Sure you don’t remember any?
Carol put down her cleaver. I may have possibly heard something through the door.
Yeah?
Like a song?
A song?
A clapping song?
Oh, Leonard said. Sing it to me. Please?
He used to make you sing it to him every day. Do you really not remember?
I don’t. Can you sing it? Please?
You can’t teach this shite to my son, Carol said.
Please?
And so Carol did:
Who is the king of the [clap] third ether?
Trick question!
There are [clap] three parts to the [clap] third ether!
Asmodeus is the king of the [clap] upper ether! And Lesser Lilith is his wife!
By this point, Leonard was able to join Carol in the singing, and more: he performed the dance that went with it; it wasn’t something he could control.
Kafkaphony is the king of the [clap] middle ether! And Kafkaphony has two wives!
Sarita is his wife for the [clap] first six months! Sagrirta is his wife for the second!
Kafsephony is the king of the [clap] bottom ether! And Mehetzabel is his wife!
Who is the king of [clap] all the demons?
Samael is the king of [clap] all the demons! And great Lilith is his wife!
Oh, yes, Samael is the king of [clap] all the demons. Samael is king of them all!
That man was a lunatic, Carol said, returning to her meat. I should never have let you near him.
The singing and dancing left Leonard shaky. It was as if they’d opened a hole in the universe, and through it poured everything he had felt when his grandfather died — sorrow, and loneliness dry as a desert, and regret for the things he’d said during his grandfather’s last days. And memories — of the old man’s old-man smell, the chewing tobacco that stuck in his beard, the incomprehensible jokes he told about herring — and with them, all the stories his grandfather had ever told him, whole.
Mountains of salt
For several nights, Mill continued to describe his unfollowable itinerary from west to east, though his enthusiasm began to wane on the road to Cathay. Where he used to delight in describing corn markets and boiled wine, he now omitted detail and spoke as if by rote.
When Leonard inquired, Mill said he’d lost some of his native optimism. Lords and ladies continued to crowd his cell. They clamored for stories of his adventures, but Mill now found them irksome. Tell us about men with tails, they begged, tell us about men with earrings! Did you meet Prester John? Was the khan very manly? Is it true he had six dozen wives, some of them Carmelite nuns?
Those fops and coquettes didn’t share Mill’s fascination with Custom and Commerce — imagine! They brought their friends, they whispered and pointed as if Mill were a unicorn or porcupine. He no longer believed their promises: how would they amuse themselves if he were free?
In the evenings, he found himself alone with his fellows; they despised him for his special treatment, the obligation they felt when his guests arrived to remove their ragged, stinking selves to the edges of the cell. It was only because he shared his spoils, his cheeses and dried meats, that they didn’t violate him at night. He slept little in any case, for the sounds of their shitting, their resentful snores and creaks and cries, were louder and more noisome than anything he’d experienced at sea.
So Mill sighed and fell into deep silences, sometimes in the middle of a story. Leonard had to use all of his Listening skills to keep Mill going. He might hear Mill speak of the smell of the sea mingling with that of my saltwater tears and say, Where were we? You were describing the idolaters who buy beautiful wives …
The fat idolaters with small noses? Mill would ask.
Those exactly! Leonard would exclaim.
Yes, Mill would say, and he’d continue awhile longer, speaking without passion about dried melons, bandits, and lions; horned horses descended from Bucephalus. Idolaters who change the weather and cause statues to speak. Plains, mountains, and gorges; orchards, vineyards, and jeweled mountains; kings, counts, and khans.
Interesting! Leonard would say, and it was, mostly, compared with his White Room, which seemed whiter to him now, and more quiet than ever.
Really? Mill asked. I find none of it so interesting these days as that ship out there, or that bird flying up above.
You’ll be out soon, Leonard said, but he was doubtful — and in fact, he wasn’t sure Mill should be released. What would he do out in the world? Become one of those dirty men who travel in packs, stealing food from municipal compost heaps and begging at NP security windows? If he became troublesome they might brand him and force him outside the city walls. Mill might be crazy, but he didn’t deserve that.
Yes, my friend, Mill said, I will be outside soon — as will you, I am sure. But to what end? I have taken that desert, the name of which I dare not speak, inside me. I am sere, do you understand?
Maybe, Leonard said. I think so.
I fear I shall ever be. In prison or without, it shall always be the same. I am become the desert, dear Leonard.
Lonely, Leonard said.
Yes, Mill replied.
And lost, Leonard said. No Hello! lamps on Everything’s-Okay poles to show the way.
What a way you have with words! Mill replied. Oh, I long for the consolation of a woman! Do you ever feel this way?
Sometimes, Leonard said. Well, yes, all the time.
This shall be my first task after I am released: to find a wife. Have you a wife, dear Leonard? Perhaps some suckling babes?
I am only twenty-four, Leonard reminded him.
It is not too late! Mill said. Have you ever been with a European woman? A free European woman?
No, Leonard had to confess.
I neither, Mill said, and sighed. Just port prostitutes and slaves, and the women I spoke of earlier. Why did you never marry?
I am not so good with women, Leonard said.
Yes, yes, you have said this. But what skill do you lack? I am told that women are simple: they care only for wealth, position, and pretty compliments.
I’ll remember that, Leonard said, miserable.
Except Kokachin, Mill said thoughtfully. Kokachin was different.
Different?
She cared only that I listen.
I can do that! Leonard said. I can listen!
Hers was not a happy life, Mill added.
No?
I must go, Mill said, his voice shaking.
Time for bannocks
When Leonard went down to the house after his shift, he was surprised not to find Carol. She should have been flattening steep pants or making nourishment for Felix. He checked the stoveroom, the gameroom, Carol’s room. Though the latter was in its customary state of tumbled chaos — no knowing whether she’d slept there that night, or was there still, under a pile of crumpled leisure garb. He poked at the pile. She was not there.
He found Felix standing by the window in his bedroom, still wearing his ivy-green sleeping togs.
Where’s your mother? he asked, putting his arm on the boy’s shoulder.
I don’t know, Felix said. She didn’t come back from her book group.
You’ve been waiting all night?