Once inside, however, she found the lower level almost exactly as she left it. With her stomach demanding its due she went straight to the kitchen, where mere hours before she'd got herself tipsy on moumingberry juice, and made herself something to eat. This time there was no judicious sandwich construction. She simply heaped cold cuts and pickles and bread and cheese and a variety of fruits into the middle of the table and set to. Her stomach was tamed after ten minutes or so and she slowed her rate of consumption somewhat, washing her food down with a spritzer made of two parts water to one of the juice. After half a glass of this a pleasant languor crept upon her, and she allowed herself to muse on the subjects that had earlier brought tears.
Perhaps, after all, she had a few things to be grateful for. She wasn't dead, which was a wonder. She wasn't crazy. She'd never again sleep and wake in the bed she'd shared with Morton all those years, nor turn up to work on a drizzling Monday morning and find half a dozen flu-ridden depressives dripping on the step, but was any of that cause for sorrow or self-pity? No. She had followed her best hope for happiness through a door that had slammed behind her. There was no way back, and it was no use sniveling about it.
The wind had risen while she was eating and was blowing dust against the kitchen window, darkening the interior. She t up and found an oil lamp, which she lit and carried stairs, lighting lamps as she went. It was a little eerie. The pty passageways, the empty rooms, the paintings on the walls-which she'd really not noticed when she'd first explored the house but which were almost all risqu6-staring down at her. Every now and again the rock beneath the city would growl and settle. The walls would creak. The windows would rattle.
Eventually she found her way up to Maeve O'Connell's suite, the ceiling of which was still intact, and feeling like a thief (and enjoying the feeling) she examined the contents of the three wardrobes and the chest of drawers. There were clothes in abundance, of course, and hats and books and perfumes and bric-a-brac, endless bric-a-brac.
Had the old woman dreamed all this into being, Phoebe wondered, the way King Texas had described her dreaming the city? Had she spoken the clothes, then slept and woken to find them hanging here, ready to be worn and fitting perfectly? If so, Phoebe was going to have to learn the trick of it, because nothing in these wardrobes was faintly suitable, and her summer dress had been reduced to filthy tatters. And while she was dreaming things up, maybe she'd supply herself with a few luxury items. A television (would she have to dream the programs too?
if so, they'd all be reruns), a modern toilet (the plumbing in the house was primitive), perhaps an ice cream maker.
And maybe, eventually, a companion. Why not? If she was going to live the rest of her life here-and it seemed she had no choice in the matter-then she was damned if she'd spend those years alone. Sure, she'd seen some survivors in the ruins on her way here, but why look for solace among strangers when she could conjure up somebody for herself.9
At last, having searched the room from one end to the other, she realized that she hadn't opened the drapes and, with much effort (there were several thicknesses of fabric, and they'd not been moved, she guessed, in many years), she managed to haul the drapes apart. She was not prepared for the splendor of the sight that awaited her. The window that the drapes had concealed was huge. It offered her a panorama of what had once been the harbor, and beyond it, Quiddity, its once-crazed waters placid. Though there was no sun in the sky, there was nevertheless a pinprick clarity to the scene. If she'd had the desire and the patience she could surely have counted every ripple on the face of the dreamsea.
Gazing out over the waters, she remembered with a sigh her meeting with Joe, in the bed of weeds. Remembered how she'd almost lost herself into the bliss of formlessness, while he, and they, had pleasured her. was it possible, she won-. dered, to dream Joe? to close her eyes and raise from memory the man she had lost? It wouldn't be the real thing, of course, but better some semblance of him, like a treasured photograph, than nothing at all. Perhaps he might even share a bed with her.
She put her hand to her cheek. She was hot.
"You should be ashamed, Phoebe Cobb," she told herself with a little smile.
Then she dragged a coverlet and a pillow off Maeve's four-poster (she couldn't bring herself to sleep among the litter of King Texas's love-letters) and, making a bed for herself in the glittering light off the dream-sea, she lay down to see if she could bring herself a likeness of the man she loved.
ELEVEN
"There's somebody outside," Seth said.
they were in the kitchen, Tesla at the table trying to coax Amy into eating a few spoonfuls of cereal mushed up in warm mi@ Seth eating baked beans cold from the can while he gazed out at the dark yard. "You think it's the avatars?"
"Probably," Tesla said. She glanced up and stared out into the gloom. She couldn't see them, but she could feel their gaze. "Owen told me@' Seth said.
"OwenT'
"Buddenbaum. He says we're like apes to them. When they watch us, it's like us going to the zoo."
"Is that right?" Tesia said. "Well, for what it's worth I've been taught a thing or two by an ape in my time."
"You mean Raul." She looked at the boy. "How do you know about RauIT'
"Owen told me all about you. He knows everything about who you are, where you've been, who you've hooked up wi@'
"Why the hell would I be of any interest to him?"
"He said you were... you were-2'
gist'll do."
"A significant irrelevancy," Seth beamed. "Mat's what he said exactly. I asked him what that meant, and he said you being here was all an accident, because you don't belong in this story-2'
"Fuck the story."
"I don't see how we can," Seth said. "Whatever we do, wherever we go, we're still telling the story."
"Buddenbaum again."
"No. Seth Lundy." He set down his can of beans. "Here," he said. "Let me have a go at feeding her."
Tesla didn't argue. She let Seth relieve her of the baby, who had so far refused her ministrations, and headed out into the backyard, where she guessed she'd have a view of the Heights. The guess was good. She had to wander twenty, twenty-five yards from the house before the summit cleared the roof, but when it came into view there was much to see. The mist circling the summit had become ragged, and when she studied the holes she glimpsed large, clotted forms moving there.
"The lad's here," she announced.
"We didn't know until now," said a voice out of the darkness.
She didn't bother to look round to find the speaker. It was one of the trio; which one of them was academic.
"Buddenbaum didn't tell you?" Tesia said.
'No.
"Strange."
"We're not certain he knew, " said another voice. This she recognized as that of the little girl, Rare Utu.
"I find that hard to believe," Tesla said, still studying the mountain. What were they doing up there? Nesting? "You're here. The lad's here. That's no accident."
"You're right," came the reply. "But that doesn't mean it was planned. The history of Sapas Humana is filled with synchronicities."
She turned to them now. they were standing on the darkness a dozen yards from her, barely delineated by the light from the kitchen windows.
Looking at them now she realized they were not as indistinguishable from one another as she'd thought. Rare Utu stood a little way to the right, her face carrying just a trace of the girlishness she had pretended.
Some distance from her was the individual who'd passed himself off as a jug-eared comedian, Haheh. Again, though the signs of his public face were subtle, they were there to be seen. And closest to Tesla, his features the most plainly tainted by his assumed personality, was the moronic child, Yie. Of the du= it was he who regarded Testa with the most suspicion. "You seem to know human beings very well," she said.
"Oh yes," Haheh replied. "We never tire of seeing the Great and Secret Show played out."
"My she said, "were you in Palomo Grove?"
"Regrettably no," Rare Utu told her. "We missed that one."
'-Mat was the beginning of our discontent with Owen, truth to tell," Hahch said. "We were growing tired of the same old slaughters. We had an appetite for something more@ow shall I put it?'
"Apocalyptic," Yie prompted.
"So he arranged this@'Tesia said.
"So it seems," said Haheh. "But his genius has deserted him. This afternoon, for instance. It should have been a triumph, but it just fizzled out. We were very disappointed. That's why we came after you. We want another Palomo Grove. People driven mad by their own nightmares."
"Have you no sympathy?" Testa said.
Of course," said Rare Utu. "We suffer a great deal at the sight of your suffering. If we didn't why would we seek it out?"
"Give me that again," Testa said.
"Better to show her," Haheh said.
"Are you sure that's wiset' Yie said. His beady eyes had narrowed to slits.
"I trust her," Haheh replied, descending the shadows and bypassing Yie to stand a few yards from Testa. As he did so his cocooning robes unfolded. they were more magnificent inside than out, the garments freighted with gems whose colors she could put no name to. Some were the size of fruits-peaches and pears-all overripe, all oozing liquid light.
"Mis one," Habeh said, gesturing to a jewel the size of an egg with his vestigial arm, "I got it in Des Moines, watching the most terrible tragedy. Three generations, or was it four-?"
"Four," Rare Utu said.
,,Four generations killed in one night in a gas main explosion. An entire family name, wiped out. Oh, it was piti u. And this one"-he said, indicating a gem that had more shades of amber than a Key West sunset-"I got in Arkansas, at the execution of a man who'd been wrongly convicted of murder. We were watching him fry, in the knowledge that the true culprit was smothering infants at that very moment. That was hard, very hard. Sometimes I see a milkiness in the blebs, you know, and I think it's there to remind me of the babes-" While he maundered on, Testa realized that the finery he'd unfurled was not a garment at all: It was his body. The gems, the blebs as he'd called them, were indeed a kind of fruit, grown from flesh and sorrow. Part remembrance, part decoration, part trophy, they were gorgeous scabs, marking the. places where he'd been pierced byfeeling.
"I see you're amazed," Rare Utu said. "And revolted, I think," Yie said.
:'A little," Testa said.
'Well," Rare Utu replied appreciatively, "that's something to savor." She stared hard at Testa. "Buddenbaum was always very careful never to let us know what he felt. It's a consequence of his inversion, I think, the ease with which he conceals himself."
"Whereas you-" Haheh said.
"You are so naked, Testa," Utu said. "Simply being with you is a show unto itself."
"We could have such times," Haheh cooed.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Testa said.
"What's that?"
"When you first met me, you said you knew I was going to die. And as it happens I know for a fact that's true."
"Details, details," Rare Utu replied. "Life is in our gift, Testa. Why you've seen for yourself how Buddenbaum outruns death. He took a bullet to the head this very afternoon, and by now he'll be nearly mended."
"We can't confer immortality upon you," Haheh said.
"Nor would we want to," Yie pointed out.
"But we can offer you our extended fifespan. Considerably extended, if we find our relationship productive."
"S(@if I say yes, I get to live, as long as I create experiences for you?" "Precisely. Make us feel, Testa Bombeck. Give us stories to wring our hearts."
While Rare Urn was speaking, two contrary voices in Tesia's head. "Take it!" one yelled. "It's what you ere born to do! This isn't churning out movies for popcomgobbling imbeciles! You'll be writing life!" The other voice was equally adamant. "It's grotesque. They're emotional leeches! Work for them and you throw you humanity to the wind!"
:'We need an answer, Tesla," Haheh said.
'Explain one thing to me," she said. "Why don't you just do this yourselves?" "Because we must not become involved," Rare Utu replied.
"It would dirty us. Taint us."
"Ruin us," said Yie.
"I see."
"Well?" said Haheh. "Do you have an answer?"
Tesia pondered a moment. Then she said, "Yes, I have an answer."
"What?" said Rare Utu.
She thought a moment longer. "Maybe," she replied.
When she got back inside the house she found Seth had taken Amy into the living room, and was sitting on the sofa, gently rocking her.
"Did she eat anything?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "She's okay." He looked down at Amy fondly.
"Sweet little face," he said. "I heard you talking to them out there. What do they want?"
"My services," Tesla said. "In place of Owen?" Tesia nodded. "He figured that's what they were up to."
"Where is he now?"
"He'd said he'd wait for you at the Nook. It's a little restaurant off Main Street."
"Then I shouldn't keep him waiting any longer," Testa said.
Seth got to his feet very slowly, so as not to disturb Amy. "I'll come with you. I'll watch over the baby while you deal with Owen."
"You should know something about Amy-"
"She's not yours, is she?"
"No. Her mother and the man I thought was her father are dead. And the guy who may be her real father will be coming looking for her."
"Who is he?"
"His name's Tommy-Ray McGuire, but he prefers to be called the Death-Boy." While she was explaining this her eyes went to the cards spread out on the coffee table. "Are these yours?" she asked.
"No, I thought they were yours." She knew at a glance ' what they represented, of course. Lightning, cloud, ape, cell: all stations of Quiddity's cross. "Must be Harry's," she said, and sweeping them into a little pack pocketed them and headed for the door.