I was worried.
You should have come to me.
I didn’t want you to worry.
It’s my job to worry, I’m a grown-up.
You are?
Of course I am.
Probably she was out with her book club and missed curfew, Felix said.
Probably, Leonard said. Did you sleep at all?
Not so much, Felix said.
Have you moved from the window since she left?
Not really, Felix said.
It was dark, you couldn’t see anything, Leonard said.
I could see, said Felix.
Stay home today, said Leonard. That way when your mother gets back, you’ll know she’s safe. And you can nap.
With Medusa?
If she’s willing. It’s hard to tell a cat what to do.
I tell her what to do.
She does what you say?
Unless I tell her to do something like fly, then she just gives me a look.
Time for bannocks, Leonard said.
What are you doing in my house?
When Carol finally returned it was several hours past dawn. Felix was sleeping in his room with Medusa, whom Leonard had lured into the house with haggis. Leonard was sitting in Felix’s swirly chair, ready for sleep himself, but he’d promised to stay awake so Felix wouldn’t have to.
He heard Carol’s tiptoeing; she herself, with her whisper-quiet sailing shoes, was silent but her house had a problem with creaking, especially in the morning. Leonard tiptoed out to meet her. She was wearing her black climbing suit and dust cap, but her face was sooted black and she smelled like … burnt hair?
Carol?
What are you doing in my house?
Carol? Are you okay?
Why aren’t you sleeping? You’re supposed to be in your garage sleeping!
Felix is sleeping; I’m waiting for you — he was worried.
Felix is sleeping? He’s supposed to be at school!
Shh! You’ll wake him! Have you been … burning things?
If Felix doesn’t go to school, people ask questions!
Leonard tried to allow compassion to well so he could listen, but he was angry.
You have no right! he said. You have no right to put Felix in danger!
I may not have the right to do what’s right in this country, but I do have the obligation.
I don’t understand.
You’re a child, Leonard. You’re as much a child as you ever were. I’m sure that’s my fault somehow. Out of my way. I need to change for work.
How will you explain being late?
I won’t have to. Certain of our caravans are … dysfunctioning. Food workers all over town will be late today. Now move, she said, and pushed past.
Carol? Are you bleeding? Carol?
Cathay noodles
You are my only friend, Mill exclaimed that night. My truest and only friend! You will not forsake me, will you? Speaking to you through this mystical connection — it is saving me, I assure you.
You must have other friends, Leonard said. What about from your travels?
For a moment Mill didn’t reply.
So many have been lost. You have no idea. On the journey back to the Levant, we lost all but eighteen — nearly six hundred souls, gone! Everyone who went with me into the desert … I came home then to nothing. My father came back all those years ago to a son he’d quite forgotten, my uncle was glad to see his wife, but on my return what had I, other than triumph and my past? No wife, no children, no land. A small voice suggested I command a galley, so I agreed: better to fight a war than be still and alone, and look where it led me: to this place where there is aught to do but think about the past!
To distract Mill from his melancholy, Leonard asked whether there were friendly folk among the ruffians in his cell.
A monk arrived yesterday, Mill whispered. He took exception to his friary’s midday meal and set the refectory alight. Imagine his reaction when he sees the swill we must eat! I’d sooner dine on Pharoah’s rats and Tartar milk paste! What do they feed you, dear Leonard?
Neetsa pizza, Leonard said, though he’d quite given up hope for conversion. Golden Mean is my favorite: pepperoni and cheese in perfect proportion.
You speak in riddles, my friend. One reason I enjoy our conversation!
What would you eat if you could have anything delivered to your cell?
Cathay noodles! Mill said. Oh, how I long for Cathay noodles.
Then he fell into madness, as so often he did, his voice dropping:
Dear Leonard, please forget I mentioned Cathay noodles. I have quite lost my head. Tell no one I spoke of them! No one must know about the noodles!
Okay, Leonard said.
I must insist upon this, my friend.
No problem, Leonard said.
Perhaps I owe you an explanation, Mill said.
I don’t think so, Leonard said.
One day I intend to find men expert in the production of Cathay noodles. I shall bring them to Venice and become richer than the Great Khan. My father and uncle have no taste for them, but I was always the visionary in the family. Tell no one, I pray! No one must know about the noodles!
More about the clapping song
Carol’s book group started meeting two or three times a week. From Leonard’s room in the garage apartment, he and Felix would watch Carol in her black climbing suit, dust cap tamping down her afro, tie a large clutchbag to her Roadster and cycle off. She’d stopped cooking, just left piles of Scottish food on a warming plate in the stoveroom — miniature bridies and tatties and skirlies and crowdies, depending on what she’d found easiest to liberate from Jack-o-Bites.
I’m tired of crowdies, Felix complained. He wouldn’t leave the window.
Shall we make a fire? Leonard asked.
No, Felix said, and hung his head. I don’t want a fire, I don’t want anything.
You can show me your opus, Leonard said. I’d like to see it.
Mom put a tire iron in her clutchbag — why would her book group need a tire iron?
They’re probably doing show-and-tell, Leonard said.
Will she be back before curfew?
She always is, Leonard said, though these days she never was.
Destabilizing forces of chaos blew up a Heraclitan Grill, did you hear? After hours, no one was hurt.
I hear it didn’t really happen, Leonard said, who’d heard no such thing.
I don’t want Mommy blown up.
You can’t get blown up reading books, Leonard said.
Okay, Felix said. Okay.
He left the window and surprised Leonard by getting into his lap.
Tell me a story, he said.
Felix was a boy of routine. He never asked for stories at night, only after school. He leaned back against Leonard and put his thumb in his mouth.
Sure, Leonard said. Who should the story be about?
I don’t care, Felix said, looking away. You decide.
What about Princess Celeste?
Celeste sucks.
Okay, Celestina, then. Where does she live, do you think?
I don’t care, Felix said. I don’t care where she lives. I don’t care about anything.
Do you want to talk about it?
I want to hear a story.
Leonard had to do something. Felix hadn’t been able to wait for the Time between Here and There, he hadn’t been able to wait for a story. He started to tell Felix about Milione, about the many places Mill had seen, the many things he’d done.
Felix stopped him.
He’s crazy, you said, right?
Well, yeah, Leonard said.
So he didn’t really do all those things.
Right, yeah, Leonard said. But it makes a good story, right?
Maybe, Felix said without enthusiasm, and put his thumb back in his mouth.