“But what can we do about it?”
“What’s going to happen if we don’t do anything? Will there be someone else who could do something for our planet?”
Mrs. Miller is still worried.
“In a few years, we might not even have electricity anymore. Let’s let Harvey use it while he still can,” her husband says.
“Always the catastrophist.”
The professor tosses the papers higgledy-piggledy onto his impeccably organized desk. “It’s utter chaos. And I detest chaos theories. There must be an order to things somewhere! There must be something we can do.”
“You could have that journalist friend of yours write an article about it.”
“Who reads newspapers anymore?”
Sitting on the bed, a towel wrapped around her damp hair like a turban, Linda Melodia peers at her niece, Elettra, with the same critical eye she would use on a roast being given to her at the butcher’s. “What kind of party is it?” she asks for the millionth time.
“Auntie!” Elettra cries, exasperated. She doesn’t feel like arguing. Not tonight. “It’s just a party at Harvey’s friend’s place.”
“And you mean to go to a party at his friend’s place wearing that skirt? Or better, where is your skirt, exactly?”
Elettra pulls the hem of her miniskirt down until it almost reaches her knees. “This is how they’re made these days, Auntie! It’s the fashion!”
“Hmm … that’s what you say!”
“Well, what about you, then?” Elettra asks, pointing at the sequined gown hanging out to air beside the closet. “Tonight you’re going out with a neckline that reaches down to your belly button….”
“Well, I never!” Linda snaps. “That neckline isn’t at all low. Besides, if I may say, I’m a few years older than you. And I have a rather … generous figure.”
“I’m not standing here giving you the third degree about where you’re going to dinner and who with.”
“But you know perfectly well! In any case, let’s stop talking about me. The problem here is you and this party. I can’t imagine that Mistral will be wearing a skirt like that!”
Elettra grumbles, going back into the bathroom and closing the door. She spends the next ten minutes gussying up, until someone knocks on the front door. It’s Harvey, who’s wearing a tuxedo that fits him like a glove and a pair of gym shoes. His bow tie is crooked.
“Hello, Harvey,” Linda Melodia greets him, trying to keep a straight face. “Elettra will be right here.” Still, her nitpicking nature can’t pass up the chance to offer some unsolicited advice. “If you like, I could help you fix that. You need to tie it tighter here, right by your neck….”
Harvey’s face flushes with embarrassment, but Elettra walks in before it’s too late. “Auntie!” she groans, stepping between them. “It’s perfect just the way it is, Harvey.”
They say a quick goodbye and walk out. Linda closes the door after them and leans back against it. “It looks more than perfect, Harvey,” she sighs. “If only I’d met a boy like that back when I was their age.”
Sheng’s laughter echoes in from the hallway. Familiar with how he matches his clothes, Linda’s tempted to go out and give him a once-over, too, but she decides against it. It’s only with Mistral that she rests assured.
Sticking out from under the bed is a paper bag that Elettra brought back after shopping. Linda glances at it, pulls it out and puts it in the closet, next to her bronze replica of the Statue of Liberty.
She slides her fingers down her evening gown, unwraps the towel turban from her head and starts planning. “And now for you, my mustachioed friend. You’re going to dinner with Miss Melodia!”
“Got everything?” Harvey asks once they’re outside the hotel.
Sheng bounces his backpack on his back. “Yeah. We scratched the logo off a wooden chocolate box and added a few mysterious symbols. Then we bought four wooden tops for three fifty at a supermarket and boiled them in water and salt so they’d look old.”
“I drew a dog, a tower, a whirlpool and an eye on them,” Mistral adds.
“How’d it all turn out?”
“They might fall for it, but they’d have to be really, really stupid.”
“Perfect.” Harvey steps off the curb and hails a cab. “City Hall,” he orders, getting in.
The taxi zooms into the brightly lit street, cuts across Times Square with its giant bright lights and races down Broadway, quickly passing the sleek, shiny cars around it. Elettra looks at her reflection in the cab’s glass divider. Mistral double-checks the fake objects they made that afternoon. Her black Lurex flats are glittering beneath her stretch-wool slacks. Even her sleeveless twinset is studded with rhinestones. Sheng doesn’t say a word the whole way there, as if hypnotized by the sparkles.
Harvey tries not to think about anything. And not to feel anything.
“What now?” Sheng asks when the taxi drops them off in a square surrounded by obelisks of light. The buildings around City Hall look like luminescent ant farms. The black shadows of a few trees rise up out of the park.
“Now we need to find a way down there,” says Harvey. “The abandoned station is right below us.”
“I hear something rattling.”
“Sheng’s teeth, probably.”
“It’s music. Music coming from right beneath our feet.”
Elettra goes up to Harvey and asks him, one last time, “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“Can you think of an alternative?”
“Not going.”
“What about Ermete? He’d do the same thing for us.”
“He’d hand over wooden fakes?”
Harvey turns away, annoyed, and starts looking for a way to go down below street level. “If you guys don’t want to come, I can’t blame you.”
Sheng, Elettra and Mistral follow him.
“Are the real map and tops in a safe place?” Sheng asks in a low voice.
“They’re in Elettra’s room,” Mistral replies. “In a shopping bag.”
The four continue along without saying another word. As they’re heading toward some tall, tall buildings, they hear the music growing louder, even though it’s still muffled, thumping, ominous. It’s coming from the manholes. From belowground.
Two guys dressed in black leather cross over the sidewalk, striding toward the center of the square. Harvey decides to follow them.
The entrance turns out to be a brick building that looks a lot like a public restroom. In fact, it is a public restroom, but inside, instead of there being stalls, there’s a narrow stairway leading down below. The front door is plastered with posters. A stony-faced bouncer with a pierced eyebrow is watching over the clandestine dancers as they arrive.
Harvey doesn’t slow his pace, but he doesn’t want to just walk downstairs. He heads straight for the bouncer and, with the brazen courage of his thirteen years of age, tells him, “I’m Harvey Miller. Egon Nose is expecting me.”
The bouncer’s expression makes him look like a long-dead fish. He stares at Harvey like he can’t even seen him. Then, when he notices that the boy isn’t leaving, he bursts out laughing, as if he’s just heard the funniest joke in his life. “Go right in,” he says, nodding toward the steep stairway leading down toward the music.
Harvey gestures to the others to follow him downstairs. While he’s taking the first steps, the bouncer is still laughing.
At the bottom of the flight of steps is a second door. On the other side of the door they can sense a wall of music full of riveting bass notes. With every step they descend, the volume of the music increases, the percussions sounding more and more like hammers whose blows are making the air tremble.
Once the door is pushed open, the world suddenly changes.
New York is gone. What’s before them is something else. With its black-and-white brick vaulting, the old abandoned station is streaked with red lights whirling around, relentlessly slashing through the darkness. A mass of bodies presse
d up tightly against one another is dancing, driven by the music and bathed in sweat. The people of the night who dance at all costs.
Harvey, Elettra, Sheng and Mistral stay off to the side, unable to fathom the shape and depth of their surroundings. It looks vast and cramped at the same time. Dark and blinding. It’s a world of contradictions. Bass notes so high-pitched they seem silent. Movements so frenetic they seem motionless.
The kids stand side by side, like soldiers, seeking courage in the contact of their shoulders. They can feel evil dancing there right next to them.
Elettra’s eyes are big and frightened. Her fingers are sizzling with energy. She clutches on to Harvey like a person tossed overboard clings to the last scrap of floating wood. Mistral has her eyes closed. Sheng isn’t laughing anymore. In Alfred Van Der Berger’s tuxedo, Harvey tries to make his heart beat more slowly than the rhythm of the music. His fists are clenched, his muscles taut, just like he learned from Olympia. He keeps his head held high. He peers around, anxious to spot the person he’s looking for.
“I’m Harvey Miller,” he shouts to a young woman who looks vaguely familiar. “Would you tell Mr. Nose I’ve come to pick up my friend?”
The girl stares down at him with her fashion model’s physique. She smiles, a ravenous look on her face. She turns around and walks off. Her long legs look like snakes.
“What’d you tell her?” Sheng shouts into Harvey’s ear.
“That we’re here.”
The dancers shake and thrash around. Their eyes are half-closed, their mouths open as if they were singing, their bodies so flexible they look like they’re melting.
Elettra squeezes Mistral’s hand. “Everything okay?”
“This place gives me the creeps.”
“Me too.”
Harvey is standing out in front of them. His back is like rocks protecting a port from the swelling sea. It’s blocking out the red lights, damming up the thundering echo of the percussions.
A man wearing a bird’s mask passes by a few yards away from them. He turns, lets out a piercing shriek and disappears onto the dance floor.
“Let’s get out of here!” Mistral cries. “Let’s leave!”
Elettra holds her back. “Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
Sheng leans in closer to them. “We need to stick together. It’s our only hope.” His eyes are a man’s eyes. His customary smile has disappeared. “Remember what happened when we split up last time?” he asks Mistral, struggling to be heard over the music. “In Rome, at the professor’s apartment?”
The girl looks at him, nods and calms down. “Yes. They kidnapped me.”
“We need to stick together,” Sheng repeats. He holds out his hand. Mistral grabs it. Elettra adds hers. All three of them turn toward Harvey.
“They’re coming,” he says, even though none of them can hear the sound of his voice. Then his hand clasps all of theirs, as big and strong as a boxer’s glove.
26
THE TRADE
THE WOMAN GESTURES TO THE FOUR FRIENDS TO FOLLOW HER. SHE leads them around the dance floor and beyond a divider with the words OFF-LIMITS written on it in black spray paint. Finally, they find themselves beyond a few walls of plasterboard and polystyrene, which are isolating the dance area from the platform running alongside the abandoned train tracks. On the wall, which is still white yet covered with graffiti, is a plaque: CITY HALL—1909.
People are waiting for them on the platform next to the tracks.
A smallish man wearing an electric-blue velvet overcoat and holding a long cane turns around to face them. “Ah, at last!” he sneers.
The woman who led them there goes to stand beside the man. Egon Nose. The master of the night. Behind his enormous nose, two other women are lined up. They’re holding Ermete by the arms. The engineer wearily raises his head, revealing two black eyes. He tries to say something, but his mouth has been sealed with tape, so he shakes his head, as if to warn the kids to get out of there, now, as fast as they can.
“What did you do to him?” shouts Elettra the moment she recognizes him. She takes a step forward, but Harvey stops her. With this simple gesture, the roles on the two sides in this underground confrontation are established: on one side, Harvey and the three kids standing behind him, and on the other side, Egon Nose with his three women, who are eagerly awaiting orders.
“You must be Miller,” the man says.
“And you must be Egon Nose.”
Nose lets out a little laugh. “Heh, heh, heh … Wonderful!” he remarks, twirling his cane around. “So stylish, so formal! A boy from days gone by! And you three, back there? What are your names? Which of you is Mistral?”
“Let our friend go,” Harvey replies.
The man’s wide nostrils flare. “Why in such a rush, young Miller? Such a rush! Won’t you even give me the chance to get acquainted with my new friends? Here, let me introduce you to my three travel companions. My three ladies. Maybe you’re still too young to appreciate them, but believe me, they’re perfect women, ones who don’t need to be taught anything. Not even to keep their mouths shut.”
Sheng clenches his teeth, resisting the urge to run away.
“In any case, Miller, they told me you were bright. It seems the others know how to use their young minds, too. Oh, now what do we have here? I see Asian eyes! My client will be pleased. Where are you from?”
“Shanghai,” Sheng blurts out.
“You don’t say!” Dr. Nose exclaims, raising his cane. “What a small world. It just so happens that it’s a man from Shanghai who told me all about you kids. He says you have something that belongs to him.”
“And you have something that belongs to us.”
“You mean this?” Egon Nose cackles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the wooden top.
Harvey nods grimly. “That, too.”
Dr. Nose slips the top back into his velvet coat and makes a regretful grimace. “Well, there are two sides to every story. And I’m not so good at—how can I put this?—at acting as arbitrator….” Egon’s voice grows mockingly honeyed. “I’m far better at defending absolutely indefensible positions. I like bold decisions. In any case,” he exclaims, banging his cane down against the ground, “let’s try to wrap all this up as quickly as possible, shall we?”
A rumbling noise comes from the tunnel, growing louder and louder. For an instant they can see a light shining through it, like a flash.
“The six service,” Dr. Nose remarks. “It no longer runs along this old circuit of tracks. Things that no longer serve a purpose are eventually abandoned.” The man’s stare suddenly turns hard, piercing. “And now … give me what belongs to us!” he exclaims, resolute. “Then you can run along and dance.”
“We want our friend first,” Harvey orders.
“Boy!” Dr. Nose screams, almost howling, as he bangs his cane on the ground. “You don’t understand who’s in charge here! Or maybe you want me to order them to nail you to that wall down there and leave you at the mercy of the rats?” he says, gesturing at the women behind him.
Harvey gulps nervously, but he doesn’t even flinch. His feet are planted on the ground like an age-old oak tree. “You can order them to try …,” he replies, holding the man’s stare.
Their staring contest lasts five, ten, twenty seconds. Then, to their surprise, it’s Egon Nose who gives in first. He does so with a laugh, but a second later his voice is strangely shaken. “This kid’s good!” he remarks. “There’s no doubt about it! You’ve got guts!” He gestures to the two women holding Ermete. “Take off his gag!”
The women rip the tape off his mouth, making him scream.
“And no shouting!” Nose snaps. “Aren’t you already ashamed enough, being saved by a pack of little brats?”
Sheng rubs his chin, searching for at least a little stubble to show his adversary.
“Get out of here!” Ermete shouts the moment he catches his breath. “Don’t give him the map! Get out, now! He isn’t going
to—”
A kick makes him gulp back his last words.
Dr. Nose peers at him with disgust. “Such a sorry excuse for a man. Young Miller, I’m not so sure saving him is worth all this effort. But tell me something. Just one thing. What map is he talking about?”
“Ask your friend from Shanghai if you want to find out.”
“Oh, yes. An excellent idea. I think he must know all about it. Thank you for the suggestion. And now, if you would be so kind …” He holds out his hand, waiting to be given something.
Harvey nods to Sheng, who hands him the backpack. Harvey raises it over his head and says, “One of them comes to get this while another one brings our friend here.”
“Fine.” Egon Nose nods. “I like complicated trades. Just like in the movies. You always have the impression that something unexpected could happen at any moment.”
Half-walking, half-dragged by one of the women, Ermete starts to make his way over to the four kids.
“Your friend was a real chatterbox,” Egon Nose continues, smiling. “He told me exactly how the tops work and about the secret you’re trying to discover. It’s all incomprehensible but definitely fascinating.”
Ermete raises his head and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Harvey waits until the engineer is close enough and then hands Sheng’s backpack over to the woman. Ermete takes the last few steps toward the kids and collapses against Harvey’s shoulder, exhausted. “I didn’t want to talk…. I didn’t want to …,” he mumbles, his eyes blackened, his fingers injured.
Nose peers inside the backpack and pulls out a top. “So this is it, is it?” he asks, studying it carefully.
“We’re leaving,” Harvey states, taking a step back, still holding up Ermete. He’s desperately trying to figure out which direction they should leave in when Egon Nose tosses the top into the backpack and pulls out another one.
“Ah!” he exclaims. “Are you sure about that?” He throws the second top to the ground and smashes it with his cane. The wooden toy breaks in two. “No, no … this isn’t right!” Dr. Nose howls, hurling Sheng’s backpack onto the tracks. “I don’t see any gold sphere! You kids aren’t going anywhere!”
Star of Stone Page 16