by Jon Steele
“Oh crap, I didn’t bring my wallet,” Katherine said, lifting Max onto her lap. “But my friend is coming in just a sec.”
“That’s fine. While we’re waiting, maybe the little dude would like to take me on in a game of chess.”
“Max?”
“Max. Now isn’t that a fine name? So what do you say, Max, care for a game of chess?”
“I think Max’s style of chess would be to toss all the pieces into the next county. He’s got a great pitching arm.”
“No problem, I’ve played all kinds. Played an English fellow a long time ago, when I was working the streets of Cambridge. Fellow’s name was J. E. Littlewood. A quiet man, awful good with numbers. Once told me when the numbers get big enough, then miracles can happen. Smoked a pipe while he played chess. Said there were only ten to the power of ten, to the power of fifty, possible moves in chess. Wrote down a long mathematical equation proving his point. Maybe Max’s style of play is telling the rest of us he knows all the moves already.”
The saxophoneman picked up the game clock at the side of the table.
“But tell you what I think he’d really like to play with, is this.”
He set the game clock before Max. Max stared at the thing: two clock faces, two buttons on top. The saxophoneman hit one of the buttons to start the counting of seconds on one of the clocks, then he hit the second button. The sweep hand stopped on the one clock and began to tick away on the second clock. Then he hit the first button again, stopping the second clock and setting the first sweep hand back in motion. Then back and forth, back and forth.
“What do you think of that, little dude?”
Max hammered his fists onto the buttons, watching the clocks stop and start.
“Take it easy, buster, or you’ll break it,” Katherine said.
“No, he’s fine. Go ahead, little dude. See if you can stop that old dog time in its tracks.”
“Zug.” Bang. “Zug.” Bang.
“I think you’ve released the inner Max,” Katherine said. “He likes to bang things. His favorite toy is this rubber hammer. He’ll make a great carpenter.”
“That’s good work, being a carpenter. I’ve done some carpentry now and again, here and there.”
Katherine looked in the saxophoneman’s eyes.
“You sound like you’ve been around,” she said.
“Suppose I have. Me and my horn tend to blow with the wind.”
“What brings you to Portland?”
The saxophoneman pointed to the large silver orb atop a tall black pole standing next to the trees. There was the figure of a smiling sun poking from the orb.
“Come to see the weather teller.”
“Yeah, what’s it do?” Katherine said.
“Come noon, it’ll tell us what’s coming.”
He was a little odd, Katherine thought, but funny. He reminded her of some of the street people in Santa Monica. Most of them gentle and kind, all of them living in their own worlds.
“Any idea what it’ll say?”
“Couldn’t say, young lady. That’s what the weather teller’s for.”
Just then, Max stopped banging at the chess clock; he stared at it. Katherine leaned down to him. “Give up, buster?”
Max didn’t respond to her voice; he continued to stare at the clock. Then, slowly, he reached out both hands and gently pressed both buttons at the same time. Both clocks stopped.
“Well, how about that?” the saxophoneman said. “He figured it out. Caught time by the tail and stopped it in its tracks. Good on you, little dude.”
Max looked at the man and giggled, then quickly turned his attention to the chess board. Scattering the pawns, moving a rook, knocking over a bishop, picking up the knight and attempting to stick it up Katherine’s nose.
“Horsey,” he said.
“Yup, that’s a horse,” Katherine said, taking the knight from his hand and setting it back on the table. “And Mister Horsey wants to be down here with all his friends and not up Mommy’s nose.”
Max knocked a few more chess pieces over and picked up the knight again. “Arp,” he said, pointing that way with the chess piece.
Katherine saw what Max was pointing at: the T-shirt under the saxophoneman’s coat. At first it looked like some hip airbrush job, a collection of grays and blacks on white. Then she saw the silhouette of a form descending through the sky. Words under the picture: Older Than Dreams. She stared at it. Slowly, it came to her.
“Paris.”
“Excuse me, young lady?”
“The picture on your shirt. I’ve seen it before, or something like it. Yeah, on television. There was a guy falling from a bridge during a terrorist attack in Paris. I only saw it for a second. That’s weird.”
“That’s what it is. The angel who saved Paris.”
“No way.”
“Really funny thing is, people are seeing him everywhere.”
“Yeah, like where?”
The saxophoneman panned his eyes over the square.
“All you have to do, young lady, is look around.”
Katherine looked at the crowd. Holy cow, she thought. “They’re all wearing the same shirt. What the heck’s going on?”
“Hard to say what goes through people’s minds when it comes to angels. Maybe these folks know they’re in a world of hurt.”
“Who’s hurting?”
“Angels, little lady.”
Katherine laughed, and her mind carried her back to Lausanne.
“You know, I knew someone who believed in angels. He thought they were hiding in a cathedral because they had no other place in the world. He thought he needed to protect them.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” Katherine said.
“You believe in angels?”
Katherine stared at him. Dark brown skin, grizzled face, pale-colored eyes . . . almost blue, almost green. Bit of a mad look in the eyes, like the gentle street people in Santa Monica. If they didn’t see angels, they saw aliens. If not aliens, they saw things only they could see. And like the man sitting across the chess table, they always made for pleasant conversation.
“Doesn’t everyone?” she said.
“Not yet. But time’s coming when they will.”
“That would be nice. I hope they get here soon.”
The saxophoneman moved a pawn two places, then a bishop, then a queen, then a knight, and set them to the east, north, west, and south.
“Oh, they’re already here, young lady. They’re here to protect the one who’s gonna save this sorry world from itself. See, Mr. Littlewood had it right. The numbers got bigger than anyone ever imagined, and the miracle is happening right here, right now, right under our noses.”
Katherine nodded politely, remembering that as pleasant as the conversation could be with the street people in Santa Monica, there was always the point where it made a turn toward gibberish. It was their way of saying good-bye. Katherine looked down at Max. He was busy setting up the pieces on the board and knocking them over, one by one. Katherine grabbed Max’s hands.
“C’mon, buster, I think you’ve done enough damage. It’s way past your nap time. We need to find out what happened to Anne.” She looked at the saxophoneman. “It was really nice talking to you, but we have to go. Sorry about not having any money for the box.”
“Next time.”
Katherine shifted Max from lap to arms and stood.
“Can you say good-bye to the nice man, Max?”
“Goobye.”
Katherine’s jaw dropped.
“Wow, you actually got a good-bye out of him, kind of. Major breakthrough. Well, good-bye, thanks for being so nice.”
“Be seeing you,” the saxophoneman said.
Katherine looked at the scattered pieces over the boa
rd.
“Sorry about the mess.”
“No problem. Anything you’d like to hear for the road? On the house, seeing as you got no money.”
“Yeah. ‘Someone to Watch Over Me.’ Seeing as everyone here’s got angels on the brain.”
“Fine choice, young lady, mighty fine.”
He set the reed to his lips and he blew slow, soulful sounds.
Katherine turned and walked away. She saw Officer Jannsen at the head of the Starbucks line, waiting to collect her order. Katherine waved to her, and Officer Jannsen waved back. Just then, trumpets blared through the square. A cloud of mist shot from the silver orb atop the weather teller, and it opened and the smiling sun sank into the orb. The figure of a blue heron appeared for a moment, to be replaced by a dragon, then the sun again.
Katherine bounced Max in her arms excitedly.
“Yeah, you see that? It’s the weather teller. Isn’t that fun?”
Max’s eyes were locked on the orb, and he giggled.
The trumpets sounded and the mist sprayed again and the dragon reappeared, rising into the sky. Max stared at it. He stopped giggling and began to shrink into Katherine’s arms. He felt suddenly warm.
“Max?”
Max’s face contorted into a frightened mask, and he began to cry.
“Honey, it’s all right, it’s only a silly old dragon.”
His hands formed into fists, and he pounded at Katherine’s shoulder.
“Max, honey, what is it?”
She tried to move away, but the mob was closing in to watch the weather teller, all of them wearing the image of the angel falling through the Paris sky.
“Excuse me, let me through, please,” Katherine shouted.
She found herself in the arms of the Swiss Guard.
“Stay calm, stay calm,” he said.
Katherine held on to Max, let herself be guided through the crushing mob. The mob faded away near Starbucks. Officer Jannsen was there, paper cups in her hands; she saw Max crying.
“Kat, are you all right?”
“Yeah, Max got upset. I need to calm him down.”
She sat on a nearby bench, set Max on her knee, took off his hat. His hair was wet and matted, and he continued to cry.
“What happened?” Officer Jannsen said.
“Oh, too much excitement. First the guy with the saxophone, then all the noise with the clock and the dragon coming out of the weather teller thing, then the mob. I should’ve known better. He’s not used to it.”
Officer Jannsen shot a glance toward the Swiss Guard; he shook his head no. Katherine caught a flicker of concern in Officer Jannsen’s eyes. She looked back at the guard; his face was like a blank wall.
“Luc? Didn’t you see him?”
He didn’t answer. Katherine turned to Officer Jannsen.
“What’s . . . what’s going on?”
Officer Jannsen sat next to Katherine.
“Where did you see him, exactly?”
“By the chess tables, under the trees. Right over . . .”
The mob was still scattered about the stone steps, laughing and talking among themselves . . . but the saxophoneman was gone, the chess table empty of pieces.
Katherine looked at Officer Jannsen.
“He was here, Anne, I saw him.”
“All right, all right. Let’s just leave and get back to the house.”
“No, we’re supposed to hang out. What’s going on?”
Officer Jannsen set the cups on the bench, pulled Max from Katherine’s arms and stood. “Let’s go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Away from here.”
Katherine jumped after her.
“Hey!”
The Swiss Guard wrapped his arms around Katherine, half lifting her from the ground, following after Officer Jannsen.
“Luc, what the fuck are you doing?”
She felt herself carried through the crowd, felt the eyes of strangers watching her. Out of the park and across the street. The Explorer’s engine was already running, the rear door open. Officer Jannsen turned, handed Max to Katherine.
“Get in, Kat. Get Max into his seat.”
Katherine stopped, looked back at the park. All the people in the T-shirts, still watching.
“Jesus, what the fuck is this?”
“Get in.”
Katherine climbed in, and Officer Jannsen closed the door. Katherine strapped Max into his car seat, and he fussed and twisted and banged his fists in the air. Katherine dug through her tote bag, found a water bottle, and poured some onto her hand. She patted the back of his neck and wrists to cool him down. He settled.
“There you go, all better now?”
“Boo?” he said.
“You want Monsieur Booty?”
“Mnsoor Boo.”
“He’s home, honey. That’s where we’re going now. He’s waiting for you, and when we get home you can pull Monsieur Booty’s tail and pretend it is that silly old dragon, how about that?”
Max thought that a fine idea and kicked his little legs in approval.
Katherine opened a small bottle of juice and poured it in a sippy cup.
“And look what I got. Some of Molly’s homemade apple juice, just for you. Yum, yum.”
“Mowy’s juuz. Yum.”
She held the cup to Max’s mouth. He puckered his lips and drank.
Officer Jannsen climbed in her side of the truck. The Swiss Guard closed the door behind her. He jumped in on the shotgun side up front, and the driver pulled away. Katherine heard the clackclack of a machine gun made ready up front. She jumped at the sound, looked at Max. Not even a flinch. For Max, a guy feeding bullets into the firing chamber of a machine gun was normal. She wondered at the absurdity of “normal” in Max’s life. Riding in a bulletproof truck, protected by three Swiss Guards carrying enough firepower to take over a small country and a mother who had the habit of going loopy at the drop of a hat. And here Max was, sipping at his apple juice, staring through the bucket seats, watching the 3-D screen on the dashboard light up. Transfixed by the little dot moving through the grid of avenues and streets as it tracked their position. He turned his head to study it from this angle and that angle till his eyes grew heavy. By the time they reached the west bank of the Willamette River, he was fighting to keep his eyes open. Katherine combed his black hair. There was one curl that refused to cooperate and kept popping up each time Katherine pressed it down . . . all the while replaying the scene from the park in her mind. When she reconnected to being in the back of the Explorer, she noticed they were heading a different way, crossing streets and bridges she didn’t recognize.
“Where are we?”
“We’re taking side streets out of Portland.”
“I thought you were in a big hurry to get me home. Why aren’t we taking the highway? It’s faster,” Katherine said.
“Sometimes we like to mix up our itinerary.”
“Especially after I start going loopy and strangers are staring at me, you mean.”
Officer Jannsen looked at her.
“You get noticed in a crowd, we change our plans. But don’t read too much into it. It’s only standard procedure.”
“Standard procedure, my butt. Crazy mom on the loose in downtown Portland. Did you see the way those people were looking at me? This kind of stuff was supposed to stop. For crying out loud, between the medications and the teas, I’m supposed to be . . . friggin’ fuckin’ normal.”
Officer Jannsen sat back in her seat.
“Kat, give yourself a break. You had a rough morning, and you’re on edge. Your imagination got the better of you, that’s all. I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s Max.”
Katherine looked out th
e window. They were crossing Fremont Bridge now. The Willamette River rolled beneath the steel girders. The Cascade Mountains reached for the sky on the horizon.
“What if I’m contagious?”
Officer Jannsen reached across the backseat and took Katherine’s hand. She gave it an easy shake.
“He’s fine, Kat. But he’s very sensitive to your moods. You know that. He feels what you feel.”
“You say that all the time, like a broken record.”
“Because you need to be reminded that there’s nothing wrong with you, or him.”
“Okay, so tell me again.”
“Max is fine, you’re fine.”
Katherine turned, looked at Max. There was a dribble of drool on his cheek, and she wiped it away.
“Max saw him, too.”
“What?”
“The guy with the sax, the guy with the drawing of an angel on his shirt.”
“He had the same shirt as the people in the crowd?”
“I didn’t tell you?” Katherine said.
“No.”
“It was the same shirt the crowd was wearing.”
“Maybe you got it wrong. Maybe you only thought it was the same.”
Katherine scratched her head. She saw herself sitting at the chess table.
“No. It was the same. It looked like the angel jumping off the bridge in Paris. The one I saw on the news, before you pulled the plug. It wasn’t the exact same picture, it was a drawing, but it looked almost the same. And there were words under the drawing: Older Than Dreams.”
“Why do you call it an angel?”
“What?”
“You called it a drawing of an angel. Why?”
“Because that’s what he called it . . . the angel who saved Paris. Then he said the angels were coming to protect the one who’d save the world. It was gibberish, Anne. And yeah, it’s the kinda thing I could imagine, I admit it. But I know it happened, because Max saw it first.”
“What did Max see?”
“The shirt. He pointed to it, that’s when I saw it.”
“You sure he wasn’t just reacting to you?”
Katherine thought about it, then she rolled her eyes and waved her hands in front of her face and laughed.