over the winter. How long it takes depends on how long this one winter is. I don’t know. But one winter is one winter. I’m glad I got to see you. A brighter, warmer place would have been nicer, of course.”
“J sends his regards.”
“Give him my regards, too, would you?”
“I also saw her.”
“How was she?”
“All right. Still working for the same firm.”
“Then she’s not married?”
“No. She wanted to hear directly from you whether it was over or not.”
“It’s over,” said the Rat, “as you know. Even if I was unable to end it on my own, the fact is it’s over. My life had no meaning. Of course, to borrow upon your venerable generalities, this is to say that everyone’s life has no meaning. Am I right?”
“So be it,” I said. “Just two last questions.”
“Okay.”
“First, about our Sheep Man.”
“The Sheep Man’s a good guy.”
“But the Sheep Man, the one who came visiting here, was you, right?”
The Rat rolled his neck around to crack it a couple of times. “Right. I took his form. So you could tell, could you?”
“Midway on,” I said. “Up until then, though, I had no idea.”
“To be absolutely honest, you surprised me, breaking the guitar. It was the first time I’d seen you so angry, and what’s more, that was the first guitar I ever bought. A cheapie, but still …”
“Sorry about that. I was only trying to shake you up enough to show yourself.”
“That’s all right. Come tomorrow, everything’ll be gone anyway,” said the Rat dryly. “So now your other question is about your girlfriend, right?”
“Right.”
The Rat said nothing for a long while. I could hear him rub his palms together and sigh. “I didn’t want to deal with her. She was an extra factor I hadn’t counted on.”
“An extra factor?”
“Uh-huh. I meant this to be an in-group party. But she stumbled into the middle of it. We should never have allowed her to get mixed up in this. As you know very well, the girl’s got amazing powers. Still, she wasn’t meant to come here. The place is far beyond even her powers.”
“What happened to her?”
“She’s okay. Perfectly well,” said the Rat. “Only there’s nothing that you’d find attractive in her anymore. Sad, but that’s how it is.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s gone. Evaporated. Whatever it was she had, it’s not there anymore.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.
“I know how you must feel,” continued the Rat. “But sooner or later, it was bound to disappear. Me and you, these girls with their certain somethings, we’ve all got to go sometime.”
I thought about his words.
“I better be going,” said the Rat. “It’s getting on time. But we’ll meet again, I just know it.”
“Sure thing,” I said.
“Preferably somewhere brighter, maybe in summer,” said the Rat. “But for now, one last request. Tomorrow morning at nine, I want you to set the grandfather clock, then connect the cords behind the clock. Connect the green cord to the green cord and the red cord to the red cord. Then at nine-thirty I want you to get the hell out of here and go down the mountain. I’ve got a rendezvous with a fellow at twelve o’clock sharp. Got it?”
“Good as done.”
“Glad I got to see you.”
A moment’s pause came between us.
“Goodbye,” said the Rat.
“See you,” said I.
Still snug in the blanket, I closed my eyes and listened. The Rat’s shoes scuffed across the floor, the door opened. Freezing cold air entered the room. Not a breeze, but a slow-spreading, sinking chill.
The Rat stood in the open doorway for a moment. He seemed to be staring at something, not the scenery outside, not the room interior, not me, some completely other thing. The doorknob or the tip of his shoe, something. Then, as if closing the door of time, the door swung shut with a click.
Afterward all was silent. There was nothing else left but silence.
Green Cords and Red Cords; Frozen Seagulls
After the Rat disappeared, an unbearable cold spread throughout the house. I tried to throw up, but nothing would come, only gasps of stale breath.
I went upstairs, took off my sweater, and burrowed under the covers. I was swept by alternating waves of chills and fever. With each wave the room would swell and contract. My blanket and underwear were soaked in sweat, which congealed into a cold, constricting skin.
“Wind the clock at nine,” someone whispers in my ear. “Green cord to green cord … red cord to red cord … get the hell out by nine-thirty.”
“Don’tworry,” says the Sheep Man. “It’llgofine.”
“The cells replace themselves,” says my ex-wife. She is holding a white lace slip in her right hand.
My head rocks.
Red cord to red cord … green cord to green cord …
“You don’t understand a thing, do you?” accuses my girlfriend.
No, I don’t understand a thing.
There comes the sound of waves. Heavy winter waves. A lead-gray sea specked with whitecaps. Frozen seagulls.
I am in the airtight exhibition room of the aquarium. Row upon row of whales’ penises on display. It’s hot and stuffy. Someone better open a window.
Someone opens a window. Shivering cold. Seagull cries, sharp piercing voices ripping at my flesh.
“Remember the name of your cat?”
“Kipper,” I reply.
“No, it’s not Kipper,” the chauffeur says. “The name’s already changed. Names change all the time. I bet you can’t even remember your own name.”
Shivering cold. And seagulls, far too many seagulls.
“Mediocrity walks a long, hard path,” says the man in the black suit. “Green cord via red cord, red cord via green cord.”
“Heardanythingaboutthewar?” asks the Sheep Man.
The Benny Goodman Orchestra strikes up “Air Mail Special.” Charlie Christian takes a long solo. He is wearing a soft cream-colored hat.
Return Visit to the Unlucky Bend
Birds were singing.
