Mercury Rests by Robert Kroese

anything?” asked Zophar.
    “Like cursed God, you mean? I don’t think so. He might have muttered some anti-God sentiments under his breath, but nothing I was able to pick up on. I hope you guys can talk some sense into him.”
    “What do you mean, talk some sense into him?”
    “Er,” said Mercury, “I meant, I hope you guys can give him some small measure of comfort. He’s been through so much. A lesser man probably would have cursed God by now, you know? Really loudly too, so that there would be no question about it.”
    The men muttered confusedly among themselves and left Mercury so they could go sit in the ashes by Job.
    Mercury’s hopes for a quick resolution of his situation were not met. Eliphas, Bildad, and Zophar sat in silence for a full week, commiserating with Job. At last Job spoke, but not loudly enough for Mercury to make out what he was saying.
    “Hey, kid!” Mercury whispered to the boy, who was, incredibly, still trying to get the kite airborne. The boy ran over to Mercury.
    “Tell me what he’s saying. Quick!”
    The boy ran over and perched behind Job. After a moment he ran back to Mercury. “He says, ‘May the day of my birth perish, and the night that said, “A boy is conceived!” ’ ”
    “OK,” said Mercury. “He’s still talking. Tell me the rest.”
    The boy ran over to listen and then returned again to Mercury. “He says, ‘That day—may it turn to darkness; may God above not care about it.’ ”
    “Got it,” said Mercury. “Go!”
    The boy ran over again to listen and returned. “He says, ‘May no light shine on it. May gloom and utter darkness claim it once more; may a cloud settle over it; may blackness overwhelm it.’ ”
    “Utter darkness,” said Mercury, nodding. “OK, go!”
    The boy returned again. “He says, ‘That night—may thick darkness seize it; may it not be included among the days of the year nor be entered in any of the months.’ ”
    “Jeez, more about the day, huh? OK, go get the rest.”
    “He says, ‘May that night be barren; may no shout of joy be heard in it. May those who curse days curse that day, those who are ready to rouse Leviathan.’ ”
    “Rousing Leviathan, got it. OK, go.”
    The boy returned again. “You got any more mangoes?”
    “He’s asking for mangoes?”
    “No, I want more mangoes.”
    “Fine, here. What’s he saying?”
    “He says, ‘May its morning stars become dark; may it wait for daylight in vain and not see the first rays of dawn.’ ”
    “Seriously? He’s still talking about the day he was born? Tell you what: wake me up when he either curses God or gets to the point in the story where he soils his first nappy.” Mercury leaned back against the tree for another snooze. It didn’t look like his torment was going to end anytime soon.

TEN
    Christine and Jacob found themselves once again in the back of a black SUV. Agent Daltrey was driving while another agent, a tight-faced, thickly built woman named Ruiz, rode shotgun. The vehicle was barely moving, hemmed in by traffic. Christine was exhausted, and the glare of headlights was giving her a headache.
    “How much farther?” she asked.
    “Just a few blocks,” said Agent Ruiz. “Traffic is bad tonight. Riots.”
    “Riots?” asked Christine. “What are they rioting about?”
    Ruiz glanced back at her. “Whaddaya got?”
    Jacob was gazing out his window, apparently enraptured by the city lights. Christine turned to look out hers. She saw throngs of pedestrians on the street, but they seemed peaceful enough.
    Ruiz spoke again, without looking back. “Charlie Nyx fanatics, antiwar protesters, and end-of-the-world fanatics, not to mention a grab bag of assorted lunatics. You’re going to want to stay off the streets. Not that you have any choice in the matter.”
    The FBI agents were escorting Christine and Jacob to a nearby hotel, where they would evidently be staying indefinitely. It was made quite clear to them that the FBI would be more than