“Don’t you think it is time to discuss the fire?” I asked him. “Isn’t this all leading to the fire?”
He turned his head to one side, as if he were a horse resisting a bit. “Maybe. Maybe it is. When can I see my wife?”
“Not until we’re done,” I said. Who knew when he would see his wife? It has been my experience that I must lie, or half-lie, in order to preserve a certain equilibrium in the patient. I do not enjoy it. I do not relish it. But I do it.
“You have to understand,” X said, “that I don’t fully understand what happened. I can only guess.”
“I will gladly accept your best guess.”
But, despite my control, a grim smile played across my lips. I could smell his desperation: it smelled like yellow grass, like stale biscuits, like sour milk.
X: Gradually, the manta ray grew in size until it covered more than ten feet of the wall. As it grew, it began to change the room. Not visual changes, at first, but I began to smell the jungle, and then auto exhaust, and then to hear noises as of a bustling but far away city. Gradually, the manta ray fit itself into its corner and shaped itself to the wall like a second skin. It also began to smell — not a pleasant smell: like fruit rotting, I guess.
I: And this continued until…?
X: Until one day I woke up early from a terrible nightmare: I was being stabbed in the palm by a man with no face, and I didn’t even try to pull away while he was doing it… I walked into my work room and there was an intense light coming from the corner where the creature had been — just a creature-shaped hole through which Ambergris peeked through. It was the Religious Quarter — endless calls to prayer and lots of icons and pilgrims.
I: What did you feel?
X: Anger. I wanted to tear Ambergris apart stone by stone. I wanted to lead a great army and batter down its gates and kill its people and raze the city. Anger would be too weak a word.
I: And do you believe this was the manta ray’s purpose when it gave you the gift of returning to Ambergris?
X: “Gift”? It was not a gift, unless you consider madness a gift.
I: Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you. Do you believe the curse visited upon you by the manta ray was given so you could destroy Ambergris?
X: No. I was always, deep down, at cross purposes with the creature. It destroyed my life.
I: What did you do when confronted by the sight of Ambergris? Or what do you think you did?
X: I climbed up the wall and over into the other world.
I: And this, according to the transcripts, is where your memory grows uncertain. Would it still be accurate to say your memory is “hazy”?
X: Yes.
I: Then I will redirect my questioning and come back to that later. Tell me about Janice Shriek.
X: I’ve already — never mind. She was a fan of my work, and Hannah and I both liked her, so we had let her stay with us — she was on sabbatical. She painted, but made her living as an art historian. Her brother Duncan was a famous historian — had made his fortune writing about the Byzantine Em pire. Duncan was in Istanbul doing research at the time, or he would have come to see us too. He didn’t get to see his sister much.
I: And you wrote them into your stories?
X: Yes, I’d given them both “parts” in stories of mine, and they’d been delighted. Janice even helped me to smooth out the art history portions of “The Transformation ofMartinLake.”
I: Did you feel any animosity toward Janice Shriek or her brother?
X: No. Why would I?
I: Describe Janice Shriek for me.
X: She was a small woman, not as small as, for example, the actress Linda Hunt, but getting there. She was a bit stooped. A comfortable weight. About fifty-four years old. Her forehead had many, many worry wrinkles. She liked to wear women’s business suits and she smoked these horrible cigars she got fromSyria. She had a presence about her, and a wit. She was a polyglot, too.
I: You said in an earlier interrogation that “sometimes I had the feeling she existed in two places at once, and I wondered if one of those worlds wasn’t Ambergris.” What did you mean?
X: I wondered if I hadn’t so much written her into Ambergris as she’d already had a life in Ambergris. What it came down to was this: Were my stories verbatim truths about the city, including its inhabitants, or were only the settings true, and the characters out of my head?
I: I ask you again: Did you feel any animosity toward Janice Shriek?
X: No!
I: You did not resent her teasing you about the reality of Am bergris?
X: Yes, but that’s no motive for…
I: You did not feel envy that, if she indeed existed in both worlds, she seemed so self-possessed, so in control. You wanted that kind of control, didn’t you?
X: Envy is not animosity. And, again, not a motive for… for what you are suggesting.
I: Had you any empirical evidence — such as it might be — that she existed in both worlds?
X: She hinted at it through jokes — you’re right about that. She’d read all of my books, of course, and she would make references to Ambergris as if it were real. She said to me once that the reason she’d wanted to meet me was because I’d written about the real world. And once she gave me a peculiar birthday gift.
I: Which was?
X: The Hoegbotton Travel Guide to Ambergris. She said it was real. That she’d just ducked into the Borges Bookstore in Ambergris and bought it, and here it was. I got quite pissed off, but she wouldn’t say it was a lie. Hannah said the woman was a fanatic. That of course she had created it, and that I’d better either take it as a compliment or start asking lawyers about copyright infringement.
I: Why did you doubt your wife?
X: The guidebook was so complete, so perfect. So detailed. How could it be a fake?
I: Surely a polyglot art historian like Janice Shriek could cre ate such a work?
X: I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, that’s where I got the idea about her.
I: Let us return to your foray into Ambergris. The manta ray had become an opening to that world. I know your memory is confused, but what do you recall finding there?
X: I was walking downAlbumuth Boulevard. It was very chilly. The street was crowded with pedestrians and motor vehicles. I wasn’t nude this time, of course, for which I was very appreciative, and I just… I just lost myself in the crowds. I didn’t think. I didn’t analyze. I just walked. I walked down to the docks to see the ships. Took in a parade nearTrillian Square. Then I explored the food markets and, after awhile, I went into the Bureaucratic District.
I: Where exactly did it happen?
X: I don’t… I can’t…
I: I’ll spare you the recall. It’s all down here in the transcripts anyway. You say you saw a woman crossing the street. A vehicle bore down on her at a great speed, and you say you pushed her out of harm’s way. Would that be accurate?
X: Yes.
I: What did the woman look like?
X: I only saw her from behind. She was shortish. Older than middle aged. Kind of shuffled as she walked. I think she was carrying a briefcase or portfolio or something…
