I'm surprised to find, leaning against our front door, another piece of apparently hand-delivered mail. Not another letter from Michelle. This is a book-sized parcel, brown paper wrapping cross-tied with black and green twine. I pick it up, find no address, just my first name handwritten. I recognize Lily's angular script, embellished with purposefully artful blots and smears of purple-black ink.
I take it inside, hands tingling with excitement, though only hours have passed since I left her. I never mentioned my address, so can't imagine how Lily found this place. And she must have a car, or some other way of getting here. I was at the office such a short time, I can't believe I missed her.
Kneeling on the floor of the living room just inside the door, I start working the twine, which isn't knotted but woven into a pattern almost like a seamless net. Finally I give up, use scissors to cut my way through, then unfold the many-layered paper. Inside the dense and heavy package I find roughly what I expect: a black leather book. It resembles several others I saw in Lily's home, but this leather is much older, worn with decades of age. The binding is snug so the pages aren't loose, but evenly edge-trimmed. The cover, lacking written title, bears only an embossed gold symbol, a square divided diagonally, the left side subsected several more times, resulting in one large triangle on the right, and counter-clockwise to the left, ever-diminishing smaller triangles nested one within the next. A shape split in two, then one half split again, on and on.
This gift excites me, not so much the design, which I don't understand, but what the offering must signify. I've wondered what Lily wants of me, what she intends to happen. Though I still don't know, I feel this gift comprises a kind of promise. More than flattered, I feel seduced, overwhelmed. This removes all question. Any doubt that remained within me is extinguished. I was foolish to allow uncertainty to linger after I finally conquered my earlier weakness.
I carry the book toward my bedroom, and out of habit glance into Karl's room as I pass. There I see something I didn't notice before. On Karl's bed, another heavy old book, worn black leather, very much like the one I just received. Hesitating in his doorway, I look back and forth between the book in my hands and the one like it in Karl's room. I feel certain that if I cross this threshold, someone will immediately become aware I've intruded. Some faceless woman will appear, catch me venturing where I shouldn't go. From a few steps away, I can see that although Karl's book is similar, it's not identical. The cover symbol is different, a serpentine "S" between vertical lines, subscripted and superscripted by small circles like degree symbols, upper-left, upper-right and bottom-center. All this encompassed by a larger circle. Otherwise the book looks like mine, at least from what I can see from the doorway.
I look down again at the book in my hand, confirm that it's different in this way, that there are at least two books here, each slightly distinct from the other. I'm not sure how I might confuse the two, but I'm afraid they'll somehow be mixed up, accidentally swapped if I get them into too-great proximity. For this reason I take mine into my room and leave it on the bed while I go back to Karl's room to examine the second book. I no longer care if I'm discovered intruding.
Within the pages, I find familiar symbols, drawings of leaves, bones, flowers. Lists that could be alien tide tables, or times of sunrise and sunset as might appear in an almanac, but here I recognize no days, times, or dates. The writing is obscure, yet familiarly so. Here I have all the time I desire to scrutinize these writings and drawings, seeking to decipher. The symbology swims like maddening exotic recipes.
I can imagine just one explanation, much as I hate the possibility: Karl returned to the Kalama without me, and met Lily himself.
Maybe this woman he refers to as Sadie is the person I know as Lily. Has he been seeing her all along? The idea sickens me, casts doubt on so much of what truly matters. I remember our first day fishing, when we walked past her field. I asked Karl about the A-frame, and the woman outside. He said no, he hadn't seen anything. Why would he pretend otherwise, if he really did see her there? Maybe he already knew her, before.
I want to take Karl's book and either hide it or destroy it, but of course he would know I'm to blame. Briefly I try to convince myself the two books might be unrelated. That's impossible, just wishful thinking. Lily's work is easy enough to recognize. I know where my book came from. What else might explain the origin of Karl's?
Feelings writhe in my gut like acid snakes. Anger flashes, shifts to wild-eyed jealousy. I feel capable of doing violence. Just finding someone to be with isn't enough. They have to become my own, someone I can keep. Exclusivity is needed. If that's selfish or too possessive, I don't care. Anything I have to share isn't worth keeping.
I retreat to my room, shut the door. What if I decide my book is the only one that's real? I doubt I can convince myself to forget what I've seen. If Karl hadn't left his book out in the open, I'd still be pleased with what I have. Just minutes ago, a thrilling wave of exciting possibility buoyed me. I flip through the pages of my book, trying to recapture from the inscrutable text that initial rush, knowing it's diminished by Karl possessing almost the same thing.
My hunger to see Lily again seems now like some other man's desire, an emotion experienced second hand. I feel nauseated, dejected, supremely foolish. The physical desire is long gone, as if lust and need were never really part of me after all.
What is it that I retain of her, after being so close, body to body? I might have believed some aspect of her lingered, but now I doubt it. Once we're apart, that touch becomes nothing but memory. I felt powerfully energized this morning. Not only happy to have experienced pleasure, to have been wanted. I believed myself to have conquered stubborn old flaws. Now that's gone. The only feeling I have left is a familiar, nagging sense of having lived too long.
Part 3
WHATEVER IS
MADE
CAN BE UNMADE
Chapter 15
Sadie revealed
The front door squeaks open and air moves through the house. Smell of the river and creosote dockways. Karl speaks, a woman responds, both talking as if they don't realize I'm home. I look out from my bedroom, toward the living room. My pulse quickens and sweat prickles my neck. The front door slams shut.
I emerge to meet Karl with a very thin, straight-haired blonde. She's pretty, with a wide, bright red smile. I exhale in relief. Not Lily.
They stop when they see me. Karl's arm is around the blonde's waist, and he swings her around to face me. She's not only narrow-framed, but unusually tall. She's as tall as Karl and me in her heeled pumps. Her abbreviated black leatherette dress is revealing, both below and above, with a plunging slit down the front almost to her navel. She's an attractive woman, though not what I might have guessed. I shouldn't be surprised Karl would be attracted to someone who wears her sexuality on the surface. But she's friendly rather than threatening. Her wide smile is apparently natural, unforced.
"I've been trying to get you to meet," Karl says. "Guy, this is Sadie."
She offers her hand. On the web of skin between thumb and forefinger is a small tattoo, a circled S. It's the symbol from the cover of Karl's book. My mind races backward, trying to recall if I saw any tattoos on Lily's hand.
"Nice to finally meet you," Sadie says.
Her manner conveys an easy directness, enough to make me like her immediately. "You two have been having a lot of fun, lately. Karl's barely been home or at work."
"We've been here plenty, Tiger," Karl says. "You're the one who's always gone."
I'm sure I would've noticed if Lily had any tattoos. There's nothing to worry about. They're two different women, nothing alike. Lily's at least four inches shorter, with a curvier build and dark hair. I try not to smile too obviously as this feeling of relief expands into something near giddiness. My outlook keeps swerving between extremes, from a rock-bottom of hopeless futility, to my amazing coming-together with Lily, then straight home from an awful morning at work, to receive the incredible gift
of Lily's book. Then I saw the second book in Karl's room, and came crashing down in another panic. Up and down, back and forth. I'm not even sure now there was a second book. What did I really see? Sadie's tattoo reminds me of the symbol on the cover, but I'm really not sure. Maybe I can get a closer look.
All I know is the important thing: Sadie isn't Lily. Possibilities remain open with Lily.
Karl and Sadie keep looking around, as though maybe they're confused to find me home. Maybe they intended to spend some time alone, or just make a quick stop before getting on their way. I should make clear I don't want to get in their way, but we're still in the middle of this introduction dance. Karl veers Sadie toward his old half-ton convertible sleeper sofa. I sit across from them on the ottoman of the Papasan chair. Karl leans close enough to whisper something in Sadie's ear, then punctuates it with a quick kiss. The delicacy of this surprises me. He pats Sadie's thigh, squeezes possessively where skin emerges from her too-short dress, as if affirming her physicality remains both solid and accessible to him. She sits with knees pressed together, hands in her lap where the dress terminates. I find myself unable to stop looking at Sadie's legs, her feet, all her revealed skin. I realize this might look bad, probably gives the wrong idea. I'm not trying to leer, only confirm whether she's the one I saw that night in Karl's room. Her toenails were painted, and though it was too dark to see color, I imagined the same red as her lips tonight. Maybe this is her color. I'm unclear about everything, including what I actually remember, and which of my own embellishments have intruded upon the realm of memory. All that seems like months ago, already.
"Why not take a picture, Tiger?" Karl seems proud, rather than annoyed, perhaps flattered at my paying attention to Sadie. He turns to her. "Sad Sack here, he's been needing to get himself a woman real bad."
"That was true," I say, trying to be casual.
"I've been meaning to see if Sadie knew anybody for a setup," Karl says.
"Actually, something happened," I add. "A surprise." I want to reveal everything, not only to impress them, but to savor the pleasure of revisiting the experience in the retelling.
But when the words come out, when I tell of meeting someone, stumbling into intimacy, I find myself changing the story. I give a different name entirely, not Lily. I invent broad details, describe someone very different from Lily. I realize the woman I envision is designed to make Michelle jealous, rather than tell any truth about Lily, or even make Karl envious. I don't feel bad for changing the story. It's no disrespect to Lily, but it does bother me, not knowing more about her. I don't even possess enough of her basic information, where she's from, how to reach her. Of course I have to invent. Even after so much occurred between us, there's more she's withholding.
The woman I describe lives just across the Washington side of the river in Vancouver, not in Portland, and not twenty miles north near the Kalama River. It's a nice condo downtown, above a Thai restaurant and an internet cafe with these great organic ginger oatmeal cookies and chai milkshakes. I invent everything in the moment. A woman I'd like to meet, a place I'd be glad to go.
"Ooh, Thai food," Sadie says. "Let's get Thai tonight. Mmm, spicy hot."
"Seriously, girl?" Karl asks.
Sadie nods, excited. "Can we?"
Karl watches me, ignoring Sadie's request. "This all for real, Tiger? I haven't been gone all that long."
"Long enough. Things advanced quickly. I went from no prospects to, I guess, a relationship. Nights together, and plans for more."
"Damn, Tiger." Karl's eyes are wide with disbelief. He runs a hand over his stubbled scalp. "You gone and done it."
I lean closer, craning for another look at Sadie's tattoo.
Karl releases her hand, smacks both palms down on his thighs. "Okay. Thai it is, then."
Sadie rises grinning, clapping fervently, crying, "Woo-hoo!" cheering exuberantly, both arms raised.
"For real, now, Tiger?" Karl shakes his head. "You actually got you a girl."
"What's so hard to believe? You stay away so much, you'll miss a few things."
"Nah, bullshit. You're making up bullshit so I'll quit ragging you." Karl raises an eyebrow as if restraining himself from saying something nasty, for Sadie's sake. "Seriously, all the way, I mean you..." He trails off, the question implied with a forward gesture of his hand.
I don't want to answer, but I'm unsure why. Lily and I slept together in both senses of the phrase, and that's all he's trying to confirm. I set my mouth in a serious expression, and offer an abrupt nod intended as tactful affirmation.
"Well shit, there's my old buddy." Karl turns to Sadie. "Old boy here ran a seriously long-ass dry spell. I tried to give some special Karl-daddy advice. You realize I got the kind of know-how can help any man pitch the woo."
"I don't want to jinx anything," I say, trying not to grimace. "It's too early to be sure how it's going to work out. Anyway, I don't want to keep you two from your plans." I trail off, expecting they'll want to head out for their Thai dinner. Though I'm still curious about some matters, and want to know more about Sadie, I realize I can't ask about it.
Sadie turns to Karl. "Look at him. Guy sure looks like he wants to ask something."
The biggest question I have is about what I saw in Karl's room, but Karl already told me there was no woman. What if I ask, and it was actually some other woman, not Sadie? I don't want to get Karl into trouble he doesn't deserve. Already today with the book I thought I saw in Karl's room, I almost jumped to the wrong conclusion, that it was from Lily. This thought about the book gives me an idea how to get them started talking. I run into my room, expecting my book to be gone, that maybe it never really existed in the first place. But it's still lying there on my bed. I grab it, return to the living room and take the same place on the ottoman.
Karl and Sadie are debating dinner options. It's definitely going to be Thai, but the question remains whether to eat at the restaurant, or get take-out.
As if I'm not interested in what they're saying, I rest the book on my knees and ease it open. The volume is dense as stone, nothing like a construct of paper, ink and leather.
"Guy, you're eating too, right?" Sadie asks.
I pretend I haven't heard. Just keep browsing the pages, waiting for them to notice.
"Yo, Tiger," Karl says.
I look up. Karl has finally seen me flipping the thick leaves of obscure diagrams and nonsensical lists. I'm not really trying to make sense of what I'm reading, merely doing this for show, though I remain convinced the contents of the book must carry hidden significance based on secret intent, which I need only decipher to unlock. Still determined not to speak, I keep my eyes on the pages, waiting for any reaction.
Karl seems irritated, impatient, but betrays no hint of recognizing the book. "What's that for?"
"The woman I mentioned, she's an artist," I say. "She made this for me."
Sadie smiles, bright-eyed, seeming straightforwardly pleased for me, impressed at the romance of the gift. Karl offers his familiar slack-mouthed shrug, conveying zero interest in the book. At least that's the impression he's making, not merely pretending indifference. My book seems genuinely of no more interest to him than any of my other possessions. What can this mean? I'm more anxious than ever to slip into Karl's room, confirm the presence of the second book.
As Karl refocuses attention on the folding yellow menu from Bay of Siam, I return to the open interior of my book, brightly illuminated beneath the standing lamp just over my shoulder. The hundred-watt bulb lights the pages in a way I haven't seen before. The thickest lines of ink glisten black, and the paper's texture is veined, like living skin. This is my first chance to examine the book under good light. The first pages are blank, other than odd symbols like dice in a row that I guess signify dates. Then a title page, larger words comprised of letters that look like Old Norse runes that should be carved on a Viking sword or shield. Some of the characters are almost familiar. A backward "F" with arms pointing up or down. Vari
ations on "T" with the cross-bar peaked or slightly angled. Several jagged, linear versions of "S" or "Z." Most bear no resemblance to any Roman characters I've ever seen. All angles and crude strokes.
Next, a few pages containing mostly blocks of words, structured more like encyclopedia or textbook than narrative. Intermittent illustrations receive greater emphasis than text. On page seven, beneath a spill of words resembling a poem of ecstatic gestures in some exotic tongue is a pseudo-anatomical rendering, like a sculpture in many parts. Interconnected but unrecognizable organs, colored vivid gold and green and dark brown. Page eleven, a structure of bones, some human, others curved and tapered like spears, part of some never-known sea creature. Their color as rendered is darker than the pale white of laboratory skeletal samples, gray dark and heavy as the smooth stones along Lily's river.
All the components seem familiar, product of Lily's hand. I'm not sure what she hopes I'll derive from this. Is it communication? Something I should study until I'm able to read and understand, or a gift of art, to be enjoyed for its obscure poetry? Because it's from her, I want to believe it reinforces our connection, the way in which we fell together, and how quickly we both transformed. Though I worried that we parted in argument, under a cloud of disagreement, or at least that my need to leave disappointed her, her gift of the book reinforces that we're not finished. I still intend to return, always have.
"So, Tiger, I'll run for dinner, that place on Hayden Island, and come right back. You want the usual Pad Kee Mao, five stars, with tofu?"
"No, I don't need to intrude into your plans," I insist. "You should have your private dinner, whatever you had planned."
Hieroglyphs_of_Blood_and_Bone Page 9