NINJA WOKE HIM an hour before dawn grayed the skies. Wizard never heard her light steps. What shocked him out of sleep was the thunderous clapping of wings as the pigeons fled for their lives. They thudded blindly into the walls of the dark room, calling pathetically to one another. He rolled from his mattress and leaped at a darker patch of moving night. Ninja gave a howl of dismay and released a flapping bird. Wizard gripped the big black cat by me scruff of her neck. “How did you get in here?” he demanded of her, but she only growled murderously in her throat. Tucking her under his arm, he gathered up last night’s chicken bones. He took Ninja into the next room and then dumped her unceremoniously outside the window of the fire escape. The bones followed- A piece of old plywood kept for just such occasions blocked the window and her reentry. Wizard went back to his den.
In the blackness he groped for his can of Stemo- Ninja growled and crunched bones outside the window. Inside, the pigeons rustled on their high shelves and cooed reassuringly to their mates. He set me Stemo inside the punctured coffee can that served as a light shield and stove. He stared through the dimness at the Sterno surface and focused his mind. Flames.
He sat still, recalling the perfect flickering details of a tongue of fire. He was still sleepy and it took longer than usual to bring the magic to bear. It came as dancing sparks that finally and suddenly coalesced into a single fat flame.
He shivered as he set the pan of rainwater over the mouth of the can. Little bits of light escaped from the holes in the can’s sides, spattering dots of light on the wall but not illuminating the room. He was grateful. He didn’t need tight to sense the hulking presence of the footlocker in its closet, ft crouched beside the half-fallen door like a gray predator awaiting unwariness. He herded his eyes and mind away from it and immersed himself in his routine.
As his tea brewed, he dug out a pair of corduroy pants and a Pendleton shirt. Mandarin Orange Spice was an herbal tea with no caffeine, but he spiked it heavily with pilfered sugar packets. The sweetness warmed him and calmed his shivering.
The last piece of cold chicken became his breakfast. A quick check of the fire escape revealed that Ninja had eaten and left.
He set his boots down by the window and opened the connecting door between the rooms for the pigeons. By ones and twos they fluttered past him and sought the dawn sky. Returning to his own room, he kindled a candle from his hoard and extinguished his precious supply of Stemo. Time to tidy up the den, he admonished himself as he slipped ninety-nine cents into his pants pocket.
Yesterday’s clothing went into a bag to be disposed of today.
He smoothed the crumpled sides of the wizard bag and set it carefully atop his wardrobe box. He shook and respread his blankets atop his thin mattress He tidied his books, bringing their spines even with the front of the shelf and carefully wiped out his tea mug. The crumpled wrappings from the cold fish and chicken were placed beside his boots for disposal in the dumpster. A glance out his window showed him that his darkness was still holding. He dug out his pocket mirror and shaved with me warm water from the kettle. He detested shaving without running water, but today he resolved to be fully prepared before he set foot out the window. He finished his cleanup with time to spare and extinguished the candle. The skies were Just beginning to lighten.
Secure and satisfied, he looked around his room. His gaze ran aground on the footlocker’s stark grayness. Its foreign presence mocked him, blowing away the homey comfort of his small den and meager possessions like an icy gale through a broken window. It turned his departure into a rout. He tied his boots, glanced back over his shoulder at it. and left laden with items to dispose of. As he exited, he propped the window for the pigeons.
He walked briskly, propelled by dread of the thing in his room. His mind sought refuge in a detailed schedule for his day. Everything would be planned, each step completed carefully, so that nothing might derail this day and make it a repeat of yesterday’s disaster. First, he would dispose of the soiled clothing. Then. coffee and food; he had eaten only sparsely yesterday, and his stomach was a growling burden. Then Cassie. He set his teeth tightly together as he imagined admitting to her the loss of the popcorn bag- Well, it couldn’t be helped.
The sooner he faced up to it, the sooner it would be remedied.
He refused to wonder if Cassie would be able to help him with it. Of course she could, he told himself firmly. Of course she could.
On Second Avenue, he left the bag of soiled clothes leaned up against the door of the Salvation Army Thrift Store. Someone else had left a bag there also, but it held only baby clothes.
He neatly refolded its top and placed it against the door.
The trash went into the next dumpster. He walked another brisk two blocks, pumping his blood to dispel the last traces of sleepiness and apprehension. Coffee. That was what he needed to bum the night fears from his mind. The hot tea had warmed him, but it lacked caffeine and the rich brown taste with the bitter edge that let him know it was rooming. He jingled the emergency coins in his pocket and toyed with temptation. Elliott Bay Cafe. It should be open by now. The spirit of hot espresso plucked at his sleeve. With a sigh, he denied it. The coins would only cover coffee there, and it was a difficult place to cadge a meal. No, today was not a day for a fling. Today was a day to be very conscientious, to obey every rule and take every step with absolute correctness. Wizard wanted no part of days like yesterday.
He waited alone at the bus stop, taking comfort from his surroundings. It was his favorite bus stop, under an iron and glass Victorian pergola at First and Yesler. The Pergola, in Seattle. Since 1909, it had sheltered folk, first for trolleys and cable cars, now for the bus. A Tlingit totem pole shared its sidewalk island, and a bronze bust of Chief Sealth presided over the area. The drinking fountain offered facilities for people, horses, and dogs. When Wizard stood in this small triangular plot of history, he felt as if the spirit of Seattle flowed through him, backwards and forwards in time, with him as a sort of intelligent filter. This was his city, and he knew it as well as any. Much of his knowledge had been gained by following city tours at a discreet distance, or eavesdropping on the benches here as the guides went through their spiels. The details amused him. The totem pole was the second one to stand here. The first had been stolen from a tribal burial ground in 1899, but was lost to fire in 1938. When the city sent a five-thousand dollar check to pay for the carving of a new pole, the Tlingits had served their revenge cold and sweet. “Thanks for finally paying for the first one,” the cancelled check was endorsed.
“A new pole will cost you another five thousand.” Wizard grinned softly to himself at the thought of it. The bus thundered up in front of him in a belch of heat. The doors hissed open and the driver scowled down on him.
“This ain’t a flophouse,” he commented sourly as Wizard came up the steps. “So don’t even think about going to sleep in here.”
Wizard kept his aplomb. No bus driver had ever dared speak to him like that before, though he had heard similar comments made to derelicts on stormy days. He tried a jaunty smile. “The night was late, but not that late.”
“Surprised you knew it was daytime.” The driver didn’t wait for him to be seated, but jerked the bus back into traffic.
Wizard kept his balance and made for a seat near the back. As he stared out the window, he mentally reviewed his appearance.