Bathing the Lion

by Jonathan Carroll

  “Sit down, Kaspar. I think I might have just figured something out.” Jane picked up the condiment cup and wiggled it. “Your dip, right?”

  He gritted his teeth, preparing for criticism. “You don’t like it?”

  “I love it, but that’s not the point. How did you know it’d taste so good? I never would have thought to combine those two flavors.”

  His mind paused and sat silent seconds thinking over her question. “How did I know? Um, well, I like wasabi and I like cranberry sauce.”

  Jane shook her head. “Lame answer. I like them too but never would have thought to mix them.”

  He looked relieved. “Okay, then maybe because I’m a culinary genius?”

  She gave a fake smile, which died a moment later. “Close, but not quite.” Putting the cup down, she wiped her hands on a napkin. She took a long drink of water, stopped, drank some more. “You said Crebold compared mechanics to ants in a colony, right?”

  Kaspar nodded.

  “After everything I’ve heard, this is what I’ve figured out: like ants, every mechanic has a specific job to do—only one task until you die.”

  “Well not die, Jane—retire.”

  “Okay, but until you’re retired you do one job and nothing else, right? According to Crebold you were trained to be a ‘Tenbrink,’ whatever that is. A worker ant’s sole job is to carry a load from A to B. When the task is complete, it carries another load from A to B, ad infinitum. It does the same job its whole life long. I know nothing about ants but assume they’re born with the job already programmed into their genes.”

  “What’s your point, Jane?”

  “Like ants, a mechanic’s single purpose is to do one job to help the colony survive, which in our case is the universe. Mechanics weren’t taught to think but to do. I know I’m oversimplifying things, Kaspar, but humor me. As a mechanic, do you remember ever being told to use your imagination?”

  “No, we were given powers and specific instructions on how to use them. It was rare to encounter a situation we couldn’t handle. If it ever happened, our directive was to call in another mechanic and together we managed it.”

  Jane clapped her hands. “Exactly as I thought!”

  Kaspar waited for her to say more, to draw this all together into some kind of brilliant ah-ha! revelation that would drive a stake through the heart of his questions and confusion about what was going on.

  Instead she reached for the saltshaker. She took it, the cup holding the wasabi mix, and her water glass. She lined them up one, two, three next to each other on the table. Pointing to the water she said, “Think of this as the mechanics—they represent order, stability, and the greater good of the cosmos at any cost, okay?”

  Next she pointed to the saltshaker. “This is the Somersault—Chaos, Randomness, and Disorder. The opposite of everything a mechanic is and works to prevent.”

  She picked up the wasabi cup. “And your delicious mix here stands for the humans. Let’s not limit it only to humans and Earth, but to all beings in the universe with the capacity to think and choose for themselves.” She drew a large imaginary circle around the three different objects. “What do they have in common, Kaspar? Mechanics fix things broken by Chaos. They keep things running right in the universe. But they can’t create because they have neither the aptitude nor the tools.

  “In contrast, Chaos can create but it’s always a by-product of the havoc it causes; it’s never intended. Think of a tornado or a hurricane: they create wild and imaginative things like putting a car on top of a tree. But it’s never deliberate. A storm blows in and whatever mess it makes, creative or not, is all incidental.”

  Jane placed the wasabi cup on her open palm. “Now we get to the humans. Chaos and the mechanics have nothing in common. They’re at opposite ends of the spectrum: anarchy and order.

  “But human beings contain elements of both; sometimes they’re chaotic, sometimes organized. Using their imaginations they have the ability to keep order, or create, or cause mayhem and confusion. Most importantly, it’s usually a conscious choice which one we do.”

  Kaspar thought out loud: “Chaos isn’t afraid of mechanics because they’re only capable of keeping order?”

  Jane nodded. “Right, it’s like being afraid of a vacuum cleaner. But it is wary of humans because it knows they’re creative and have the potential to think and act outside the box.” She grinned. “But I believe what Chaos most fears is the fusion of the two—the mechanic and the human: us. Or the mechanic and whatever other combinations are made when they’re retired and given second lives. They become like binary weapons.” She crossed her index fingers in an “X” in front of her face.

  “Retirees are mutts, Kaspar, mixed breeds, and I think Chaos is most afraid of what we’re capable of doing. Former mechanics who have experienced second lives as humans or Martians or Alpha Centaurians? It doesn’t matter where they’ve been because I’m guessing the same holds true for mechanics retired anywhere and like us are now being called back.” Jane drank the rest of the water thirstily, as if what she’d just said had squeezed her dry.

  Kaspar laid the drawings on the table. “What if it was planned, Jane? What if they knew all along Chaos was returning and lied to us when they said we were being retired? But it wasn’t true—they knew full well that one day they’d call us back after we’d experienced these second lives. Assume your theory about mutts is correct. Imagine countless numbers of retired mechanics gathered together, millions of mutts, with all the knowledge and experience they’ve gained from years living as mortals. Reawaken their mechanic, mix it with their mortal side—”

  “—and you’ve got an army,” Jane completed his sentence.

  It wasn’t the word Kaspar had planned to use but it was a good one. He bowed his head in deference to her. “An army—exactly.”

  Kaspar looked at the drawings again. “I just saw something else here I recognize.”

  “Really, what?” Jane leaned forward to see what he was pointing to on one of the papers. It was the same three figures Marley Salloum had singled out back at the bar: the three letters from the Phoenician alphabet. Kaspar remained silent a long time and just kept tapping his finger back and forth between different things on the two papers.

  Jane held back until she couldn’t stand it anymore and blurted out, “What? What do they mean?”

  “This is a will, Jane. It’s my last will.”

  The same thing Marley had said after examining the drawings.

  Kaspar’s voice was soft and calm, no worry or upset in it. “I don’t know what the other figures mean, but I recognize these three now: If you put them together they say I’m going to die soon and Crebold was right—all the rest of what’s written on this sheet is a summing up of what I’ve learned and want to pass on of that knowledge; what I need to pass on.” He pointed to the paper covered with the drawings of ink bottles. “I still don’t get what these signify, though.”

  Jane countered, “Maybe I do.” She described skating with Josephine and finding the black baseball that the girl called “obsidian.” Then about her conversation with Bill’s dying wife and seeing burnt sienna on the wall of the Edmondses’ living room. On the drawing Jane pointed out the ink bottles labeled OBSIDIAN and BURNT SIENNA. “Mrs. Edmonds said each of these colors represents the most important emotion people experience; she called them the letters of the human alphabet.”

  “The colors are our emotions?”

  “I guess—that’s what she said. Then she described how burnt sienna represents the purest, best form of human love. She was very convincing.”

  Kaspar stared at the drawing of bottles and spoke in a voice just above a whisper, “The human alphabet.” He glanced at Jane and said, “I’m going to die soon—die. It says so right there on the paper and I wrote that.”

  “Does it say when or how it will happen?” Jane looked at him but could not look for long. She dropped her eyes to the drawings.

  Kaspar licked his lips
and shook his head. “As soon as they flip you from here again I’ll forget everything that’s happened tonight. I won’t remember any of it—Crebold coming, these drawings and what they mean, this talk we’re having … I’ll forget it all, Jane. I’ll just think I’ve had a quiet evening at home by myself. It’s what happens to anyone who’s left behind after a flip; they have total amnesia about the experience and go right back to their status quo.

  “It’s so wrong because if I at least remembered I was going to die, I’d have the chance to change some things in my life now. Not many because I’m happy with the way it’s gone; I’ve had a wonderful time. But yes, I’d do a few things differently; anyone would.

  “I even thought before about writing notes to myself about your coming here and what’s happened this evening. I’d put them in a drawer where I know I’d find them after you’re gone. But it doesn’t work that way—once you’re flipped, everything vanishes, even secret notes to myself.

  “If I am going to die soon, at least let me know when so I can walk in the woods with my dog a few more times and…”

  As if on cue both dogs lifted their heads and looked in the same direction. D Train growled. D Train never growled.

  Looking at the door Kaspar folded the drawings, handed them to Jane, and told her to put them somewhere safe. She slid them into an inside pocket of her parka and zipped it shut.

  There was a knock at the front door. They looked at each other. Kaspar shook his head as if to say no, he wasn’t expecting anyone. He got up to answer it. Jane didn’t know if she should go with him or not. He left the room with the dogs close behind.

  Moments later Jane felt a kind of tingle in her right elbow that grew quickly into a sharp pain. As she reached to touch the spot and rub it, she vanished.

  Kaspar opened the front door not knowing who or what to expect on the other side. After his conversation with Jane, it could have been anyone or anything. If he knew she was gone now he would have been even more on guard.

  “Dean! What are you doing here?”

  His friend and partner stood on the top of the porch stairs. “I brought you something, Kaspar. Can we talk a minute?”

  “Of course; Jane Claudius is here.”

  “No she’s not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s gone; she was just flipped.”

  Kaspar looked back into the house as if to check on her whereabouts. “I don’t understand.”

  “Jane was flipped; you know what it means. What’s not to understand?” Dean shrugged.

  “Then why do I still remember everything that’s happened tonight? How come my memory hasn’t been erased?”

  “Because I’m here, Kaspar; I came to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  Dean waved him over. “Come outside. It’s a nice night and I’d rather talk out on the porch.”

  “Wait a minute.” Kaspar went back into his house. After checking the living room he walked to the kitchen, but there was no sign of Jane anywhere. Standing in the hall, hands on hips, he tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. No matter what happened now, at least she had his drawings, his small legacy. It was what mattered most. Hopefully those drawings would eventually lead her to something important, once she was able to decipher them.

  When Kaspar returned to the porch Dean was sitting on the top step with his arm around D Train. Kos was nowhere in sight. Kaspar sat down on the other side of his dog. “What’s up, Dean? Why are you here?”

  Dean Corbin looked over the top of the dog’s head and smiled at Kaspar. It was a nice smile, the smile of a friend who likes your company and wants only the best for you. “I assume Jane told you everything?”

  Kaspar nodded. “Everything she knew, which wasn’t a hell of a lot. We figured out some more stuff together by comparing notes.”

  “Did she tell you about us, about you and me? Did she tell you we’re both gonna die before this is over?”

  Hearing these words, Kaspar had a peculiar first reaction—he didn’t know whether the fact scared or interested him. “I knew I was going to die soon, yes—just not how. Jane didn’t either.”

  “I do.” Dean reached into a pocket and brought out a jazzy-looking cell phone. He tapped it a few times. Kaspar started to speak but Dean cut him off: “Hold it a second. Let me just get this working.” He tapped the screen more times and then nodded he was ready. Handing the phone to Kaspar, he said, “Watch.”

  An obviously homemade video clip jittered on. The view was jerky at first but quickly steadied. It held on an ugly giant insect, black as pitch, scuttling from left to right across a gray cement floor. When the bug was halfway across the frame, a hand holding a thick brown work boot smashed down on top of it, crushing the bug into instant black and yellow goo. Kaspar winced but what happened next made him gasp: instantaneously hundreds of tiny black bugs streamed out from beneath the boot in all directions—pregnant mama’s surviving babies running for their lives. Kaspar was so revolted he instinctively opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

  The clip ended and the screen went black. Dean put the phone in his lap. “This is what’s going to happen to us, my friend.”

  Disgusted by what he’d seen, Kaspar asked sarcastically, “A big boot’s going to come down out of the sky and crush us?”

  “We’re disposable, Kaspar, like the bug. They’re going to let us die and then take whatever they need from us. Nice, huh? I don’t know what’s going to happen to the others, but I know this is our fate. No, they’re not going to stomp us with a boot; they’re just going to leave us for roadkill.”

  Kaspar looked at the phone in Dean’s lap, remembering what he had just seen there. “How do you know about this?”

  Dean pulled a folded piece of paper out of a shirt pocket and handed it over.

  When Kaspar saw what was on it he started: it was identical to one of the drawings Jane showed him, a drawing he had purportedly made in the future.

  “Where did you get this? It’s exactly like one I did.”

  Dean nodded. “I know; but I made this drawing. In the dream, all five of us copied a map we saw on the side of an elephant. This is what I drew. Now I realize every one of us drew exactly the same map; we just didn’t recognize it in the dream because none of us had the powers back yet.” Dean stopped and touched a temple with his fingers as if to slow the buzz in his head. “We thought we’d all drawn different things, different maps. But that was only because each of us was at a different level of conversion back to the mechanic mind. And we still are, Kaspar; it’s like we’re all in different grades at school. Even Jane isn’t complete yet—if she were, if she’d regained her full powers by now, she could have refused this last flip and stayed here.

  “I was able to make myself come after I deciphered some of these figures on this paper. It’s like the more you grasp what you were once capable of doing, the more power you have.”

  Kaspar pointed to what he recognized on the page. “But these symbols—these exact three—say I’m going to die and the rest of what’s here is a list of things I’ve learned about life as a human; not you, me.”

  Dean nodded in agreement. “I totally agree—it is the same map, believe me, but we perceive the images differently. Every one of us interprets it in their own way because we have all lived different lives both here and before.

  “For example I saw the fact of my death down here.” Dean pointed to figures and numbers on the bottom right corner of the paper, far away from Kaspar’s three. Then he pointed to other things on the paper. “These say something about fruit, which I don’t understand, and these are about you, me, and Edmonds all dying. It doesn’t say how or when, just that we will and soon.

  “This group of figures told me specifically how to come here.” He pointed to the middle of the page where a bunch of what looked like ancient runes and Internet icons were lined up.

  “What about the women, Dean? What about Jane and Vanessa? Does it mean they’ll die too?”<
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  Dean shook his head. “I don’t know, Kaspar. I only understand some of what’s on my map. I don’t know what’s going to happen to them.”

  SIX

  Vanessa Corbin never told her husband, Dean, she’d once killed a man and gotten away with it. That’s not to say she didn’t want to tell him; it’s just whenever a moment arrived when it would have been suitable to make the admission, to tell, to come clean to the one person on Earth who understood her better than any other, something always stopped her. After their third year together she decided not to tell. The right moment had come and gone at least ten times but she’d always found excuses not to do it. Her reasons for that failure varied from the reasonable to the very selfish, but the result was the same. So once and for all she chose to stay mum and let her deepest secret live on the skin of their relationship like a precancerous lesion, and hope nothing ever caused it to turn malignant.

  Looking at her now, Crebold said the dead man’s name, “Barry Rubin,” then waited to see how she would react to the verbal hand grenade dropped in her lap.

  She didn’t. To his dismay, although it was the first time she’d heard the name in years, Vanessa’s expression remained placid. Nor had it changed earlier when Crebold walked up to her table in the restaurant and asked if he could sit down. She said nothing but gestured lazily with a finger at the empty chair across from her.

  He sat but kept silent, waiting to hear what she’d say about his abrupt reappearance in her life. After a few seconds of staring coldly at him, the chubby woman went back to eating the piece of pecan pie in front of her. Vanessa’s clear indifference offended Crebold, so he chose to do away with any niceties and just drop the Barry bomb on her and watch the smithereens it blew her into.

  Nothing—not one smithereen.

  With a fork she cut off a small piece of pie and brought it up to her mouth. She paused it there to admire the deep caramel color and sugary glisten over the shard of nut. Then she slid the sliver into her mouth and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t be distracted from giving her tongue’s full attention to the tasty treat.