"Oh, yeah. Here." She set the greasy box in his lap and leaned back against the boy, pillowing herself on his lax body. "Lemme think, now. How did it go?It was like a poem, or something."
The pizza was unappetizing, but it was warm and it was food. Raymond took a wedge and ate it. Whoever had seasoned the tomato sauce on it had no respect for spices. He waited for the girl, who muttered and giggled to herself, then suddenly sat up straight."I got it," she announced, and then recited,
"Butterfly sandwiches,
Crunchable things
Crisp little bodies
With flower-hued wings."
Then sagged back into the seat, laughing until she choked. The driver's face went dark with anger. He took the cigarette from his mouth, and flicked it out the window. "Damnit, Chrissy," he growled, and his voice was so ugly Raymond felt the hair on the back of neck stand up. Chrissy heard the threat, for she sat up suddenly, her face contrite.
"Eat something while I remember. I'll get it right this time, I promise. Jer, why don't you pass the bottle back? Give the gypsy-man something to drink with his pizza. And give me some time to 'member it right," she added in a confidential aside to Raymond.
"No, thank you," he said.
She took the bottle, drank from it, while streetlamps and neon crawled past the car's windows. He forced himself to stomach another piece of pizza, telling himself that no matter how insipid it was, it was food, and who knew when he would be offered food again? The driver watched him and Raymond watched him back. Chrissy leaned against him suddenly, rubbing her forehead against his shoulder. "Shit," she said miserably. "I'm losing it, I'm coming down. Jer,you got anymore stuff? No?" Her face crumpled as the driver shook his head. "Damn. This is so depressing. Lemme have another drink and maybe I can remember the poem." As she lifted the bottle again,she asked him, "Aren't you going to eat some more?"
Raymond shook his head slowly, then asked, "Earlier, there was another girl with you. Where is she?"
"Fuck, I don't know. We were supposed to give her to the fiddler-oh, damn, I wasn't supposed to say that. But I guess it's okay, now, I mean, he ate some of it anyway." Now her words were addressed to the driver, who was shaking his head angrily.
Raymond closed the box slowly. He handed it to her and she took it back, knowing he knew. A stupid way to have failed, and for one instant he thought he saw sympathy in her eyes. The driver pulled the car into an alley and the brick walls threw back at them the vibrations of the leashed engine.
"Say the poem, damn you!" the driver snarled.
Chrissy turned to Raymond.
"The Coachman has fallen to hoof and to horn.
The Raven is caught and will die before morn.
The poor Owl is buried beneath dirt and stone
Leaving the Dove, to die all alone."»
Raymond didn't let his face change. After a moment, she wailed, "It's a stupid poem, I told that thing it was a stupid poem. I like mine better. Butterfly sandwiches, crunchable things, crisp little bodies with flower-hued wings, butterfly sandwiches, crunchable things, crisp little bodies…"
The driver swore and got out. He left his door open,and a stream of cold air flowed into the car, stinging Raymond's cheeks. He was sweating suddenly. There was no pain, not yet. Maybe there wouldn't be any.Maybany. Maybeonly this, his body ignoring him. The driver's opened his door and dragged him out, leaving him against a wall between two garbage cans. Chrissy suddenly leaned from the open door. "Take his tambourine," she begged. "I really want it, it made such pretty music before," but the driver slammed her door shut, narrowly missing her.
"Bye-bye, Owl," he said, smirking at Raymond."The poem sucks, but I think we can all appreciate the sentiment." He paused. "I understand it don't really kill you. It just makes you look dead. Course,you look dead until you really are. What a trip, huh?"He laughed, then paused to shake out another cigarette and light it. He tossed the match at Raymond.Raymond.Iton his coat sleeve and burned a small hole before it went out.
"Please, Jer, just take the tambourine," Chrissy was begging again as she leaned out the window.
"Shut up, bitch." He slapped her casually and she fell back against the seat, not even crying. Then the driver's got back inside the car and it pulled away, became twin red lights that turned a corner. Raymond sat. He could still move his eyes, but it was getting harder. He looked down at his hands, lax in his lap,the fingers going white in the cold night. Then, without closing his eyes, everything became fuzzy. Then sight was gone completely and he felt as if he had fallen deep inside the black earth,
16 NOV 1 8:45
Cold mountain water,
coming from below
Who are you to ask?
Who am I to know?
"STARS OVERHEAD"
The bar was dark, and stuffy after the cold outside air. The Pig and Whistle was only four blocks from the station and had been the local cop bar for as long as Stepovich had been around. He'd heard from Ed that once the bar had tried to foster a genteel tavern,inn atmosphere, but that the owner had given it up when a bunch of the guys got together and had a new signboard made for him. The antiqued board portrayed a pig in a blue uniform tooting on a silver whistle. The sign was gone now, but so was the attempt at atmosphere. The Pig and Whistle was what it was: a cop bar.
Tonight's crowd was typical. The clientele varied from off-duty patrolmen in worn sweat shirts and jeans to detectives in jackets and ties still. What didn't vary was the way, even here, no one was ever completely relaxed. Eyes moved constantly, men shifted every time the door opened. Most of the women were cops, or office personnel from the station. There were a scattering of cop groupies, uniformly scorned by the female officers. "like we can't get enough of each other all day," Stepovich muttered. "We got to hang around each other all night, too." He lifted his mug and drained it.
"Wha-?" Durand asked.
"Nothing," Stepovich told him.
Durand was holding a plastic sack of ice against his jaw and drinking cold beer. He still couldn't talk much. They'd moved to a table in the corner after the bartender had asked what happened to his face."I slammed his head in the car door by accident,"Stepovich had explained. "Radio squawked and he ducked to grab it just as 1 shut the door." The story was just weird enough to sound plausible. Something Ed had taught him a long time ago. "If you're going to tell a lie, tell a memorable one. Makes it easier to keep your story straight later." Which was great advice, coming from someone who almost never lied.Somlied. Someone who would never get himself into a fix like Stepovich was in now.
Stepovich held his empty mug up, nodded back to Lois when he was sure she'd seen he needed a refill."We should get something to eat soon," he told Durand. He could feel the beer warming his empty stomach, loosening him up.
"Uh-huh," Durand agreed. He lifted the ice pack away from his face, considered a moment then put it back. The damn kid just kept on looking at him, like that, with those eyes. Not pushing, not demandindemanding.Just, knowing that Stepovich already knew all the questions, and knew, too, that he owed Durand some answers.
He took a breath, wondering which was getting to him faster, the beer or the puppy-eyes. "Kid. Look.ThiLook. This happened. It's all like a chain, one little thing after another, none of it really bad, but it looks bad, if you don't know what happened."
"Uh-huh."
Witty conversationalist. Stepovich took a breath."You sure you feel okay? You maybe want to get something to eat, some soup or something? Talk later on?"
"Huh-uh."
Stepovich shifted, his belt creaking, his off-duty gun digging him, just a little, under the arm. He scratched at it, pulling the holster down a bit. "There was a knife, when we busted that gypsy. But I didn't turn it in with his other belongings. I… uh… it went down in the lining of my jacket. And… I had a feeling, Durand. I still do. I don't think the Gypsy we busted killed the liquor store clerk. I know you like him for Cynthia Kacmarcik's killing, but I don't think that's him either. But I do think
he's a link. So I gotta find him,"
"Why?"
"To talk to him."
"No." Durand shifted his ice pack, spoke with effort. "Why you think he's a link?"
Stepovich scratched his nose. "I don't know.Mayknow.Maybe they're both gypsies. Mostly, I just got a feeling."
"Where's the knife now?"
Stepovich hesitated. "In a safe place." He prayed he wasn't lying. "I don't wanna, you know, well, if I can take care of this thing without it coming out that I was sloppy about booking the knife in, you know.I mknow.Iou know how it is. It's just better if you don't give them a reason to start checking you out,you know? I do good work, Durand. This was one little screw up, I don't think I should have to pay a big price for it, you know?"
Durand lifted his beer, sipped it carefully. He set it back on the table, sighed, and dropped the sack of melting ice next to it. "I'd feel better if the lab had a look at the knife," he said carefully.
Stepovich looked at him steadily. "The liquor-store guy was shot. And I had the knife when Cynthia Kacmarcik was killed. You know that."
Durand sniffed meditatively. He lifted his big eyes to meet Stepovich's, then looked past him. "Yeah. I know that."
SOMETIME
The candle burned down
from its place on the sill.
The curtains caught fire
but the house remained
Standing there still.
Turning around,
saw you looking at me
With tears running down
from the place where your
Eyes used to be.
"WALK THROUGH THE DOOR"
The nora touches the Fair lady on Her knee and says, "She has stopped spinning now."
"Oh, has she? Well, fetch her out then."The nora goes to the door, but finds it already open, and the woman comes forth. In her hands is a length of spun yarn. She goes up to the Fair Lady, who says, "I reached my hand for one who troubled me, and you chose to put yourself in my way, so I took you, instead. Then you contrived to weave, and thought to keep me away from you that way, but your spirit is no stronger than your flesh was. You had to stop at last, Cynthia Kacmarcik, and now we have you."
"When I was born," she says, "My name was Rozsa.BuRoustabout became ill as a babe, and would have died, so they gave me a new name and the illness could no longer find me."
The Fair Lady frowns, as if this disturbs Her. But the old woman says, "There is a tree of the world, and its leaves brush the moon, where King David plays the fiddle and the saints dance. You brought me here because I saw the tree, and knew who stood under it, sheltered from your hailstones, and because I stopped you when you would have cut it down. But, see, I have woven yarn from its twigs.Thtwigs. Thes blinded himself, but I have taken the veils away, and soon he will see. The Raven will be saved by the love with which you cursed him, and the Coachman has his horses. As for the Owl, there is this."
With that she throws the yarn into the fire, where it at once begins to burn, and the smoke, grey as a storm cloud,goes out the flue and into the world of men, and yet the yarn also stays in the fireplace, always burning, never burned.
The Fair Lady gnashes Her teeth as the nora and the liderc pounce on the old woman and drag her away. She doesn't resist.
THIRTEEN
What the Badger Said to the Raven,and the Owl Said to the Coachman
AUTUMN AFTERNOON
How can you have lived this long
And not give in to rage?
Don't you understand that
We've both outlived our age?
There is no final curtain;
This is not a stage.
Can you read what's written
On this blackened page?
"BLACKENED PAGE"
The Gypsy smelled herb tea and wondered ironically if "huh" could be some sort of magic word, because the old woman said it every time she turned a card over. She had shuffled and dealt them herself, ignoring him after he'd cut them as commanded, and then she'd laid them out on a bright red silk, patterned with designs that stirred up hints of old memories-old memories that wanted to drag him away, only now he wouldn't let them. An old woman had died to give him a chance to complete his task-not to allow him to ruminate on his past.
She quickly finished laying the cards out, her hands steady, the cards placed deliberately in a pattern the Gypsy almost recognized. Then she studied them fora long time, occasionally glancing up into the Gypsy's face as if to confirm or deny what the cards told her.
Eventually she gave a "hum mph," and made a move as if to gather the deck up.
"Wait," he said.
She paused. "Yes, well?"
"Aren't you going to tell me what they mean?"
"Why? Would you believe them?"
"How did you know I was coming?"
She nodded slowly, then pulled one from beneath a small stack. It showed a man holding a globe in one hand and a staff in the other. "The Hermit," she said."Reversed. That's you, it seems, though I wouldn't have thought it."
"Why not?"
She ignored the question. "The key is The Emperor reversed, which I knew to begin with, and the Ace of Swords crosses it. The-"
"What does it mean?" he asked, becoming annoyed.
"Mean? The Ace of Swords? Look at it."
He shrugged and did so. A single sword pointing to the sky, a halo of leaves around it, and he suddenly thought of the knife that pressed against his hip. But it certainly couldn't be anything so simple.Hsimple. Hehis mouth to ask again, but she said, "It's the Tower that motivates you, that drives you, although whether you work to build it or tear it down I couldn't say. But I expect you work to destroy it, for the Wheel of Fortune reversed is what has brought you to this point."
The Gypsy felt his impatience growing. "And what is this point, then, old woman?"
She held up the next card, showing an old king standing on disks with stars, holding another star,while yet another rested on his crown. "This point is gathering power, little bird. Building forces, calling up an army. Or maybe it's getting others to do your work for you. Like me, little bird, and I don't like it,though there's nothing I can do about it now."
She said, "The ten of Pentacles tells me you may get what you think you want. But whether this next card refers to you or to all of those who try to help you, I couldn't guess." He looked at the next card,in which a man lay face down with ten swords sticking out of his back, and looked away again.
"Yes," she said, her words like whips. "That's the game you're playing, that's what you're courting,uttering in and out, cooing in everyone's ear. Think about it, since you've asked."
She sighed. "Yet, we have this for the environment, and it is hope, if nothing else." A beautiful woman drank from a cup, her eyes fixed on it as if in contemplation. "And your desire is Temperance,which gives me hope as well; it is more than I'd have thought of you.
"And you may wish for the nine of Cups, yet have the five of Cups to regret. The outcome. Hmmph.PeHmmph.Perhaps;ll escape."
She stopped, waiting.
The Gypsy stared at her. At last he said, "If any of this has any meaning, old woman, tell me now. I am older than you, and far more weary. I am living too many riddles to take any pleasure in hearing yet more from your lips. I don't know why I've been put on this path, but it isn't to serve your whims."
She stared back at him from behind eyes like velvet curtains, then she looked away and nodded. "Very well," she said. "Perhaps it will hinder more than help, but you have the right to know the little I can tell you.
"The Hermit reversed is someone on a path, seeking. He's looking for something. Does that make sense?"
"If I want it to," said the Gypsy.
"Yes," agreed Madam Moria. "Exactly. The Queen of Swords reversed is, huh, have you noticed that all of the women in this reading are reversed? You are either dealing with evil women, little Dove, or you have some attitudes-"
"Tell me about the Queen of Swords, old woman."
"Save your irony, old woman. This card?"
"Yes. The Tower. The flash of truth or inspiratinspiration.Theall you've believed."
"It looks worse than that."
"It will feel worse than that when it happens."
"And the card with the wheel?"
"The Wheel of Fortune reversed is just past. You have been unable to effect the course of events, and you've been forced to wait. This is the passing."
"And this card, that you said meant the gathering of forces?"
"Call it the pivot point. How you will affect the events, obviously. Through the actions of others.Dothers.Doesartle you?"
"Go on."
"Temperance. You wish to bring the parts together that have been sundered. But this, too, I think you know already. The outcome, though, is split. You have two choices. One is pestilence, disease, the ten of Swords. The other are these three cards, the nine of Cups for wishes coming true, the five of Cups for sorrow, the Sun for escape and protection."
"So perhaps I will die, or perhaps I will escape, but I can't win?"
"So I read it. You may read it better if you can."
"The cards you use, they seem to be of many different styles."
"I use the cards that please me, some from one deck, some from others."
"Yes, I believe this."
Her eyes flashed. "It is not for you to judge me."
He laughed suddenly. "If I don't, young woman,who will?"
She frowned. "Young woman?"
"Older perhaps than the woman who was killed trying to help me, but younger than my brothers and I."
"You are more than you seem. I think…" Her voice trailed off and she frowned again.
The Gypsy Page 20
