Imagine my brother then shoots himself, perhaps right away, perhaps a year later. For a long time I think of doing it too. Now I’m only half.
I can see the face in my mind. I always know where it is. In the end, I follow it. I’m going to obliterate it.
He doesn’t recognize me anymore. For him I’m a stranger with a black bag. That gives me all the time in the world.
Don’t look for us. You won’t find us. What for, anyway?
The only thing I’m sorry about is the beehive business. It was totally pointless, and I didn’t mean it to hurt anybody but myself. As the end approaches, some people lash out a bit around them.
By the way, do you know how bees overwinter? They go right to the middle of the hive, pack themselves together very tight, and don’t stop moving.
Twenty-Three
The triumphal march from Aida. A second, and then a third time. It took Kovacs a while before he caught on. He put the beer glass on the table and rummaged around in his jacket pocket. Finally, he found the thing. He flipped it open. It was Horn.
“You mean she talked?”
“Just now?”
“A single word, you say?”
“A noun with the definite article?”
“Say it again, I don’t understand.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes, I get what she said: ‘The honeyman.’”
He hung up. After a while he reached for the glass and ran a fingertip along a trace of froth. It had not frozen.
The light over the lake had a yellow tinge to it. He sat there and waited for the wind.
The Sweetness of Life Page 24
