Free The Tesseract by Alex Garland Page A

“One.”
    One, two, three . Noise, blood, Bubot begging for small change, Don Pepe sitting with his sunless skin and slick red jaw—these things were beyond understanding. But numbers emptied the mind, leaving room for other thoughts.
    A single thought, as his thumb turned the wedding ring on his left hand.
    Just past eight o’clock, Miranda would be working on her jigsaw. A big one, perhaps two feet square when complete. He’d gotten home early the previous Saturday and found all the little pieces, scattered on the floor at the foot of their bed. Jojo had been surprised, and wondered why she’d bought it. Seeing her crouched over the box, studying the picture for clues, he’d had to ask himself: What would drive her to buy a jigsaw?
    “Miranda,” he’d said anxiously. “Am I neglecting you?”
    She didn’t look up. “No.”
    “Then why did you buy a jigsaw?”
    “I didn’t buy it. Nana Conché bought it for her grandson, but he didn’t like it so she was disappointed. She threatened to throw it away. I thought that was a shame.”
    “Oh.”
    “I thought it might be fun to make.”
    Yes, Jojo had reflected, I can see that—remembering the quiet and methodical way she’d worked out how to reload his magazine.
    “I was afraid you’d think I was neglecting you. Since I’ve become the mestizo’s driver…working so many nights.”
    Miranda still didn’t look up. She’d found two pieces that matched. “Well, that’s why I thought the jigsaw might be fun. To pass time, waiting for you to get home.”
    “Ah.”
    “Why don’t you help me make it?”
    “Okay.”
    “Good. You’ll see, there are so many pieces that it is really quite difficult. Probably too hard for Nana Conché’s grandson. He would only have gotten frustrated.”
    Jojo knelt beside her and started hunting for a piece with two straight edges. “We should start with the corners. That’s the way.”
    Miranda tutted. “I know. I’ve found them already. I have them here.”
    “Ah yes.”
    “There’s dinner for you under the plate over there.”
    “Have you eaten?”
    “An hour ago.”
    “Well…” Jojo shrugged. “Let’s just work on this.”
    “One.”
    His thumb turned the wedding ring.
    “Two,” said Teroy.
    Jojo left the ring alone and gripped his gun with both hands.
    “Three.”
3.
    Shoulder to shoulder with Teroy, eyes screwed against the sparks and spinning chips of wood, Jojo had a bad feeling about his arms. They felt untrustworthy and oddly disconnectedfrom the rest of his body. For the moment they were doing everything he asked—keeping upright and as steady as the recoil would allow—but for the next moment, there were no guarantees. They seemed on the verge of rebellion, threatening to seize up and become useless.
    It was as though they were aware of something that he wasn’t. If it wasn’t for the convulsion of shock each time the pistol kicked, and the blankness that followed, he felt sure he’d know what the thing was.
    No recoil. The chambers were empty. Teroy pulled him to the side of the doorway. Then he grabbed the gun out of Jojo’s hand, reloading it before he reloaded his own, sliding in the new bullets with the same unthinking confidence as a street conjuror rolling a coin between his knuckles.
    Teroy said something, loudly, judging by the twist of his mouth. Wasted on Jojo, because directly after the word “Three” and the explosion of shooting, he had gone completely deaf. He couldn’t even hear his own voice, shouting, “I can’t hear you,” at Teroy, who seemed to be equally deaf.
    The pistol was thrust back into Jojo’s hands. Teroy held a finger in the air and was staring hard at him with a look of urgent expectancy.
    A second finger joined it. The peace sign.
    Peace sign?
    “
I can’t hear you!
”
    Third finger. Oh, thought Jojo numbly. It was starting again.
    Again, Jojo had the feeling in his arms. But this time, despite the shock of the kickback, an image was starting to