Page 63 of Death of the Author
All of you can go to hell. I’ll NEVER be that poster girl that you can manipulate like a paraplegic Barbie doll. You can’t put my arm here and push my legs there! I’m ME! Deal with it!
Post.
“Fuck you people,” Zelu muttered. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the tears rolling from her eyes and blew her nose. She glanced at her feed again, and it was like sticking her head out of a window during a tornado. Words, words, words. Relentless. Insult and hatred upon insult and hatred. Tearing and biting at her post. She dropped her phone. Let them do their worst.
28
Desert Wind
Zelu was getting canceled.
She didn’t know when she’d started crying. Maybe when she was in the green room. Or maybe as she’d held on to Msizi for dear life as they’d left the studio. Her faculties were so scrambled that she could barely control her exos. They’d taken a cab to a car rental agency. Now Msizi was driving, and Zelu didn’t care where he was taking her.
For a while she sat in complete silence, her cheek pressed against the window. When she could finally form words, tears flew from her eyes as she screamed, “What was that? Oh my fuckingGod. What was that?Oh myGod! Andfucksocial media and its army of NPCs!”
Msizi glanced away from the windshield for a moment to look at her but said nothing.
She remembered the film (Yankee and Dot! Ugh!) and another wave of anguish and revulsion rolled over her. She pressed fists into her eyes and groaned loudly. Behind her eyelids she saw images from the movie and her name in the credits. The characters’ very American voices rang in her ears, reciting butchered versions of lines from her book. Wrong part of the world,wrong ways of speaking, wrong ideas, wrong, wrong, wrong. And millions of people who’d never even read her book were about to watch it and love it and think that was whatRusted Robotswas about. The skill of the filmmaking was undeniable. The studio had produced something visually beautiful, engaging, and memorable—and thoroughlywrong. Why option her book instead of starting fresh? The film had taken her creation’s name and erased her. Now her “fans” were canceling her, too. She undulated in her seat, wishing she could leap from her body and zip into outer space, never to be seen again.
She tried breathing exercises, but she couldn’t breathe. She tried visualizations, but she couldn’t visualize. Her cell phone buzzed and buzzed on her lap. Her agents wanted to talk to her. These were the people who’d kept her in the dark, breached her trust. Now they really expected her to attend more meetings and do more interviews?
The Yebo app pinged to alert her that her heart rate was elevated. It suggested she do meditation exercises.
Msizi touched the car’s screen. Then he said, “Call Jackie.”
Zelu still had her eyes closed, but she listened to the phone ring through the car’s speakers. When Jackie answered the phone, Msizi exhaled with relief. “Cousin,” he said. “Thank goodness.” They started speaking in Zulu, and just the sound of it soothed Zelu. She’d asked Msizi to teach her a bit of it once, but he was always impatient for her to get it right and never around long enough to practice consistently with her, so they hadn’t gotten very far with it.
When Jackie began to sing the South African lullaby “Thula Thula,” more tears rolled from her eyes. But they were calmer tears. It was such a beautiful song, and Jackie had a beautiful voice. He sang for several minutes, until the panic attack fled from her, a dissipating storm.
“Zelu,” Jackie said on the phone.
“What?” she whispered.
“Open your eyes,” Jackie said. “I’m all the way in Chicago, but I know you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Can’t.”
“You can,” Msizi said beside her.
“Open your eyes,” Jackie urged again.
She cracked her left one open, then the right. She looked around. Outside the window, there was nothing but flat desert and stars above. How long had they been driving? Where were they going? All she knew was that she was still in the fucking United States and that was not far enough. She nearly squeezed her eyes shut once more.
“Don’t close them again,” Jackie said.
This made her laugh. Jackie was a physician and he was Zulu, so of course he was psychic. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Hanging up now,” Jackie said.
“Thanks, Jackie. Have a good night,” Msizi answered, and clicked the phone call off from the touch screen. “Wish I could sing like that, but I can’t,” he told Zelu.
She laughed, tired and achy. “You brought me out here. You’re taking care of me. Who else would have known to do that?”
“True,” he said.
“Thank you.” She sighed, embarrassed at being so emotional. “I dunno, Msizi. Fact is, I’m responsible. I was lazy and stupid for opting out of being involved with the movie.”
“Live and learn,” he said. “Live and learn.”
