In November of 1833, in New York City, on Manhattan Island, toward the west of the Midtown, in a poor district where pigs were slaughtered, in a dilapidated boarding house, on the third floor, third door on the left -- a new civilization was beginning. To the western eye, to a traveler just arrived from a remote culture and nation on the planet, the structure of this society would have appeared somewhat barbaric and primitive. Scientific, cultural, political, social, and religious thinking, in fact all abstract thought, was of a very general, binary kind: Me and You, Us and Them, Her and Him, Either This or That, Yes or No. It was not an ancient society, at least in terms of its age. It was rather young, perhaps ten years old at the most – and even that estimate is somewhat too generous. Its population was also rather small, ranging between 500 and 1000 people (the number changed, sometimes drastically, day to day, but the total population most likely did not exceed 1000 individuals).

The leader of this society was a thirty-year-old woman named Clara. And everyone she governed lived in the small, somewhat cramped space of her rather dingy room, in which was a stove for heat, a bed, a closet, a chamber pot, and some shelves for books and various liquids and foodstuffs. Small, intricately designed cages, boxes, and living quarters were also spread about at even intervals across the floor. In these places the people lived, though whether or not they lived well or poorly, or were happy or discontented with their condition, were not easily answerable questions.

It would seem on first glance that this society had descended to a very low level of development. The leader appeared not only to tolerate but to encourage slavery on a large scale, and the leader herself seemed to make little effort, and to care not at all, when it came to providing for her subjects’ health and happiness. These people who lived in boxes and cages, men and women both, therefore descended themselves to a very low level of human and cultural development. They learned – those who survived – to scavenge for their food and clothing like true savages. They lost everything they had, and their memories and desires, in time, seemed not to extend beyond the hour or the day. The Now became everything. The Present was all. Meanwhile, their lives were bought and, each knew, could be snuffed out in an instant, for no discernible reason: there was no cause for death in this room, or under this leader, there was only cause of death.

Sometimes they were crushed (purposefully or not), and sometimes they were devoured. Sometimes they served some more fleeting and ephemeral purpose (Clara wanted some kind of fulfillment or another, sexual or otherwise). It was a horrible life altogether, yet it soon strangely became – for nearly everyone – the only life possible. This was the world that Lydia saw, without seeing, through the crack in the door. One can imagine, feel himself, the horror and dread she must have been feeling, as she searched for her husband. But there’s no longer any reason to prolong this part of the story. Lydia would soon find him, and he would be alive.

When she first narrowed her vision through the crack in the door, and then waited for it to adjust to the light, she saw only the window and recognized Christina standing next to the window. Christina was holding in her hand a bedraggled figure or figurine, a man or a woman – on that point Lydia could reach no satisfactory degree of certainty. However in her thoughts she called that figure “Levi," until other evidence showed beyond a doubt that it was some other person or object. Then she saw and heard, before the eyehole, a green dress swishing about the room. There was another woman inside here, well-dressed, tall, and – she waited – with dark-red hair, held up in a knot. Her profile was sharp and classically beautiful, with a long nose, sharp chin, and tall, thin neck. Who was she?

She heard talking, though the exact words uttered and the trend of the discussion escaped her. It was the only sound in the building now (as she listened more acutely, and more self-consciously, around her). She stepped back from the third door and walked several steps down the hallway. Here before the first door on the left, too, there was a small eyehole running through the thin, decrepit wall, affording her a glimpse into the room within. Bare walls, bare ceiling, and bare floor – not even a bed. She opened the second door as quietly as she could. Bare walls, bare ceiling, and bare floor – nothing to sit on, and nothing on which to set another object. Indeed, as she looked over the banister, down two flights, she realized, suddenly and with an appalling sense of awakening out of one nightmare into another, that the only person inhabiting this building was the lady in the green dress, third floor and third door on the left. Who was she? And why was Christina here with her? And why did she bring Levi here? (Unless she left him in her room – though in either case, Henry Fields was here with a gun – What luck! Lydia thought, gratefully – and would detain the woman on sight.)

Then, before she could think, the door opened down the hall, and the lady in green walked out. She turned to the right, and saw Lydia. She smiled and waved over at her, signing her over. Lydia strode forward.
“Hello there! Who are you?”
 “I’m Lydia. I’ve come to find my husband, the man that woman inside your room has abducted. Presumably you know all about it. I ask for only two things: that he be returned to me, and that Christina, the woman inside your room, follow me out." 
 “Yes, yes. Levi is his name?”
Lydia was alarmed, for some reason. This was not how she envisioned the encounter. “Levi is in there?”
“Oh yes. He’s waiting for you. Christina I cannot speak for; I’m sure she can speak well enough for herself, in any case.”
“I’m sorry, but I must see him.” 
“Certainly, certainly. My name is Clara, and I’m very pleased to meet you, Lydia.”

When Lydia entered the room and saw the cages and boxes full of hundreds of people, when she heard them talking in low tones like bees, and saw their work – in short, when she first experienced this room, which had become its own universe, she nearly swooned with fright and amazement. She turned around and looked at Clara. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I already told you, Lydia. I’m Clara.” Suddenly she heard the name thrown up like a benediction, swelling in volume, from the hundreds of people scattered in groups and clusters around the room. It was repeated, solemnly, like an invocation to a god or goddess. “Why are they doing that?” Lydia wondered, in her dream.
Clara shrugged. “I suppose they like the sound of it. Who knows? Who cares?”
Then Lydia became aware of Christina standing by the window.  In her hand she was holding Levi, who looked over at Lydia with unconcern, without recognition, and then turned back to Christina’s face.
Christina greeted her with a smirk, but for the moment said nothing. “Levi! You’re alive!” There was no response.
 Again she called out, “Levi! Don’t you hear me?!”

But the result was the same, and Lydia felt like she was on the verge of tears. All at once the humiliation and shame she felt was so great and so overpowering, she wanted to die on the spot, even in the middle of her own nightmare (what a nightmare this had become—for her).
“I guess Levi doesn’t feel like talking to you at the moment,” said Clara, from behind. “He seems perfectly content as he is. He knows that we’ve promised him the antidote to his…well, his illness…within the hour, and he has agreed to the conditions.”
“What are you talking about? What antidote? What conditions?”
“The antidote,” Clara said, now more clearly and emphatically, “the antidote to his shrinking. He will become large again, but only on condition that he disowns you as his wife.”
 “This is ludicrous! Of course he would never agree to something so foolish. I cannot believe this—if he need divorce me or disown me in order to become large again, then – well, I know what I would do! I would stay shrunken! Levi!” she stopped, as she felt herself moving into a pleading, confessional vein. She was ready to beg for his life, for her own life, for their marriage. And who were these women! And why would Levi not – at the very least – speak or turn his head to her! 
"I already told you," said Clara, as though Lydia had spoken (she might have). "He is tired of you. You are beginning to annoy me." 
There was a gasp from some far corner of the room. The phrase You Are Beginning To Annoy Me was repeated once, twice, and then began to break up into its constituent parts, until only stray, random syllables -- Noy You Beg Me Ing -- remained.

“Levi, turn your head. Look at me. Please. I beg you. I am more lost and confused than I’ve ever been.” Perhaps half these words were spoken aloud – but not one, apparently, had the least effect on anyone else in the room. She was ready to advance on Christina, whom she would not condescend to address personally (Henry Fields, she thought, would take care of the whore). But if Levi wouldn't respond to her, then – and this is when she knew she was lost – Christina didn't need to lift a finger, or say a single word. Lydia was like a runner who had arrived late, just as the race was ending and the prize was won. She was late, late, late.

And then she felt a sudden revulsion come over her. All her organs, her very brain and heart, were flooded with venom, horrible poison. She started to tremble, and her knees began to buckle underneath her – she felt sick, as though she were going to faint. Lydia ran out of the room and down the stairs as fast as she could, without a word. Her last memory was of Clara and Christina exchanging a glance, and of Levi – of Levi! And he, her old love, was smiling.