Bathing the Lion
Page 18
It was the day the girl learned about Omi’s new fiancé. Vanessa was outraged. She was too young to know about loneliness or sex or companionship, so for the first time in her short life she felt betrayed. Because as far as the seven-year-old was concerned, Omi’s home and everything in it belonged to her. All the cookies were only for her. She chose the color of the toilet paper in the bathroom, her own pink flamingo drinking mug sat easy to reach in a kitchen cabinet, and she was allowed to watch whatever TV shows she wanted when she visited. Vanessa had long ago staked her claim to so many things there. She knew she was the queen of her grandmother’s heart, so Omi’s apartment was Vanessa’s kingdom and refuge all in one. But now to her bitter dismay she learned someone else had been coming here by invitation.
Thirty-six years had passed since then. The memory of the day and the disappointment had naturally faded from the mind of adult Vanessa Corbin. But smells are unlike any other memories. They remain with us fully a hundred percent forever on some remote desert island of the mind where they keep the lowest profile. If they’re not shaken awake by something, they lie silent and still like sleeping dogs under the table. But once roused, they return as completely as the moment we first encountered them.
Having recalled this memory now, Vanessa looked at Jane and said, “Okay. I’ve thought of something.”
Jane put both hands out in front of her and rubbed them briskly together as if they were cold and she was trying to warm them up. Abruptly stopping, she turned palms up and lifted them together toward Vanessa.
“What? What are you doing?”
Jane said nothing but kept them lifted.
Vanessa looked at the thin black hands. “I don’t understand.” She was so busy watching and wondering what Jane was doing, she’d forgotten to breathe. When she did again, Vanessa inhaled a smell she’d encountered only once in her life: a mixture of sweat, men’s cologne, tobacco, baking apple strudel, old carpets and dust on the sills of closed windows, her grandmother’s Jungle Gardenia perfume, and other Omi things—all combined in one. That’s what Jane was doing with her hands—conjuring the exact smell of Omi’s apartment the day of that first betrayal thirty-six years ago.
But it was impossible because Vanessa hadn’t said anything about the memory or the ingredients comprising the singular odor. She’d only said, “Okay, I’ve thought of something.” So how could Jane have known? How could she have recreated the smell thirteen thousand days later?
To her continuing disbelief, Vanessa breathed in and there it was again. Unexpectedly a powerful flood of other completely forgotten childhood memories washed over her. She wanted to say something about it but the deluge was so intense and wonderful she couldn’t gather any words to speak. She closed her eyes, covered her mouth, and let these forgotten parts of her past live again, even if only for seconds.
Watching, Jane said nothing. From the expression on Vanessa’s face, she saw the other woman move beyond the surprise of experiencing that specific childhood smell again to consternation in both her mind and heart on reencountering so many lost pieces of her history. How could I have forgotten these things? Where have these memories hidden in me all these years?
How volatile and untrustworthy memory is. How naive we are to depend on such a fragile, temperamental mechanism to keep our most important records straight.
Vanessa started to shake and cry at the same time. Jane reached over to touch her but the singer shrank away and threw up her arms to keep the other away. She shook her head again and again, tears sliding crooked paths down her face. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t understand any of this. What is going on?”
“Look at me. Vanessa, look at me!”
Vanessa looked but her eyes were skittish and wild—the eyes of an animal about to bolt.
“I’m going to explain everything I know to you now, but you have to calm down first. Take deep breaths and try to relax, understand? I need your head clear. Breathe slowly, clear your head, and when you tell me you’re ready I’ll explain everything I know. The rest we’re going to have to find for ourselves.” Jane tried to make her voice sound even and calm, assured. She didn’t want to give even a hint she was just as frightened as Vanessa.
But before she could say another word, she was flipped again.
“Who’s the old guy?”
Kaspar and Crebold walked down the country road toward Dean, Vanessa, Jane, and Bill Edmonds. Kaspar had just explained who the others were.
“I don’t know; I’ve never seen him before.”
In a voice as close to a dismissal as he could muster, Crebold scoffed, “What do you mean you don’t know him? This is your dream!”
Kaspar jammed his hands in his pants pockets and stopped walking. “Crebold, you’ve done nothing but complain since this started. You haven’t helped nor have you told me anything helpful. You’re a fully functional mechanic who’s supposed to know how to fix situations like this. Instead you’ve been acting like a nine-year-old pest. So either shut up or help me—one or the other. I’ve got enough questions of my own about what’s happening. I’m trying to figure this all out as fast as I can. Believe me, if I knew what was what I’d tell you.”
Down the road the Corbins were also watching Bill Edmonds and wondering who he was while he spoke to Jane Claudius.
Kaspar and Crebold approached the group. Kaspar felt no inclination to introduce the mechanic to the others.
Jane turned to the Corbins and said, “Bill was with us before.”
“Before what?” Dean asked the white-haired stranger.
Edmonds looked at him and answered, “I had the dream too. I was in it with the rest of you.”
Dean piped up, “But why don’t we remember you? Jane does, but only because she said she knows you from the bar.”
Jane said, “Bill was also a mechanic. That’s why he’s here now, not because I know him. He shared the dream last night too. We’re in another flip now, so something must have happened to him after the dream and he was erased from our memories.”
Without thinking Crebold said, “Sounds like he found a white key. Works every time if you want to disappear someone completely.”
Kaspar nodded. “How do you know these things, Jane?”
“I ate the udesh, remember? After I did, details started coming back to me. They still are—so much is bombarding me right now I feel like I need two heads to hold it. But I know for certain all of us were once mechanics. It’s why we shared the same dream.”
Kaspar asked Crebold, “Did you know that?”
“Yes.”
Dean tipped his head toward Crebold. “Who’s he?”
“Another mechanic.”
“Why’s he here? I didn’t dream him—did anyone else?”
Kaspar said, “He’s part of my life, part of my last flip.”
They were silent a while. Jane had explained to Dean and Bill Edmonds both what mechanics and a flip were. She’d already told Vanessa these things at the shopping mall right before the next flip brought the two women back here to the part of the dream on the country road with the others.
“Wait a minute—where’s the…?” Jane turned around looking for Blackwelder, the chair from the children’s book she liked so much. It was twenty feet away on the side of the road. “So there’s the chair, which means the elephant with the map or whatever on its side should be here soon. Maybe we’ll be able to read that map now and it’ll help us figure things out.”
Dean’s voice was sad but firm. “But we don’t know how long we’re going to be here, Jane. The next flip could happen any second and then what? We’ll all be shot off like buckshot to different parts of our lives. Who knows if we’ll ever be together again? I may be five years old next, which means none of you will be around. That’s what a flip does, right? You said we keep bouncing around different years of our lives like a pinball.”
“Yes, that’s right. But maybe not this time—he might be a clue.” Kaspar pointed a thumb at Crebold. “If th
is were a normal flip, he wouldn’t be here; mechanics are never in flips—they just cause them. I should have had my experience with him in the café but when I flipped from there, Crebold should have remained. He wasn’t in our dream—he came after we woke up, when I got to Vienna. But he’s here now. Why? How did it happen?” Kaspar said this while looking at Crebold because he was the only active mechanic among them. If anyone would know the answer to these questions, it had to be him.
Crebold said, “I don’t know.”
“You have to know—you’re a mechanic.”
“No, I really don’t, Kaspar; I’m flying blind here, just like you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
The two men glared at each other; they looked ready to fight.
Dean stepped forward and touched Crebold’s arm. “You’re a mechanic but you really don’t know what’s happening?”
Crebold looked angrily at the hand touching him. “No.”
Dean turned to his partner. “Then what do you know, Kaspar? Look—this is a question for us: If we were all mechanics, then some of the knowledge must be inside us somewhere still. It’s obviously beginning to show itself but not fast enough. So what do we know? What do we know right now? Let’s try to pool our knowledge and see if there’s something helpful.”
“I did it already, sort of.” Jane pulled out a piece of paper and skimmed it before speaking. “Dean said he doesn’t remember anything from his days as a mechanic. Vanessa’s spotty—she recognized and knew about the Aurora Cobb, but nothing else. For me, lots of stuff has been coming into my head since I ate the udesh. I know it’s connected to this but I can’t process it all yet. There’s just so much and it’s overwhelming me. Lots of it I simply don’t understand.
“Bill, what about you?”
Edmonds shook his head and looked at the ground. “Nothing. Forget me in this—I don’t know anything.”
“Kaspar?”
Kaspar Benn, retired mechanic and until recently contented occupant of planet Earth, looked at Jane and said honestly, “I remember almost everything, but it’s no help now because I can’t do anything with what I know. I have no power—only the knowledge. It’s like having an airplane with an empty gas tank. I know about Aurora Cobbs and flips and lots of other things mechanics know, but as far as putting any of the knowledge to use, I can’t.” Something dawned on him and he said to Crebold, “But you can. Try red slap. Just try it. Why not? You have nothing to lose and it might help us.”
Edmonds spluttered, “Red slap? What the hell is that?”
Crebold pulled on one ear and looked at the fingers to see if anything was on them. “It’s a translation. Mechanics speak the language of wherever they are; ‘red slap’ is a human translation of a mechanic’s phrase.”
Before Edmonds could ask what it meant, Dean asked excitedly, “It’s a mechanic’s phrase? Then say it in your language.”
“Say what?”
“Say ‘red slap’ in Mechanic language. Maybe some of us’ll understand now and it’ll help. We have nothing to lose.”
Crebold shrugged. “Okay.” Putting his hands on his hips he looked straight ahead and spoke what sounded like high-pitched gobbledygook. Vanessa, Kaspar, and Jane immediately flew backward and fell sprawling on the ground as if they’d been flung in the air by a cartoon giant. Vanessa squawked like a crow while Jane staggered and stumbled back to her feet as fast as she could.
“I was afraid of that.” Kaspar stood up and brushed off his pants. “Damn it.”
“I knew it would happen.”
“Shut up, Crebold, you did not. If you’re so prescient and informed, tell us why you’re here in my flip, Mr. Mechanic. Huh? Why? Just shut up and let me think about this because you obviously haven’t.”
“What happened?” Dean asked while trying to pull Vanessa back to her feet. She wasn’t doing much to help him.
“I think I might have broken something,” she whined.
Crebold looked at Vanessa Corbin. “Landing on that fat ass? I don’t think so.” He shifted his glance to Dean. “It happened because those three know a few things—words, elements … about mechanics but not nearly enough to fully understand them. As soon as I spoke our language, they hit what you would call our ‘firewall.’ It’s a form of protection around mechanics, our language and knowledge, so nothing can make sense of how we work or destroy us. It’s a protection against Chaos. For example if someone has even the slightest inkling of what our language means, like you three do now, when they get even close to real comprehension the firewall repels them.”
Dean asked, “Did you know it was going to happen, Kaspar?”
“I was afraid it might, yes.”
“Then why did you suggest it?”
Frustrated, Kaspar made an exasperated face. “Because we’ve got to explore all possibilities now, Dean. Normally mechanics can fix any problem that arises no matter what it is. But this is different; look at how confused Crebold is about what’s going on.
“Even mechanics don’t understand how to handle what happens when a Somersault hits or how to fix everything it breaks. It’s like being in an Alaskan blizzard with hundred-mile-an-hour winds and zero visibility. You’re stuck in the middle of it while trying to get your bearings and find a way out, or at least to shelter.”
Crebold added, “But there’s no shelter from Chaos until it passes by.”
Kaspar looked at him. “There’s got to be. There simply has got to be, Crebold.”
Dean’s voice dropped on the weight of his next question. “So are Somersaults just pure Chaos or Evil and mechanics Gods? Or God?”
Crebold said in a quiet voice, “We’re more like fireflies.”
“Fireflies? What do you mean?”
Surprised by the peculiar answer, Kaspar repeated Dean’s question. “Yes—what do you mean?”
“Human beings love the daytime because they love light; it’s where they flourish. Some say they prefer the night, but not most. Because night is when you let your guard down and are most vulnerable to the disturbing things—like doubt, sorrow, or regret. People bruise more easily at night.
“During the day you’re busy with your lives and have little time to let your minds drift, wonder, or worry. But at night most people turn off their busy selves and rest. Or they go searching for things to keep themselves busy and diverted until the next day comes. By running into the night, they’re running away from it.”
All five people listened closely to Crebold, waiting to hear where he was going with this. Particularly Kaspar, who had never heard the other mechanic talk this way before.
“I’ve noticed most people are at their best during the day, in the light. Night fascinates you with its mystery and potential, but it’s ominous too because things are easily hidden or lost in the dark, especially control. Most species I’ve encountered are powerless there. No matter where that dark is—inside or out—you are all at its mercy. It’s harder to lose things and easier to find them, including yourself, in the light.”
“What does any of this have to do with fireflies?”
Crebold nodded, agreeing he’d gotten off track. “Think of the times you see fireflies. Think of when they appear—always on late spring or summer nights. They only show up in beautiful weather and always right before nightfall, ushering in the real dark.
“Children notice them first because they’re more attuned to such things—the first snowfall, the colors and shapes of stones, or when fireflies show up on summer nights. Kids are usually the first ones to shout, look, fireflies! Or the child in you is the one who notices them.
“Fireflies stop the dark for a moment with their fire, like someone lighting a match, which is then quickly blown out. But it’s a fragile fire, weak and brief. That’s what makes fireflies so dreamlike and endearing: like creatures from a fairy tale that delight you a while before they go away and you return to the tasks of real life.”
“Crebold, you sound completely different.”
“When we’re faced with something huge like a Somersault, we’re useless. It’s like a billion fireflies trying to light up the night.” Crebold paused, took a breath, and continued in a low sorrowful voice. “This is what I, as a mechanic, think is going on here. But don’t take my word as anything more than one opinion from someone as confused about all of this as you are.” He swallowed and began speaking again. Only this time what came out were words none of them understood, including Jane and Kaspar.
Kaspar recognized the words but had no idea what they meant.
From the look on his face and the calm way he was speaking, it was plain Crebold thought he was making perfect sense and the others understood him.
Dean frowned. Edmonds’s mouth dropped open a little while he listened to the unintelligible language. Vanessa just stood there looking peeved as hell at Crebold for his cruel remark about her big ass. She didn’t pay attention to what he was jabbering about.
“Crebold?”
“What’s he saying? Why is he talking like that?”
“I don’t know. Crebold, stop! We don’t understand you. You’re speaking in the Fourth. Do you know you’re speaking the Fourth Language to us? Can you hear yourself?”
Crebold stopped. Looking at Kaspar, he shook his head no. Hesitantly he touched his mouth as if checking to see if it was the same one that had spoken the words.
Jane asked, “What’s the Fourth?”
Kaspar said, “The Fourth Language is a mechanic’s last line of defense. Remember he described the firewall around their regular language? The Fourth is used by them to communicate with each other only after all their other firewalls have been broached. It’s not something you learn—it’s part of a mechanic’s DNA. But it can never be accessed voluntarily; it kicks in by itself when all other systems fail and we need a totally secure way of communicating with each other to solve a problem. I recognize the language but don’t know what he’s saying. It can only be understood when the mechanics handling a problem are at the same level.”