Bathing the Lion

by Jonathan Carroll

  “You were on the road with Kaspar.”

  “Right.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Crebold pointed to the drawings. “I need to take those with me; they shouldn’t be here.” He leered at Kaspar. “You don’t know what we’re talking about, do you, old friend? I cannot express how much that pleases me. Jane and I are talking about your future and events you know nothing about yet.”

  Ignoring the taunt, Kaspar asked, “Why do you want these drawings?”

  “You remember the rules, pal—mechanics can never divulge the future to mortals.”

  Kaspar wasn’t having it. “The fact you’re here in her flip, making your presence known to both of us, is breaking the rules, Crebold. Both of those things are taboo for mechanics. Rule number one: stealth. Remain unseen—anonymity at all costs.”

  “Yes, well, some of those rules have changed since you retired. Just give me the drawings and I’ll go.” He wore a smug smirk that Kaspar wanted to slap off his face. The arrogant little prick.

  Jane asked, “Why do they matter to you?”

  “Kaspar cheated back there on the road. He slipped those drawings into your pocket because he wants you to decipher them and use the information if you can, no matter what happens to him.”

  Kaspar couldn’t resist asking. “What are they? What do they mean?”

  “In part they’re instructions—instructions about how mechanics function. They’re also a kind of map of the human heart, translated into a visual language humans can understand.”

  Jane glanced at the drawings in Kaspar’s hand as she processed this information. “But why not let me use them? Aren’t we supposed to become mechanics again to fight this Somersault thing?

  “Is that really what it’s called—a Somersault?”

  “No, it’s a”—Crebold spoke again in the mysterious language. “But we call it a Somersault so humans understand.”

  Kaspar folded the drawings along the lines already scored in the paper. He tapped them on his open palm. “Why would I do such a thing, Crebold? Why would I want to give her instructions? There’s something about these papers you’re not telling us.”

  Jane kept staring at Crebold, searching for something different in his face, his voice, his demeanor; something unique or special to set him apart from others. But she saw absolutely nothing; he was simply a man in a suit. Although he wore a different face now, Crebold looked much like he had in Vienna when he appeared as Kaspar’s twin brother. But despite the different face, he still looked like the kind of forgettable functionary who handled your ticket at an airline counter. Or the waiter who takes your order at a theme restaurant: the guy in a starched white short-sleeve shirt wearing a name tag too small to read: KEVIN. He looked like a Kevin. Or a Bruce. Hi, I’m Bruce. Are you ready to order?

  Kevin/Bruce/Crebold now asked, “Jane, do you know what Pipetoe is yet? Or Tenbrink?”

  “No. Say the words again.”

  “They’re not words—they’re names: Pipetoe and Tenbrink.”

  “No, I’ve never heard either of them before.”

  The mechanic looked at Kaspar, who shrugged—he didn’t recognize the names either. Crebold was genuinely surprised. “Really, you don’t remember them?”

  “No.”

  Crebold pointed an accusing finger at him. “I thought they let you keep your whole memory.”

  “They did. But I don’t remember those names.”

  “It’s not possible, Kaspar—you were a Tenbrink.”

  Kaspar was unimpressed. “Which is what?”

  Crebold couldn’t contain himself. “Are you joking? Do you expect me to believe that bullshit?”

  “Believe it or not, it’s the truth; I don’t know what a Tenbrink is. Sorry.”

  Jane spoke to divert the mechanic’s attention. “Tell me what it is; tell me what those names mean.” Distracted, Crebold looked at the woman with angry eyes before registering what she’d asked.

  “Each mechanic has a specific job to do. Tenbrinks do this, Pipetoes do that. Kaspar and I were Tenbrinks. You were a Pipetoe.”

  “Pronounce the two names in your language.”

  Crebold said the mechanic names aloud but they sounded like gobbledygook to Jane and Kaspar. “Now just give me the drawings and I’ll go.”

  Still holding them in his hand, Kaspar looked at the floor and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Crebold considered crossing the room and taking the damned papers. He could do that easily but it would be no fun. Besides, he had a perfect chance now to stick it deep into his old rival and watch his dismay. Crebold wouldn’t miss that for anything. Turning to Jane he asked, “Do you really want to know why I’m here?”

  She nodded, curious but suspicious of what he would say.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you in just a moment. But first I need to tell Mr. Pants Salesman here something. Remember Jezik? You liked her, right?”

  Kaspar’s memory flashed back to the three blond women who’d come to his store last summer to warn him about the Somersault. “Yes, of course I remember her.”

  “Gone. Jezik and all the others are gone, Kaspar; every single one of them—poof! They’re wiping out mechanics. Soon it’ll be just me and a few others left to tell the tale.” Crebold flashed a triumphant smile. “Shocking, huh? It’s a whole new ballgame.”

  “The Somersault—it’s here.” Kaspar said it as a statement of fact, not a question.

  “Correct—and has been for a while. It’s just moving more slowly this time.”

  “If the others are gone, how did you survive?”

  Crebold answered quickly. “I’m going to tell you the truth even though it makes me look bad. But I’m okay with that now. Chaos’s representatives came to those of us who never fit in very well as mechanics—I’m sure you remember which ones I’m talking about, Kaspar.

  “They said it was here now and everything is going to change. Any kind of old order is out and Chaos is back. They said we could either bathe their lion or try to fight it. But if we fought, sooner or later it would eat us like it did the other mechanics. It’s very simple—choose one—bathe or fight.” Crebold took a deep satisfied breath. “I may not have been the best mechanic, Kaspar, but I’m a fucking good survivor.”

  “You’re with Chaos now?”

  “I am.” Crebold bent forward in a small mocking bow. “My guess is your shared dream was one of the last things the mechanics were able to make happen before they started being wiped out. Your dream and flipping all the retirees at the last minute. Just imagine right now everywhere in the universe, confused ex-mechanics are bouncing around the days of their lives like they’re on some kind of treasure hunt to find anything to help stop the Chaos rolling in all around them. If you ask me, it’s ridiculous for them to try to stop it, but you gotta give them credit.” He broke eye contact with Kaspar and looked at Jane.

  “Something in Kaspar’s dream must have inspired him to do the drawings when he woke. To sum up on paper everything he knows from the two lives he’s had and pass it on hoping it’ll help. Then he slipped those little maps of his soul into your pocket, Jane. He must think very highly of you.”

  Since the Kaspar Benn who was there now had not had the dream yet, Jane couldn’t ask him anything about it or why it had inspired him to make the puzzling drawings.

  A tense silence fell on the room as Kaspar and Jane digested what Crebold had said.

  Before any of them spoke again, there was a scratching sound at the front door and Kaspar left the room. Crebold looked at Jane and smiled.

  “Isn’t it strange being in two time frames simultaneously? I never get over this unsteady feeling I have whenever it happens, no matter how many jobs I’ve done. It’s like having each foot in a different canoe on the water and trying to keep your balance.”

  Confused, Jane stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, as soon as you and I leave here tonight, Kaspar won’t remember any of this. He’l
l go on living his useless life exactly as he has been. Not until he shares your group dream a few months from now will he experience any of the stuff we’ve just been talking about. So while you and I are literally existing in both his present and his future, he’s only in the present. He must feel left out, huh?”

  Jane had other concerns. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” Crebold straightened up, fully expecting something nasty from this impressive-looking woman. With her poise and stature, she could have been some kind of CEO. It was almost too bad she would end up like the others eventually—a real waste of talent.

  Jane was careful the way she phrased the question—she wanted it to be both clear and concise. But when it came out, her confusion and need for an understandable answer made her gush. “All those things that happened in our dream—what were they? What did they all mean? So much was true and real, even down to specific details, but just as much was a confused jumble or simply not true.

  “There were so many different stories and unconnected details … it felt like a hodgepodge of all our experiences scrunched together without any kind of filter to keep the stories separate. There was no through line; I can’t make sense of it.”

  Crebold couldn’t resist asking in a snarky voice, “Sort of like human life, eh?”

  With loud fanfare the two big dogs came bounding into the room happy and eager to greet and kiss everyone. Crebold forgot Kaspar had said in the dream he owned a dog. Now here were two big slobbery brutes coming straight at him. Without a second’s hesitation he lifted his hand and killed them both. D Train and Kos dropped to the floor as if they’d been shot point-blank in the head.

  Horror-struck, Kaspar howled and falling to his knees, grabbed up his great and beloved friend D Train. The pit bull was heavy and warm and rubbery in his embrace, as if it had no bones at all. Its large head hung over one of his arms. “No!”

  Crebold’s mouth tightened. He was sort of sorry to have done it but not really—an instinctive reaction. He loathed all animals and Kaspar certainly knew it from their previous work together. As a result he never should have let the dogs into the house; he should have remembered Crebold’s hatred. Yes, it was Kaspar’s fault they were dead now.

  “You can’t do that,” Jane said in a calm authoritative voice, which showed no sign of either shock or fear. It was a clear challenge to Crebold.

  Crouching down next to Kaspar, she gently pulled him away from his dog. He struggled at first but after a few seconds let go. Kos was lying inches away. Jane touched D Train on the chest and Kos on the head—D with her right hand, Kos with her left. With what knowledge she’d gained from petting them while outside the house and those brief moments when she actually became the dogs, she immediately located where their souls were now and positioned her hands over them. Luckily the souls had not left the dogs’ bodies yet.

  “What are you doing?” Crebold didn’t like this one bit. He didn’t know how much Jane knew now about being a mechanic or what powers she’d regained. But what he was most wary of was suddenly very possible; they had warned him about it. If that was the situation now, he had to flee immediately if he wanted to survive.

  “You can’t change the past, Crebold, and you know it. Not even Chaos can do that—the past is fixed forever. So you can’t kill these dogs now because they were both alive when we had the dream that happens months from today.”

  Crebold tried to bluff her. “You don’t know anything—Chaos can do whatever it wants to do. If it wants to kill those dogs yesterday, it can.”

  Jane shook her head. “Nope, not true. The only time the past ‘changes’ is when we twist it in our memory or in whatever subjective histories we write about it. Hitler was Hitler. What he and the Nazis did was fact; how those facts are seen and interpreted is up to the different people and their various biases.

  “But by itself the past is permanent, written in stone. Chaos can’t undo or change the Big Bang, any more than you can kill these dogs yesterday.”

  Kaspar was silent throughout this exchange because he no longer remembered exactly what a mechanic or Chaos was capable of doing. Was Jane right about the past being permanent and unalterable, even by something as powerful as Chaos? Oddly he kept thinking about algebra. Because at the moment he felt like a middle-aged man who’d learned algebra back in school and forty years later was trying to remember even an iota of what he once knew about it.

  Crebold stared at the dogs and his eyes smiled. “If it’s not true, why aren’t they moving?”

  Hands resting on the bodies, Jane said, “Because I won’t let them until you’re gone. I’m holding their souls until then.”

  Crebold spat out, “Bullshit!”

  Slowly lifting her hands off the animals, she turned both palms up. Kaspar craned forward, desperate for a miracle, a sign, anything to prove what she’d said was true. But he saw nothing on Jane’s pink palms and the two dogs remained still. Frustrated, he let out a small, strangled sound, an anguished cry from a grieving heart.

  Crebold also looked at her palms, but obviously he did see something significant there because he quickly stepped back: one, two, three.

  Watching him, Jane touched the dogs again. “Kaspar’s not giving you his drawings because I won’t let him. If I take my hands away again these two will come alive and tear you apart. I’ll tell them to do it and you know I can—you won’t be able to stop them because nothing can change the past.

  “The only thing which can be changed here, right this minute, is you, Crebold, because you’re the only thing that doesn’t belong. You can’t kill the dogs but they can kill you because they lived this moment. Ironic, isn’t it? The past is our only safe refuge from Chaos.”

  Crebold’s voice hardened. “Kill me? A really bad idea. You have no idea what’ll happen if you do it.”

  It was Jane’s turn to smile. “I don’t care. If all you’ve said is true, we’re doomed anyway. So why not kill you after what you just did? It’ll be my small protest against Chaos. You kill these lovely animals, I bring them back to life and they kill you. Poetic justice: mate and checkmate.”

  The dogs’ eyes opened but were blank, the look any creature has when it reawakens after having been knocked unconscious. The men saw this and were stunned.

  Kos’s legs quivered and twitched, then he sat up. His eyes were still unfocused. He did not try to stand. His blue-streaked tongue, slick with drool, lolled out the side of his mouth. D Train remained lying on his side but slowly started licking Jane’s hand and the part of her arm he could reach by lifting his head a little.

  Kaspar roared, “My boy!” and asked if he could hold the dog. Jane shook her head no, not yet.

  In the moment when they glanced at each other, Crebold was gone.

  “Do you want some wine? I’ve got all kinds.”

  “No, but I’d love a glass of very cold water, please.”

  Jane sat at the table surrounded by plates of food. Kaspar buzzed around his kitchen like a summer fly, the events of the last half hour still blasting red-hot survivor’s adrenaline through his amped-up body. He couldn’t be still so he brought more and more food and put it down in front of his new hero. He needed to do something to thank Jane for saving his dog’s life, so when she had said she was hungry, he sprang into action and started gathering.

  “Jane, I thought it was over; I thought for sure D Train was dead.”

  “Me too.”

  At the sink Kaspar looked over his shoulder at her, his mouth open in surprise. “What?”

  She nodded it was true. “I knew mechanics had the power to bring things back to life. But I didn’t know if I had it yet or if I’d use it right. I was flying blind, Kaspar, completely on instinct.”

  “Well, your instinct proved to be a good friend, which is even more impressive, Jane. You looked so cool, in complete control of the situation. I’m certain it was part of what scared him off: Crebold saw you weren’t going to take any shit from him because it sounded li
ke you knew exactly what you were doing. Then when you actually brought the dogs back … he knew he’d met his match.”

  “But did you see his eyes, Kaspar? The whole time he talked, I could see in his eyes he wasn’t sure we’d do what he wanted. When I saw that insecurity, I knew your drawings had to be incredibly important and worth protecting.”

  “But we don’t know what they mean, Jane. What good are they if—” He sighed in frustration. Kaspar didn’t need to finish the sentence because she knew exactly what he meant.

  She picked up a small knife and cut a piece of Stilton cheese off a big hunk Kaspar had brought to the table. Jane loved any kind of cheese. Placing it on a cracker, she dipped the knife into a cup of shiny red condiment Kaspar had insisted she try on the Stilton. Apparently it was his invention—cranberry sauce mixed with wasabi mustard. She loved it from the first taste—the startling combination of very sweet in contrast to horseradish-sharp went perfectly with the cheese’s own strong tang. It was a whole new and unexpected taste treat for her.

  Looking at it now, Jane realized she’d eaten almost the whole serving of the oddly delicious stuff while chatting with Kaspar. She was still staring at the empty cup when he came over with a glass of water filled to the brim with ice cubes. He waited for her to take it but she just kept staring at what was left of her dip.

  “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Jane, is something wrong?”

  The dogs lay on the floor nearby. Although they appeared to be pretty much back to normal by then, neither had any energy. Usually when Kaspar was at the refrigerator D Train was right beside him. It was one of the few things the pit bull was smart about—he knew the big cold silver box held endless yummy treasures. So D always made it a point to station himself in the vicinity when it was opened in case any of the goodies inside came his way. But not this time, because he was completely pooped; death and resurrection had emptied both dogs’ tanks for the day.