Pulls her down and down, for a long time. Rachel’s problem is not the cold, or breathing, it is keeping her eyes open. She really should not be napping, she knows, ought to wake herself up right now, what will Harry think, if she really must sleep she should at least make it back to the Dream Centre …
There is nothing down here except darkness. Murk. Jade night. Brown fingerlings. Garbage in bags.
“Look!”
“What?”
“Look!”
There he is, on the bottom. A felt hat, striped tie, dark suit (rolled newspaper in the pocket), oxfords. Grey eyes. Square jaw. Just standing around. Watching the weeds sway. Picking his teeth with a double fish hook. Stirring up mud clouds. Leaning on a rock. Snatching fish with a surprisingly quick hand, letting them go.
“It’s him,” Rachel whispers.
“It’s him all right,” the other replies.
And now he has seen them, and his eyes beam directly at Rachel, flood her with presence.
“How do you feel?” the other asks.
“Absolute,” Rachel breathes.
“You mean like absolved?”
“Uh-huh. Un—unqualified.”
“That’s what I thought. Let’s check it out.”
The grip on her wrist tightens. They move closer, fast.
“Where are we going?”
“In.”
Turns out Harry is farther away than Rachel first figured, consequently bigger. Fifteen, maybe twenty storeys. That double fish hook is a half-ton anchor. Strangely, however, up close, gaps and fissures yawn in his movements. It’s a lot like Rachel’s old Strobe Brain problem, with the difference that the strobe seems to be Harry himself.
They are getting awfully close.
“You take the left, I’ll take the right—” She means eye.
“What—?”
“Aim for the pupil-ll!”
Now, if Harry were a literal giant hanging around on the millpond bottom, next would come the dual splat into vitreous jelly. But here the issue is not flesh and bone, is it, and eye parts resolve into Muzak and Night. Oh, and Falling. Eye-and mouthlight above, fast diminishing. Darkness below. There is nothing to stop them. Like Alice doubled, Rachel falls. The other has grabbed her again, tenacious, got her in a headlock, actually. Either Harry is deep or they are falling slowly.
Soon the darkness pales. There are four surfaces. One is earthhued terrazzo; opposite is dun acoustic, occasional circles of sunken light.
“Where are we?”
“What exactly does it look like?”
The third and fourth walls are composed of, hmm, a bank, a shoe repair, a doctor’s office, an income tax place, a locksmith, a laundromat, a cinema. These are all on end.
In a flash three surfaces balloon to glass—clouds in a blue sky beyond—and contoured stucco. Familiar shop names. Behind them that terrazzo has spread out. It is littered with dead bees. People at right angles walk the terrazzo, defying gravity. The effect is of sudden, skylit space, an illuminated bubble, with people to shuffle the vertical. Curved soffits. Potted vegetation. Kiosks and kiosks: knick-knack, magazine, candy bar and gum. Rachel’s eyes are on K-Mart, open on the mall: three levels of retail colour stood on end, like a stretch triptych. Behind them a tunnel goes off horizontal, lined top and bottom with shops. Twisting in her headlock, she glimpses a shoe store, a video place, a stereo store, another shoe store—Promise of more light down that way.
Still falling, they enter a second passage, wider and brighter than the first. This has light cutting sideways. Falling is now made problematic by potted trees. They are nearly creamed by a eucalyptus. Rachel is anxious.
Flanking walls stagger in and out. Split vertical to create an upended mezzanine. Fuse.
They continue to fall. They pass through a fountain, are slapped by exotic plants.
Another, dimmer passage goes by, carved horizontal—a bookstore; a shoe store; a cigar store; a nuthouse; a card store that sells scented candles, scented pens, pens shaped like strawberry ice cream cones, lollipops, penises; another shoe store—
And then it happens.
“Look!”
All four surfaces zoom outwards, on one side split to steel webbed with translucent sheeting. On the other, terrazzo goes mesa-ing to benches, fountains, distant trees, a skating rink, an amphitheatre containing a symphony orchestra playing light classical arrangements of Harry’s Theme—Perfect sunlight slants in past three floors, on end, of exotic and name shops of every description; past bridging ramps; past escalators and stairs; glazed wall-climber elevators. It illuminates generous planting, hot-air balloons moving horizontal on giant blower nozzles, a freestanding brightly coloured space-frame parasol structure containing impressionistic sculpture. It shines on horizontal dancers performing Balanchine ballets, horizontal mimes doing Man in Telephone Booth, horizontal actors enacting scenes fromDeath of a Salesman. It also shines on daycares, live sharks in brass-trimmed tanks, small horizontal crowds gathered around kitchen gadget demonstrations, horizontal clean-cut kids with razors on sticks scraping up gum—
Quick as they ballooned the walls collapse inwards. Terrazzo in pastels. More travertine. Oblique shop fronts. Lesser names.
Rachel’s double looks around, releases Rachel’s head, pushes her to arm’s length. “This is goodbye—”
“Where are you going!?”
“To sleep.”
“But you can’t do that! You’ll spoil the whole experiment!”
“Experiment’s finished. We saw him. We went in through the eyes. What else do you want?”
Dream at this point becomes a little confused. Rachel has reached out to prevent her less tractable self from spoiling the experiment, grasps air—Shudders.
A slight snore.
Huh?
Bumpff, and she is passing through a double set of glass doors, a small exit through a sloping dome wall, near where a line of delivery trucks waits for access to an unloading bay; passes into a parking lot overlooked by high lamps and flags and logos on pylons and blue sky full of coloured balloons; skims the tops of the cars parked there. Seconds later also skims the tops of the cars passing on Highway 303. After that it is mostly small towns and countryside: farmland, forest—skimming pine trees—rock, scrub, and pretty soon Rachel is cruising over slate grey seas inthe white land where the sun has slowed to a crawl and the ice floes pitch and bark.
Meanwhile the other sleeps and dreams that she gets a job in one of the dozen shoe stores in the mall here. The smell of new leather is what brings her around. As her head jerks up, a customer enters wearing a beige suit and loafers. He is a handsome, greying fellow of distinction. A man whose judgments have been fully endorsed by success. A man who knows exactly who he is, what he wants, and how to get it. His motto: I see, I take. In this case a pair of shoes. Briefly his eyes pause at a spot slightly over Rachel’s head as if a signboard there reads Clerk (female), then continue to scan the store. Perhaps he wants the store.
Rachel’s eyes follow the pink razor edge of his haircut, the way it traces his ear. She is fascinated to see the skin there so pink and smooth against the fine grey hairs and to see it bulging a little at the collar, which is too tight, and she wonders what a slip of a straight razor could accomplish there. She appraises the confidence emanating from his upper body: the upward square of the jaw, the element of preen in the pivot of his torso, the way he keeps his elbows tight to his body as if one false move and his arms could fall off. She notices his heavy right hand, the clean square nails. The other is in his pocket, rattling change. She also notices that he is built on a larger scale than herself. Harry is not just thick, he is tall. Finally her eyes rest on those loafers. They are very, very brown.
She indicates a seat. He tugs his pants at the knees and sits down, still looking to his left and right. His pants have cuffs.
“What’s your size?” Rachel wants to know.
“Thirteen, thirteen-and-a-half.”
Rachel mutters something i
n reply to this. It sounds like, “Why don’t you just strap on gangplanks.”
“What was that?”
She is eyeing his foot sceptically. “Better slip these off.”
She straddles the footstool and reaches for one of those metal foot-measuring devices that cup the ball of the foot with a sliding metal bracket.
He has taken off his right shoe.
“Left,” Rachel says, fanning a hand in front of her face as if something smells very bad. “An animal die in here?” she mutters, looking around.
“What did you say?”
“Left foot’s bigger. Left shoe off.”
“It’s not bigger.”
“Just take your left shoe off.”
She measures his left foot, shakes her head—”Weirdest goddamn feet I ever saw”—and disappears into the back. As if he suspects he has not heard right, he watches her go. She returns with numerous grey boxes. Straddles the stool.
“OK. Most people have normal feet, if you know what I mean. This is a shoe store, not some orthopedic clinic. Anyway, you’re in luck.”
The shoe is a brogue.
“The holes go all the way through,” Harry says, looking down.
“Holes that don’t are imitations. Haven’t you ever heard the old Gaelic expression ‘Fishy as a brogue has holes’?”
“I want to see something else.”
The next is a normal oxford style but completely transparent. Harry glances down, sees his sock foot, assumes the shoe is not yet on.
Rachel tugs at his pant leg. “So what do you say. You won’t know you’re wearing it. Neither will anybody else. Visually very striking, especially without socks.”
“I always wear socks.”
“What do you do, wring them out at lunchtime?”
“Pardon?”
“Pièce de résistance.” She removes the clear shoes and replaces them with giant rubber feet. Cinches and fastens them tight.
Harry looks down, incredulous.
Rachel backs away. “Before you say anything, walk over to the mirror. Footwear always looks strange from above.”
Harry stands, knocking over the footstool. He lumbers to the mirror, where the feet look even bigger. “I can’t wear these,” he says.
“You’re wearing them,” Rachel replies.
Two kids run over and start jumping up and down on them as if they are inflatable furniture.
“Take them off!” Harry shouts at Rachel.
“Off? You haven’t tried the boots!” Rachel wrestles the lid from a box the size of a small crypt. Inside are strange, giant boots in blue patent leather with pointed toes and enormoussilver buckles. “Fabulous,” she murmurs. “With these babies and a little practice you’ll be kicking the eyes out of boa constrictors.”
“I’m not wearing these,” Harry says.
“Hold your horses. I just got them out of the box.”
“Take them off.” He is feeling for the ankle strap.
“What are we talking about? The feet or the boots?”
“The feet!”
“We’ve done the feet. There is no point at all doing the feet unless we also do the boots. Even if you never wear them. Just trying them on you’ll be way ahead of quitting now. Wouldn’t want to be a quitter. Nobody’d like you. There.” She has got the big silver buckles done up. “How do they feel? Comfortable?”
“Comfort is not the point, is it?”
“Believe me. Comfort, in shoes, is always the point. And don’t try to tell me they’re not fashionable after coming in here wearing these things.” She lifts a loafer between thumb and forefinger as if it is a turd.
“Loafers are classic!”
“Not as classic as togas.”
This dream goes on for quite a while. Some time towards the end of it, Harry may be seen paying a fortune for the rubber feet and buckled boots and leaving the store a satisfied customer.
Harry had second thoughts, but they were too late. Already Rachel was waking up at the Dream Centre with her head wired and Alex Silver pumping her hand.
“Congratulations,” Silver said. “Twelve hours straight sleep at 58% REM. Must be some kind of world record for humans. Puff’s got you beat in the mammalian class, though: 63%. And cats aren’t big dreamers.”
“Sorry, Alex—”
“Hey, you had to stop—start—sometime. Babs and Frankie didn’t even bother to sign back in. How are you feeling?”
“Groggy—How’d I—”
“Sally. You were dead weight. So was Puff. By the way, you find Harry?”
“You bet—” Rachel already rolling over and on her way back to sleep.
When she awoke again Silver was there to give her a phone message from Leon, to call home. Beaming in a manic kind of way, he took her hands in his. “He came to see me, Rachel!”
“Harry!?”
“Not Harry. Leon. I had a cancellation. He just walked in!” Silver whacked his forehead. “Whew!” He laughed happily. “Surprised? Was I surprised?”
“I can imagine. Did you talk about old times?”
“I sure did. But you know—” Silver went pensive. “Leon was very quiet. That surprised me. It was almost as if he was shy with me, as if—I don’t know. I just didn’t expect him to be so—reserved, or something. Rachel, try to understand. Back at Willmott High your husband was easily the coolest guy in the universe! He was, like, Sal Mineo and George Maharis rolled into one, if thosenames mean anything to you. He was my idol for—Who am I kidding. He’s still my idol.” Silver came forward to grip the edge of Rachel’s mattress with feverish intensity. “Please don’t tell him I told you. And Rachel? Did I mention he wants you to call home? I did? When you see him, maybe you could, you know, find out what it was like for him. I mean, that we could talk like that—”
“I’ll try, Alex.” Rachel washed her face and went to the phone to call Leon while Alex Silver bounced on his bed like a kid too excited to sleep.
But first she called her mother.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Why? What’s the matter? Whozits show up?”
“Yup, everything’s great. I thought you might be worried about me, so I’m calling you. You’re OK?”
“Why should I be worried about you? You were better off. Where was he?”
“Staying with a friend. How’s Elmer doing?”
“What sex?”
“Male.”
“Get him tested. Elmer’s fine. Did I tell you he found your father? The bastard’s designing some big mall out near you. I was right. He’s worth millions. I couldn’t care less. We’re getting married.”
“Who?”
“Me and Elmer. Who do you think?”
“Why?”
“Listen, if you can marry Leon Boseman I can marry Goofy.”“But what about—”
“Your father? I don’t know. The hunt was all. Once we closed in for the kill I lost interest. Who needs money when you’ve got love. Elmer’s sweet. It’s like a baseball bat. You can come to the wedding. This could be the last time you see me. We’re moving to Florida.”
Rachel hung up feeling so calm. She called Leon.
“Rachel? It’s me, Leon—”
“I know. My mother’s marrying Elmer.”
“Is that right. Guess what I did today. I found Alex Silver in the phone book. I didn’t feel like calling, so I went over to his house. His mother was there. She told me she doesn’t work at his office on the day they tape Share That Dream. I told her how in high school what a big admirer I was of her son. She said he had no admirers. We talked about the good old days. Hers were all in Poland. To get rid of me, she called Alex at his office. He had a cancellation. I drove over.”
“So? You drove over—?”
“I don’t know. I guess in the back of my mind I was trying to make a connection. Or check out an old one. He’s always been kind of a touchstone for me. Maybe ‘touchstone’ isn’t exactly the word … Anyway, he kept saying how wonderful it was to see me and how well he
remembered me and how much he used to admire me—”
“Oh Leon. That must have been so gratifying for you—”
“Gratifying? Are you serious? What a sleazebag! I was nobody, Rachel! Who’s he trying to kid? This guy I admired so much hasturned into just another one of these I’m-OK-You-Think-You’re-Not-But-I-Know-Better types that people go to to be told they’re God’s answer to all their own stupid problems. To think I ever admired a guy who’d become a shameless opportunist like that. The creep came on so strong with all these sentimental Wilmott High memories, I just went quiet. I think he must have assumed I was so impressed to see him again I was speechless. I was impressed all right. By what an asshole he is. But not for long. Suddenly he’s got his hand on my elbow and he’s quick-marching me to the door!”
“He probably had a client waiting—”
“So? She could wait five minutes, couldn’t she? I admit she looked depressed, but I didn’t see any razor blade at her wrist.”
“Leon, I’m sure Alex really was happy to see you. You probably were a big deal at Willmott High. You can’t blame him for his personality.”
“Rachel, what are you saying? We’re talking about a guy who wears glasses with bright red frames! I’m amazed he didn’t charge for the visit! There’s probably a bill in the mail!”
“Leon, this is what you wanted to tell me? How disappointed you were in Alex Silver?”
“No. Listen. I think we should talk.”
“OK. Let’s have breakfast.”
“Breakfast? What kind of life are you living? It’s five o’clock!”
“In the afternoon?”
“Geez—”
“Is there any food in the house?”
“Somebody cleaned us out. You have company or something? It’s depressing here. I’ll meet you at The Buhrstone in half an hour.”
As Rachel hung up, Alex Silver came back into the room frantic. When he saw Rachel he started to rave. “I just figured out why Leon was so quiet! Oh, what a fool I was! So thrilled to see him I never dreamt!”
“Dreamt what, Alex?”
“That he came to me for help! He did, didn’t he? Oh God, the quiet one should have been me—What a fool—”
“Alex, sit down.”
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