The Cloud Atlas

found him leaning as close to me as he could. “I guess what I'm saying is, just between you and me, I have a unique fondness for our mutual friend. And I'm thinking of-how shall I put it?-taking her off the market. For the duration, at least. Not sure I can see her back East, let alone Princeton, but then, I'm not sure I can see myself there anymore, either.”

“You're going to get… married?” I asked.

He looked at me. “In a gold carriage pulled by four white horses. You'll be a ringbearer, or flower girl.” He rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, Belk. If you were about ten years older and a hundred years more mature, we could manage a conversation on this topic. As it is, I don't know what's going to happen. And I don't want this to get around- but, yes, I have a soft spot for the girl. I care for her, and would like to take care of her.” He looked up toward the cockpit. “Which is why I want to take care of this mess, as quickly as possible.”

“Have you told her this?” I asked, probably sounding a bit too desperate. Why hadn't she told me this? Or was this why she was leaving Anchorage? To escape Gurley? Or elope with him?

“Yes,” he said, and thought for a moment. “Yes, I have. Which is the war's biggest surprise so far, Belk, if you're keeping track-bigger than Pearl Harbor, bigger than balloons and bigger than fleas. If you'd have told me before I enlisted that I'd return from the war with an Eskimo bride, tall enough to look me in the eye and-have you ever noticed, Belk? She has the most remarkable eyes. Jet black, almost. You look in those eyes, you're liable to forget your name, the date. And legs like- well, suffice to say, she's not the type you meet over punch at the Vassar mixer.” He pulled himself up. “Of course, I understand your meetings don't give you the opportunity to learn such details. She tells me you just consult her for palm readings.” He delivered this as both statement and question.

But I was thunderstruck that Lily had told him about me. She and I were the only ones with secrets. “She told you?”

“Don't be embarrassed, Belk,” Gurley said. “Or do be-I'm sure the nuns back home would be horrified. I, for one, find your interest in astrology or whatever it is… affecting. A trifle immature, but harmless.” I heard in that harmless a word of warning, and one look at his face told me I'd heard right. Then he broke into an almost giddy smile and dove into his satchel of papers again. I tensed for what terror would emerge this time: perhaps blue foxes gone rabid. Maybe Lily herself.

“All right, all right,” he said, needlessly looking around to see if anyone was watching, and then handed a torn piece of newsprint to me. “Now, I'd always fancied myself the kind of suitor who'd stride down Fifth Avenue to Tiffany's for the robin's-egg-blue box, but-” He stopped. “You have no idea what I'm talking about.” I didn't, but I wasn't listening, either: he'd handed me an ad for an engagement ring. “I went by, you know. You'd think it's just a little small-town glitter shop, but the man's an old pro. Gets his gold from right here in Alaska, diamonds from wholesalers back East. Once he realized I wasn't the same sort of army rube he's used to getting, he took me in back-you know, the pieces reserved for special customers.” The ad showed a gaudy diamond ring on a hand with long, delicate fingers that looked nothing like Lily's.

“Will she-” marry you? is, what I wanted to ask, but only the first two words come out.

Gurley took the clipping back. “Wear it? I know what you're thinking. Not that type of girl. Not for her, china and lace. But here's a secret, Belk: they all like pretty things. Hell, the Indians sold Manhattan for a bag of beads. And the rings I'm considering. Well.” He returned the ad to his satchel, paused a moment, and then drew out a single sheet of paper. “That's not the problem. But Alaska – Alaska is. I'm not sure she'd leave. I have the loveliest spot picked out, too. Some land, north of San Francisco. Hillside, overlooking the ocean. Found it when I did a brief tour at the Presidio. But Alaska has this hold on her.” He looked absently at the sheet he'd pulled out. I couldn't read what was on it. “And I don't know-I don't know if I could make it here. After the war.” He tapped his leg. “They've civilized Anchorage, Juneau, Fairbanks, a few other spots, but she's no city girl. She'd want to be out-in the bush, on the tundra. I don't know, Belk.” He finally handed the paper to me, but I didn't look at it immediately-I was fascinated with his face. Gurley, who ruled all, was betraying an honest sense of longing. Even regret.

I was sure I knew why. It wasn't Lily he'd miss. No, he'd stay in Alaska, in the bush, but forever be isolated from his old world. His Princeton classmates. Their clubs. A night at the theater. The opera. Museums. He was displaying a prissy softness, and I looked down, embarrassed for him. The sheet he'd handed me was titled “Germ Warfare Balloon Protocol.” But I was so surprised by what he said next that I looked back up at him.

“It's not safe, Belk. When the war's over and the shooting stops, the world, most of it, will be safe. Safer. That's what we're fighting for, right? Al of us? But Alaska, after the war? It will be as dangerous as it always was. And if you lived here, you'd be fighting along, alone, you versus the weather, wildlife, the wild. Fights you can't win. Not with one leg. Not with two hands trained for banking or books.” He rubbed his face and then stared straight ahead, an old man of twenty-five. “It's just so easy to die up there.”

GERM WARFARE BALLOON PROTOCOL

Fourth Air Force

The Presidio

San Francisco

To summarize, intelligence reports received now indicate the likelihood if not certainty that future Japanese Army balloon bombs will carry bacteriological warfare payloads. Until the first such payload is identified and more is learned, these procedures must be followed:

1. The media blackout must remain total. The mere suggestion of alien germs breaching the nation's borders could cause panic, causing civilians to overwhelm civil and medical authorities.

2. Emergency mass quarantine plans should be reviewed and updated, and should include protocols for the use of deadly force, particularly in areas of military significance. Significant transportation throughpoints, such as highways, bridges, and train stations, should be evaluated for purposes of securing them, or, as a last, but not implausible resort, their destruction.

3. State and county agricultural agents nationwide should monitor livestock and crops for trends and vulnerabilities. A separate, detailed bulletin is being prepared for veterinary authorities.

4. Previous orders to shoot down balloons on sight are hereby rescinded. Destruction, even at sea, could result in uncontrolled release of germ warfare agents. All future sightings must be reported immediately, and the balloons then tracked and recovered with extreme care.

* * *

WHAT REMAINED OF the Kirby balloon was heaped in a corner of a truck bed.

It was dirty and gray with stiff folds, and had all the appearance- to me, as I think of it now-of a roadside heap of late winter snow. Along with the balloon was a pie-sized piece of metal that I recognized as the balloon's gas relief valve. Also present was the control frame, seemingly intact. The incendiary and antipersonnel bombs were gone (over the Pacific, one hoped, and not in some farmer's field-or the cab of the truck), and the demolition block was nowhere to be seen. But these all seemed like ancient and simpleminded fears now. So a bomb explodes. So someone loses a limb or dies. Show me the canister where the rats live. Show me the fleas that have carried the plague thousands of miles, across the ocean from Japan and across the centuries from the Middle Ages.

We'd landed on an empty road leading into town and had taxied into a field adjoining a small farmhouse. Within minutes, everyone was there: the widow from the farmhouse, the man whose truck now held the balloon-Will McDermott, the apparent sheriff-and lastly, via bicycle, the AP stringer, Samuel