‘Morning,’ Julie croaks, watching me from across the pillow. She looks about as un-pretty as I’ve ever seen her, eyes puffy and hair insane. I wonder how well she sleeps at night, and what kind of dreams she has. I wish I could step into them like she steps into mine.
She rolls onto her side and props her head on her elbow. She clears her throat. ‘So,’ she says. ‘Here you are. What now?’
‘Want to . . . see your city.’
Her eyes search my face. ‘Why?’
‘Want to . . . see how you live. Living people.’
Her lips tighten. ‘Too risky. Someone would notice you.’
‘Come on, Julie,’ Nora says. ‘He walked all the way here, let’s give him a tour! We can fix him up, disguise him. He already got past Ted, I’m sure he’ll be okay strolling around a little if we’re careful. You’ll be careful, right, R?’
I nod, still looking at Julie. She allows a long silence. Then she rolls onto her back and closes her eyes, releasing a slow breath that sounds like consent.
‘Yay!’ Nora says.
‘We can try it. But, R, if you don’t look convincing after we fix you up, no tour. And if I see anyone staring at you too hard, tour’s over. Deal?’
I nod.
‘No nodding. Say it.’
‘Deal.’
She crawls out of the blankets and climbs onto the side of the bed. She looks me up and down. ‘Okay,’ she says, her hair sticking out in every direction. ‘Let’s get you presentable.’
I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage. A quick sequence of shots set to some trite pop song would be much easier to endure than the two gruelling hours the girls spend trying to convert me, to change me back into what’s widely considered human. They wash and trim my hair. They wear out a fresh toothbrush on my teeth, although for my smile anything above a coffee-addicted Brit is not in the cards. They attempt to dress me in some of Julie’s more boyish clothes, but Julie is a pixie and I rip through T-shirts and snap buttons like a bodybuilder. Finally they give up, and I wait naked in the bathroom while they run my old business-casual through the wash.
While I wait, I decide to take a shower. This is an experience I had long forgotten, and I savour it like a first sip of wine, a first kiss. The steaming water cascades over my battered body, washing away months or years of dirt and blood, some of it mine, much of it others’. All this filth spirals down the drain and into the underworld where it belongs. My true skin emerges, pale grey, marked by cuts and scrapes and grazing bullet wounds, but clean.
This is the first time I have seen my body.
When my clothes are dry and Julie has sewn up the most noticeable holes, I dress myself, relishing the unfamiliar feeling of cleanness. My shirt no longer sticks to me. My slacks no longer chafe.
‘You should at least lose the tie,’ Nora says. ‘You’re about ten wars behind the fashion curve in that fancy get-up.’
‘No, leave it,’ Julie pleads, regarding the little strip of cloth with a whimsical smile. ‘I like that tie. It’s the only thing keeping you from being completely grey.’
‘It sure won’t help him blend in, Jules. Remember all the stares we got when we started wearing sneakers instead of work boots?’
‘Exactly. People already know you and me don’t wear the uniform; as long as R stays with us he could wear spandex shorts and a top hat and no one would mention it.’
Nora smiles. ‘I like that idea.’
So the tie remains, in all its red silk incongruity. Julie helps me knot it. She brushes my hair and runs some goo through it. Nora thoroughly fumigates me with men’s body spray.
‘Ugh, Nora,’ Julie objects. ‘I hate that stuff. And he doesn’t even stink.’
‘He stinks a little bit.’
‘Yeah, now he does.’
‘Better he smell like a chemical plant than a corpse, right? It’ll keep the dogs away from him.’
There is some debate about whether or not to make me wear sunglasses to hide my eyes, but they eventually decide this would be more conspicuous than just letting that ethereal grey show itself.
‘It’s actually not that noticeable,’ Julie says. ‘Just don’t have a staring contest with anyone.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Nora adds. ‘No one in this place really looks at each other anyway.’
The final step in their remodelling plan is make-up. As I sit in front of the mirror like a Hollywood starlet getting ready for her close-up, they powder me, they rouge me, they colourise my black-and-white skin. When they’re done, I stare at the mirror in amazement.
I am alive.
I am a handsome young professional, happy, successful, in the bloom of health, just emerging from a meeting and on my way to the gym. I laugh out loud. I look at myself in the mirror and the joyful absurdity of it just bubbles out.
Laughter. Another first for me.
‘Oh my . . .’ Nora says, standing back to look at me, and Julie says, ‘Huh.’ She tilts her head. ‘You look . . .’
‘You look hot !’ Nora blurts. ‘Can I have him, Julie? Just for one night?’
‘Shut your dirty mouth,’ Julie chuckles, still inspecting me. She touches my forehead, the narrow, bloodless slot where she once threw a knife. ‘Should probably cover that. Sorry, R.’ She sticks a Band-Aid over the wound and presses it down with gentle strokes. ‘There.’ She steps back again and studies me like a perfectionist painter, pleased but cautious.
‘Con . . . vincing?’ I ask.