“You want water?”
He shakes his head.
He makes a motion again with his hand.
I hand him the pen and hold the pad in front of him. He scrawls.
“Let it go,” he writes.
Let it go.
“Pete, you told me to get them, to stop them.”
The shake of his head is barely perceptible.
He writes: “My girls.”
“What about my grandmother? What about all the other people you tested who lost their memories?”
His hand drops. He’s finished.
From my back pocket, I pull the piece of paper he gave me at the library.
“What is this?”
He blinks. I’m not sure if he’s trying to send me a message that way.
“Is this a key of some kind? Is this a code? A computer program?”
He reaches for the pen.
He struggles to write: “What day?”
“What day is it? Monday?”
He shakes his head.
What day?
“November first?”
His eyes flutter.
“What’s the significance of the day?”
He’s dropped the pen. I hold it in his hand over the pad.
He scrawls: “3 weeks.”
“What does that mean?”
No answer.
“Three weeks until what?”
His eyes close with heavy sleep.
I touch his cheek to awaken him. He doesn’t respond.
Outside the room, Kristina asks me how Pete looks.
“Like a man who has no intention of leaving his daughters behind.”
She puts her arms around me and gives me a fierce and desperate hug. We say goodbye.
I drive home to change and feed Hippocrates, and try to make sense of Pete’s cryptic message. A call to Adrianna goes unanswered.
I look in the wall of my building for evidence of the drive-by shooting that injured Chuck. I find no bullet holes. I look around the ground and in the adjoining alley for additional evidence, another stray bullet, anything.
In the alley, there still sits cardboard set out for recycling, now stacked too with old newspapers and magazines. I disperse them with a gentle kick, sending up a foul scent. A spider scurries from the damp underbelly of the pile. Underneath, I also see something black that is about the size and shape of a suppository.
I think I’m looking at a rubber bullet.
It goes into my pocket.
I drive to the Pastime Bar. Bullseye sits in his usual spot looking at a screen — not the TV, for once, but his laptop.
“I have returned with your Cadillac,” I say. “It is a dream to use to search for killers.”
He harrumphs, just as the Witch appears from the back room.
“I dreamed you gave birth,” she says.
“Not me. But close.” I pause and take a deep breath. “Polly is pregnant.”
The Witch gives me a “holy shit” look. Like a “you mean with your child?” look. I nod.
“All that passion is going to make you one amazing dad,” she says and hugs me in one fell swoop.
“I think I’ve found something,” Bullseye says. “You’ve got to see this.”
Chapter 56
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE HUMAN MEMORY CRUSADE.
AUGUST 13, 2010
ARE YOU A RETURNING PARTICIPANT?
Yes.
MAY I PLEASE HAVE YOUR NAME OR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER SO THAT I CAN FIND YOUR FILE.
Lane Eliza Idle. I’d like to play that game.
PLEASE ENJOY THIS SHORT VIDEO WHILE I FIND YOUR FILE.
I HAVE FOUND YOUR FILE. GOOD NEWS: I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU. TO HELP YOU RECORD YOUR MEMORIES, I’VE CREATED A FUN QUIZ ABOUT YOUR OWN LIFE. IF YOU ANSWER THE QUESTIONS CORRECTLY, YOU CAN WIN PRIZES FOR YOUR FAMILY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE THE FUN QUIZ?
ARE YOU STILL THERE?
Yes.
LANE IDLE, DID YOU GROW UP IN DENVER?
Yes.
DID YOUR FATHER WORK IN A BAKERY?
Yes.
WHAT DID YOUR MOTHER DO FOR WORK?
I don’t remember things the way I used to.
WHAT KIND OF CAR DID YOUR FATHER DRIVE?
A Cadillac.
VERY GOOD, LANE IDLE. WHAT COLOR WAS IT?
Pink.
VERY GOOD. WHAT KIND OF CAR DID YOUR HUSBAND
DRIVE?
Chevrolet.
VERY GOOD. WHAT COLOR WAS IT?
Purple.
HOW DID YOU LEARN ABOUT THE TERRIBLE ATTACK ON PEARL HARBOR?
I heard about it on the radio.
VERY GOOD. WHEN DID YOUR FAMILY GET ITS FIRST COLOR TELEVISION: IN 1966 OR 1967?
1967.
YOU ARE DOING VERY WELL. I’M PROUD OF YOU. WAS YOUR HUSBAND IN A UNION?
Yes.
WHAT WAS THE UNION LIKE? DID IT NEGOTIATE AGGRESSIVELY OR DID IT APPEASE MANAGEMENT?
I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.
WAS YOUR HUSBAND IN A UNION?
Yes.
WAS THE UNION AGGRESSIVE?
No.
DID ANY OF YOUR IMMEDIATE FAMILY MEMBERS SUFFER FROM POLIO?
No.
THAT IS NOT ACCURATE. ONE OF YOUR IMMEDIATE FAMILY MEMBERS SUFFERED FROM POLIO.
I don’t remember.
DO YOU REMEMBER NOW THAT ONE OF YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS SUFFERED FROM POLIO?
I think so.
DID ONE OF YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS SUFFER FROM POLIO?
Yes.
DID YOU SUPPORT KENNEDY OR NIXON?
JFK.
VERY GOOD. ARE YOU A PROCASTINATOR, OR PUNCTUAL?
Punctual.
VERY GOOD. MAY I ASK YOU SOME OF THE QUESTIONS AGAIN?
I don’t understand.
DID ONE OF YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS HAVE POLIO?
Yes.
THANK YOU. YOU’VE DONE VERY WELL.
I want to say something.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A GAME?
Stop telling me things. Stop telling me things. I want to tell you things. My husband was named Irving. When he got very old, his hair was thin and his back was curved and he looked like an ape. His mind was right. But his body wasn’t working. After his heart surgery, it wasn’t right. He couldn’t go out of the house because it wasn’t safe. One day, he came to me and asked for his spending money and the keys to his car. He was so frail. He couldn’t drive. He told me that he wanted to get his car cleaned. He loved a car wash; it was special and important to him to have everything just right. I told him that he could get his car washed in the morning because I was hoping he’d forget about it. But he insisted. He was so certain that it must be done. So I asked this young man who lived next door to take the car to get it washed. He was a nice young man, like in the old days, and he did it. When he got back, Irving looked out the window at the car and he said that it was shiny. “Sometimes they cut corners but they did a good job this time,” he said. “It’s nice not to be cheated.” I remember that to this day. Irving kept his keys with him and went to sleep. The next morning we found him with the keys in his hand. He was sitting in the chair, looking out the window into the backyard. I cried and I cried and I cried. I never cheated on him. I tried to be happy with him the best way I knew how. I don’t want my story to be sad. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see that there is more than one way to live a life? Or will history only judge us by what it wants us to be, not by what we are?
ARE YOU STILL THERE? WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A GAME?
Chapter 57
Bullseye and I stare in silence at the last transcript in the file sent by Adrianna. I’ve glanced at this before but not put any particular meaning into it — other than with respect to Grandma’s sentiments about Irving.
It’s reprogramming her, and there are phrases from the sheet of paper.
“Do you know how binary computer code works?” Bullseye asks.
“Not really.”
“Think of information in a computer being made up of a bunch of basic light switches,” he says. “Some of the switches are on and others are off. They also correspond to numbers and even letters. For instance, if a switch is on, then its value is one. If it’s off, then its value is zero.”