There Are Doors

by Gene Wolfe

  “He has a house or an apartment here?”

  “A house, I think,” Fanny said. “At least he used to. I saw a picture of him in the paper one time, taken out on his lawn. He grows roses, that’s his hobby. I suppose that’s why he kept the house when he and his wife split.”

  “Do you know where this house is?”

  She studied him. “If you’re thinking about seeing Klamm at his house, forget it. He’s the President’s security advisor, which means that a dozen different groups are gunning for him, including North’s. He’s guarded around the clock.”

  “But he might talk to me, if I rang his doorbell. I don’t want to kill him, I just want to ask him a couple of questions.”

  “Well, I don’t know where he lives. And I’m sure you can skip looking in the phone book.”

  “You must have some idea.”

  Fanny shrugged. “There’s a couple toney suburbs down south. A big place like that would just about have to be in one or the other, but I don’t know.”

  “Where is his office?”

  “In the Justice Building. I’ve never been there—I mean, I’ve been in the Justice Building, but I’ve never been inside Klamm’s department.”

  “I’m going to try to see him tomorrow.”

  “Okay, if you want to. I’ll give you a ride to Justice.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Have you had lunch? I haven’t even eaten breakfast. I was supposed to after I’d waited on you, but I had to report first, and they’d closed the hotel when I came back.”

  “I thought you told them to close it, so you could pick me up. In the car you said they’d just decided to close, but that was while you were still pretending to be a waitress.”

  Fanny shook her head. “We believed them, that’s all. They said you’d checked out. We should’ve realized it was a case of men protecting a man, but we didn’t.”

  “They knew they were protecting me by locking me out of the hotel?”

  “They knew we were there to watch you.” She shrugged. “I suppose they thought that if they locked up you’d go somewhere else and get away, without having to be warned by somebody you might finger if you were picked up. Anyway, when I got back to the coffee shop, they said you’d gone and they were closing. I asked why they hadn’t told us, and they said they didn’t know where we were. It was all horsefeathers, but there wasn’t time to argue.”

  “That was why the clerk pretended he didn’t hear me, then, when I pounded on the door.”

  She nodded.

  “But I didn’t get away. You gave me a ride, and here I am.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that, but it won’t wash. You made me.”

  He was puzzled.

  “You spotted me for an officer, there in my car. You could have knocked me over with a duster. I still don’t know how you did it.”

  It was an invitation to boast; he knew it and declined it. He said, “But when you drop me off, you’ll tell somebody else, and they’ll follow me. Maybe they’ll help me, just like you did when you gave me a ride; but I won’t know who they are. You’ll tell them when you plan to leave me at Klamm’s office.”

  “I told you—see how much you learn by hanging out with a cop?”

  “Why?”

  “So you’ll lead us to North. You don’t matter; there are a million like you.” Fanny paused to smile at him. “I’m assuming you’re not a Visitor, notice? I hope you appreciate it. Anyway, there are thousands like you and Applewood and the rest. North’s different—different in a way that makes him terribly dangerous, the sort of megalomaniacal leader who appears once in a lifetime. North could wreck everything. I know this sounds crazy, but he could end civilization. He could start the whole human race on the downhill path.”

  He nodded and asked, “What does he want?” then answered his own question. “Power—I saw enough to know that. Still, you’re wrong if you think I’m going to lead you to him. I’m not going anywhere near North if I can help it.”

  Fanny grinned, her piquant face to one side. “Slaves don’t usually go running back to their masters—but now and then their masters come to fetch them, or send somebody they can trust. We get them up here every so often.”

  “Get who?”

  “Runaway slaves and people looking for them.”

  It would not sink in, or perhaps he did not want it to sink in. “You still have slavery here?”

  “Not here—it’s a state option.”

  “Black people for slaves?”

  Fanny shook her head. “It isn’t really determined by race, it’s a matter of legal status. But most blacks are slaves, yes, and most whites are free.”

  He said slowly, “In the world we were talking about, where the Visitors come from, everybody’s free. Or so I’ve heard.”

  “That’s the way it is here, in most states. But if a state wants it the other way, it can make slavery legal; then anybody who owns slaves can bring them there without losing them. It’s good for the economy, but it’s a little messy sometimes.”

  “The Civil War. You didn’t have the Civil War.”

  “No, that was Britain.”

  “And men die young here. That’s how it seems.”

  Fanny stood up and picked up her purse. “Nature played a dirty trick on the human race, Mr. Pine. She gave you men more strength than most women, and what’s much more important, more drive, more ambition. But when you’ve fulfilled your biological destiny—when either sex has fulfilled its biological destiny, actually—it dies. That means sixty or seventy years for us, sometimes only fifteen for men.”

  “I heard once on the news that there are nearly a hundred and fifty women over sixty-five for every man.”

  She ground out her cigarette. “Who said that, Ken Rather? It’s not really that bad, lots of men hold out for their entire lives, damn them. Now come on, let’s go get some lunch before I start thinking you really are a Visitor. There’s a nice little Italian joint, Capini’s, a couple of blocks uptown.”

  A Table between Worlds

  Fanny had slurred the name, saying it quickly and carelessly, and he had thought nothing of it. It was not until they were inside that he realized it was the restaurant where he often ate, the place to which he had brought Lara.

  One of Mama Capini’s sullen sons showed them to a window table. He ventured to inquire, “Is your mother here?” but the son turned aside without answering.

  Fannie asked, “You’ve been here before?”

  “I think so,” he said. For safety’s sake he added, “These storefront spaghetti places all look about the same to me. It was good, though.”

  “You said you had money; so we’ll split this, if that’s all right with you.”

  “No,” he told her. “I’ll pay.”

  “I should warn you, I eat like a fire.”

  Looking at her small mouth and slender neck, he doubted it; and when the waitress arrived, Fanny ordered a pasta salad and tea. He asked if the fettuccine Alfredo was good today; assured that it was, he said he would have that.

  “And I thought I was hungry.” She lit a cigarette, using the kind of bulky, reliable lighter he recalled from childhood. “Can I ask why you keep staring out the window?”

  He had been trying to read the winter-grimed license plates of passing cars, hoping they would betray whether they belonged to his own world or hers. “Just keeping an eye on traffic,” he said.

  “See anyone you know?”

  He shook his head.

  “When you lunch with a good-looking woman, you’re supposed to look at her, even if she’s not so stylishly dressed. You’re even supposed to make conversation, when your mouth’s not full.”

  “I think you’re dressed very nicely,” he told her. She was still in the plain black silk frock she had worn in the coffee shop, having removed only the little lace apron and cap. Her serviceable tweed coat was draped over the back of her chair.

  “My all-purpose undercover outfit.”

  M
ama Capini came bustling out of the kitchen and waved as she veered toward them. “Ah! It’s you.” Her smile showed a gold tooth.

  Tentatively he said, “It’s been a couple of days, I think.” Did some other version of himself eat here too?

  “What you think you say? Maybe a month. You gonna get real skinny.” Mama Capini turned her smile on Fanny. “Look at him! Never eats right but here.”

  “I know. He had waffles for breakfast.” Fannie shuddered elaborately.

  “That’s right, no good! Maybe I open in the morning, give him omelets and some nice prosciutto, fresh bread. Then I save his life.”

  He asked her, “Mama, do you remember Lara? The redhead I brought here?”

  “Sure, I know Lara.” The gold tooth flashed again. “Nice girl, too good for you.”

  He nodded. “I know, Mama. Has she been in here since she came with me?”

  “Oh.” Mama lowered her voice and glanced at the vacant tables around them. “Lara dump you?”

  “I’m trying to get undumped. Has she?”

  “Last night for dinner, but real late.” Hopelessly, Mama spread plump, clean hands. “We’re all out of tortellini.”

  Last night! He asked, “It was Lara? You’re sure?”

  “Course. I know her right away.”

  Fanny asked, “Was she with anyone?”

  “You take him yourself. He don’t look so bad. You make him forget Lara.”

  “I’m going to try. But was she?”

  “Married couple, new married.” Mama noticed his skeptical expression. “I’m tellin’ you the truth. She’s got rings and everythin’. They hold hands under the table.”

  Fanny said, “Describe them, please.” From a corner of his eye, he saw that she had slipped a small notebook and a stub of pencil out of her purse.

  “He’s big! Bigger than Amedeo. She’s a little woman like you, real pretty. Both got yellow hair, the man and the woman.”

  “How old?”

  Mama shrugged. “’Bout the same as you.”

  “How were they dressed?”

  “Man’s got a blue suit. A tailor made it—he’s too big for Kopplemeyer’s. But all wore out, should have thrown it out last year, you know? I see the suit and I think, bet Lara pays. But I’m wrong. He pays.”

  “How was his wife dressed?”

  Mama looked thoughtful. “Got a red wool dress, nice dress, but off the rack. Red coat with a fox collar. You know her?”

  Fanny shook her head. “How about Lara?”

  “Fur coat, a nice one, a real mink, pretty dark. Gown for a ball, you know? Zecchinos all over, like a rainbow. Low in front. Green stones in a necklace, maybe real.” Mama touched her graying hair, then her neck. “I should have seen he’s goin’ to pay, not Lara. Lara knows he’s goin’ to, so she brings them where you took her. Not too high, you know? Nice girl.”

  Fanny said, “You’re a good observer.”

  “He brought her, then she brings this couple. It’s my business, so I noticed.”

  The waitress arrived with their minestrone, and Mama rose. “Anything’s not good, you tell me.”

  Fanny smiled. “We will, but I’m sure everything will be wonderful.”

  When Mama was gone, he said, “I have to make a phone call.”

  “Really? Your soup will get cold.”

  “No,” he told her. “Not really. I’ll be right back.” He made handwashing gestures.

  The restrooms were at the end of an alcove toward the rear, and there was a pay telephone between their doors. He went into the men’s, relieved himself, and rinsed and dried his fingers as well as he could. If Fanny had followed him, she would probably have returned to the table when she saw him go in. The coins in his pocket were mostly those of the real world, of his own world—fraudulent-looking quarters with nickel faces and copper rims, pennies of copper-coated zinc. But Capini’s itself was part of his real world too, and in it he should be able to telephone his apartment without difficulty and without getting Klamm or anyone else but Lara, if Lara were there.

  One of Mama’s sons came in and stood at the urinal. “Ya gotta make a phone call? I can give ya change.”

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ve got enough.”

  On the other side of the door he put a quarter in the slot. The earpiece chimed once and reassured him with a dial tone. He wanted to push the buttons quickly; he made himself slow down so that he could be certain there had been no mistake.

  He pressed the last digit, and the dial tone ceased. There was nothing, no sound at all. His quarter jingled into the coin return when he hung up. Reinserting it, he entered his number again.

  Behind him, Mama’s son said, “Can’t get through, huh?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t ring.”

  “They shouldn’t have let those sons of bitches bust up the Bell System.” Mama’s son turned away.

  “Wait a minute. Can you break a fifty for me?”

  “No problem. Come up to the register.”

  He followed Mama’s son to the desk, slipping a bill out of Sheng’s packet.

  “Need singles?”

  “No,” he said. For a moment he held his breath. “Just a couple fives.”

  “Okay.” Mama’s son accepted the fifty, laid it on the cash register, and gave him two twenties and two fives; the twenties had Andrew Jackson’s picture, the fives had Lincoln’s. “Whatcha think about the fight?”

  “What fight?” He had been studying the bills. Suddenly afraid he had studied them too long, he thrust them hurriedly into a pocket.

  “What fight?” Mama’s son sounded aggrieved. “Joe’s gonna fight the champ. Don’tcha read the paper?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I did see that. Let’s hope Joe gives him a hell of a match.”

  “Take it to the bank, pal. Joe’s a customer, ya know. He was in last night with his wife and some other mantrap. Big as a house, but he don’t throw his weight around. He’s as nice an’ polite as you or me.”

  He said, “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” and went back to the table, where he sat with his head in his hands. There was an empty bowl in front of him.

  “Yours was getting cold,” Fanny said, “so I ate it.” There was a full bowl before her, still steaming. After a moment, she picked it up and offered it to him.

  “That’s all right,” he said.

  “I was just trying to make a joke. Take it, it’s yours anyway. What’s the matter?”

  “How long have you been eating here?”

  “What?”

  “I asked how long you’ve been coming in here. When we were in your room you said there was a good Italian place a couple of blocks away—something like that. So you’ve eaten here before. When was the first time?”

  Fanny counted on her fingers. “Four days ago. Tuesday.”

  “And they took your money?”

  “I didn’t pay.” She hesitated. “I was with a sergeant I know, a sergeant in uniform. We were hungry, so we decided to try it. He was going to buy, but one of the men who work here said it was okay, on the house. You know how they do for cops sometimes. Now if you want to stay at my place tonight, you’d better tell me what’s up.”

  “We’re in my world—the place the Visitors come from. Or if we’re not, this whole place is a Visitor.”

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  “I’ve eaten here two or three times a week for the past few years. Tuesday night I brought Lara here. Some of her power or magic dust or whatever you want to call it rubbed off. Were you here for dinner? What time?”

  Fanny nodded. “About eight.”

  “That was when we were here. The store closes at six, and it takes me about an hour to get home on the bus. I came home, showered, and changed clothes. My apartment’s a block and a half that way.” He pointed. “I think if I leave here without you, I might be able to spend the night in my own bed. Maybe even if I leave with you.”

  “Then you’ll have to put me up.”
r />   “Sure.”

  “Because I’m not leaving you. You’re bait for North, and getting him means a promotion, probably two grades—Detective Lieutenant Lindy. It might also mean the survival of the human race, although that’s strictly secondary.”

  “All right,” he said.

  “You’re willing to help me?”

  “Yes, if you’re willing to help me. If I go home, that’s the life I had before I met Lara. She may visit my world, but this is where she comes from. This is where she lives, so this is where I’ll find her, if I find her at all.”

  The waitress halted at their table. “Don’t care for your soup, ma’am?”

  Fanny shook her head. “I let it get cold, but that’s all right. Take it away.”

  When the waitress left, he said, “This is where I belong too, because Lara’s here.”

  “Since you’re going to help me and we’re sharing info, the future detective lieutenant will share some of hers: your Lara is Laura Nomos.”

  “I know.”

  Fanny looked surprised. “I didn’t, not for sure. Or not till a minute ago, when you were up at the cash register. How could you be sure? And what were you doing there anyway?”

  “I saw her in the theater, just like you did. And it was Lara—I told you about Mr. Kolecke. In your room you said she was Laura Nomos, so the names aren’t just a coincidence.”

  “Well, I thought you were wrong, that Klamm’s stepdaughter couldn’t possibly be ducking in and out of the Visiting World as if she were the goddess. But like you say, I saw her. And that Italian woman said she saw your Lara last night, dressed the way Nomos was in the theater, so that was confirmation. You’re not crazy or nearsighted. Your Lara’s Laura Nomos.”

  He nodded.

  Fanny shuddered. “And if you’re not crazy, you might be right about this restaurant, and I ought to be scared to death. This is your world?”

  “I think so. North calls it C-One.” He showed her the money and told her what had happened. “Do you have any large bills?”

  “A twenty. That’s the biggest.”

  “That should do,” he said. “I want you to take it to the register and ask for two tens. Take whatever he gives you and bring it back here.”