The Book: A Novel Calling Read online

  Harlequin laughs and jumps off. He turns his back on the ferocious lion, daring him to take a bite. He walks away casually waving at me and smiling as if he's strolling through Central Park.

  I can’t believe this guy.

  The lion follows him and, unbelievably, he now seems docile, almost tame, virtually obedient.

  “I cannot believe you guys!” I scream.

  Harlequin snaps his fingers. A leather leash appears in his hand. He turns to the lion and reaches under his neck, but he stops. He looks at the leash and now he looks at the lion. He tosses the leash away behind him, over his shoulder. He drops to his knees and buries his face in the lion’s thick mane.

  Only they know what just happened. Not me. I don’t have a clue. Why did their battle come to a sudden end? It’s clear now that it is all over. It’s finished. Done.

  “Hey, you guys,” I shout, as they come to the road. “Let’s get on with it.” I lean over to look at the lion.

  He merely yawns and looks away. I push my fists down on my hips as I drop to my knees looking at his leathery nose. He starts to turn again, and I say, point blank, “Don’t!”

  The lion gives me a thick-eyed stolid look.

  “We don’t have time for this,” I tell him. I lay my hand on his nose, and I’m surprised by a tender feeling he evokes in me. Softly I add, “We have to explore the territory, see? We’re looking for what is—and this kind of crap gets us off track.”

  Harlequin turns his palms and rolls his eyes. How the hell can he act aloof after what he just did?

  I stand up.

  I look away to the top of the final hill. I take a deep breath as I make a decision. Like a man on a mission, I toss an idea over my shoulder.

  “You guys follow me.”

  ∞ 12 ∞

  I wonder how much of this Adam knows. I meant to ask him. Does he get all of it, or none of it? Is he paying attention right now, or has he gone out for a beer? Maybe he got bored and left. What if I can’t get out of this place? No matter how close he said this alternate world is, it feels like a million light years from where we were.

  I don’t want to be stuck here.

  As we march forth I wonder how Adam might have reacted to Harlequin’s lion-ride. As we trod down this dusty pathway, I begin to settle down—but it doesn’t last. Amazed by a new sight, I blurt, “What the hell is that?”

  I stand perfectly still, gazing at a spot of ground only a few yards ahead—at three ebony leopards stealing across the road. They leave dusty footprints and I taste some grit on my tongue. I grab my suspenders and try to accept what I see.

  The pack of panthers slinks through the grass on the other side of the road. The black leopards leap to a ridge of flat rock by a scrawny tree. A golden sky produces fearsome silhouettes as they prowl to and fro.

  They have my attention.

  The biggest cat—a huge black leopard—springs off the rock and slithers through the grass like a big snake coming for me. His eyes are like slits of gold in black velvet, appearing ready to kill.

  I jump off the road; I can’t believe it. I’m running to meet him. I don’t understand but I’m racing toward the big cat. I don’t know why I am actually doing this.

  I dodge his big jaws and hear a loud clack!

  I turn and cry out to Harlequin, my throat dry and caked with dust, “This guy is—” the big beast roars. “This guy is—no! Wait a minute!—this guy is no guy, this is a gal. It’s a she!”

  Standing on the road Harlequin prods and pokes and slaps the air as if he’s in the fight of his life. The huge black cat lunges, swinging claws in my direction. I scoot away and a single claw snags my baggy trousers.

  “Jesus!” I shout.

  The leopard lunges at me and I stiff-arm the side of her head. “Oh my God!” I cry out as I try to force her face away from me. Holding myself steady with stiff legs I shout, “Harlequin!” Wild animal eyes look set on murdering me as we circle each other panting; we keep our eyes pinned on each other as I swallow dust and gasp, “Harlequin! Did you know this crazy beast … is female?”

  I see Harlequin lift his anguished face to the sky. The brutish dark female knocks me off my feet. Streams of steamy breath cover my arms as I grab her jowls and twist her face; I feel hot fur in my hands. She squirms in a dance before me. As I peer into a glistening cavern of pink, all I can do is blurt, “Wow!”

  The clack of her teeth conveys chills to my spine. I look in her eyes and see pure contempt. And yet I feel a strange, exhilarating sense of being alive. “Yahoo!” I cry out and laugh, “You crazy … thing!”

  The leopard roars. I feel my skull bone grumble. “Holy Hell!” I shout, as a very clear idea of death almost makes me dizzy. “This bloody bitch could kill me.”

  Harlequin punches the air. He gives a kick and dodges away from a figment of imagination.

  I jump sideways as the leopard hurtles past. “Can you believe this?” I cry out, astonished. I slap at my trousers, brushing off dust as I shout, “Look at her, do you see? She’s playing!”

  I scrape mud from my tongue with my top front teeth, and I spit it out. Standing up straight I slap more dust from my baggy pants. Suddenly, I feel my energy shift. Now I turn and I announce, “That’s it! That’s enough. We don’t have time for this. Let’s get on with it.”

  I look down at the leopard’s big black face, and now, all I see is peace. No danger lingers in those bright big yellow eyes.

  “C’mon, you!” I walk away. Somehow I know she won’t attack me. I hike to the road and the leopard follows like a phantom slithering behind me through the tall grass. I step on the leash that Harlequin threw away and I look down. I pick it up and I look at the leopard. I pass my arm under her jowl and feel her stiff coat brush my hand. Now I stand up straight. “We don’t need this,” I say.

  I throw the leash as high and as far away as I can. It slowly descends like a flying black snake.

  “Can you believe this?” I laugh.

  Harlequin puts his hands together and sends his thanks to the sky.

  At the center of the road I take off. The two big cats and my mystical friend follow behind. I imagine we look like some sort of early Picasso painting of street performers strolling across an African plain. I am wearing nothing but oversized tuxedo trousers held up by red suspenders; Harlequin cuts capers in front of us in his blue-and-grey diamond outfit; the two cats, one golden brown and the other pitch black, stroll behind me.

  Casting shadows off the side of the road, we continue to march in extreme sunlight, I suppose a sight to behold.

  ∞ 13 ∞

  The steaming black coffee in the Styrofoam cup toppled as I made my turn, and hot black liquid splashed across my dashboard. Time seemed to stop as I watched a slow river of steaming dark liquid flow across the dash and down into my car radio. “Dammit!”

  I hit the brakes and pulled to the curb. I yanked on the hand brake and I groaned, “Son of a bitch!” I opened the glove box and found a few skimpy paper towels that drank their fill so fast most of the steamy liquid stayed where it was. I dropped a soggy lump of paper to the floor and sat there watching the windshield fog up until I could not see out.

  “Damn it” I repeated, frustrated. I turned on the defroster and I decided to try the radio.

  I pushed a button. Nothing happened. I pushed another station and got nothing but static. Assuming a total loss of the radio I still turned the dial to the left. I switched from FM mode to AM and pushed a button; a man’s harried voice filled the space in my car: The president is a fool, and the First Lady is a bitch. She’s a commie, a KGB plant in the White House. Her eyes are as cold as a cobra with its eyes on a rabbit.

  What the hell was this?

  The president and the first lady are communists. He’s trash. She’s sewage.

  I had never heard that kind of talk on the radio. This was one of the biggest AM stations in the country; millions of people listened every day. I tried to resist a feeling that the speaker wan
ted blood. I was shocked to hear this level of hatred on a national radio show.

  She’s a greedy, greedy, lustful bisexual.”

  I felt a sudden wave of shame as my jaw hit bottom. “Did you just say that—you bastard?”

  I had not listened to AM in years. This was what I’d been missing. I couldn’t believe my ears.

  You better pay attention people—they’re at the borders! They are streaming into your country and will take over—heathen Islamic terrorists! And make no mistake about it. They’re on the coast right now, planning to drag away your women and children; they are going to rape your wife and your daughters— and then, they’ll kill ’em!

  I felt as if I had fallen into a dark sewer—or let its vapor infuse my car. Did I actually hear that man on public airwaves? Holy Christ. Stunned by the malevolence embedded in his words, I realized I wasn’t breathing; still surprised, I took in some air and pondered the meaning of these things.

  How long had this shit been going on?

  Who was willing to pay people to say this kind of crap? Whose money promoted hatred on national airwaves? I remembered this station; it had a large audience, millions of people listened every day. If I hadn’t spilled my coffee on that turn I would not have discovered the fierce religious confusion in the media.

  Every day after that, I scanned radio AM looking for more insanity. Unfortunately it was an abundant crop on the left side of the dial, where audio religion was free to grow neglected by most. I found a full supply of extreme contempt as I listened to religious leaders condemning all people who did not share their beliefs. They promised with only half-hidden glee that while nonbelievers would roast in hell those who agreed with them would be saved from the fire:

  These so-called edu-cators are teachin’ that people in foreign countries are just as good as your kids. That’s what they teach your kids right now. They’re tellin’ ‘em they’re no better than the heathen children all over the world. You’re payin’ for it, people. How do you like that? They’re teachin’ di-versity. They’re teachin’ your kids to be tolerant, and they call it multi-cultural-ism. Be on your toes. It’s a sign! This shouldn’t happen in a great country like this, by God! This is America.

  On the day I spilled my coffee, as I sat in high humidity, waiting for the windshield to clear, I noticed a stealthy figure slinking between two buildings across the street. His skin was covered with grime. His shirt clung to his sweaty arms and his chest. He pulled himself up the side of a metal dumpster and balanced long enough to snatch a cardboard square before he dropped back to his feet. He looked at the box with hungry eyes, then looked up and saw me. His eyes seemed to go soft under a cloud of shame. Still hungry, however, he inserted his finger and lifted the lid. He tore off a thick wedge of cold pizza and closed his eyes as he took a bite.

  The scene was surreal.

  The man looked at me again and I looked at the fog on my windshield, reflecting on the darkness that was his aura. Then I drove away remembering a woman who had once worked for me. She bolted into my office one day with tears in her eyes. “I’m getting out!” she cried as I stood up. And she added, “We’re nothing but numbers in place, Jonathan.”

  I knew what she meant. Our management was so arrogant I felt embarrassed for contempt they couldn’t conceal.

  Now, she made it formal. “You think they respect you, Jonathan, but it’s not true. They don’t care about you, they don’t care about anybody.” Georgia walked to the window and looked down at the parking lot. “How can you stand this place?” She choked on a sudden gasp, “You’re nothing but a number!”

  I put my arm around her shoulder knowing it was already too late for debate. Escorting her to the elevators I had no desire to dissuade her. There was nothing to say. She’d had it. It was over.

  As we passed by desks on our way to the lift a few people looked up but, not really moved by her sobbing, they quickly went back to work.

  “That’s all we are, Jon. In this place we are nothing but fucking numbers.”

  At the closing of the stainless steel doors, as I watched her disappear, I thought she was pretty much right. I returned to my office and walked to the window. There she was crossing the street, and now sprinting to her car. She opened the door and fell onto the seat. I watched her cover her face with her hands.

  The car started and lurched backwards; she hit the brakes hard, and now the car took off with screeching tires as she made her way to freedom.

  My time came later.

  On another average day, months after she had made her decision, I stood up and simply declared to nobody in particular, “I can’t do this anymore.”

  I walked out of my office with my former colleague in mind: the way she had said I was nothing but a number.

  I left my office and walked to the elevators, abandoning my profession, and a thought came to me: she was right—to run.

  ∞ 14 ∞

  You look miserable,” Adam said with an amiable smile.

  I lowered my eyes, no use denying it.

  He wrapped his long fingers around a leather-bound book and slipped it into a wall shelf just behind him. He was not a young man, and despite his bald head, which was one of a kind, and straight hair shaped like a horseshoe falling all the way to his shoulders, there was no doubting his strength or his firm stand in life. His eyes contained a kind of Northwestern intelligence that confirmed integrity.

  Whenever we got together I had a feeling of looking into the eyes of a highly educated old hippy who was still deeply committed.

  One time an image came to mind of Adam as a dignified Nordic turtle, made of strong stuff. And then, on another day, I got a glimpse of him hanging on the side of a mountain in a virile advertisement for alpine vacations. It was impossible for me to give him only one identity. His firm resolve and natural openness made him both strong and unafraid of reverence for life and love of beauty. In one breath he could express his love for being alive, and in the next take a bulletproof stand on an issue he cared about.

  We were a pretty good match.

  I enjoyed being amazed at life. I took a great deal of pleasure in simple appreciation. For me the miracles of life were stunning; I saw them every day; they were everywhere. On the other hand, Adam saw life as an endless unanswered question he wanted to study and understand.

  I enjoyed his company.

  Adam pushed his black-rimmed glasses above his eyebrows and left them on his forehead. He settled back in his leather chair, and he peered at me across a cluttered desk. “Well, Jon, tell me how you are.”

  “I’m not that sure, I could be better.”

  I waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t I went on. “I’ve been thinking about some crazy stuff I heard on the radio before I came out here.”

  “How crazy can it be?”

  “Worse than you think. How long has it been since you listened to AM radio?”

  “I never do.”

  “That’s what I thought. I did it by mistake. If you surf your AM dial, you won’t believe what you hear.”

  “Okay,” Adam said.

  “You will do it?”

  “Sure. I’ll look into it. Why not?”

  “I stumbled across this stuff when the FM on my radio stopped working—and got a hell of a surprise.”

  He laughed, “How bad can it be?”

  “You be the judge, Adam. You tell me.”

  He loosened his tie and crossed his long legs, comfortable in his big chair. When he spoke his deep and gentle voice reminded me of the film director John Huston. “What else do you have on your mind?”

  “Otherwise, I feel pretty good,” I said.

  “That’s nice,” he said, next to irony.

  “I feel ready,” I added.

  “You want to go back?”

  “Indeed, I do.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “I want more,” I laughed. “So, let’s do it. I’m ready to go right now. I want to do it again.”

&nb
sp; “Hold your horses, Jonathan.”

  “I’m ready, let’s do it.”

  Adam took his hands away from the back of his head and sat up straight. “If you’re that sure, all right, we can go for it. Stand up and close your eyes.”

  I followed his instructions and a big hand dropped onto my shoulder. I heard a gentle boom close to my skull. “What do you think right now?”

  “I feel good. All is well.”

  “All right-y then,” Adam crooned.

  I waited for the word.

  “Naphsha!”

  ***

  An exquisite feminine figure appears only a few yards away. She is naked. Light seems to flow from her skin, and in the middle of the soft light her face glows like the heart of a candle flame. She looks more beautiful than a sexy angel.

  Her skin shines a little like gold.

  I blink—which is the only thing I can think. I turn to Harlequin. He steps closer to her. Her eyelids seem to accept his action, and he inches a little closer. Feeling like a moth meeting a flame I step toward her.

  “My God,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  “Interesting greeting,” she says sweetly.

  “I wasn’t expecting anything like you.”

  “Here I am.”

  “You make me feel … uneasy.”

  “You arrive with a Harlequin, a lion and a big black leopard—and I make you nervous?”

  “Wait,” I say. “I need to think.”

  “Be my guest,” she says, grinning at Harlequin.

  “I need a minute.”

  “It happens,” she says, winking at him. Harlequin lays his forearms over his middle and laughs. They seem to have a connection. He holds his hands over his heart and tilts his head, now playing a moonstruck boy.

  “You’re a girl,” I tell her.

  “You may call me Woman,” she says.

  “Woman,” I repeat, scratching my head. “I thought this place would be more like me.”

  “And it’s not?”

  “You’re here.”