Oliver Benjamin
should not refuse, he said.”
“The plant was brought over by the Anarkids,” Yak said, “They
tried to assault Sprout. It was not meant to be a friendly truce.”
Colin stumbled back from the bathroom and collapsed in a chair.
He looked like he had been flattened by an acute and inexplicable
increase in the earth’s pull. “Oh yes, incidentally,” he started
nonchalantly, then wailed uncontrollably, “Sprout has abandoned us
forever! And Martin—sweet prince!—Martin is dead!”
Just then Sprout walked in through the door. Colin jumped up,
wiping at his wet face. “I thought you were gone!” he bellowed.
“I almost was,” she looked over at Yak, then the others. “Almost.
Now I need a hug. A big one,” she said.
The four of them, Even Yak, came slowly together in a tender
hug, acknowledging Martin and the multiplicities of their loss. When
at last Sprout spoke they were reinvigorated. For it had not actually
been she who had needed the recharge, but the rest of them.
“We’ve got to get that bastard,” Colin announced. “For Marty.
For the sake of humanity.”
They turned to look as a tiny, bored-looking foreigner entered
the room dressed in bicycle shorts and a bright red jacket. He held a
sealed envelope in his hands.
“Hello friend. Is Mister Roy Makonnen?”
“He’s not here,” Colin answered.
“Can you please make that he get this?” He handed Colin an
envelope. It was a certified letter marked URGENT. “Sign here,” he
said. After Colin signed he spun around and strode away.
Colin tore it open. It was from Roy’s bank.
He read to himself and his lips moved like a child mutely
sobbing. Roy had defaulted for too long on his loan payments. The
property was being repossessed.
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