Zurich, and it was possible I'd be able to fly there at her expense to conduct my interviews.
I told him it sounded like a mess of the worst kind: flaming narcissism combined with enough money to pay lawyers to keep it messy for a long time. He laughed sadly and agreed but added that he thought I'd be interested because I liked excitement. I thanked him for thinking of me and politely declined.
At nine o'clock I went down to the garden to feed the koi. The largest of the carp, a stout gold and black kin-ki-utsuri, which Robin had named Sumo, sucked on my fingers, and I patted his glossy head before climbing back up to the house. Once inside, I straightened up, switched a few lights on, and packed a carry-on. Then I called Robin at her studio and told her I was leaving.
'Have a good flight, sweetie. When can I expect you back?'
'Late tonight or tomorrow morning depending on how things go.'
'Call me and let me know. If it's tonight, I'll wait up. If not, I'll stay here late and finish the mandolin.'
'Sure. I'll phone by six.'
'Take care, Alex. I love you.'
'Love you, too.'
Throwing on a corduroy sportcoat, I picked up the carry-on, walked out to the terrace, and locked the door behind me. By ten-thirty I was pulling into Burbank Airport.
4.79
THE HOSPITAL sat on a promontory overlooking the ocean, swaddled in acres of jade green clover that rolled and tumbled into the Monterey mist. It was a paragon of low-profile architecture, caramel-coloured bungalows cast haphazardly around a two-storey administration building, the complex veined with stone pathways and flower beds, half shaded by the spreading branches of coast live oak. Dagger points of red tile roof intruded upon a cobalt sky so pure it bordered on the unreal. At the junction of land and sky a single twisted Monterey pine clawed at the heavens. Below its careening trunk, patches of yellow and blue lupine flowed like paint spills down a sloping green canvas. The drive down from Carmel had been a quiet one, broken only by the hiss of the ocean, the chug of the rented Mazda, and the rare, startling bellow of a lust-filled sea lion bull. I thought of the last time I'd been there, with Robin. We'd come as tourists, for a week in spring, doing the things that tourists do on the Monterey Peninsula: a visit to the aquarium, seafood dinners under the stars; window-shopping the antique stores; lazy lovemaking on a crisp, foreign bed. But now, sitting on a redwood bench near the edge of the cliff, peering through salt-eaten diamonds of chain link as the Pacific foamed like warm ale, those seven days seemed like ancient history.
I turned, looked back toward the bungalows, and saw only strangers in the distance, sheeplike Grandma Moses people, sitting, strolling, reclining on elbows that disappeared in the clover. Talking, responding, rejecting, ignoring. Playing board games and tossing Frisbees. Staring blankly into space.
The beach below was glossy and white, striped by the receding tide, dotted with a tortoise brigade of moundlike rocks. Between the rocks were mirrored tide pools, bubbling with the respiration of trapped creatures, moustached by dendrites of eelgrass. A pelican's horizontal reconnaissance broke the stillness. Diving suddenly, big wings rasping, the bird aimed for a mirror, shattered it, and rose triumphantly with a beakful of squirm before sailing off toward Japan.
Fifteen minutes later a young woman in jeans and red smock brought Jamey to me. She was blonde and braided, with a round, pensive, farm girl face, and had drawn red daisies on her nurses's badge with a felt-tipped pen. She held his arm as if he were her steady boyfriend, let go reluctantly, sat him down next to me, and told me she'd be back in half an hour.
'Bye, James. Be good.'
'Bye, Susan. ' His voice was hoarse.
When she was gone, I said hello.
He turned to me and nodded. Squinted up at the sun.
He smelled of shampoo. His hair had been cut short, and the beginnings of a moustache sprouted on his upper lip. He wore a maroon Izod shirt so new it sported box creases, grey sweat pants, and running shoes without socks. The clothes bagged on him. His ankles were thin and white.
'Beautiful out here,' I said.
He smiled. Touched his finger to his nose. Slowly, as if performing a test of coordination.
Several minutes passed.
'I like to sit right here,' he said. 'Get lost in the quiet.'
'I can see why.'
We watched a flock of sea gulls peck at the rocks. Breathed in nosefuls of brine. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. Put his hands in his lap and gazed out at the ocean. Two gulls got into a fight over something edible. They kicked and squawked until the weaker one backed off. The victor bounced several yards away and feasted.
'You look good,' I said.
'Thank you.'
'Dr. Levi told me you're doing amazingly well.'
He got up and gripped the chain-link fence. Said something that was drowned out by the waves. I got up and stood next to him.
'I didn't hear you,' I said.
He didn't respond. Just held on to the fence and swayed unsteadily.
'I feel pretty good,' he said after a while. 'Achey.'
'Are you in pain?'
'A good pain. Like a ... good night's sleep after a strenuous day.'
Moment later:
'Yesterday I took a walk.'
I waited for more.
'With Susan. Once . . . maybe twice . . . she had to hold me up. Generally, my legs were okay.'
'That's great.' At first the neurologists hadn't been certain if the damage done to his nervous system would be permanent. But he'd regained function rapidly, and I'd been told this morning that optimism was called for.
A minute of silence.
'Susan helps me a lot. She's a ... strong person.'
'She seems very fond of you.'
He looked out at the water and began to cry.
'What is it?'
He continued to weep, let go of the fence, stumbled, and sat back down on the bench. Wiping his face with his hands, he closed his eyes. Tears seeped out.
I put a hand on his shoulder. Touched jutting bone covered by the merest sheath of skin.
'What's the matter, Jamey?'
He cried some more, composed himself, and said:
'People are being nice to me.'
'You deserve to be treated nicely.'
He hung his head, raised it, and began moving slowly along the rim of the cliff, taking small, tentative steps, holding on to the fence for support. I stayed by his side.
'It's . . . confusing,' he said.
'What is?'
'Dr. Levi told me I called you. For help. I don't remember it,' he added apologetically. 'Now you're here. It's as if . .. nothing happened in between.'
He backed away from the edge, turned around, and walked in the direction of the bungalows, holding out his arms for balance, moving slowly, carefully, like someone getting used to a false limb. I walked with him, forcing myself to slow down, sinking ankle-deep in clover.
'No,' he said. 'That's not true. A lot's happened, hasn't it?'
'Yes, it has.'
'Terrible things. People are gone. Disappeared.'
He bit back more tears, stared straight ahead, and kept walking.
Fronting the bungalows, two hundred yards in the distance, was a picnic area, redwood tables and benches,
