Exit Kingdom

gladiators, ain’t they? his voice says, half through the megaphoneand half not as he is distracted from its use. It’s my own personal coliseum. You could get to be a rich
man in the wasteland, couldn’t you? Games of chance – you ante up your life. So it goes, ain’t it?
    That way, Moses says to his brother, pointing to the collection of debris piled on the escalator to the mezzanine. Abraham goes first, delicately beginning the climb upwards, balancing againstthe shifting objects on the escalator. It is a slow climb, one they could not have accomplished with a passel of the dead behind them. But they will make it.
    Hey, says the little man on the balcony. Hey! It is not permitted! You ain’t guessed my name yet!
    They ignore him and continue to climb. Moses, a heavy bull of a man, makes a misstep and sends a deckful of chairs crashing down below,and for a second the whole assemblage threatens to
collapse beneath them. But it holds, and they continue up. When Abraham gets to the top, he reaches a hand for his brother and helps him the rest of the way.
    Then they see the man himself. He is dressed like a harlequin in an outfit of patches sewn together from a hundred different items of clothing. It is a wonder to behold because of itspurposeless grandeur. There are clothes everywhere – the world full of clothes to be had whole and for free to anyone who wants to claim them. There is no need to construct new ones –
sewing a science for times of luxury that are long past. But here, on this man, is an outfit of loving craftsmanship – a bricolage of textiles in a spectrum of colours. He wears a hat, too,
stitched togetherin the same way – a triangular cap with a brim that comes to a point in front and makes him look like a degraded Robin Hood.
    The little man does not retreat as they move towards him, so distracted is he by the intrusion into his kingdom. He drops the megaphone to the ground and shakes his fists at the brothers,
stomping his feet against the hard tile.
    I gave no permission! he cries.It is mine, ain’t it? All of it is mine. Rounded them up, I did, and set them as a trap for those who would assail me. It ain’t yours to take. You
ain’t guessed my name yet!
    Rumple fuckin stiltskin, Moses says to the little man and uses one big hand to push him backwards.
    The little man goes flying as though he has no weight at all, collapsing to the ground and rising instantly to aseated position, supporting his upper body on one hand and using the other to
wipe the spittle from his mouth. Suddenly he is quiet and looks at Moses askance as though reconsidering the nature of his adversary. Then he smiles and cackles again, picking himself up and
raising his hands to show he is no combatant worthy of beating. Then he says:
    Man of erudition, ain’t he? Man of book learningor just memories of mama stories? Who can tell? Bear with the voice of a man, at least. The sideshow’s come to town.
    *
    Where do you domicile? Moses asks. Tell us, or it’ll go hard with you.
    The little harlequin raises his hands again.
    I’ll tell, won’t I? Take you there myself. Spoils to the victor. No harm done. Nothing that can’t be rebuilt.
    Then the little man turnsand walks down the long wide corridor of the terminal without turning to see if the brothers follow. Moses and Abraham look briefly at each other and then go after him.
The sun comes through the tall windows to their left, and it is a majestical fortress indeed. Fortress of glass and silence. Plenty of space to feel your aloneness, Moses thinks. Plenty of room for
madness to seed itself andgrow. A stadium of space, he knows from experience, invites grief to fill it in every corner and niche. This little man has been here on his own for five years, according
to his own word. And alone who knows how long before that. As Moses walks through the terminal, his heels resounding echoes to the vast ceilings above, he feels like he is wandering through the
caverns of a mind dizzied bycastaway isolation.
    Eventually, the harlequin turns to the right and passes through a smaller corridor to a door marked VIP Lounge.
    Very important person, ain’t I?
    Then he opens the door and they enter the little man’s sanctum. It is no longer recognizable as a lounge, having more in common, instead, with an elf’s workshop. Along all the walls
are tables covered with bits of detritusfrom all over the airport. Pieces of planes, unrecognizable splinters of metal bent