“No.”
“I guess it’s delicious. Listen to this: ‘When eating particularly succulent ortolans, European gourmands cover their heads with large napkins so that oily juices do not squirt their dining partners.’ What do you think?”
“I think I don’t care about ortolans, Jesse. I’m exhausted and sick and not in the mood for gourmet fare. I think we’d better talk about other things, because you’ve got two women downstairs who are pretty damned worried about you.”
“But you’re not?”
“You’re not my friend. Your sister is, and I worry about her.”
“Fair enough. But listen carefully.” Annoyingly, he read the passage about ortolans again. “Ian McGann gave me this book. He marked specific passages for me to read. That was the first one. I didn’t understand what it meant either. He sat and watched me but I didn’t know what to say. I’d found him to ask about these dreams and what was happening to my life. He was the only one who would know. Instead of answering, he gave me a book about birds.
“He and his girlfriend—her name is Miep—are in this small hotel in Venice next to the Danieli. It has the same view of the water as the Danieli at a third the price. Nice place. Cozy, and perfect for them. He knows about it because his agency sends customers there on package tours. Ian can’t move well now, so he spends a lot of time sitting at the window watching the boats and the water. Or, if he really feels up to it, they go to Gaffe Florian nearby for a few hours. It’s amusing, because Miep told one of the waiters there Ian is a very famous English writer who’s recuperating from a serious illness. They treat him as if he’s royalty. Whenever he comes in, they clear a table for him and make sure he’s given the very best service. Miep’s wonderful; he’s lucky to have her. Funny how some people have the best things in their whole lives happen when they’re about to die.”
He spoke quietly but warmly, as if recounting a particularly happy anecdote that had happened long ago but was so gratifying that it was still flower-fresh in his memory. I wanted to interrupt and ask my questions, the ones that were burning up my mind, but I knew that wasn’t correct. Jesse had to tell it his way. Besides, I was sure everything would come out in time. Everything I needed to hear.
“Actually, we were in Florian’s when this happened—when he showed me the book and told me to read the passage about ortolans. After I finished he asked what I thought. What could I say? It sounds funny. That’s what I said. The picture of people sitting at a table with napkins over their heads so they don’t squirt their neighbors with bird juice? Come on, it’s a giggle.” He rubbed his hands together, then held them out at arm’s length and turned them up and down. “Don’t you think? Anyway, I looked at Miep but she wasn’t smiling and neither was Ian. He reached over and put a hand on my knee. ‘It’s me, Jesse. I did that to you; squirted my dreams all over you the moment I told you in Sardinia. And see what’s happened to you now because of it. I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry for what I did.’ At that moment, even with all the terror that was inside me, the only thing I felt was profound pity for the man.”
“What does he look like now?”
“Ah, that’s interesting! He looks as if he’s been very ill—no question about that—but not much worse than when we saw him in Sardinia. I was expecting much worse; I was sure he’d be dead. But for a time when I first saw him in Venice, I thought he might actually be getting better.”
“Does he still have the dreams?”
“Yes, but recently he’s been able to understand some of the answers. That’s why he hasn’t gotten any worse. Unbelievable, but he’s actually been able to do it. He also said he’s been reading all the literature he can find on death and dying. One of the things he’s discovered is that sometimes the terminally ill come to a kind of peace once they accept that they are going to die. That was one of the fundamental changes for Ian: now in his dreams, he isn’t angry anymore at Death for what He’s doing to him. He says that anger wastes vital and important life energy. He’s simply trying now to find the right questions to ask so that he can keep Him from taking away any more things.”
I didn’t say a word, because I had not had that experience. For me, Death was as viciously sadistic as the worst criminal and I hated Him more than ever. My life had become worse and more painfully beautiful as the end closed in. Besides the never-ending fear of the coming unknown, the details of the world I would soon leave were now more wonderful than ever. Each day I lived, my heart grew more love for what I was losing. That wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. One or the other, Death. Take your pick, but don’t take them both. Leave me with something at my end.
“Ian’s learned, even in sleep, to ask only certain questions, small ones that’ll bring answers he can understand.”
“Like what?”
“He couldn’t tell me. Or wouldn’t. He’s convinced that the more he tells, the more things will worsen. Sardinia convinced him of that.”
“Why hasn’t Miep been infected? Why you and not her?”
“He doesn’t know, but thinks it’s because of love. There is definitely a correlation between really loving someone and keeping Death away.”
“So you’re not worried about Caitlin?”
“She’s the only thing I ever have loved in my life, Wyatt. No, I’m terrified for her, but I must talk with someone about this or I’ll be lost. I have to believe what Ian said about love.”
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
“Because McGann said you’d be coming and that we’re important to each other.”
I snapped to attention. “He knew? How?”
“In a dream he saw you here in Vienna with me. He also knew I would go looking for him. Besides the evil things, his dreams have become more prophetic. The way he looks and talks, he even reminds you of a Greek prophet. Like Tiresias in Oedipus Rex. You know, in those ancient stories seers are almost always blind or handicapped in some way. That’s what allows them to perceive and understand things we can’t.”
“What did he say about me?”
“He described you in detail and said you’d be in Vienna by the time I returned. I swear to you I had no idea you and Sophie were coming.”
“Why? Why is he dreaming about me now?”
“Because you’re the only person who can save me, Wyatt. You’re the only person who can stop the dreams from killing me.”
“How?”
“By finding Death. That’s what you want anyway, isn’t it? That’s why you came with Sophie?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.” I waited for him to go on but he only looked at his bird book and slid a hand back and forth across the cover.
“What are you saying, Jesse?”
His mouth tightened, and when he looked at me, his face was set in fury. “You said you didn’t want to waste time! Okay, fine, Wyatt, so let’s talk about what happened to you before you came here. Let’s talk about that cop you met in the store and what he said to you. Okay? Let’s talk about that.”
“How do you know—”
“I don’t. Ian did. He knows all of it now. He’s this wonderful sick man who’s fighting the most impossible battle, yet has time to worry about me. And he worries about you. He knew about you. That’s what I’m trying to say—he can see things now.”
“He’s also the one who made them happen! What about that, Jesse? So what if he can see? He’s the one who infected you.”
“Maybe we’ve got to wash our attitudes.”
“Watch our—”
“I said wash, not watch. Maybe what lan’s done is save me. Maybe it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“You’ll have to explain that one. I don’t see dying as being a best thing.”