I hope you and Walker are well, notwithstanding the hospital thing. I never said much about it when you were here, but I like your new man very much. I'm only sorry we didn't have more time together. Have his dreams/magic either smoothed out or explained themselves? My experience over the years with people who've been touched by the miraculous is that if they're decent and caring, they will prevail. Many of them prevail and use that power to good ends. I don't know what I could do for you here but if there is anything, please let me know.
The earthquake destroyed our house, so all I've been doing recently is going through the ruins for anything that can be salvaged. There isn't much. I'm staying with a friend until I can find another place. But that can wait. No house this time, though. Houses are for more than one person. Alone, there's too much empty room. Empty rooms are never good company.
Not much else to tell. Californians can't believe this has happened. For years people talked about the coming earthquake, but no one really believed it would come. Everyone had a few extra flashlights and canned food stored in a closet, but we were even embarrassed to admit to those precautions. One of the ironies was Glenn's total paranoia about it. We fought more than once about earthquakes. A week before it happened, he said he was seriously thinking of moving out of the state because the possibility scared him more the longer he lived here.
"How can you move out of California when you're so successful?"
"Because you can't be successful when you're dead, Ingram."
Call me if you need anything – the number is below. I miss you and am happy for the Easterlings and the coming child. The hospital is only for a while, Maris. I'm sure of that. The rest, the good things, will be waiting for you when you get home and have all the rest of your lives to enjoy them.
I love you,
Ingram
She looked up with tears in her eyes. "The poor guy. What can we do for him?"
"Make a tape and send it to him."
"Something more than that. His whole life is gone, Walker. The closest I ever came to that feeling was when Luc chased me around Munich. It's misery every day. Being in here is dreamy compared to that."
"In your tape tell him to call a guy named Michael Billa. I'll give you the number."
"Who's Michael Billa?"
"A man I know out there. They'll like each other."
"How do you know he didn't get killed in the earthquake?"
"I . . . talked to him the other day. Believe me, Maris. They're right for each other."
"Hmm. You're not telling me something. Your mouth is too flat. It always gets flat when you have a secret."
I kissed her forehead and smiled like a politician.
"I know you, Walker. You're holding lots of things back from me these days. Aren't you?"
"Not so many."
"Enough. What's happening with the bicycle nut? Did you find out anything new?"
"I think he's lying low. Wants me to think about that Mr. Pencil bit awhile."
"What about your dreams? Anything new happening there?"
"Nope."
"Your mouth is tight again."
"Maris, you've got enough to think about now. I'm not holding back anything I can't handle. Sure, the dreams are continuing, and I worry about the bicycle man, but that's not new. You're my greatest concern. You and our child are most important. If you want to help me, take care of yourself. Ingram's letter says it right. Our earthquake was your getting sick. But we've still got a chance to beat it. I'm not trying to sound patronizing, but if you can hold on and keep steady till you're well, then we're going to be able to say 'Fuck you, earthquake. Our lives are our own, not yours.'"
I knew no one named Michael Billa. His name and telephone number slid into my mind the way "fist to chin" slid in the day at the train station. I only knew that when Billa and Ingram York got together they would fall in love.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I'm looking for the children's section."
"Two aisles down on the right. Is there anything special I can help with?"
"I'd like to see whatever editions of Grimm's Fairy Tales you have."
"There are a few there. I'm sure of it."
I walked down past the fiction. The new Stephen King novel, Flash and Blood (translated as Schmerz in German) stopped me and I thought to buy it. But reading the German title (Pain) reminded me of how far off translations can be. In homage to King, I decided to wait until the English version arrived in town.
The children's section was small but loaded with those tall, thin, mostly picture books that cost so much and give a kid so little after one or two reads. Ten dollars for eleven words on each page about a lost ball that finds its way home.
Cramped in next to them here and there were standard editions of the classics. Hans Christian Andersen, Perrault, Wilhelm Busch's Max und Moritz. As a child I didn't read much, but the books I remembered were these and other oldies that gave you real worlds, rather than long pages, bright colors, and tepid climaxes.
There were two copies of Grimms: one for little readers and the other a no-frills/no-pictures copy printed in the old German script. I chose the second. Remembering Buck's story about the definitive edition found in the Цlenberg Monastery, I turned to the front of the book to see if this was one of them.
"This is what you're looking for."
I turned, knowing the voice. He had trimmed his beard and was wearing a dark blue double-breasted suit that was the twin to one I owned.
"Nice suit."
He looked pleased. "I thought so too after I saw you in yours. Like son, like father."
"Why are you regular size now?"
"Change. Something different. A new perspective. Do you want this book or not? I bought it for you, so you might as well take it. I already know the story." When he smiled, his teeth were white and straight.
"New teeth too?"
"Don't you like them?" He curled his hand into a fist, a familiar fist, and put it to his chin. When he smiled again his teeth and mouth were the brown graveyard I remembered. "Better?"
"Why are you here?"
"You keep wanting to talk to me, Walter. I thought I'd let you do it once." He shot his cuff and looked at a gold wristwatch. "You have five minutes."
"That's not enough, it's too fast. You should give me time to think of what I want to ask you."
"I don't have to give you shit, son. You want to talk to me? Do it now."
"Did you make Maris bleed?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To remind you of certain things."
"Will you leave her alone if I go with you?"
"I'll leave both her and the child alone. It's a boy, in case you were wondering. He'll look more like her than you, if he ever grows up."
"Why would you hurt them? What's the point?"
"Why would you hurt me, boy? That's a better point. I've given you every chance in the world. But this is the first time you've ever known exactly what's happening, so this time it's the finale.
"You stay and try to be human, then I stop you. If you come back to me, you'll leave a happy widow and child. Your son will grow up thinking lovely thoughts about his dead daddy, and your wife will never remarry. She's very much in love with you. This time you chose well. Not like the Greek woman."