Her words pattered and splashed against him like the rain, drowning his thoughts. The streets were shiny, their wet pavement reflecting the streetlights. She hurried him across south Main and into the Union Trust Annex and down some stairs.
She paused for bream on me stairs and he murmured, “Back into underground Seattle.” Lynda frowned up at his non sequitur. He felt a tiny triumph. “Notice me rough brick work of me building fronts down here. These all used to be ground floors, and now they’re basements. Did I ever tell you the story of me fire of 1889? A carpenter’s apprentice let a pot of hot glue boil over. I teamed all about it at the Klondike Gold Rush Memorial National Park. Just down the street.”
“You don’t make any sense,” she told him earnestly. “Come on.”
She tugged at him and he followed her into City Picnics,
She didn’t pause to order at the counter, but took him straight to a table and parked him on a bench with her shopping bag and raincoat. Then she left him. He looked around dully. The-. tables were inlaid with genuine artificial wood. He didn’t like it, but had to admit it was well done. He put his hand against the honest brick of me wall, feeling its integrity.
Someone loomed over the table. He turned to look up at her. But it was a stranger who bent down to put her face close to his as she whispered.
“You dummy‘ If you had listened, you would understand.
War,“ she hissed, her breath vile, ”is a sin, and it has to be atoned for. Penance. That’s the only way out of it.“
That old accusation. Someone had beaten her recently. Her features were swollen and blue, her ragged hair caught back in a ratty old scarf. Her words accused and snagged on old scars. “I didn’t start the war,‘ he tried to explain. ”I didn’t want the war.“
“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “Listen to me. It’s not a sin you commit, fool. It’s a sin that happens to you. Passed on, like heredity and original sin. Like your mother’s dimples or syphilis. It might not have been yours to start with, but once you’ve got it, it’s yours. Are you going to let it infect you and eat up your whole life?”
“It wasn’t my war,” he insisted, begging her to say it was true. But she only smiled evilly.
“No? Then whose was it? Are you going to tell me it wasn’t a hell of a lot of fun, when it wasn’t just plain hell? Are you going to tell me that you’ll ever feel that alive again? Isn’t your life all the same now, day after day, beset by problems you’re not allowed to solve? Wasn’t it all simpler with a rifle in your hands?”
“What do you want of me?” he groaned.
“Get up. Come on. This one is your war, and yours alone.
Don’t run away from it. You have to fight.“
He stared up at her, shaking, trickles of sweat or rain funneling down his face. She was so ugly and so close. She kept leaning closer, leering at him with her puffy eyes and squashed mouth. She was making him want to hit her, just so she would go away.
“Excuse me!” Lynda’s voice was politely venomous. “We’re together.” She shouldered past the woman with the professional grace and balance of a waitress, to land food on the table before him. A huge sandwich like a torpedo for Wizard salad for herself, and two foaming mugs. “Michelob on tap!” she said with a flourish, and slid one over to him. She plumped down on the bench beside him, squeezing him up against the wall.
The old woman wandered off muttering. Lynda glared after her. “Jee-sus H. They ought to lock up some of the crazies in this town, you know what I mean? What was she saying to you?”
“I don’t remember.” He stared down at me food in front of him. The smell had flooded his mouth with saliva. He could think of nothing else.
“So eat!” Lynda laughed, seeing his stare. “I got you a Gobbler on sourdough. Hope you like everything in a turkey sandwich, ‘cause that’s what you got.”
Wizard ate ravenously, scarcely chewing, enjoying the scraping of large hunks of food moving down his throat. He washed it down with draughts of the cold beer whenever his mouth got too dry to chew. There was lettuce, tomatoes, onions, turkey and cheese, and me fragrant, chewy bread itself. He didn’t see Lynda as he ate, only becoming aware of her when she replaced his mug with a full one. He didn’t care for the beer, but drank it for the moisture. He recalled me taste, the slight bitterness. He seemed to remember that when be had been thirsty, they never let him have any, but there were too many times when there was too much of it and he had drunk beer until his belly sloshed. When that had been he could not be sure; there was only the unpleasant memory of thick cigarette smoke and too many people talking too loudly. His mind veered from the thought. He took a final swallow and stared in surprise at his empty plate.
“Hungry guy,” Lynda observed with maternal pride. “Finish off your beer. Bet you feel better now.”
Wizard checked. He was not sure himself that better was an accurate description. He felt heavy, logy as a sated wolf.
His neck did not seem as strong as usual. It took a small portion of his concentration to keep his head upright; it wanted to sag onto the table. Setting down his empty mug, he leaned heavily into the wall and sighed. The honesty of the bricks comforted him. He looked at the woman beside him very carefully. This was the second time she had fed him, yet she did not make him feel that he owed her anything. She was smiling at him, seeming glad of his attention. She had blue eyes and a straight. nose and abundant blond hair. Her mouth was too generous for contemporary beauty, but he found he liked it. Her hands, lying soft and empty on the table top, were small, but not well, J cared for. Working hands.
“What?” she asked softly.
“I am trying to figure you out,” he told her solemnly.:
‘There isn’t much,to figure out.“ She gave a deprecating little laugh. ”I’m just me. Just what you see. Maybe you think I want something from you, because of the way I’ve, well. almost picked you up. But that’s not how it is, really. I don’t like to be alone. That’s part of it. And I like helping people.
I know that sounds corny, but it really is true. When I saw you sitting alone on the bench with only pigeons for company, my;? heart just went out to you. I mean, at first I was really pissed at you for the way you took Boom’s breakfast, and let me get Ai the blame for it. But even right there in Duffy’s, I looked at you and couldn’t stay mad. The way you peeked around your newspaper, suddenly it just seemed so funny. Did you see Booth’s face when he tossed down my keys and his food was gone? Did you see him?“
Lynda began to giggle. Wizard watched her face, studying the sparkle that came into her eyes and made her girlish. There was something here for him, something warm. He caught at that thought and tried to find the sense in it, but he could no longer follow it.
She had his hand. He looked down in some surprise, wondering why he hadn’t noticed her touch before. Her hands were white in contrast to his. His were browned and bony with little gristly scars on his knuckles. The comparison made him feel strong. She squeezed his hand gently, and the touch was good.
“You haven’t told me a thing about yourself. And I’ve talked and talked about me, and I suddenly realize that I just bought dinner for a man, I don’t even know his name. So what’s your name?”
The simple question stopped him cold. He had not realized how much he had relaxed in her company until the iciness of her querying tightened his muscles. He searched her face for signs of treachery. Her blue eyes went wider at his grim expression and her smile lost its confidence. He took a deep breath to spill out some sort of an answer, but it came out as a racking cough. It didn’t stop. It tortured him, driving the air from his lungs, reddening his face and making tears roll from the comers of his eyes- He pushed against Lynda and then staggered to his feet, his hands on his knees as he bent to try and take in air. Other customers were looking up in dismay, and one man rose to ask her if her friend were choking. Wizard shook his head in an emphatic no. “Air,” he gasped. “Cold air.”
He shook Lynda’s grip from his sleeve and staggered out the door of City Picnics. In the hallway he headed for the stairs and clambered up them, still wheezing and hacking. The circle of his vision was narrowing, darkness closing in from the periphery. He got the door open and staggered out onto the sidewalk, to lean up against the building. His chest did not feel so compressed here. He began to take small, short breaths and men longer, deeper ones. His face was stilt cooling when Lynda dashed out the door, her head swiveling in all directions.
“There you are!” she exclaimed. She dropped her shopping bag and shrugged into her raincoat, gripping her purse strap with her teeth.“Are you all right?” she demanded as soon as her mouth was empty. “That was just awful! Everyone was so worried, but I said it was just a bronchial attack and grabbed my stuff and followed you. I could tell you didn’t want everyone making a big fuss over you. Now, are you okay?”
Wizard nodded slowly. He straightened from leaning on the building, and she instantly had his arm. She was strong, taking part of his weight whether he wanted her to or not. She began to steer him slowly down the sidewalk, talking all the while.
That was one good tiling about her. She talked so much that he had to say almost nothing at all. Now, why was that good? he wondered. He tuned into her monologue. “… Hot buttered rum. Or a hot toddy or Irish coffee- Something hot. I bet I know a good place for that It’ll cut that junk in your throat and make you feel better. Warm you up inside. Come on, it’s only a few blocks from here.”
Wizard found himself nodding as he leaned against her support. She fit neatly under his arm- A hooker walked past them, headed in the opposite direction. Her heels tacked clearly against the pavement as she strode along, heading for more heavily traveled streets. He had a brief impression of her short bright dress, the elegantly casual coiling of her hair upon her shoulders that was her only wrap against the cold November night, and her parted lips shining in the lamplight. Then her black empty eyes hit him with a bolt of sadness that staggered him back against the wall of the building. She turned her head as she passed, tearing him with the hooks of her smile. Her agony raced through him. For a second he felt sure that, had he been alone, she would have said something to him, and he would have Known something to tell her. But he wasn’t alone, and he didn’t Know, and she kept clipping along, her footsteps fading swiftly from his hearing. He rubbed his forehead and pushed the hair back from his face. Lynda was staring at him.
He had almost forgotten her.
“What was that?” she demanded, little lights dancing angrily in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” he managed. Then more words pushed up out of him, words he hadn’t consciously planned to say. “Lynda.
I have to go home now. Thank you for treating me so kindly. But.“
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She gripped his arm firmly and hauled him up beside her. “Some chippie walks past and gives you the eye, and you decide to drop me and give chase, huh?”‘
“No. No, not that way at all!”
“I know!” Her tone changed, and he stared at her, astonished. She had been joking with him. he realized giddily. Joking. “No, I knew you weren’t going after her- But I also know where you were going. What are you worried about? That they’ll run out of cots at the shelter? Forget that tonight. You’re with me now, and I plan to take good care of you. We’re going to take care of that cough and get you all straightened around.
You just wait and see. And trust me. I mean it now- Trust me. Come on.“
She dragged at him like a riptide. There was no resistance left in him. He pushed away his worries as she wrapped his arm around her. They walked, he paying no attention to where they were going.
Second Avenue South. It took a while for him to recognize it, lit up for the evening trade. Neon signs and streetlights and the headlights of passing cars gave more light to the barren streets than they got by day. The brightness of a beer advertisement in the night dazzled his eyes. But the place she chose for them was neither bright nor inviting. She trundled him past the Silver Dollar, Bogart’s, and the Columbus Tavern to draw him into a place whose name he didn’t notice.
The door was heavy, but she dragged him inside. Most of the interior space was devoted to pool tables with low, shaded lights dangling over the green felt. The men playing were working men. Regulars. It was obvious from a glance that he had entered their territory and they looked up from their games to stare at Wizard for longer than was polite. There was a long bar to the right, and to this Lynda steered him.
She hitched her tidy hips neatly onto a seat, but Wizard mounted the backless stool as if it were a strange animal. A confusion of odors assaulted him. He left his eyes rove over the back shelves of tall bottles. “Teddy!” Lynda called out. She was in command here, and enjoying it. “Let us have a couple of Irish coffees. In mugs; I hate those phony glass things. Seems quiet in here tonight.”