Black House

Soon-To-Be-Ruined Boy: “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I’ve been thinking about this.”

The Harlot, the Whore, the Slut: “Is half an hour long enough?”

Him With Foot In Bear Trap: “If it isn’t, he’ll just have to bang on the doors.”

Wendell barely restrains himself from crowing with delight. These two people are actually going to have sex together, they are going to rip off their clothes and have at it like animals. Man, talk about your paybacks! When Wendell Green is done with him, Jack Sawyer’s reputation will be lower than the Fisherman’s.

Judy’s eyes look tired, her hair is limp, and her fingertips wear the startling white of fresh gauze, but besides registering the depth of her feeling, her face glows with the clear, hard-won beauty of the imaginative strength she called upon to earn what she has seen. To Jack, Judy Marshall looks like a queen falsely imprisoned. Instead of disguising her innate nobility of spirit, the hospital gown and the faded nightdress make it all the more apparent. Jack takes his eyes from her long enough to lock the second door, then takes a step toward her.

He sees that he cannot tell her anything she does not already know. Judy completes the movement he has begun; she moves before him and holds out her hands to be grasped.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says, taking her hands. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

Her response takes in everything she has come to see, everything they must do. “Is half an hour long enough?”

“If it isn’t, he’ll just have to bang on the doors.”

They smile; she increases the pressure on his hands. “Then let him bang.” With the smallest, slightest tug, she pulls him forward, and Jack’s heart pounds with the expectation of an embrace.

What she does is far more extraordinary than a mere embrace: she lowers her head and, with two light, dry brushes of her lips, kisses his hands. Then she presses the back of his right hand against her cheek, and steps back. Her eyes kindle. “You know about the tape.”

He nods.

“I went mad when I heard it, but sending it to me was a mistake. He pushed me too hard. Because I fell right back into being that child who listened to another child whispering through a wall. I went crazy and I tried to rip the wall apart. I heard my son screaming for my help. And he was there—on the other side of the wall. Where you have to go.”

“Where we have to go.”

“Where we have to go. Yes. But I can’t get through the wall, and you can. So you have work to do, the most important work there could be. You have to find Ty, and you have to stop the abbalah. I don’t know what that is, exactly, but stopping it is your job. Am I saying this right: you are a coppiceman?”

“You’re saying it right,” Jack says. “I am a coppiceman. That’s why it’s my job.”

“Then this is right, too. You have to get rid of Gorg and his master, Mr. Munshun. That’s not what his name really is, but it’s what it sounds like: Mr. Munshun. When I went mad, and I tried to rip through the world, she told me, and she could whisper straight into my ear. I was so close!”

What does Wendell Green, ear and whirling tape recorder pressed to the door, make of this conversation? It is hardly what he expected to hear: the animal grunts and moans of desire busily being satisfied. Wendell Green grinds his teeth, he stretches his face into a grimace of frustration.

“I love that you’ve let yourself see,” says Jack. “You’re an amazing human being. There isn’t a person in a thousand who could even understand what that means, much less do it.”

“You talk too much,” Judy says.

“I mean, I love you.”

“In your way, you love me. But you know what? Just by coming here, you made me more than I was. There’s this sort of beam that comes out of you, and I just locked on to that beam. Jack, you lived there, and all I could do was peek at it for a little while. That’s enough, though. I’m satisfied. You and Ward D, you let me travel.”

“What you have inside you lets you travel.”

“Okay, three cheers for a well-examined spell of craziness. Now it’s time. You have to be a coppiceman. I can only come halfway, but you’ll need all your strength.”

“I think your strength is going to surprise you.”

“Take my hands and do it, Jack. Go over. She’s waiting, and I have to give you to her. You know her name, don’t you?”

He opens his mouth, but cannot speak. A force that seems to come from the center of the earth surges into his body, rolling electricity through his bloodstream, tightening his scalp, sealing his trembling fingers to Judy Marshall’s, which also tremble. A feeling of tremendous lightness and mobility gathers within all the hollow spaces of his body; at the same time he has never been so aware of his body’s obduracy, its resistance to flight. When they leave, he thinks, it’ll be like a rocket launch. The floor seems to vibrate beneath his feet.

He manages to look down the length of his arms to Judy Marshall, who leans back with her head parallel to the shaking floor, eyes closed, smiling in a trance of accomplishment. A band of shivery white light surrounds her. Her beautiful knees, her legs shining beneath the hem of the old blue garment, her bare feet planted. That light shivers around him, too. All of this comes from her, Jack thinks, and from—

A rushing sound fills the air, and the Georgia O’Keeffe prints fly off the walls. The low couch dances away from the wall; papers swirl up from the jittering desk. A skinny halogen lamp crashes to the ground. All through the hospital, on every floor, in every room and ward, beds vibrate, television sets go black, instruments rattle in their rattling trays, lights flicker. Toys drop from the gift-shop shelves, and the tall lilies skid across the marble in their vases. On the fifth floor, light bulbs detonate into showers of golden sparks.