The Book: A Novel Calling Read online

  “Try me.”

  “He looks like a monster, and yet, in another way, he looks innocent. He’s like a big ape-man-boy giant. Don’t get me wrong—he’s still a beast—and he’s mad as hell. Better watch out.”

  “Be careful,” Woman says.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “Ouch! Did you hear that? He smashed a wooden chair on the end of an iron bunk bed.”

  “There are bunk beds in this place?”

  “His shoulders are big and they make him top-heavy, ready to fall over. I am feeling manic.”

  “Bunk beds?”

  “Like a dormitory or a military barracks. He just ripped a blanket apart like tissue paper. He is so damn furious! I can’t believe how mad he is—I think he wants to kill somebody.”

  “Oh, no,” Woman says.

  She wraps an arm around Boy.

  “Look at him!” I blurt.

  “Tell us what you see!” Woman repeats. She pushes on my spine.

  “He’s lifting a chair over his head,” I report. “Now he’s turning, slowly, and he throws the chair across the room.” I flinch as the wooden seat smashes on the door in front of my face. “My God!” I spurt.

  “He must be out of his mind,” Woman wails.

  “And what about us,” Teenager says.

  The sweaty goliath drops a fragment of wood to the floor; he looks up, his face twisted and full of obvious pain. He screams like a pile driver slamming the earth: “I … hate … you!”

  “I thought you said he was innocent!” Woman shouts.

  ∞ 19 ∞

  Sophie stood in a triangle of light cutting into the office and my somber mood. I lifted my face from my hands and stared at the doorway.

  “Why don’t you turn the lights on, Jon?”

  “Hello, Sophie. It’s fine, I like it.”

  “I’m going to get us something to eat,” she said. “Anything you’d like?”

  “I’ve been so busy looking at things I thought you just got back—a salad would be nice,” I said, stretching my leg.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jon,” she said, raising her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  Before the door was closed I started thinking about Adam and that strange word. Why was I so enamored with a world he conjured up with the sound of his voice? I considered that world. How was it right now? I wondered what could be happening there. I just slipped away.

  Suddenly back in the alcove I find myself whispering scraps of intense emotion in a familiar present tense.

  “Whoa!” I shout. "Did you hear that? He’s growling again. Man, this guy is really pissed-off.”

  The giant-man-boy lifts a chair over his head and swings it down hard on the end of a bunk. It smashes to pieces. Wood fragments fly.

  Still peering through the crack in the door, I try to describe what I see. “This enormous maniac looks like evolution stopped—way too early.”

  The oversized Neanderthal pauses. He looks away into a distance, and now, looking down at his hands, he releases a few remaining pieces of the broken chair. Fragments of wood hit the floor.

  He turns to me very slowly, as if he is stuck in a sort of slow-motion. There is scorching heat in his eyes.

  “I can’t move!” I blurt.

  Still looking through the crack of the door, I watch the monster of a man close his eyes and bend backwards letting go of a horrible sound like eternal heartache. “I can’t move.” Something grabs the seat of my tuxedo trousers. “He’s looking at me, and I can’t move!”

  Dragged up the short stairway by my baggy pants, I wonder who’s yanking me from the door; I am grateful to be in the hallway.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Teenager takes my spot and drops down to his knees and peers through the skinny fissure. “Oh, my God!” he cries. “Here he comes.”

  A giant forearm smashes through the heavy wood above Teenager’s head, and a big hand reaches all around for something to destroy. Teenager leaps away and the giant snorts. We all snap to attention. The huge primate thrashes through the door like a gorilla bashing through a flimsy cage.

  Standing in the battered portal of broken wood and injured hinges, he rages at the ceiling.

  “Quick! Harlequin—get the chairs,” I shout.

  Harlequin dashes through the corridor like a greyhound and runs out of sight like a flash. Now I see him again heading our way full speed ahead, holding two chairs high.

  “Hold on—I got it!”

  I march down the stairs into the alcove and lift a chair like a lion tamer. The big guy stirs and I step forward carefully. He takes a step and I turn and run back up the stairs.

  He bends his knees and looks at me as if he might be considering something to eat. I am afraid he is going to crack me open and start sucking my bones. The great man looks down on me.

  “Jesus!” I say softly.

  I lean forward and set my chair on the floor by the bottom step. I look up calmly, as calmly as I can, and try adding a smile. Not certain I have pulled it off as I face him, I can only manage a rather weak squeak. “Let’s talk—you and me, okay?”

  I hear my comrades gasp behind me.

  “Everything is fine and dandy,” I pretend.

  Harlequin brings the other chair and sets it in front of mine. I try to act as though I believe what I just said. I stand straight and slip my thumbs under my suspenders.

  “Just a little chat,” I say.

  The giant sways back and forth, top-heavy, towering over me and giving no indication that he understands anything. It is hard to gaze into his fierce eyes—and yet, somehow, I find it within me to poke the air with a forefinger and say, “C’mon you!”

  The energy in the air behind me seems to bristle. I feel it. I know that my group can see absolute scorn in this giant’s eyes. He growls and the wall seems to tremble. The feral sound of this frightful creature gives me a deep chill. I feel like a small animal trembling on an African plain, horrified to know that I am the object of the hunt. I feel myself shaking inside.

  I force my mind to slow down. I try to remember how to play it cool. My emotions feel like violin strings strung too tight. Teenager, Boy and Harlequin have plastered themselves against the wall, but Woman stands her ground, right here beside me. My mind finds something to cling to and I decide not to run away.

  Somebody laughs.

  Who would do that?

  I hear another chuckle and quickly I turn. Who would laugh at a time like this? It could get us killed.

  Still, another giggle grows a little louder.

  In a whisper, I demand, “Who did that?” Nobody says anything but I hear another laugh, to which I answer fiercely, “He can hear you!”

  Now I see the giant ape-man in a new light. I notice that he is dressed in a fancy Bavarian outfit. Grey woolen socks climb hairy legs to a huge pair of knobby knees; under a tan leather vest he wears an embroidered white silk shirt with a pink flower and a blue hummingbird on the chest; with leather lederhosen and tall mountain boots, he is a big surprise, especially considering his former demeanor. The image is truly stunning.

  Still, it’s too dangerous to laugh. I don’t want to antagonize this surly beast even in those short pants and silk shirt. I feel a chuckle scratch the back of my throat. Oh, no—no, no, No! If I laugh I’m lost. God no!

  What a crazy, surreal form of suicide!

  A simple giggle right now could launch sheer mayhem. This is like trying not to laugh in church, but a million times worse. I clamp my jaw shut and try keeping a lid on. If I look at his knees one more time I will lose it. What a way to go!

  I push his chair forward about an inch. “Let’s have a little chat,” I say, still pretending to be brave. “It is time for level heads to prevail, so let’s talk.”

  The Big Guy looks agitated and still irate, glaring at me with severe eyes. But now, the astounding truth is, I can’t take this guy seriously.

  Not in that ge
tup.

  I make a decision. “Okay, Bub. We are on your side, we’re your friends, so let’s stop this bullshit and get on with it.”

  I watch his stolid eyes blink, sending forth a mild state of confusion, as I consider how he could break me like a pretzel over a warm beer.

  The lion snarls and I assume he’s losing patience with all this. Suddenly, a massive blow from Goliath’s elbow slams the wall behind him; grains of dust crumble to the floor and onto his big leather boots. We stand gaping at the dent in the wall. What can I say? I have nothing. My desire to laugh is gone.

  Boy breaks the silence. “He is scary.”

  “Shh!” Woman says quickly.

  Like zombies caught in daylight we are trapped. He’s got us. As we stand gawking at him, I now hear words clearly in my head: Don’t move!

  I lift my chin and try looking brave. “This guy is so upset,” I say, stating the obvious. “But, I think, I mean, maybe—if I can touch him and get away with it—he might calm down. But I don’t know that for sure. I mean, of course, he could go nuts.”

  I look up at the big man and with a surprising helping of audacity I say, “C’mon you big galoot. Take your seat.”

  “Oh, great!” Woman whispers on the stairs.

  Under Big Guy’s leviathan body the chair looks like a play toy. He stands like a tower, and now, he sniffs and blinks. He lowers himself slowly and drops his butt to the floor like a half-ton preschooler. Sitting on the floor, he leans an elbow low on the chair.

  I push my chair forward just a little bit, and I take my seat. Even sitting on the floor, the big man still looks down at me, and I have to look up. I decide to take a real risk. I reach for his forearm; and now I give it a squeeze.

  “It’s okay, Pal,” I say, still on high alert. “We are your friends. No kidding. I am your friend.”

  I hear Woman cough.

  “I believe we can get along, I really do.”

  I’m afraid to take my eyes away from him. As I hold my eyes steady where they are, I speak to the group. “He may not get what I just said, but saying it made me feel better.”

  On the edge of my chair, I look into his troubled eyes. “This is your lucky day, Big Guy.”

  I remember what he did to the room behind the door, and I get a little nervous. I try to clamp it down as I think I may be acting rashly, maybe I am being too careless. But still, I try to explain: “We are friends.”

  A thought comes to mind: not a meal—you know—friends, allies, buddies, and partners—not a snack. Except for some gentle purring and some heavy breathing behind me, all is quiet. I study Big Guy’s face. Behind his heavy skull there seems to be hidden movement, like heavy machinery trying to clunk into some sort of conclusion.

  Softly, I report, “This guy could knock my head off with a single blow, and I’m sitting here hoping he won’t feel stupid.”

  “You are so smart,” Woman says.

  I lean forward and give his formidable forearm another squeeze. Our eyes meet. I notice a bit of relaxation at the corner of his mouth.

  “We want to be friends,” I declare. “That’s all.”

  He looks like a surly Mexican-god. His big mouth curls into a kind of smile. “This may sound crazy,” I say, “but I think this guy likes me.”

  I can almost feel Woman shifting weight.

  “I know this sounds weird,” I say, “because he just demolished a whole roomful of furniture back there, and blasted through that door like a maniac, but the fact is I have a very strong vibe that he’s not that dangerous.”

  “When will you be sure?” Woman says.

  “I think we’re moving in the right direction.”

  “I hope so,” says Boy, uneasily.

  “When for certain?” Woman repeats.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to say.”

  “Why not ask him?” she suggests.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ask him if he intends to hurt us.”

  Big Guy turns his gigantic head; he looks at Woman, and now he scoots his backside along the floor toward me.

  “Did you see that?” I say.

  I scoot my chair a bit closer, and again he moves my way. I take another inch. So does he. Our faces are close as he looks down at me. I lean forward until I feel leather-like callous touching my brow.

  “Boy, do I feel dumb,” I say.

  “I’m not surprised,” Woman replies.

  “Look at them!” Boy laughs.

  “Touching his forehead like this makes me feel thick-headed.”

  “You feel dumber?” Teenager asks.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think he was Einstein, but this is unexpected. His forehead is like a shield. It protects him from every idea he doesn’t know.”

  “Armor for a dim wit?” Teenager scoffs.

  “You could say that,” I say. “He’s afraid of new ideas.”

  “You get all that by letting him rest his forehead on yours?” Woman asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Cozy telepathy,” she says.

  “He has to block them to feel safe.”

  “I can understand that,” says Boy.

  “He’s got the head for it,” Teenager says.

  “This is about trust,” I say. “He doesn’t know how to do it. That’s the problem.”

  Harlequin’s face appears beside us, gliding up and down, inspecting our faces; his eyes almost touch Big Guy’s cheek. He snaps his fingers and a burgundy leather book appears in his hand. He opens the book and pretends to read for a moment, but he’s not. Harlequin closes the book and pries open my fingers. He places the book in my hand and folds my fingers over it.

  The book is not for me. I know that.

  I hand it to Big Guy.

  Woman says, “I hope he finds something good in there.”

  “I know he’s basic,” I reply, “but he’s okay.”

  “Basic,” Woman repeats.

  “All right, very basic. I think his problem is violence. He discovered it too soon. Now he only expects to be punished.”

  “That’s the best he can do?”

  “It was, before now, anyway.”

  “He still looks scary to me,” Boy warns.

  “Like he might tear your head off,” says Teenager.

  “You don’t have to judge a book by its cover,” I suggest, “maybe he’ll surprise you. Believe it or not, I like this guy.” Now I look up into Big Guy’s eyes. “Let’s create some trust. Okay?”

  “We can do that,” Teenager says.

  “We can,” Boy says. “It’s easy.”

  “Simple,” Woman admonishes, “maybe not easy.”

  “We can try,” says Boy.

  “It’s okay with me,” says Teenager.

  Big Guy grunts and the air gets tight.

  “How do you know he won’t hurt anybody?” Woman repeats.

  “I don’t but, I think—if we honor his dignity—he’ll be okay. I am touched by this guy.”

  “We can see that,” Woman replies.

  “He’s a basic urge without education,” I say, “just a dumb reaction to a crappy situation.”

  “That, Sir,” Big Guy says with a slight lisp, “is not polite.”

  “Maybe not,” Teenager says. “But is he right?”

  “Yes, I would say he is.”

  “You admit it?” Teenager blurts.

  Boy looks away as Woman asks point blank, “Do you want to hurt us?”

  “I have done my worst.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “I have made my complaint.”

  “It’s all over then?” Woman asks.

  “It was not aimed at you. I was merely registering a small complaint.”

  “That was small?” says Teenager.

  “If I didn’t hurt anyone then, I won’t now.”

  “Okay, that’s a relief,” I say.

  “A basic urge…” Teenager repeats.

  “With no education,” Boy laughs.

  “W
hat could be worse?” says Big Guy sadly.

  “Hurting innocent people,” Woman replies.

  “I won’t do that.”

  “Okay,” I say. “That’s it. I believe him.”

  “He broke a mainspring back there, Man. Don’t forget that,” Teenager says.

  “I know, I know. Let’s go.”

  “What if he does it again?”

  “No need to be insulting,” Big Guy says.

  “You won’t do it again?”

  “No.”

  I look at the mangled door and the broken hinges behind him, and now, I say to Teenager, “I do understand your concern, but we have to move on. Let’s take a chance and create a little trust. You said you could. Do it now. Either it will work or it won’t. Only one way to find out. Let’s go.”

  “I want a promise,” Woman says firmly.

  “I don’t think he’s bad,” I reply.

  “Will he put that in writing?”

  Big Guy speaks with surprising aplomb. “You have my absolute word,” he says. He smiles broadly and shows a huge gap where two front teeth should be.

  “I think he’s okay,” Boy says.

  “Me, too,” Teenager laughs.

  “All right,” Woman assents. “I accept.”

  “There it is, my friend. We did it. We just created trust for you. Now we’re friends.”

  Big Guy lays a heavy paw around my shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to—hey! Big Guy!”

  “What?”

  “Let go—your grip is killing me.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry.”

  ∞ 20 ∞

  The Santa Monica sun was getting close to the sea. The light outside Adam’s office had grown soft; it was almost dark inside. The lights were off.

  He pushed his glasses up to his bald spot and he leaned forward, like a professor making an inquiry. “What do you think, Jon? What did you get from your experience?”

  “First, tell me about the word.”

  “It is very old.”

  “It’s new to me.”

  “I didn’t know the language in the book. It was handwritten, a copy of an ancient hieratic text. But I was attracted to the soft hand-sewn leather cover and its age. When I got home I put the book on the shelf and forgot about it.”