Things seemed jumpy, but not in the normal way. People had always looked over their shoulders, and no one thought twice about it. That’s why your neck swivels, we used to say, to see who’s following you. This was different.
“You’ve been away a long time,” Li said when we met in a noodle place the next day.
“A long time,” I said, “but not forever. I can still tell the difference between a routine twitch and something more serious.”
“You’re imagining things. Relax.”
Only I wasn’t imagining anything. Li was nervous; each time I’d met him over the past few days, he’d become more antsy. Kim was nervous, too. That was harder to spot. From the few times I’d seen him so far, he was good at cloaking himself in an unflappable air. People who were scared didn’t look too closely at the cloak. But Kim didn’t scare me, so I could afford to watch him carefully.
I’d been out of my hotel a couple of times to get my mental bearings. Normal people walking along the street weren’t on edge; whatever the problem was, it hadn’t come down to their level. People had a certain stride, a certain way of moving when they sensed a big storm coming. I’d patrolled my sector long enough to spot that move, that odd swing of the shoulders. I wasn’t seeing anything like that, and it wasn’t just the particular part of town around my hotel. All the barometers were holding steady at street level, that’s how it seemed. The problem-whatever it was-had so far been kept over the horizon, as if one circle was wound tight and wasn’t interested in letting anyone else know. That usually meant things were going to get a lot worse.
“If you think you’re fooling me,” I said, “forget it. You’re about to jump out of your skin. When you saw that lady heading for the car yesterday afternoon, I thought you were going to have a stroke.”
“She’s a looker, that’s all.”
“Sure, and I’m the King of Siam. You have secrets? That’s fine with me. I don’t like secrets anymore. They ruin the digestion.”
“I told you before. I’ll tell you again, O. You don’t know what you don’t know.”
“Yes-and I can’t even guess. How about you tell me a little bit of what I don’t know. Maybe it would help me keep my balance.”
Li stared at the table.
“You want another bowl?” I said.
He shook his head. “You said you owed me a meal. We’ll let this one count.” An alarm went off, and he looked at his watch.
“You in a hurry?”
“Unlike you, Inspector, I have no choice.” He pressed a button on the watch and the alarm stopped. “It’s Swiss.” He held it up for me to see. “I don’t use all the dials, but it doesn’t matter. I like to look at it sometimes. It makes me think I’m someone else.”
I decided to sit at the table and relax for a while after he left. The restaurant was on a corner not far from the subway. That meant a steady stream of people passed by. Watching people relaxed me. It also kept me alert. That was the only thing I missed all those years living on the mountain, watching people. I like trees, but they don’t move much.
Years ago, in Pakistan, I had learned something special about observing people. Pakistan was not something I wanted to remember. I was young and had been on an operation there that went badly. After racing away through the crowds and the dust and the awful heat, I had rested in the shade of a walnut tree, sweating from exertion and sick with fear.
“You are not well,” a quavering voice came from the other side of the tree. “That disturbs the harmony of this place.”
“How about water?” I said. “Anything around here?”
“Sit in the shade a moment.”
A minute later, a gnarled old man slid over beside me. He held out several leaves. “These will slake your thirst,” he said. “They’ll also calm you down.”
I didn’t bother to ask what the leaves were. My mood was such that if they killed me, so much the better. Just then, a woman walked by, the pale scarf over her head flowing behind.
“Did you see?” asked the gnarled man.
The shade had deepened; it had become a being separate from the tree, something different from a mere shadow. I could feel myself relaxing.
“There is a trail of existence that follows everyone, threads of life that people spin out and leave behind wherever they go,” said the old man. “Threads cross all the time. Threads cross and cross again-time and place, if in no other way-even when the people appear unaware of each other. That girl who walked by, did you see the thread?”
“You have a few more of those leaves?”
“You’ve had enough. Listen to me.” His voice became musical. “No one pays much attention to others around them unless the overlap happens again. Sometimes, people miss each other only by a few seconds, yet they are connected. Sometimes place is the reason for the overlap, but time is not. Sometimes the overlap is purposeful, other times happenstance. The threads are there, no matter. When they glow, they are one destiny.” He put his hand on my forehead. “Cooler now?”
I sat at the restaurant table, looking out the window. The threads stretched in all directions, shimmering in the afternoon sun, as unthreatening and deeply peaceful as the longest sleep. Maybe the threads were reality and people were merely the vessels containing their existence. A woman walked by. Something made me pay attention. She was dressed plainly, no fancy coat, no fancy shoes, no fancy scarf. I watched the thread. It glowed slightly as it crossed the one Li had left behind.