Her words pattered and splashed against him like the rain, drowning his thoughts. The streets were shiny, their wet pavement reflecting the streetlights. She hurried him across south Main and into the Union Trust Annex and down some stairs.
She paused for bream on me stairs and he murmured, “Back into underground Seattle.” Lynda frowned up at his non sequitur. He felt a tiny triumph. “Notice me rough brick work of me building fronts down here. These all used to be ground floors, and now they’re basements. Did I ever tell you the story of me fire of 1889? A carpenter’s apprentice let a pot of hot glue boil over. I teamed all about it at the Klondike Gold Rush Memorial National Park. Just down the street.”
“You don’t make any sense,” she told him earnestly. “Come on.”
She tugged at him and he followed her into City Picnics,
She didn’t pause to order at the counter, but took him straight to a table and parked him on a bench with her shopping bag and raincoat. Then she left him. He looked around dully. The-. tables were inlaid with genuine artificial wood. He didn’t like it, but had to admit it was well done. He put his hand against the honest brick of me wall, feeling its integrity.
Someone loomed over the table. He turned to look up at her. But it was a stranger who bent down to put her face close to his as she whispered.
“You dummy‘ If you had listened, you would understand.
War,“ she hissed, her breath vile, ”is a sin, and it has to be atoned for. Penance. That’s the only way out of it.“
That old accusation. Someone had beaten her recently. Her features were swollen and blue, her ragged hair caught back in a ratty old scarf. Her words accused and snagged on old scars. “I didn’t start the war,‘ he tried to explain. ”I didn’t want the war.“
“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “Listen to me. It’s not a sin you commit, fool. It’s a sin that happens to you. Passed on, like heredity and original sin. Like your mother’s dimples or syphilis. It might not have been yours to start with, but once you’ve got it, it’s yours. Are you going to let it infect you and eat up your whole life?”
“It wasn’t my war,” he insisted, begging her to say it was true. But she only smiled evilly.
“No? Then whose was it? Are you going to tell me it wasn’t a hell of a lot of fun, when it wasn’t just plain hell? Are you going to tell me that you’ll ever feel that alive again? Isn’t your life all the same now, day after day, beset by problems you’re not allowed to solve? Wasn’t it all simpler with a rifle in your hands?”
“What do you want of me?” he groaned.
“Get up. Come on. This one is your war, and yours alone.
Don’t run away from it. You have to fight.“
He stared up at her, shaking, trickles of sweat or rain funneling down his face. She was so ugly and so close. She kept leaning closer, leering at him with her puffy eyes and squashed mouth. She was making him want to hit her, just so she would go away.
“Excuse me!” Lynda’s voice was politely venomous. “We’re together.” She shouldered past the woman with the professional grace and balance of a waitress, to land food on the table before him. A huge sandwich like a torpedo for Wizard salad for herself, and two foaming mugs. “Michelob on tap!” she said with a flourish, and slid one over to him. She plumped down on the bench beside him, squeezing him up against the wall.
The old woman wandered off muttering. Lynda glared after her. “Jee-sus H. They ought to lock up some of the crazies in this town, you know what I mean? What was she saying to you?”
“I don’t remember.” He stared down at me food in front of him. The smell had flooded his mouth with saliva. He could think of nothing else.
“So eat!” Lynda laughed, seeing his stare. “I got you a Gobbler on sourdough. Hope you like everything in a turkey sandwich, ‘cause that’s what you got.”
Wizard ate ravenously, scarcely chewing, enjoying the scraping of large hunks of food moving down his throat. He washed it down with draughts of the cold beer whenever his mouth got too dry to chew. There was lettuce, tomatoes, onions, turkey and cheese, and me fragrant, chewy bread itself. He didn’t see Lynda as he ate, only becoming aware of her when she replaced his mug with a full one. He didn’t care for the beer, but drank it for the moisture. He recalled me taste, the slight bitterness. He seemed to remember that when be had been thirsty, they never let him have any, but there were too many times when there was too much of it and he had drunk beer until his belly sloshed. When that had been he could not be sure; there was only the unpleasant memory of thick cigarette smoke and too many people talking too loudly. His mind veered from the thought. He took a final swallow and stared in surprise at his empty plate.
“Hungry guy,” Lynda observed with maternal pride. “Finish off your beer. Bet you feel better now.”
Wizard checked. He was not sure himself that better was an accurate description. He felt heavy, logy as a sated wolf.
His neck did not seem as strong as usual. It took a small portion of his concentration to keep his head upright; it wanted to sag onto the table. Setting down his empty mug, he leaned heavily into the wall and sighed. The honesty of the bricks comforted him. He looked at the woman beside him very carefully. This was the second time she had fed him, yet she did not make him feel that he owed her anything. She was smiling at him, seeming glad of his attention. She had blue eyes and a straight. nose and abundant blond hair. Her mouth was too generous for contemporary beauty, but he found he liked it. Her hands, lying soft and empty on the table top, were small, but not well, J cared for. Working hands.
“What?” she asked softly.
“I am trying to figure you out,” he told her solemnly.:
‘There isn’t much,to figure out.“ She gave a deprecating little laugh. ”I’m just me. Just what you see. Maybe you think I want something from you, because of the way I’ve, well. almost picked you up. But that’s not how it is, really. I don’t like to be alone. That’s part of it. And I like helping people.
I know that sounds corny, but it really is true. When I saw you sitting alone on the bench with only pigeons for company, my;? heart just went out to you. I mean, at first I was really pissed at you for the way you took Boom’s breakfast, and let me get Ai the blame for it. But even right there in Duffy’s, I looked at you and couldn’t stay mad. The way you peeked around your newspaper, suddenly it just seemed so funny. Did you see Booth’s face when he tossed down my keys and his food was gone? Did you see him?“
Lynda began to giggle. Wizard watched her face, studying the sparkle that came into her eyes and made her girlish. There was something here for him, something warm. He caught at that thought and tried to find the sense in it, but he could no longer follow it.
She had his hand. He looked down in some surprise, wondering why he hadn’t noticed her touch before. Her hands were white in contrast to his. His were browned and bony with little gristly scars on his knuckles. The comparison made him feel strong. She squeezed his hand gently, and the touch was good.
“You haven’t told me a thing about yourself. And I’ve talked and talked about me, and I suddenly realize that I just bought dinner for a man, I don’t even know his name. So what’s your name?”
The simple question stopped him cold. He had not realized how much he had relaxed in her company until the iciness of her querying tightened his muscles. He searched her face for signs of treachery. Her blue eyes went wider at his grim expression and her smile lost its confidence. He took a deep breath to spill out some sort of an answer, but it came out as a racking cough. It didn’t stop. It tortured him, driving the air from his lungs, reddening his face and making tears roll from the comers of his eyes- He pushed against Lynda and then staggered to his feet, his hands on his knees as he bent to try and take in air. Other customers were looking up in dismay, and one man rose to ask her if her friend were choking. Wizard shook his head in an emphatic no. “Air,” he gasped. “Cold air.”