Dr. Lavery says I am making good progress. I don't exactly know what he means by that, but I'll have to take his word for it.
In the meantime, I have been reading all the time and have tentatively decided to become a veterinarian when I am released from here. Not that I expect _that_ to happen any time soon! I don't think they understand me very well here. They pretend to listen to what I am saying, but I see their eyes looking at other places when I am talking. I never thought of doctors being dishonest. There's not many people you can trust these days, are there? I must say though that I think I can trust you. That is why I am writing to you. I hope you don't mind too much.
My favorite books so far are those popular bestsellers about a veterinarian working in England. You know, the ones that have been turned into the very successful television series on the educational channel? Personally, I don't watch the show itself because I think television is for idiots. There are many big color television sets here at the Institute which are turned on all day long. It is almost impossible to avoid the noise they make, no matter where you are or what you are doing.
I'm sure all of my letters to you are monitored and read by someone here, and they will most likely raise an eyebrow at the animosity exhibited by my attitude, but I do not mean it to sound that way. I only wish to plead the case of turning those infernal sets _down_. That isn't too much to ask, is it? Not everyone here is interested in reruns of the _Superman_ show, believe me! There are those of us who are interested in more important things. Personally I would only like a quiet corner somewhere where I could read, or simply think, but often even that is virtually impossible to find in this overly loud place.
Oh, well, one can't have everything one wants in life.
How are you and Mr. James? Healthy and happy, I sincerely hope. Is your child Mae talking yet? In your last letter you mentioned her age, so I went to the library here and spent a good few hours reading up on the subject. Did you know that it is not uncommon for children to begin speaking at a surprisingly early age? Listen carefully – those funny baby sounds you hear may even be the real thing!
Well, that's all for now. I hope I haven't bored you too much this time. As I seem to tell you every time, I think a great deal about what I want to say to you in these letters. Somehow they never turn out to sound like I want them to, or say the right thing.
Oh well, I said that I wanted to be a veterinarian and not a writer, so I guess that's okay. Ha! Ha!
I will write again in a few days, you poor woman.
Very sincerely yours,
Alvin Williams
Dear Alvin,
Thank you for your last letter. What you said about when children begin to talk was interesting, but I'm afraid our little Mae is still at the stage where the four words in her entire vocabulary are all variations of either oogle or google.
I think your idea about becoming a veterinarian is a good one. My husband suggested you might want to look into different correspondence courses that are offered by certain schools. I don't know if you have your high school diploma yet, but it might be worthwhile to investigate this possibility. That way, you could gain certain credits while you are in the Institute and then continue your studies later at whatever school has the course you want.
When I was at college, I never had any real idea of what I wanted to do with my life later. As a result, I took courses all over the place in only the things that interested me. It was nice and I ended up with a degree in history, but in retrospect it was not a terrifically productive way of going about things. I admire your being able to tell even now what it is you want later.
A veterinarian does a great job. My good friend Eliot Kilbertus says he only wishes he could find a good one in New York. According to him, they all charge a fortune but aren't very effective.
The spring seems to have arrived and I'm glad of it. Recently all of us went out to Long Island for the weekend. A friend of mine owns a house out there in Remsenberg, right in the middle of a bird sanctuary. When we went there I noticed that some of the frailer fellows had already flown in from wintering down south, and it's not even the middle of the month yet. A good sign. I even had a dream the other night where I was walking around in a T-shirt and the ugliest Bermuda shorts you ever saw. When you start dreaming about shorts, summer can't be too far off.
Be well.
Cullen James
2
«Cullen?»
«Yes?»
«Where did you get this leather jacket? It is beautiful!»
My eyebrows went straight up while my eyes closed tight. Weber Gregston's leather jacket! I'd hidden it in the deepest, darkest corner of my closet and _never_ wore it when Danny was around. He was very aware of what I wore and almost always noticed when I had on something new. I'd figured out that if I waited a few months, then one day I could casually tell him about this _incredible_ bargain I'd picked up at a thrift shop right down the block. . . .
The best-laid plans of mice and men. . . .
«_What_ jacket?»
«This one – the leather one.» He came into the room holding it out in front of him. «Where the hell did you pet this? It's fantastic!»
«Uh oh. Discovery time. Don't get mad.»
«Mad?» Cul, you didn't charge it, did you? Honey, I know you love clothes and as far as I'm concerned when we have the money –«
«No, Danny, wait! I didn't charge it. Eliot gave it to me for my birthday.»
«Your birthday? That's not for a month!»
I shrugged – little Miss Innocent. «Yes, well, he gave it to me early, Dan. What am I supposed to say? We knew you'd squawk about it and that's why I didn't tell you. Are you mad?»
«Cullen, I assume 'Gianni Versace' means it's Italian. Italian leather jackets cost more than the national debt. I don't care how rich Eliot is; this is just too much.»
I watched him walk to the phone, call my excuse and ask him to come over to our apartment for a few minutes.
«Hi, guys! Oh good, you both look pissed off. Are you fighting? Can I watch?»
«Eliot, did you really give this jacket to Cullen for her birthday?»
«No.» His face was blank.
«Eliot!» My voice got very close to cracking. «Don't lie! Tell the truth. You did too give it to me for my birthday.»
«No, I didn't, Cullen. I gave it to you because I love you. Your birthday just happened to be a good excuse.»
My blood pressure dropped several notches, but not Danny's. He handed me the jacket and sat down next to me on the couch, frowning all the while. «El, you can't do that!»
«Daniel, old chum, I happen to have something exquisite for your birthday too. Would you like me to go down and get it?»
«No, Eliot. Now you're making me feel very uncomfortable. It's not right; it's really nice of you, but the whole thing's not right.»
«That's true, but this way you'll both feel completely indebted and guilty if you don't treat me wonderfully.»
«Oh come on, Danny. You're generous yourself. Don't make Eliot feel bad just because he is too.»
For the first time in our lives together, my husband threw his hands in the air. «That's not the point, Cullen. I'm not Ebenezer Scrooge!»
«God bless our presents, every one!»
«Quiet, Eliot! You know exactly what I'm talking about.»
«Danny, since I'm the accused here, I have a right to say something. The James family are the only people on the entire face of the earth I would do _anything_ for. And you both know that. Anything! Everyone else I hang around with is witty, charming and full of shit. All gleam and no stuff. I love some of them, hate most and trust no one but the two of you. That's the truth. If you stopped being my friends, I'd die!
«The truth of the matter is, I made out my will six weeks ago because my lawyer was being annoying. I made Mae the beneficiary. I'm worth a little over four hundred thousand dollars. I wouldn't trust either of you thieves with it, but my goddaughter is going to go to Radcliffe if sh
e likes. Neither of you has my permission to protest or even talk about it. _Basta_. Period.»
I looked at him and gave a very crooked smile. «Aw, Eliot, you old . . .»
Danny got up and embraced him. They held on to each other a good long time while I watched, clutching the forgotten leather jacket in my hands.
I had once thought strength of character was a hardening of oneself; an intricate protection system by which you reconciled yourself to the truths of life and learned not to let them bother you. But all systems of character building go right out of the window when you find there aren't anymore truths . . . or none you recognize.
After the incident with the jacket, I was very afraid to tell Danny what had happened with Weber Gregston and the new goings-on in Rondua. For the first time in our relationship, I began to doubt my husband and I truly hated that. I doubted him because he wasn't the person I wanted to confide in. Eliot, with his understanding of why people do naughty things sometimes, his sympathetic ear and wholehearted belief in the unknown _was_ the confidant I needed at that peculiar time in my life. I didn't want to close myself off or hide important things away from my husband, but I feared his lack of understanding. At best, he would sympathize. Eliot _empathized_ and instead of pushing me toward having my head examined again, he wanted to examine that head with me and try to make sense of the whole mishmash of events and powers.
«Oh big deal, Cullen! So you had an abortion. _Everyone's_ had an abortion; they're very old-hat. Even I had an abortion – my last lover, Judge Thompson.»
«'Judge'? That was his real name?»
«Yes, unfortunately. He was a small black man who wore a cowboy hat. He actually wanted me to buy him some spurs!»
«How come you never talk about your lovers, Eliot?»
«Because they all make me sad. I'm very unlucky in love. But I don't want to discuss them now. Do you see how right I was about this Rondua of yours? Everyone works out their troubles in their dreams. It's cheap analysis, you know? You had an abortion and you've felt horrible about it ever since. Somewhere in your mind you carried around this big bucket full of guilt, even though I think you're nuts to have done that. Anyway, with these Rondua dreams you're getting it out of your head. Great! Help that little Pepsi find the Bones of the Moon and you're homefree. How many have you got so far? Three?»
«Yes. The latest was the one for Fairness. Pepsi saved Felina's life and then let the Warm live.»
«What warm?»
«_The_ Warm – that was its name. It danced on the desert and tried to eat Felina.»
«Felina's the wolf?»
«Right. And Martio's the camel, Mr. Tracy's the dog – '
«– Who wears a black hat, right?»
«Right.»
The phone rang and Eliot got up to answer it. He spoke into the receiver a few seconds and then, surprisingly, held it out toward me with a very arch look on his face. «It's your friend Weber Gregston, dearie. How did he know my number?»
I took hold of the phone as if it were a dangerous snake. «Hello?»
«Hello, Cullen? Look, I'm sorry to call you there, but we _have_ to talk. We have to.» His voice said he wasn't kidding around – it sounded tired and very strained.
«What's the matter, Weber? Are you okay?» I wanted to thank him for all the cards and telegrams and other things, but something more important was up.
«No, I'm not. We have to meet – like immediately? I just got into town and I have to talk with you. I'm not fucking around or anything, Cullen. Please don't be coy with me – something bad is happening and I think it's your fault. I'm sorry, but it's true. Can we get together now? Is that possible?»
Eliot, his head glued to mine, nodded vigorously. I pointed to the baby and he whispered that he would stay with her.
«Okay, Weber. Where are you?»
«At the phone booth on your corner. Come down and we'll meet. Like, five minutes?»
«Okay. Hold tight and I'll be right down.»
I hung up and looked at Eliot. «What do you think?»
«He didn't sound too good, Cullen.»
«I know. What do you think's wrong?»
«Not love this time. He was too shook up.»
Weber stood in front of our building. He looked as if he'd come back from the dark side of the moon.
«Holy cow, Weber! What _happened_ to you?»
«That's what we're going to talk about. Where can we go?»
«Let's go to Lena's; it's just around the corner.»
He put both hands to his face and rubbed hard. His hair was wet and slicked back and his face was newly shaven, but there were little red nicks all over it. «I'm totally messed up. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a week.»
The restaurant was run by two nice women who served you heaps of good food and then left you alone. We sat at a table in the back, although it was late afternoon and the place was empty.
«What's up, Weber?»
He held up a hand to stop me. «Wait. First let me ask you a couple of questions. Who are Pepsi and Mr. Tracy?»
My head shot forward. «How do you know about them? Who told you?»
«No one told me anything. I dream them, Cullen. Like, every _night_ I dream about them! Pepsi, Mr. Tracy and you. You most of all. What's going on. Cullen? Who are they? I'm telling you, I don't sleep so well anymore. And you want to know when all this started? I figured it out the other night. It started right after I met you – after you knocked me down that day.»
«Tell me what you dream, Weber. Tell me exactly. Everything.»
«You know what I'm talking about, don't you?»
I felt a tension knot taking hold on the back of my neck. I remembered what Eliot had said about Weber being interested in me because I had «enchanted» him the day we met.
«Yes, I know what you mean. Go on. Welcome to Rondua.»
«Rondua! That's right! That's the name, isn't it?»
We talked for three hours without stopping. I felt no hesitation in telling him everything: about the abortion, the beginning of my dreams, Pepsi, the search for the Bones, the City of the Dead.
We got hungry along the way and ordered two big lunches. Then around five o'clock, the restaurant began to fill up with the cocktail crowd. I called Eliot and told him I needed another hour. He said that was fine but what was happening?
«Weber has been dreaming around Rondua too. Ever since I zapped him in the chest.»
«Holy shit!»
«Uh-huh. I think you were right, Eliot. See you later. I'll tell you everything then.»
«Okay, I can't wait! Just don't zap anybody on your way home, huh?»
Weber had been places and met creatures in Rondua I didn't know – the alligator chess bullies, Cloud Hell, the nighttime old lamp market in Harry. He'd been to the Caves of Lem and the Gardener's Office on the Mountain. One of the guides was a crane named A Sport and a Pastime. Later he was accompanied only by a voice named Solaris.
Neither of us could figure out why he had been in other corners of the land, but we agreed there was no sense in looking for logic in _any_ of this. Why even try?
A little hesitantly, I told him Eliot's idea about how I had bewitched him the day we met.
He smiled and took a cold French fry off my plate. «Why not, Cullen? It's just as crazy as everything else we've discussed.»
He took another French fry; he was calm now and smiling more, particularly when we talked about our different experiences over there.
Instead of eating the potato, he pointed it at me and began talking again. «You know, it wouldn't be so bad if the damned dreams weren't so scary and upsetting. Have you met Jack Chili yet?»
«Jack who?»
«Jack Chili. Mama, you don't want to know him, _ever_. Look, lunch is over and we've got to figure this thing out now. I can't keep having these dreams, Cullen, no matter what's causing them. I don't even want to know especially how the hell they're happening. You touched me, hit me with that purple light and boom! I'm
living in Rondua. Fine, I accept that; it's weird as hell, but I accept it. Now all I want to do is get out of there, that's all. Last night I dreamed about two guys blowing their heads off. Beautiful camera work; right up close with all the guts all over. Forget it; I can't have that anymore.» He put down the potato and squashed it flat on to his plate with his fork. «What should I do, Cullen? What can _you_ do?»
«I think I know how to fix it.»
«You do? Are you serious? What?»
I told him the story of the confrontation with the machines on the plains. I told him about the word I used to get us out of that fix, and how in the dreams I knew I could use that wrord one more time to work its magic somewhere. Whether that magic carried over to a restaurant in New York City was something else.
«You can try, right? Say the word and let's see what happens. Christ, I'm game for anything, Cullen! Anything to get them out of my head. Do it!»
I reached across the table and, with my flat hand against his forehead, said «Koukounaries.»
He closed his eyes and put his hand on top of mine. «Say it again.»
I did, but I was afraid to tell him that I felt no tingle or jive of magic go out of me, as it had on the day when the purple light had protected me.
Dear Mrs. James,
Happy Birthday! I wrote Mr. James a letter a while ago and asked him when your birthday was. Luckily I knew in time. I know this card is kind of dumb, but I had to ask one of the doctors to buy one for me, and this happened to be his taste. I should have known by the kind of neckties he wears that he wasn't the right man to ask! Ha, Ha! Anywray, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, Mrs. James, happy birthday to you!
Very sincerely yours,
Alvin Williams
3
It was the first time we had seen the ocean since our arrival in Rondua. It was pink and the waves, when they broke, frothed yellow. They were uncomfortable colors – childhood dreams gone awry.
Pepsi stood by our «boat» – an upside-down laughing fedora hat the size of an old bathtub. It was cold by the water – even my shadow felt cold.
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