Bones of The Moon

by Jonathan Carroll

  Very sincerely yours,

  Alvin Williams

  «Oh, light your cigarette with it, Cullen. Alvin Williams is a nut.»

  «Do you think I should call his doctor and tell him about it?»

  «I guess you could if you want to, but I wouldn't bother. Alvin is mad at you, that's all. But mad people _get_ mad. I say screw him.»

  «Eliot, you're oversimplifying by a few miles.»

  «Then call the doctor if you want. I don't know what else to tell you.» He smoothed the hair over Mae's head and shifted her from one arm to the other. «Enough of loony Alvin. Are you going to tell me the new Rondua dream or not?»

  «Well, this is all part of it. I'm kind of scared to tell it to you.»

  «Why?»

  «Because the face across the sky was Alvin Williams' face. _He's_ Jack Chili.»

  «Hah, that's perfect! You're like a casebook history, Cullen. You keep thinking that dreaming about Rondua is bad for you, but you're so wrong. Some little catharsis faucet inside you turns on each night and you get to wash away every bit of guilt and fear and . . . everything bad in your life from Day One until now. By the time you get through this whole thing, you'll probably be able to _ascend_, for God's sake!» He tsked his lips at me and shook his head. «It's disgusting, because it's all so neat and completely logical. What's the worst thing in the world you can imagine happening to you? Having to face Alvin Williams again. Now, you go to sleep at night and who is it you're terrified of facing in your dreams? Alvin Williams, multiplied a thousand times. And who are you going to _have_ to face? Alvin Williams. Cullen, you would have bored Sigmund Freud in ten seconds. _The White Hotel_ you're not. And anyway, what happened after Alvin Chili appeared in the sky?»

  The name Alvin Chili made me laugh and that cleared the air.

  «Alvin Chili told us we had to come alone to him. Just the two of us. He said it was either that or else he would kill everyone in the meadow right then.»

  «Even that makes sense. Stop looking at me like that, Cullen! You took literature courses in college, didn't you? Well, quest stories are always like that. Big armies go out to fight, but in the end it always boils down to just one against one. King Arthur, Beowulf and Grendel, even _Lord of the Rings_ . . . they're all the same. There's a final, _final_ pitched battle that decides everything and it's only between the hero and maybe, at most, one or two of his Musketeer buddies. In your case, it's Pepsi and you against Jack Chili, alias Axe Boy Williams.»

  I got up and walked from here to there and back again. It did no good.

  «There's something else too.»

  «What?»

  «Eliot, you've never once told me the names of any of your lovers, have you?»

  «No. Is it important? Do you want to know?»

  «You don't have to tell me. Wyatt Leonard. Andre Romig. Shaw Ballard.»

  «Jesus, how do you know that? Did you have me tailed?»

  «I didn't have to. Eliot, I just _know_. I suddenly know all of these things that I don't _want_ to know. Listen to me. Danny's mother is going to get better, but the day after tomorrow they'll have a big scare with her at the hospital because of her operation and Danny will have to stay down there another ten days.»

  «What else?»

  «What else? Things, Eliot. Little _hors d'oeuvres_ of the future, things now. Your lovers' names, things like that. Remember you said you thought I had powers? That that's how I knocked down Weber? Well, you're right. I have them. I can do things I don't want to do. I guess I really did zap Weber. Then I took the zap off him with a magic word. Then there was the gypsy woman in Milan. How's this – your friend Wyatt Leonard is going to be fired in a month. But he thinks he's going to get a raise.»

  «Shit!»

  «That's right, Eliot. Shit.»

  «Do you see anything bad, Cullen? Is anyone going to die or anything?»

  «I don't know; that's not there. Or maybe it is, but I haven't seen it yet. I don't have any control over this – it all comes like a big wind and blows me over. I saw a man in the street today who is about to inherit a thousand dollars from an uncle he hated. I knew that, but I didn't even know what the guy's name was. There are always gaps in whatever comes to me, I never see the whole picture of anything.»

  «What about the stock market?»

  «Don't be stupid, Eliot.»

  «I'm not. Do you know how many people with the kind of powers you're talking about have lived? Lots! They had them and they got used to them. They had to, it was as simple as that.»

  «Bullshit, Eliot! It's not simple, and you _don't_ get used to them. You don't shoot purple beams of killer light out of your hand. . . . You don't dream about a Rondua night after night and get used to it.»

  «You do! You're going to have to, Cullen; whether your powers and Rondua are linked or not. Like it or not, it's all you, honey, and you can't pull those things out of you like bad teeth.»

  «I know. I want to show you something else. Have you got a cigarette?»

  I lit up and let it burn down partway before I began. «Watch this.» Taking a big drag, I rounded my lips to blow a smoke ring. Puff. The ring came rolling out, a smoky-gray doughnut. Five inches from my mouth, it came together and formed a perfect little car which drove across the room at eye level until it disappeared in the air.

  «What would you like next, Eliot? A truck? A snail? Any requests? How about a pug dog like Zampano?»

  It was easy. My copy of Eliot's dog came out and ran across the air after the car.

  «Hey there, Foxy Lady. How'd you like to fuck a champion?»

  I looked at the man and gave him my angriest scowl. «Go away. will you?»

  My arms were full of groceries and I was half a block from home. Mae was in the apartment listening to Beatles records with Eliot while he finished a review for his newspaper.

  «Hey, you think I got herpes? No way, beautiful! Come on, I'll show you moves your husband doesn't know. Listen, I'm a sex instructor. First lesson free.»

  «Leave me alone. Drift. _Die_. Okay? Just leave me alone.» I should have kept my mouth shut and just kept walking straight ahead.

  Moving alongside me, the creep put his hand on my elbow and squeezed it like it was a melon on sale at the market. «Don't go so fast, sweetie. You and me gotta talk. You're a super fox, you know that? I think you dialed my number.»

  I stopped and looked at him. A black beret, dirty «Stanford University» sweatshirt, dirty black sweatpants, dirty green sneakers with pink laces.

  «What's your name, Scuzzball?»

  «Hey, now we're talking. I knew you was cool. My name ain't Scuzzball; it's Swift. All my good friends call me Swift, little lady. What's yours?»

  «Look at your hand, Swift. Watch it carefully.»

  The fingers quickly undid their crabbed grip on my elbow and started leaping around in the air. It looked as if they were trying to play an invisible piano. One down, the next up, next down. I blinked my eyes and made them go faster. _Faster_.

  «What's this shit? He tried to move away.

  «Stand still, Swift.»

  I made his arm rise high above his head. His hand, the fingers still playing, went round and round in quick wild circles. I made him do that too.

  «Cut it out, man! Fuck off! Lemme go!»

  I was so calm. «Now look at your other hand, Swiftie.» Up it went. «Now, keep them right there. Right where they are. I'll see you later, okay?»

  He screamed at me as I walked away. When I got to our building, I let him go.

  «Eliot, I liked it. I _liked_ being able to do that to him!»

  «So what? I would too, Cullen. Don't sound so guilty. The little scum deserved it and we both know it. 'Wanna fuck a champion.' God, what dreck! I've been trying to tell you all along it can work to your benefit. You should be thankful you have it.»

  We were in a cab going downtown – Mae too. A splashy new restaurant called «The Future of Lightning» had opened on Third Avenue in the sixties and was the
talk of all the glossy magazines. Danny had called earlier and, as predicted, said his mother had had a setback; he would have to stay a little longer in North Carolina. Our conversation was to the point and entirely too brief. The sound of my husband's quiet, solid voice reminded me once again how much I liked to chat with him. Schmoozing was a favorite hobby of ours, and when we hadn't had a good gab for a while, life wasn't as much fun. This was the first time we had been separated for any length of time since we'd been together, and I was really taken aback to find how hollow parts of my day were without Dan around.

  Just before we hung up, he suggested that since he couldn't be there to take me, why didn't I invite Eliot out to dinner somewhere. I said I would and both of us waited for the other to hang up after we'd said good-bye.

  Conversations with Danny were a long wander through familiar greatly loved countryside. Talking with Eliot, on the other hand, was like an evening spent in a curbside chair at a hopping Italian restaurant. His words and ideas buzzed in and out like kids on orange scooters – in a hurry everywhere. Gusts of noise, color, honking, crazy combinations that often left you gaga. Little of it ever slowed down enough for you to really focus on, but the happy frenzy did your heart good.

  «Cullen, stop looking at me so damned skeptically! Do you think I have a green head? Mae, your mother has _several_ levels to go before she reaches enlightenment.»

  «I'm not skeptical, Eliot, I'm just worried. What if these powers or whatever get stronger? Do you know what I've been thinking about all day? Remember _The Sorcerer's Apprentice_, the Walt Disney cartoon? The sorcerer goes out for a while and leaves his magic wand lying around; his apprentice picks it up and – '

  «– And he doesn't know how to control it and disaster strikes! You're talking about one of my favorite films, Cullen. Don't you think I had a childhood too? Listen, how many times do I have to tell you – if your powers get stronger, then you wait to see what _kind_ of stronger and take it from there.»

  A little surprisingly, he touched my cheek and ran one finger down to my chin. «Always remember too that I'm around if you need my help.»

  I took his hand, squeezed it and gently bit the finger. «I know you are, pal. And I'm really happy you are too.»

  The decor of «The Future of Lightning» was chic-Zen monastery: stripped and sealed wood floors in a nice herringbone pattern, no-nonsense white tables and bentwood chairs, an incongruous rock garden in the middle of it all. A big potted palm off in one corner looked strangely forlorn and out of place.

  «Cullen, don't look now but . . . check who's over there to the left.»

  Weber Gregston held a sparerib in one hand and gestured with it while he talked to the beautiful and famous June Sillman, the star of _Sorrow and Son_. That first unexpected sight of him sent goose-pimples over my skin like a searchlight over the ocean.

  The maftre d' showed us to a table on the other side of the room. It was just as well because I didn't know how I felt about talking to him, even after everything that had happened.

  «How do you feel, Cullen?»

  «Kind of funny. I'd like to talk to him, but there's a part of me that doesn't want to at all. Maybe he'll just add to my complications.»

  Mae chose that moment to pick up my water glass and throw it on the floor. _Crash_! Thank you, Mae. A waiter moved right in to clean up the mess, but the noise had been loud and drawn a lot of eyes.

  «He's coming!»

  «So he's coming? Don't make me feel uncomfortable, Eliot.»

  «Hi, Weber.»

  «Hi, Eliot. Hi, Mae James. Hi, Mom James.» He patted Mae on the head, then came around the table and kissed me. «Where the hell have you been? Every time I call you no one's home.»

  «My husband and I were in Italy for a few days. We just got back.»

  «Okay – listen, you and I have got to talk about something. It's about this dream I had the other night.» His face was so serious it made me fidgety and he looked at Eliot to see if he was in on the whole Rondua thing.

  «I know about the dreams, Weber. She told me everything.»

  «Good, then let me tell you what happened.» He started to sit down, but saw Eliot gesture with his head toward Weber's table, where June Sillman was sitting alone now and not looking too happy.

  «June can wait a few minutes. This dream can't. Cullen, do you know Fire Sandwich yet? Have you met him?»

  «No.»

  «He says he knows you. He said he's a friend of Squeeny.»

  «Who's Squeeny, Weber?»

  «You don't know him either?»

  «Nope. Never heard of either of them.»

  «All right, that doesn't even matter. I stopped dreaming about Rondua about two weeks ago. The dreams were coming hard and fast, night after night, but then one night they just stopped and then there weren't anymore. I didn't understand it – they're there a hundred percent one night, and then the next they're gone for good. And I haven't had another since then. Rondua's left my head forever, I think. But the last dream I had, Cullen, was a doozie. There were big battles and strange animals. . . . You know what I'm talking about. Anyway, I talked to this one guy named Fire Sandwich. He said you were going to have to fight Jack Chili and that Chili knew how to beat you.»

  «I already know that, Weber.»

  He was about to say something, but stopped and looked at me strangely. «So you know about your son too? About what happens to him?»

  «What? What are you talking about?»

  «Do you really want me to tell you?»

  «Yes, of course.»

  «He dies.»

  7

  Leaving Mr. Tracy was easier to do than I had imagined. The three of us walked silently across the now-empty meadow. All of the others were gone: the silver zeppelin, the music, the exotic languages and laughter around the hundreds of campfires. The safety of our numbers had gone home to await the outcome of our final confrontation with Jack Chili.

  «I wish there was something more I could do to help you, Pepsi. Not so long ago I thought I had some power, but our friend Martio showed me I was wrong about that.»

  «Do you think my plan will work, Mr. Tracy?»

  «No. I told you that before and I don't even know why you are going to try. Jack Chili is too blind and rancorous to see your point, Pepsi. You're completely right; Rondua could work the way you've suggested, but he'll never understand that way of thinking.» The dog's voice was all defeat.

  No matter what happened to us, I was convinced that Mr. Tracy would die soon, either because this fear had grown into a cancer or simply because he was just plain used-up. There seemed so little left in him that, to a certain degree, I was glad to be leaving before life rushed in to close on him right in front of us. His strength and courage had buoyed us up for so long. To see him without any of those things now was enough to make you fatally sad.

  «You remember the route, Pepsi? Follow the Dead Handwriting until you come to the Hot Shoes. Carmesia knows the way, but you'll leave her at the Shoes and then the two of you will be on your own.»

  Pepsi nodded and without another word, turned to leave. His face was twisted as if it had just been cut with a knife. I couldn't say good-bye that way. I went up to Mr. Tracy and put my arms as far around his neck as I could. The tears began before I got the first word out.

  «Good-bye, Mr. Tracy. I love you. I love you very much.»

  «Good-bye, Cullen. Do whatever you can for the boy. Then stand back and the rest will be up to him. It's his job now; you've done yours. He's a very good boy.» With the slightest movement of his leg, he pushed me away. Then he turned and began to limp back to the tent. I could feel his steps through the ground. I watched him until my heart hurt too much. Luckily, Carmesia the negnug marched up below me and said we had to get going – Pepsi was already «under way.»

  We came to a valley that was jade green on one side, sheer black rock face on the other. Carved everywhere into the rock were mammoth letters and numbers, enigmatical words, sketches of
half-completed things: animals, futuristic buildings and furniture and structures the likes of which I had never seen in Rondua, almost-human faces. The Dead Handwriting. Like those mysterious stone faces on Easter Island, no one in Rondua knew where the Handwriting came from. According to Carmesia, many thought it was one of the early gods doodling while he tried to think up what he wanted to do next with Rondua.

  While we stared, Carmesia bent to the ground and started sniffing all over the place like a hunting dog hot on the track of something. Pepsi and I looked at each other, both equally mystified.

  «The heat comes from up ahead; I can smell its direction. The Shoes should be very close.»

  Everything seemed very simple now. Pass the Hot Shoes (whatever they were), say good-bye to Carmesia the negnug, then walk straight on until we came to Jack Chili and whatever horrors he had waiting for us.

  I once watched a documentary on animals in Africa. Beside the usual vaulting gazelles and funny-looking outraged hippos, there was one part of the film that left me reeling when it was over. A lion, slim and airborne all the way, chased a zebra across a plain and won. Grabbing the zebra by the nose, the lion shook it back and forth like a rag. It was hard to watch, God knows, but the most awesome thing about the picture was the zebra's reaction. Once caught, it stood stock-still and allowed itself to be devoured. The film's narrator calmly said that brutal as it might appear to us, nature had actually provided a merciful device for this final moment. The zebra stood so still because its system had already shut off. It had gone into such complete shock that, so far as scientists could figure, it felt nothing from then on despite what was actually happening to it.