A Beggar's Kingdom

by Paullina Simons

  “I’m trying, Riles.” Julian knocked into Riley’s shoulder. “Do you know what Muhammad Ali said? That it was indeed possible for the heavyweight champion of the world to be with just one woman.”

  “To be fair,” Ashton said, “like you, he went through a flock of women before he said that.”

  Julian nodded. “That’s how he found her.”

  Riley lifted her eyes and stared at Ashton across the kitchen island. Ashton didn’t return her gaze. Her voice when she spoke barely trembled. “Is that what you’re doing, Ash? Still looking for the one?”

  Biting his lip, Julian backed away.

  Ashton put up his fists. “Jules, you bastard! Don’t run away now. Get over here so I can kill you. Riles, baby girl, he was talking about himself! What, you didn’t catch the self-aggrandizing boxing metaphor, comparing his sorry ass with the greatest boxer who ever lived? Thanks a lot, Jules. Why is it when he checks out of the human race, I’m the one who gets in trouble? Come here, my dear, step into my bedroom, I have something to show you.”

  ∞

  “Julian, how is he?” Riley was talking quietly, to not wake Ashton. It was her last night before she flew back home.

  “He’s good, look at him.”

  “He looks good. But I mean…how is he?”

  Julian replied in kind. “He is…good?”

  “Is he drinking too much?”

  “No, just the right amount. He’s not missing work or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Did you see how much Grey Goose he put away tonight?”

  “Yeah, he was being good for you, he barely touched the stuff.”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “Always with the jokes.”

  “He’s fine, Riles. Don’t worry.”

  She sighed.

  “What’s the matter?” Julian didn’t really want to talk about what the matter was. He knew what the matter was. After seven years, there was still no ring on her finger. And she was thirty-four. It was occurring to her there might never be a ring on her finger.

  “What’s the matter? Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Nothing ever changes, Jules. All the girls keep panting for him. It’s accurate to say I’m on the verge of suicide because of it.”

  “What girls,” Julian said.

  Riley patted Julian’s chest. “You’re a good friend. To him first, of course. But also to me. What else are you going to say?” She and Julian were spread out on the couch. They’d been watching TV when they both noticed that Ashton had fallen asleep. They turned down Sherlock and lounged casually, quietly chatting, both of them watching Ashton’s face look more intense in sleep than it ever looked awake—as if Ashton were dreaming of armies of dragons ridden by naked nymphs. Their heads were close together in the center of the sofa, their legs hanging over the sofa arms.

  “Julian, you lie,” Riley said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Julian half-focused on Sherlock explaining something to a skeptical Watson; Julian was trying to read the detective’s lips.

  “You didn’t really flip for me all those years ago, did you?”

  “What?” Julian looked away from the TV at Riley’s pretend-casual face, regrouped, rerouted.

  “Isn’t that what you told Gwen when you broke up with her?” Riley said. “That you and Ashton flipped for us, you won, and you picked her. That’s a dirty lie, right?”

  “Why?”

  “No, no, don’t do that.” She sat up a little straighter, tucked her feet under herself and half-faced him. Her makeup was off, her hair was in a ponytail. She was in sweats and ready for bed. She looked, as always, flawless. “Don’t answer a question with a question. Just answer. You lie, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “When?” Julian said. He was still slouching. “Then, or now?”

  “Julian!” She elbowed him, moving closer to his head.

  He laughed. “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth. Did you or did you not flip for me?”

  “Yes,” Julian said. “We did. We flipped for you.”

  “Is it true that you won?”

  “That’s also true.”

  Riley exhaled. Julian stopped pretend-watching Sherlock and carefully turned his head to her. Her expression hardly changed, it was still rather easygoing and composed, but there was something unfathomable and desolate in her brown eyes.

  “I didn’t quite win you,” Julian said. “I picked heads and got heads.”

  “So it was your choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you chose Gwen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Julian didn’t know what to say. “You didn’t want me to pick Gwen?”

  “I’m asking why you did. Tell me. I’m not—I won’t be offended or hurt. But I need to”—Riley paused—“I’m thinking about an awful lot these days, piecing my life together, trying to make sense of the forks in the road that led me here.” She smiled thinly. “Trying to make heads or tails of stuff.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you choose Gwen and not me?”

  Julian shrugged as nonchalantly as the moment allowed. “I thought you and Ashton were a better fit,” he said. “Look at him.” (Admittedly Ashton did not look his best at the moment: slumped on the couch, passed out, legs sprawled, arms out, head back, mouth open.) “And look at you. You’re superstars. And I was a disillusioned former boxer wannabe, stuck being a nerdy writer because of circumstances outside my control. I didn’t want”—Julian broke off—“I saw our future, Riley. Beyond the first few great weeks. I don’t always see the future.” How true that was. “But I saw it then. I didn’t want you being with me and pining for him,” Julian said. “I didn’t want him pining for you. It would’ve come between me and him, and I couldn’t have that. You unhappy with me, wishing for him, and him hostile to me and wishing for you.”

  “As if anything could ever come between you two,” Riley said.

  “You would have. We can’t share the same woman.”

  “You are Ashton’s brother from another mother,” said Riley. “He and you have real love. Yes, yes, I know, you’re both men and yes, you’re both sexual beings who love women, but you’re also men who have deep respect and trust and love for each other. Nothing can take that away.”

  “That would have.”

  She fell silent. They stared at Sherlock and Watson on the flatscreen. “Is this the future you imagined?” Riley asked. She sounded so sad. “When you two were the happiest single guys in Southern California?”

  “Who could have ever imagined this future, Riley?” Julian shut his eyes.

  “Don’t you want to find love again, Jules?”

  “I found love. I have it. It hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still right here.”

  “So what are you doing with the other girls?”

  “Passing the time. Counting the minutes. Pretending I’m still of the world.”

  She fell like a parachute to the ground.

  “Is that what he’s doing, too?”

  “No, Riley,” Julian said. He was a good friend—to Ashton first.

  After a while she spoke again. “But what if Ashton wasn’t with you that night? What if you were out with Doug or Lee instead?”

  “What’s your question?”

  “Would you have chosen me then?”

  Julian told her the truth because she asked for it. “Yes,” he said.

  Their eyes met for a moment, and then they both fell mute. Julian put his arm around her.

  “I’m all in, Jules,” Riley said, her voice low and blue. “There’s nothing to be done. This is it. He is it. But if you only knew how I sometimes wish you had chosen less wisely.” She leaned her head sideways, her blonde perfumed hair grazing against Julian’s cheek.

  When they lifted their gazes, an awake Ashton was watching them from his couch. “Riley is right—you’re such a liar, Jules,” Ashton said, rubbing his stu
bble. “Why don’t you tell her the actual truth?” He struggled to a sitting position. “Why don’t you tell her that you’ve never in your life dated or been attracted to a blonde chick.”

  “Shut up, I would’ve been his first,” Riley said. “I would’ve seduced him.”

  “I’d like to see you try. Do it now. I don’t mind.”

  “That you pretend you don’t mind bothers me most of all.”

  “In London, he’s been with no one but a phantom and one-night stands. All brunettes, by the way, even the ghost. But I’m not pretending. Go ahead. Seduce him.”

  “Calm down, Doctor Detroit,” Julian said, getting up and giving Riley his hand to help her off the couch. “You’ve had too much to drink. Go to bed.”

  ∞

  After Riley flew back to L.A., Julian returned to Quatrang, for the first time in months.

  “Hello, Julian,” Devi said as soon as he heard the door open. “I just made some banh khot. Would you like some? Small pancakes with shrimp cooked in coconut milk and sprinkled with dried garlic flakes and ginger. And I made your favorite kimchi just fresh yesterday. Shall I get you a plate?”

  They had lunch, drank tiger water, chatted about trivial things. Devi said his fishmonger had called him earlier about a fresh shipment of high-quality squid. Did Julian have a few minutes to walk to the market? Julian did, and carried the squid and the cabbage back to Great Eastern Road for Devi, and when they were back inside, after another glass of tiger water, just before Julian headed to work, he said to Devi, “I’m going back.” He tried to keep his shoulders from slumping under the weight of the impossible choice he couldn’t help but make.

  “I know,” the Hmong cook said.

  Julian was nonplussed. “How could you possibly know when I myself didn’t know?”

  “Because it’s the only imperative of your life, Julian. It’s stamped on every breath your soul makes.”

  Julian had been furious with fate, with life, with God, with Devi—and with himself most of all. He was doing something wrong. He had to try harder. “It’s my fault. I live inside her days, pretending everything will magically turn out fine.”

  “Yes, it’s called human existence.”

  “Except I know what most people do not,” Julian said. “I know she’s at the end of her days. I didn’t know it in L.A. And I didn’t know it in Clerkenwell. But after the Silver Cross, I can no longer deny it. I can’t continue to behave as I’ve been behaving. I have to get her out of whatever she’s doing as soon as possible and get her to another place. Change her geographical location, not just the direction of her heart.”

  “You can try.” Devi tilted his head. “But the direction of her heart first, right? You’re not going to kidnap her or anything?”

  “Or anything,” Julian said. “Conceivably I could have more time, couldn’t I? More than two months? That part is not etched in stone, is it?” He sounded desperately uncertain.

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever had even two months, to be honest,” Devi said. “You could have that again. Frankly, you could have less. I don’t know if the end of her life means months or hours. I don’t know how this works. You’re in uncharted territory. You wanted a fate beyond the fates. Here it is.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Julian he could have even less time. As always, leave it to Devi to make him feel worse.

  ∞

  On March 20, Ashton accompanied Julian to Greenwich.

  “Are you sure you want to come, bud?” Julian said.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. What, son of Titan isn’t coming?”

  “He never comes. Says he can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “He won’t say.”

  “Probably because the evilmonger has hypnotized you into believing you could ride alone down Satan’s highway,” said Ashton.

  Julian wore a thick Thermoprene semi-dry wetsuit with a hood. On his feet were hyperstretch dive boots, on his hands Kevlar dive gloves. He brought two headlamps this time, two flashlights, and one divelight. Reluctantly he brought a grappling hook, some carabiners, and webbing. Ashton insisted. “If you’re going to pretend to do it,” he told Julian a week ago, “no reason not to pretend to do it right. What’s the point of diving into this fake thing half-baked? That’s not the kind of men we are,” Ashton said. “We dive into our fake trips full-baked!”

  Ashton took Julian to a hiking supply store on Holborn where he outfitted him with a light hard-shell waterproof Camelbak pack that was big enough to store Julian’s flashlights, but also had room for a rappel hook, four carabiners and a thirty-foot coil of parachute cord. “Why aren’t you taking my multi-tool on your fake adventure?” Ashton asked. “You haven’t lost it, have you?”

  “I have it. I can’t bring it. Only new things. With no past life.”

  “Of course. My bad.” Ashton made Julian buy a brand new Swiss Army multi-tool. “Fake caving is like real mountaineering, my friend,” Ashton said, “except underground, and you know—fake. But still, brutal Darwinian selection must apply. Bring the least of what you can’t do without. But bring it.”

  “Yeah,” Julian said, “that’s what I did last year. All of it was at the bottom of a cave pool in five seconds.”

  Julian forewent the heavy crampons this time, the useless Suunto watch, the extra batteries.

  “Water?”

  “I’m constantly wet. A blow-dryer maybe.”

  “Food?”

  “Last thing I’m thinking of.”

  Finally, he was ready. Ashton forced Julian to wear a harness seat over his wetsuit in case he needed to rappel down a cliff. “If you don’t need it, discard it.”

  “Rappel. Aren’t you the optimist. Not rappel, Ashton. Fly.”

  “Well, you know what they say. You can fly with a harness. But you can’t rappel without one.”

  The one adjustment Julian made was to the Camelbak. He wore it on his chest instead of on his back. He didn’t want it to get stuck behind him in the shaft.

  They got to the Observatory by 11:30 and stood silently at the railing around the Transit Circle. The roof was retracted. There was no sun. Sweeney had gone on his break. It was just the two of them in front of the black telescope, side by side, at zero meridian.

  At 11:50 a.m. Julian took off his coat and handed it to Ashton. He pulled the Thermoprene hood over his slicked-back hair. He had no beard, and the dark wavy hair was down to his jaw. Ashton regarded him with a peculiar expression. “It’s okay,” Julian said. “Nothing’s wrong.” He smiled lightly.

  “Nothing’s wrong? You look ready to go deep-sea diving on top of a hill on dry land. Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Do any of us really know where we’re going, Ash?” Julian said, Josephine’s long-ago words catching in his throat. Pulling out the long rawhide rope, he laid the crystal into the palm of his hand and waited for noon. His hand was trembling.

  Ashton studied the shaking hand, the stone. “Boy, Jules, that guy has really done a number on you. Is this the famous sun catcher?”

  “It’s the Josephine catcher.”

  Ashton continued to stare at the stone. “Did you know that dilithium crystals power the U.S.S. Enterprise?”

  “Dilithium is imaginary. This is an actual quartz crystal. This is what mountains are made of.”

  “Yes, so completely different,” Ashton said. “Did you know that the kyber crystal powers the lightsaber?”

  Fondly Julian gazed at his friend. “Yes, I know. Because the living crystal has intense focused energy.”

  “The kyber crystal is also imaginary, Jules.”

  “In four minutes, Ashton, you’ll know that the crystal in my hand is a superweapon.”

  11:56.

  “Is it going to be like magic?” All things considered, Ashton was in pretty good humor. Julian knew why. Because his friend didn’t believe.

  Ashton didn’t believe yet.

  “There’s a magic deeper still which we do not know,” Julian said, quot
ing Devi quoting C.S. Lewis. “I really can’t say how it’s going to be for you.”

  “Jules?”

  “Yes, Ash?”

  “In your best-case scenario, if this shebang works, you’re vanishing and you aren’t coming back?” Ashton looked nothing but skeptical.

  “I’m not coming back.” Julian couldn’t look at his friend as he said it. What was the worst-case scenario? What could he live with? What could he bear?

  “Look at me, Jules.”

  Reluctantly Julian met his friend’s probing gaze. In Ashton’s pale blue eyes was disbelief, unbelief, nonbelief for the undertaking, that was there first, but underneath was something else. A sudden stinging realization that even if the cave was fake, Julian, at least theoretically, was fully prepared to abandon everything real for it, including the man in front of him. That was Julian’s best-case scenario. Leaving Ashton behind forever. And now his friend knew it.

  Julian turned his eyes away, to the footwell beneath the telescope.

  11:58.

  Wordlessly, he gave Ashton a one-armed hug.

  Ashton patted Julian’s back. He didn’t say a word.

  Julian’s palm was flat, the crystal shimmering. He took a breath. “Ash, can you promise me something?”

  “I haven’t done enough?”

  “If I’m gone for good, please go back to L.A. Marry Riley. She loves you. She needs to be your wife. She needs to have your babies.”

  Ashton’s ice blue eyes trickled, like melting kyber crystals. “One crisis at a time, brother,” he said quietly. “I guess we better hope you don’t come back, eh, so you don’t ever have to worry about it.”

  Julian couldn’t worry about it even now. He pushed Ashton an arm’s length away so nothing else would touch him but her crystal and hopped over the railing.

  11:59.

  Mia, Mary, Mallory!

  Most of his days, Julian lived and couldn’t tell if he was real and alive, or not at all. Except for 11:59 on March 20. He was real and alive now. His heart was pounding at two hundred beats a minute. The kingdom was about to open again. The eternity was full of the beggar’s cries.

  Julian didn’t want to relive the dread ride on the black river. He would not confess the terror he felt in the swirling madness of a million unfulfilled desires.