The Book: A Novel Calling Page 12

  Big Guy lays his forearms around his middle. He guffaws like an orgasmic elephant, extruding huge gusts of raucous cheery sounds.

  It is impossible not to laugh.

  “You crazy wild man!” I yell.

  Big Guy grins and now I see the reason for his merriment. The space where his two front teeth should be is a giant cavern in his big maw. He no longer has a dangerous appearance, but rather is the image of a highly unlikely overgrown child in short leather pants.

  He places his face close to the metallic mirror and giggles like a windstorm. This must be the first time he’s seen that big face. His simple-minded glee is almost too much to bear. I look him over: lederhosen, long woolen socks, a silk shirt with a hummingbird under a leather vest—and that insane gap-toothed grin.

  Big Guy’s mind is on vacation.

  I let go. We laugh madly.

  I have to stop laughing by turning away and walking around the corner of the sculpture. On the other side I realize my face hurts as I approach Woman and we embrace.

  Boy, Teenager and Harlequin join our little huddle, and we all lock arms as we look down at our feet. After a long silent moment with our heads together, Boy breaks away from the crowd. He goes to the structure. I look up and notice that the construction isn’t finished on this side. There is no paint on the wood and the metal is deadly dull.

  Boy reaches out and touches the frame.

  The instant his hand contacts the opaque metal, he jumps away as if stung by a bee, or absorbing an electric shock. He turns around glassy-eyed, coddling his hand as he comes back.

  Woman walks to the back of the sculpture. Harlequin follows her, and together they lean over and lay their palms on the muted metal. Now, they laugh. They have found joy in the experience. Harlequin lays his arm over Woman’s shoulder and giggles in silence, while she fills the hall with a jovial and gleeful, sound.

  Teenager, attracted by their plucky spirit, joins them. He caresses the metal. His face freezes. Whatever Harlequin and Woman got from it is not available to him. “Oh, my God!” he cries. His face is a sickly sort of ashen grey.

  “I don’t feel good,” Teenager groans.

  “Me neither,” moans Boy.

  Big Guy merely laughs like a happy nitwit.

  Harlequin and Woman laugh as Teenager runs around the far end of the sculpture. I decide to follow and we end up full circle on the other side, back where we started.

  “I’m too young to die,” Teenager shouts.

  “Me, too, Kid.”

  “Do you see that?” He looks petrified.

  He points to the door. I follow with my eyes to a sign hanging from a post above the door. It looks like an old English tavern sign with dark letters cut deep into old wood.

  “Do you see that?” Teenager repeats.

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Are you crazy?” he shouts, his eyes huge.

  Harlequin and Woman come around the corner following our footsteps. They look up at the sign and sail into still another round of merriment.

  I don’t get it,” I blurt. “What is funny?”

  “I don’t want to die!” Teenager answers.

  Harlequin and Woman laugh harder still.

  “I’m too young to die!” he repeats.

  “Get over it, Kid,” I tell him. “Nobody wants to give up the ghost—we have to.”

  Boy arrives holding his hand.

  “Do you see that sign?” Teenager asks.

  Boy looks above the door.

  Woman explains, “He’s afraid of the words. Read them aloud, so all can hear.”

  I look up at the sign.

  I decide to read them out loud.

  Let

  Your Self

  Go

  Teenager’s eyes swell like stones. He drops to his knees and he cries, “Beyond death—I’m too young to die!”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “When your time comes, it’s over—forget about it.”

  “Oh, no!” Teenager cries, terror inflating his eyes.

  Harlequin hangs his slender arm of blue-and-grey diamonds on Boy’s shoulder. He presses his forehead down and they gaze into each other.

  Boy chuckles.

  Teenager, however, resembles a soldier on his knees before a firing squad at the Russian front. “Beyond Death!” he screams. “Doesn’t that bother anybody?”

  “It doesn’t say that,” Boy tells him.

  “But it’s right there: Beyond death!”

  “What the hell is this?” I say. “I just read that sign to you. It doesn’t say that.”

  Boy drops to his knees at Teenager’s side. “It’s okay,” he says earnestly.

  “Yeah, right!” Teenager spouts.

  “You’re just seeing things that aren't there,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, great!”

  Harlequin laughs.

  “Beyond death?” Teenager whimpers like a true believer with a face made of chalk.

  “It doesn’t say that,” Boy repeats.

  “But it does” he says. He looks at Harlequin for support, “… doesn’t it?”

  “Nope,” Boy concludes.

  Harlequin shakes his head.

  “But—”

  “I’ll read it again.”

  “But I see it—”

  “Just let me read it!”

  Let

  Your Self

  Go

  “That’s what it says, amigo.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he blurts.

  “Take it easy, now” I suggest. “We can’t just ignore this thing. I mean, I wouldn’t walk by it, even if I wanted to.”

  “What?” Teenager squeaks.

  “We have to open that door, see?”

  “No … I don’t.”

  “Listen, Kid! If you avoid this thing it’ll haunt you the rest of your life. You will remember how you gave in to fear no matter how hard you try to pretend. You’ll carry the ugly truth with you in your heart and you will never forget.”

  “I’m screwed!” Teenager sighs.

  “You could say that,” I reply, “or you could pull yourself together, man.”

  “He will be all right,” Woman asserts.

  “Let’s go,” says Boy.

  “Yeah, no big deal, I’m simply delusional,” Teenager says.

  “Buck up, Kid,” I tell him.

  He laughs.

  “You can handle it.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’m glad somebody does.” He looks around at Boy and allows a glimmer of light into his eyes.

  Boy lays a friendly squeeze on his shoulder. Harlequin and Big Guy grab his elbows and he stands up.

  “Bravo!” Woman says.

  “All right!” Boy adds.

  “Okay, that’s it!” I declare. “We are a team. It’s time to choose. Any man who wants to go through that door—for reasons of his own—raise his hand.”

  “Take a count!” Woman shouts.

  Harlequin tentatively elevates his hand and Boy follows with a grin. Big Guy, not sure, looks down at his big mitts and back up to Woman. A grin creeps over his mug and he lifts his arm.

  “Wait a minute!” I say. “You didn’t raise your hand.”

  “I won’t respond to that,” Woman says.

  “Why not?”

  “That was no proper invitation.”

  “I don’t get your drift.”

  “It was improper.”

  “Okay, uh … please!”

  “You silly Man.”

  “What is it? What do you want?”

  “Different nouns and pronouns.”

  “Give me some slack!” I say, feeling like I just swallowed a live fish.

  Harlequin guffaws like Harpo Marx.

  “Any man?” Woman says, “… who wants to raise his hand? I don’t respond to those words.”

  “Oy!” I grunt. “What will you respond to?”

  “Awar
eness of my existence for one thing.”

  I feel pressure behind my eyeballs.

  My cheeks feel warm.

  I look into the beautiful sage color of Woman’s eyes, and I swallow hard, as I say, “Try to understand what I’m saying: I am all for eQuality. I even spell it with a capital “Q.” But who has time to change old habits?”

  “You do.”

  “But they’re hard to break.”

  “By George, I think he’s got it.”

  “I mean it’s so hard!”

  “So begin now.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “You do.”

  One thing is clear to me now. On this issue Woman will not budge. “Ah, okay…” I say. “Anybody, and I do mean anybody, at all—Man or Woman—who wants to proceed through that door, for his or her own reasons, so we can get on track and move on, then, please, by all means, male or female, raise your hand.”

  Woman smiles and lifts her hand.

  She waves her fingertips at me.

  I’ve been so busy I forgot her beautiful body. I can’t take my eyes off her. My face is getting warm, but my skin feels clammy. My eyes are dry.

  “What about Teenager?” Woman says.

  “What about him?”

  “Everybody but Teenager has agreed.”

  “To do what?”

  “To go with you—through that door.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  “Ask him.”

  I turn and drop an elbow on Teenager’s shoulder, perhaps a bit too familiar, father to son: “Whatcha gonna do, Kid?”

  “I told you. I don’t want to die.”

  “We just handled that—snap out of it.”

  “But the sign—”

  “Get a grip! It doesn’t say that.”

  “But I saw it.”

  “If you turn around and leave, you’ll be one more dumb-shit marking time.”

  “Is he kidding?” Teenager asks Woman.

  “You know he isn’t,” she says.

  “This is it!” I say.

  “Jesus!” he moans.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Well, okay—but I’m not happy about it.”

  “You don’t have to be. Let’s go.”

  I head for the stoop and I stop mid-step. I ask Woman, “Do you think this might kill us?”

  “I love your sense of timing,” she says.

  I shift away from that response, and I shout, “Okay guys—and gals—we’re taking a big chance on this. It’s a risk, but—”

  “You can’t pass it up,” Woman says. She turns to the others. “Are you ready?”

  As they start to line up I dash to the stairs and up to the door. I seize the big brass doorknob with both hands and turn sharply to the left. It doesn’t move. I try again; it doesn’t budge.

  Adding a swarthy grunt, I heave at it again, I and still I get no response. throw myself into it, and this time I hear a crunch next to my ear.

  Only centimeters from my nose, I see “A room full of gold coins.”

  “Without the room,” Teenager declares.

  “That’s a good point, but what the hell? Here they are right here, in front of me—running all the way up and down. There must be a roomful of gold behind this door.”

  I step to the edge and look around, but, just as I expect, there is nothing on the other side.

  “We walked around this thing,” Teenager says. “We called it a sculpture because it’s not connected to anything.”

  “I need a minute to think about this,” I say. As I start down the stairs Teenager and Boy come flying past me like Super Bowl linebackers. They blast into the door: Whud!

  The sound hurts my muscles.

  As the two boys slink from the door rubbing their shoulders, a single gold coin drops from the stack onto the landing. It rolls slowly across and drops down the stairs to the floor, where it meanders all the way to Woman’s bare feet. It makes a soft ringing sound as it slowly comes to a full stop.

  Plink!

  Woman bends down politely and takes it up.

  She reads from the coin and looks up at me. “This is good,” she says. Using her thumb she turns the coin over in the palm of her hand.

  “This is very good.”

  “May I see?”

  She lays the large coin in my hand.

  The shiny metal feels heavy. I look down at the words: “Riches beyond”

  “Now the other side,” Woman says.

  I turn it over and I read, “…your wildest expectation.”

  Woman laughs.

  Boy grins, Harlequin smiles, and Big Guy demonstrates the gap in his teeth. Their faces shine as I repeat, “Riches beyond your wildest expectation.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Teenager squawks. “Let me see.” I hand him the coin. “This can’t be true—can it?”

  “You don’t have to believe it,” I say. “Believe what you want.”

  Teenager rubs the coin as if he might wipe away the words. “It can’t be—”

  “There it is, in your hand.”

  “But I—”

  “That’s your problem, Kid. Why not suppose the cosmos is good? Is that harder to believe than a world that’s lousy to the core? Maybe goodness is waiting in the wings, for you to catch up. Can’t you even think it’s possible? The world is beautiful. I think goodness fits right in.”

  “That makes sense,” Woman says.

  “But I don’t think—”

  “Maybe the world wants us to win,” Boy says.

  “Think about that,” I say.

  “Hah!” Teenager scoffs, but he looks again at the gold coin in his hand.

  “You gotta love this kid,” I say. “He’s afraid to have one positive thought.”

  “I’m not used to it,” Teenager admits.

  “You see?”

  “It’s good to know that,” Woman says, “so you can do something about it.”

  “She’s right,” I say, looking at the door. “I think this crack is worth looking into.”

  “Let’s do it!” Woman cries.

  “This could take all we have,” I warn. “I mean everything we’ve got. Are you willing?”

  “I am,” Boy says.

  “So am I,” Woman cries.

  “Everybody?” I ask. “Teenager?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “We covered that—are you with us?”

  “All right, okay—I’m in.”

  “There it is guys—and gals. Let’s go!”

  ∞ 22 ∞

  Adam set fire over the bowl of his pipe, and a flame spread across tiny tobacco strings. A puff of smoke went up and a pleasant aroma entered my awareness, traces of distant oak and a hint of sandalwood. I imagined Bogart in a trench coat.

  “Did I understand you?” Adam said. “You believe that choices you make there change things here?”

  “Not exactly tit for tat, Adam, but yeah, I do. I think my choices do make a difference. What I do in that domain influences this world. It is very subtle but still real. If anybody in the world should understand me, it’s you.”

  “I wanted to hear you say it, Jonathan. You’re quite fast. I took three months to realize that.”

  “I don’t have evidence for it, nothing I can stick under a microscope,” I said, “but when I’m there I feel the connection. I know what I do has an effect on what happens here.”

  “And so it may be, Jonathan.”

  “Adam, you are the only one I would say this to. The two worlds are seamlessly connected.”

  “What a strange bedfellow you are.”

  “Hey man, you got me into this.”

  “Because I thought you could see straight.”

  “Thanks—I think.”

  Adam’s eyes wandered over his desk. He looked up. “I made many mistakes trying to figure out these things. You picked it up fast.”

  “With help from a friend,” I said. “I would have been lost without you.”

  “I am glad
you came.”

  “Me too, Adam.”

  “You know we have entered a new state of conscious evolution, don’t you Jonathan? I mean you and me. We can now participate in a multi-billion year process of growth and development that has been changing forever. What could be more exciting than knowing you are the result of a trip from inert matter to conscious self-awareness? You are the only person I can say this to.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  “And so shall it is, Jon.”

  He stuck the end of his pipe in his mouth and grinned as he laced his big fingers behind his head. He pondered the ceiling as if he owned all the time in the world. “Tell me,” Adam said, “how do you feel about life?”

  “My life?”

  “That will do just fine.”

  “I feel more responsible—and it’s good. I am aware of time differently; it has much deeper meaning to me now. We are part of a story in space that is endless. I feel connected to the world in a new way. Even knowing my time is limited I still feel joy, just realizing I am part of it. Life is a profound privilege!”

  “You know what love is.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Giving to the future and knowing you won’t be there for the reward, I think that’s pure love.”

  “You may be right. I won’t be there for the payoff, I know that, and still it pleases me.”

  “You’re the gift that will and won’t be there,” Adam laughed.

  “I used to hate the word duty,” I said. “Now I love it. I am happy just being alive.”

  Adam took a drag on his pipe.

  I continued, “I want to make life better for those who follow. I don’t see it as a burden but the best I can do.”

  “Giving back to what created you,” he said.

  “That sounds right to me,” I replied, “and it feels like creating joy.”

  “I like that word, Jon, tell me about it.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say this to anybody else, as you know. Hold your hat, Adam. Here it is. I love the universe, the whole cosmos—all space and time and everything in it.”

  Adam laughed.

  “I’m in love with the cosmos.”

  Adam laughed so hard he almost toppled as I said. “I feel so wide open I think openness and consciousness and love are the same. My sense of life is that love is the beginning of all things. It’s the start of it all, the origin of all that is, the energy of the whole blinking universe.”