Though he'd changed out of all recognition a little part of him was still and would always be Randolph Jaffe, and that part whispered in his ear, and said: this is dangerous. You don't know what you 're taking on. This could kill you.
After so many years it came as a shock to hear the old voice in his head, but it was also strangely reassuring. Nor could he entirely ignore it, because what it warned was true: he didn't know what lay beyond the using of the Art. Nobody really did. He'd heard all the stories; he'd studied all the metaphors. But they were only stories, only metaphors. Quiddity was not literally a sea; the Ephemeris was not literally an island. These were a materialist's way of describing a state of mind. Perhaps the State of Mind. And now he stood minutes from opening the door to that condition, in almost complete ignorance of its true nature.
It might lead to lunacy, hell and death as easily as to heaven and life everlasting. He had no way of knowing, but to use the Art.
Why use it at all? the man he'd been thirty years before whispered in him. Why not just enjoy the power you've got? It's more than you ever dreamed of, isn't it? Women coming in here offering their bodies to you. Men falling down on their knees with snot running from their noses begging for mercy. What more do you want? What more could anybody want?
Reasons, was the answer. Some meaning behind the tits and the tears; some glimpse of a larger picture.
You've got all there is, the old voice said. This is as good as it gets. There is no more.
There was a light tapping on the door: Lamar's code.
"Wait," he murmured, trying to hold on to the argument he'd been running in his head.
Outside the door, Eve tapped Lamar on the shoulder:
"Who's up here?" she said.
The comedian offered a small smile.
"Somebody you should meet," he said.
"A friend of Buddy's?" she said.
"Very much so."
"Who?"
"You don't know him."
"So why bother meeting him?" Grillo said. He took hold of Eve's arm. Suspicion had given way to certainty now. There was a rank smell up here, and the sound of more than one presence on the other side of the door.
The invitation to enter came. Lamar turned the doorhandle, and opened up.
"Come along, Eve," he said.
She pulled her arm from Grillo's grip and allowed Lamar to escort her up a step into the room.
"It's dark," Grillo heard her say.
"Eve," he said, pushing past Lamar and reaching through the door after her. As she'd said, it was indeed dark. Evening had come over the Hill, and what little light fell through the far window scarcely etched the interior. But Eve's figure was visible in front of him. Again, he took hold of her arm.
"Enough," he said, and started to turn towards the door. As he did so Lamar's fist met the middle of his face, a solid, unexpected blow. His hand slipped from Eve's arm; he fell to his knees, smelling his own blood in his nose. Behind him, the comedian slammed the door.
"What's happening?" he heard Eve say. "Lamar! What's going on?"
"Nothing to worry about," the man murmured.
Grillo raised his head, causing a hot gush of blood to run from his nose. He put his hand to his face to stem it, and looked around the room. In the brief moment he'd had to glimpse the interior he'd thought it piled with furniture. He'd been wrong. This was living stuff.
"Lam..." Eve said again, all bravado gone from her voice now. "Lamar...who's up here?"
"Jaffe..." a soft voice said. "Randolph Jaffe."
"Shall I put on the light?" Lamar said.
"No," came the answer from the shadows. "No, don't. Not yet."
Despite his buzzing head Grillo recognized the voice and the name. Randolph Jaffe: the Jaff. Which fact gave him the identity of the forms that lurked in the darkest corners of his huge room. It was lavish with the beasts he'd made.
Eve had seen them too.
"My God..." she murmured. "My God, my God, what's going on?"
"Friends of friends," Lamar said.
"Don't hurt her," Grillo demanded.
"I'm not a murderer," the voice of Randolph Jaffe said. "Everyone who came in here has walked out alive. I just want a little part of you..."
His voice didn't carry the same weight of confidence it had when Grillo had heard him at the Mall. He'd spent much of his professional life listening to people talk; looking for signs of the life beneath the life. How had Tesla put it? Something about having an eye for the hidden agenda. There was certainly subtext to the Jaff's voice now. An ambiguity that had not been there before. Did it offer some hope of escape? Or at least a stay of execution.
"I remember you," Grillo said. He had to draw the man out: make subtext text. Make him tell his doubts. "I saw you catch fire."
"No..." said the voice in the darkness, "...that wasn't me..."
"My mistake. Then who...may I ask...?"
"No you may not," Lamar said behind him. "Which of them do you want first?" he asked the Jaff.
The inquiry was ignored. Instead the man said: "Who am I? Strange you should ask." His tone was almost dreamy.
"Please," Eve murmured. "I can't breathe up here."
"Hush," Lamar said. He had moved to take hold of her. In the shadows, the Jaff shifted in his seat like a man who couldn't find a comfortable way to be.
"Nobody knows..." he began, "...just how terrible it is."
"What is?" Grillo said.
"I have the Art," the Jaff replied. "I have the Art. So I have to use it. It'd be a waste not to, after all this waiting, all this change."
He's shitting himself, Grillo thought. He's close to the edge and he's terrified of slipping over. Into what, he didn't know, but it was surely an exploitable condition. He decided to stay on the floor, where he offered no physical threat to the other man. Very softly he said:
"The Art. What is that?"
If the Jaff's next words were intended as an answer they were oblique.
"Everybody's lost, you know. I use that. Use the fear in them."
"Not you?" Grillo said.
"Not me?"
"Lost."
"I used to think I found the Art...but maybe the Art found me."
"That's good."
"Is it?" he said. "I don't know what it's going to do—"
So that's it, Grillo thought. He's got his prize and now he's afraid of unwrapping it.
"It could destroy us all."
"That's not what you said," Lamar muttered. "You said we'd have dreams. All the dreams America ever dreamt; that the world ever dreamt."
"Maybe," said the Jaff.
Lamar let go of Eve and took a step towards his master.
"But now you're saying we could die?" he said. "I don't want to die. I want Rochelle. I want the house. I've got a future. I'm not giving that up."