Caius’s vision dims when this happens, shifts, and the glass walls shimmer, Jeremy shimmers in the control booth, everything shimmers, blurs, fades, and then re-emerges as something other than the familiar surroundings of the studio, as white cushioned walls, white cushioned floor, bare cot, screens and bars, Jeremy in a white attendant’s uniform. The voices cease their babel; all at once he finds himself wrapped in a deep trembling silence. He cries out, but there is no one to hear him, he is alone. Alone. He understands then, the monstrous knowledge descends upon him with the force of a blow, and he screams, he screams—
— and the white room shifts, shimmers, fades, and then re-emerges as the interior of his booth at the studio, where he is once again sprawled in his comfortable chair, headphones on, microphone on, his mind as clear as the glistening glass walls. He looks at the board, red, red, red, red. Sees Jeremy signal from the control booth, then turn one flashing red to green. Smiles, winks, gives the thumbs up. And safe, secure, supremely confident as always in the efficacy of his genius, he takes a call from Eric in Council Bluffs.
Caius, nomad of the Space Age airwaves. Caius, oracle of his times. Caius, the man with the answers, the man with the power, the man who will one day show them all the way into the light, finally and forever into the light.
Breakbone
The dashboard clock read 7:30 when I pulled into the truck stop west of Tucumcari, New Mexico — and there he was, sitting on a bench outside the café.
It was a hot July evening and I’d been on the road for nine hours and nearly seven hundred miles, but after dinner I figured I could make another hundred or more before I packed it in for the day. Pushing it because of the job with Burnside Chemicals but mainly because Karen was waiting in L.A. I hadn’t seen her in two weeks and I was hungry for her and she would be for me, too.
Right now it was food I was hungry for; I hadn’t eaten since an early breakfast. I filled the Audi’s tank and then pulled over into one of the parking slots near the café. On the walk from there to the entrance I had to pass by the guy sitting slumped on the bench.
He was the biggest man I’d ever seen outside a basketball arena. Close to seven feet tall, lean but not skinny; huge hands like a couple of fur-backed catcher’s mitts, the fingers gnarled and scarred from manual labor. Wearing a sweat-stained shirt, dusty Levi’s, and old, heavily scuffed boots. He was bent forward with the hands hanging down between his knees, his chin tipped toward his chest, his gaze on the small, battered duffel between his feet. He had a kind of heavy, bland face, and he looked hot and tired and forlorn, like a kid nobody wanted to have anything to do with. But he wasn’t a kid, exactly. Late twenties, I thought, a few years younger than me.
I went past him by a couple of steps, then stopped and turned back. There was just something about him. That forlorn look, I guess. Karen says I’m a sucker for strays, the lost and lonely in human and animal kingdoms both. I don’t deny it. Better that kind of person than the one who doesn’t give a damn.
“Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but are you okay?”
He looked up. He had big, sad eyes, the irises the color of milk chocolate. “Hot,” he said. His voice was soft, a little dull.
“Sure is that. Why don’t you go inside? Sign there says it’s air-conditioned.”
“Can’t. Don’t have no money.”
“That’s too bad. You live around here?”
“No. Just passing.”
“How about your car? Got enough gas?”
“Don’t have a car,” he said.
“How’d you get here, then? Hitchhike?”
“Walked.”
“Walked? From where?”
“Town back there.”
“All the way from Tucumcari? That’s a lot of hot miles.”
“Wouldn’t nobody give me a ride today.” He added in melancholy tones, “Won’t most days.”
“Man, you must be exhausted. When did you eat last?”
“Yesterday sometime.”
Exhausted and starving. “Lot of people stop here,” I said. “Have you asked any of them? I mean... you know.”
“Don’t believe in it. Begging.”
I hesitated, but I just couldn’t walk away from a man in his condition. “How about a helping hand from a fellow traveler?”
“Huh?”
“Come on,” I said. “I’ll treat you to a cold drink and a sandwich.”
He blinked. “Do that for me? Why?”
“Why not? You’re hungry and so am I.”
“Nobody ever bought me nothing before.”
“First time for everything,” I said. “How about it?”
“Okay.”
I watched him unfold from the bench. God, he was big — almost twice my size. He towered over me; it was like looking up at a beanstalk giant, only one of the gentle type. We went into the café. The place was crowded, but there was one empty booth at the far wall. Heads turned and faces stared as the giant and I walked over to the booth and sat down. A few of them kept right on staring. He didn’t seem to notice.
A waitress brought over menus and some ice water. The big guy emptied his glass in one long slurp. She couldn’t help staring, either, her eyes round and her forehead washboarded as if he was some kind of sideshow freak. I didn’t open the menu; neither did he. He waited for me to order — a cheeseburger with fries and a large lemonade — and then said he’d have the same.
“My name’s Jack,” I said when the waitress moved away. “Jack Tobin. What’s yours?”
“Breakbone.”
It was my turn to blink. “How’s that again?”
“Breakbone. That’s what they call me.”
“That’s some name.”
“Not my real one. Kind of a nickname. On account of how big I am. And my hands — they’re real strong.”
“I believe it. Do me a favor — don’t shake with me.”
“Okay. Can I have your water?”
“Help yourself.”
One long swallow emptied my glass, too.
“So where are you headed, uh, Breakbone?” I asked him.
“Nowhere in particular. Moving around, different places.”
“Looking for work?”
“Looking,” he said.
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Don’t matter. Any kind.”
“Where’s your home, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Ain’t got one.”
“I mean originally. What part of the country?”
“Midwest.” He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I got off the subject.
“California’s where I’m going,” I said. “Moving out there from Pennsylvania. I’ve got a good job waiting for me, much better than my old one and lucky to get it. I’m a research chemist.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My girl’s waiting, too. She’s been in L.A. two weeks now, setting up housekeeping for us. We’re getting married as soon as I settle into the new job — September, probably.”
“I never had a girl,” Breakbone said.
“That’s too bad. Every guy should have a girl. Unless he’s gay, of course.”
“I ain’t gay.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were,” I said quickly, even though he didn’t sound annoyed or angry. “I’m sorry you never had a girl. One of these days maybe you will.”
“Naw,” he said. “They don’t like me. I’m too big.”
“Lot of big girls out there that like big men.”
“Not me.”
I let it go. Trying to hold a conversation with him wasn’t easy. His mind seemed to work in a slow and not quite linear fashion. Not that it mattered to me, but I wondered if he was mildly retarded.
We didn’t have much more to say to each other. The food came and he wolfed his, finishing everything on his plate before mine was half empty. Poor bastard, I thought. Probably the first decent meal, if you could call a greasy burger decent, he’d had in a long time. I was glad I’d decided to treat him to it.