seem suddenly pointless. So he can resurrect the dead, can probably origami the people who are after him right out existence, but instead he’s been driving around trying to tell rich people how to spend their money. Sure. Jude’s real magic is the ability to turn magic into whatever.

(The question of if you’re so obsessed with Courtland, why didn’t you just bring him back to life and ask him what to do does cross Near’s mind, but he keeps it there because he doesn't want to get into a whole conversation about Zombie Dad.)

“Hell if I know,” he mutters instead regarding all things mango lassi. He doesn’t remember there being one on the order; he’ll have to check his phone to make sure. Maybe get his money back. “Driver probably forgot it. Or stole it.” Before that –

With a mutedly dramatic flourish, he retrieves his drinking glass and slams it down on the counter in front of Jude, leveling a look at him. “So, change that into one,” he says. “Better yet, fold the space between here and the nearest mango lassi.”

[Jude]

Having godlike powers is sort of like being a billionaire: everyone believes that if they were the one with them, they would accomplish the greatest of things, the most beautiful and the most holy and the most impressive. Nevermind that so many names of the sickeningly wealthy are lost to time, and if they are recalled, it is often ignominiously, for cruelty and vulgarity rather than taste or compassion. Jude might be even more annoying than a billionaire, capable of things that money cannot buy, but he has never known a life or a self where he is otherwise. He knows on an intellectual level that most people do not have a yacht or a stable of thoroughbreds, but he cannot quantify nor qualify his wealth of power.

What Jude has not explained is that there is always a cost to his power: bloodshed. He has always been confined to killing animals -- mostly rabbits, sometimes goats, generally they have not given him cats or dogs, people get touchy about domestic animals -- but it is understood that any living thing can be broken down as fuel. Jude's own blood is fuel for the kind of simple parlor trick he performed for Near.

To save this world -- to snatch back up, now that it is tumbling over the brink -- power from beyond this world must cross over and undo what otherwise could not be undone. What if the ice of the melting glaciers could be refrozen? The felled trees of the Amazon regrown in a heartbeat? Surely if people are going to die anyways, wouldn't it be better for them to bleed for a living world than a dying one? That is half the Family's pitch. The other half is that, unless the Family aligns themselves with a small authoritarian country with a powerful military, they cannot get enough blood to open the gate. Technological advancements are necessary, and those advancements require investment. Thus, the traveling persuasive circus.

Resurrection is theoretical to Jude. He knows he could do it, but he hasn't tried it. He is not superstitious as a religious person might be, afraid that Courtland's soul would not return with his body, but Jude imagines it would take killing at least a few other people to give it a solid try, and he doesn't want to do that. Not killing things is the new thing he's trying.

I am so not sorry about Guthrie, Jude thinks, as Near declares there is no mango lassi, and, better yet, why doesn't Jude just magic one up? "I should smash this glass on your head," Near says flatly. There is the issue that using his powers calls out to his other half, who is seeking him quite desperately. Jude has learned he can get away with minor things, but major demonstrations are at his own risk. The Family must have already guessed he was at Courtland's -- they found him too quickly. It wasn't just his power.

"Are you serious?" Jude gives Near a look. He takes the glass, fills it with water from the sink, sets it down. Then, glancing around the kitchen, he sees a knife block. He goes to it and touches the handles of the blade, finds a short paring knife. He draws it from the block and points it at Near. "Let's cut your hand then." Of course it will hurt Near more and last longer, given that he is a simple mortal creature, but it will also give him a sense of investment. Put some of his skin in the game.

[Near]

That knife block on the counter was a no-occasion-necessary gift from Guthrie, who picked it up from the home goods clearance shelf at his store. Surprise! Near had accepted with labored enthusiasm and played along with Guthrie’s hopes that having some “decent” knives might provide inspiration to cook a little, because cooking for oneself was a more mature, a more virtuous endeavor than ordering takeout or throwing a prefab frozen meal in the microwave. (He hadn’t put it in quite those words, but that was what he meant.)

Near, neither mature nor virtuous enough to take up home chefery in earnest, sometimes uses the knives to slice open packaging he can’t manage through fingers and teeth alone. Otherwise they wait there in neglect.

As Jude extracts one of the stubbier specimens from its slot in the hunk of wood, Near thinks that perhaps he has finally managed to push the little snot too far. A few hours ago he would have sworn up and down to himself or anyone who asked that of course he hadn’t set out to antagonize Jude to the point of a homicidal break! The opposite: he was hoping to find some semblance of common ground. Shared goals. Understanding. But with that having tanked (Jude’s fault), Near can’t deny a teeny flicker of pride in the thought of having driven Jude over the edge. But the blip of pride is dwarfed by a spike of adrenaline: making Jude want to stab him may be an accomplishment, but actually getting stabbed by Jude is something else. He shuffles a couple of steps backward, trying to gauge how he might maintain the upper hand if Jude decides to rush him. He’s pretty sure he could come out on top in a fight, assuming no godlike powers come into play.

But Jude just stands there with his dinky knife. Let’s cut your hand then.

“Why the actual fuck would we cut my hand?” Near snarls over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

[Jude]

Jude stands there for several seconds in silence. He is shocked to muteness by the revelation that Near truly paid fuck-all attention to his previous demonstration, which specifically involved the slicing of Jude's own palm and the rapid healing of the cut. He is likewise stunned that Courtland apparently left no notes behind about the particular mechanism of Jude and Juliet's powers. Entropy can be reversed, space can be folded -- but not for nothing.

Animals dislike Jude instinctively, sensing that he is not quite man and certainly not a beast. Perhaps they also feel how many of them he has killed over the years, in rituals that borrow their aesthetics from the pagan and the Satanic. The Family is neither, but they adopt language and gestures as suit their goals. The shedding of fresh blood is the only prerequisite for an exertion of Jude's power. More blood, more power. He's reasonably confident he could get that mango lassi for slicing Near's hand.

He closes his eyes and turns the knife to hold the flat of it in his other palm. By concealing the blade, he hopes to indicate that he is not about to do any lunging or stabbing. What is he, a barbarian? "Nevermind," he says. "Do you want to just eat?"

Guthrie's knives can remain unused, as abandoned today as they were yesterday and the day before.

[Near]

“Never. Fucking. Mind?”

This follows several empty seconds of recalibration, while fear fronting as anger grinds toward authentic anger with a fuzz of residual fear in the background. They are moving in fits and starts, it seems, like a machine on the fritz. Not that they have ever been well-oiled. Near’s heart is still kicking into the backside of his ribs. His posture remains taut, prepared to surge forward with a closed fist or to fall back, despite Jude’s attempt at sleight-of-hand. A knife, even a small knife, isn’t one of those things you can just out of sight out of mind away.

“You just threatened to cut me. Ten seconds ago. With my own knife.” (As if the knife’s ownership matters – but it does somehow, the offense feels worse than if it had emerged from Jude's pocket.) He speaks slowly, a little too loudly, enunciating the shape of the words as if that will make the gravity of the situation clearer – his you’ve had enough to drink now voice – since Jude doesn’t seem to grasp it. He really doesn’t look like he understands. There is no apparent hostility on his face, no evidence that he’s just waiting for Near to let his guard down. Still.

“You don’t get to ‘oh never mind let’s eat’ that. What the hell is wrong with you? Put that fucking thing down, or I'll make you.”

[Jude]

Jude feels that he has been nothing but reasonable for the majority of his visit. He has tolerated Near's whining and yelping and nagging and accusations, his harebrained ideas, his utter lack of empathy, his dearth of imagination. Whatever unresolved sexual tension crackled briefly in the living room sputters out completely under the wet blanket of Near's senseless fear -- because apparently the end of the world and human annihilation is nothing, a joke, something to be taken on in the style of a Harry Potter-esque final battle, but one kitchen knife sends Near's mind reeling.

It proves how hollow the offer of help was. Near is a coward, and his incessant newspaper ads were a demonstration of his own self-absorption. Seeing whether Jude was alive was simply to satisfy his own curiosity. Any affection Jude might see between them is imagined.

He opens his eyes, and there is clear coldness in them. Finally he has tired of these games. His appetite wanes.

"Okay," he says. "Come make me." And he reveals the knife once more, uncovering the blade and then settling the tip of it against his palm.

Jude knows he cannot win in hand to hand combat. But he only needs to cut his hand to temporarily melt the tile beneath Near's feet like wet concrete and drop him ankle-deep into floor, freezing him in his tracks. If Jude is willing to hit a vein, he can fold his little pieces of paper and send himself to the parking lot, minus his shoes.

There are some people who were not made to comprehend anything greater about the world, Jude thinks. Comprehension died with Courtland. More's the pity.