Skin Deep

snow. The eyes were that pale, low-horizon sky blue that almost disappears in black-and-white photographs, giving the impression that, for once, the windows to the soul are two-way instead of mirrored from the outside. A seamless robe of blue, embroidered at the neck with what looked like amber snow-flakes, hung straight from her shoulders to the floor.

She was smiling. I felt myself smiling back. 'It's the concentration of aromas,' she said as though we'd been talking for half an hour.

'What is?'

'Your sneeze. People used to believe that the soul could escape during a sneeze and be claimed by the Devil. That's why we still say 'God bless you.' ' Again the emphasis on the first word. 'If the soul were to escape here, though, I don't think the Devil could snare it. There's enough positive energy here to keep him or her miles away.'

'Or at least across the street.'

She looked puzzled for a second and then looked over my shoulder and through the shop window. Then she laughed. Her laugh was in the same key as the piano. 'The porno theater, and the massage parlor, you mean. Well, yes. That's why we're here.'

'It is?'

'Why carry coals to Newcastle? Why set up a fourth gas station at an intersection where there are already three?'

'I've wondered why they did that. They always seem to.'

'The analogy isn't precise, I'm afraid. Credit cards is why. Faced with a choice of gas stations, people will use the card they carry. But the soul carries no credit cards.'

'And it requires a different kind of fuel.'

'Yes.' She looked pleased. 'That's exactly right. What people buy here powers them upward as well as forward. How may I help you?'

'What are the fragrances? I've never smelled anything like them.'

'Aromatherapy. We have the largest stock on the West Coast. If you don't count San Francisco, that is.'

Since San Francisco is on the West Coast, and will be until it finally shakes loose and floats picturesquely into the Pacific, the answer was less than ingenuous. On the other hand, she'd popped the balloon herself, and I was willing to give her credit for it.

'And aromatherapy does what?'

'Aromas are the cutting edge of holistic medicine. Given a proper spiritual balance in the subject, aromas can strengthen the body's defenses against any kind of infection. Would you like me to show you some?'

'Sure,' I said, 'if you think you can show someone an aroma.'

The seraphic smile wilted slightly. 'A literalist. Well, why don't you tell me what it is that ails you?'

'Insatiable curiosity.'

She pursed her lips, sending the leftovers of the smile into some parallel universe, glanced down at my shoes, and then looked slowly up at the rest of me. It wasn't so much a look as a survey that mapped my clothes and placed them precisely in a low-rent district. I felt like I'd been denied admission to the new age.

'Curiosity,' she said slowly. 'I don't know that I've got a cure for that.'

'Actually, I sort of hope not. Without curiosity, where would we be?'

'Happier, probably. What is it you're curious about?' We weren't having fun anymore.

I took the plunge. 'Rebecca Hartsfield.'

'Rebecca?'

'Hartsfield,' I said.

'I heard you. I know the name. I'm Chantra Hartsfield. What do you want with Rebecca?'

'You're her sister,' I said chivalrously.

'Ease up,' she said. 'Don't work quite so hard. Try mother.'

'She's here, then.'

'No. She's not.'

'Where is she?'

'Not here.'

'You already told me that.' I tried a smile. No dice.

'Yow haven't told me anything,' she said severely. 'Not why you want to see Rebecca, not how you got this address. Nothing at all.'

It was time to try frank. 'I got the address from the police.'

She put both hands into the pockets of her robe. 'Police,' she said. 'Rebecca's not in trouble. I'd know. I always know.'

She sounded so positive that I had to ask. 'How do you always know?'

'Psychic linkage. Don't look skeptical, it's common between mother and daughter, if both women know how to tune in to it.'

'You can read her mind?'

'Mind reading is a charlatan's stunt. No one can read anyone's mind. But people who have an affinity can feel strong emotions that the other person in the link experiences.'

'Feel them how?'

'Why did the police give you this address?'

'Same answer as before. Because I asked.'

'Why?'

We looked at each other for a moment.

'Well,' I said, 'we both want to know something, don't we?'

She tilted her head upward and studied me. 'What exactly do you want to know?'

'How you feel the other person's emotions.'

She gave a patient, well-bred sigh. 'Hell, the same way I know that you don't mean any harm to Rebecca. If a person is open enough, the strong feelings of others resonate in her. Your emotions are part of the total electromagnetic field of your nervous system. Every thought, feeling, or dream you have is a scattering of electrical impulses, jumping across millions of synapses between the nerves. When you're extremely agitated or gripped by a powerful emotion, your electromagnetic field becomes stronger and more agitated. If a person is receptive, her nervous system will sense the other's static, producing a faint sensation of joy or fear or sorrow.'

Since I couldn't think of anything to say, I nodded.

'It happens all the time between mothers and daughters, even at long distance. Does that explanation make sense to you?'

'Sure, I guess so. It's like magnetism. You can't see it, but you can see its effects.'

She smiled again. 'Amazing,' she said. 'Even the most skeptical person will accept an explanation if it's dressed up in enough electromagnetic mumbo-jumbo. There's no scientific explanation of gravity, either. Does that make you doubt its existence?'

'Not as long as the change in my pockets feels heavy.'

'Money is heavy beyond its physical weight. Gram for gram, money is the heaviest thing in the world.'

'Grams?' I said. 'You're metric?'

'Ten is a powerful number.'

'What about metric astrology? Which two signs of the zodiac would you eliminate to get it down to ten?'

For a moment I thought she was going to laugh. 'Gemini and Cancer.'

'Why?'

'My ex-husband was on the cusp.' The laugh decided not to show up. 'And now that we've finished playing, why did you ask the police how to find Rebecca?'

'I'm interested in something that happened four years ago. At Ontario Motor Speedway.'

She closed her eyes for a long moment. When she reopened them they were fastened on mine. 'We've let go of that,' she said. 'That's not part of our baggage anymore.'

'I may have to ask Rebecca to reclaim it.'

'Why would you do that?'

'Maybe to keep some other little girl from having to go through what Rebecca did.'