The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

As the truck sped across the bridge, I clambered back up over the railing and stared after it as it fishtailed out of sight around a bend in the road. One of two things was true about the truck, I thought; either it was stolen, or it was not. If it had been stolen, I was unlikely to find out who-purposely or not-had almost killed me. But if the truck had not been stolen, it shouldn't prove all that difficult to find out which driver had brought back a truck with a badly damaged side panel.

But first things first, I thought as I started back the way I had come. I decided I'd had enough exercise; I definitely wanted to save some energy for a spirited interrogation of the driver of the pickup truck, if I ever found him.

'Hello, Mongo,' Garth said to me when I walked into his room at seven fifteen.

Well, well, well.

Garth sat at a card table which had been set up by the window, eating his dinner. The Walkman, its wires snaking up to the earphones on his head, sat next to his tray. He was still dressed in his pajamas, robe, and slippers.

'Why don't you sit down and eat?' Garth continued, motioning toward a second, covered, tray on the table. 'Tommy brought these in only a few minutes ago, so yours should still be hot.'

'I don't think I'm hungry.'

Feeling somewhat stunned by this second, abrupt change in Garth's behavior, I eased myself down into a chair across from him at the table. Only when I was already sitting did I realize that it had not even occurred to me to do what should have seemed natural-walk up to Garth and hug him. Garth had emerged from his long, silent journey to nowhere, but now he seemed like a stranger to me; I almost felt as if I should be introduced to this man who was my brother.

'It's roast beef,' Garth said around a mouthful of food. 'Very good.'

'I'm sure it is.'

'How did you hurt your head?'

'Just an accident.' There were more important things than Henry Kitten to talk about. 'I'm glad to see. . you're feeling better, Garth.'

'Garth told you he could talk.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Garth had too many things on his mind; he couldn't talk through all the thoughts.'

'What were you thinking about?'

Garth paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, suddenly fixed me with a hard stare. Strange lights and shadows moved in his eyes. 'You know,' he said, and then put the forkful of food in his mouth.

'Yes,' I said softly. 'I know. That was a stupid question. I'm sorry if I brought you pain.'

'The pain was already there.'

'We have to talk, Garth.'

'We are talking, aren't we?'

'Can you turn that thing off for a little while?'

'Garth would rather not,' my brother replied evenly.

'Richard Wagner is a tough act to compete with for your attention.'

'Garth can hear you.'

'Garth, how are you feeling?'

'You know how Garth is feeling.'

'No, I don't. I know what you were thinking about, but I don't know how you feel now.'

Garth pushed his tray aside, once again fixed me with a hard gaze. 'Once, you would have.'

'Jesus, Garth, are you saying that you feel the same way now as we felt when Loge showed us his film?'

'Yes.'

'Then you're feeling very bad.'

'Yes. You could say that.'

'If the music makes you feel bad, why do you keep listening to it?'

'Garth must.'

'Why?'

'Garth must.'

'Garth, I played that music for you because I'd hoped it would help you, not hurt you.'

'It did help. Without the music, Garth would still be lying in bed. He would not be talking to you.'

'Well, now that it's done its job, maybe it's time for you to stop listening to it.'

'No,' Garth replied evenly. 'Not listening to the music will not make the thoughts go away. That would be like killing the messenger. Siegmund Loge's message was valid when he delivered it, and it still is. He demonstrated not only that our species is doomed, but why; one proof was mathematical, the other emotional. The music makes Garth think of that, yes; but without the music, the thoughts would be worse and Garth would sink back to the place where he was.'

I smiled tentatively. 'Listen, brother, if I'd known how my little experiment in music therapy was going to work out, I definitely wouldn't have brought you anything stronger than 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.' '

Once, Garth would have thought that funny; now the big man with the wheat-colored hair and piercing eyes who was my brother simply stared at me, a fixed, stony expression on his face. I decided it was time to change the subject.

'Why do you keep referring to yourself in the third person?' I continued. 'What happened to I?'

'Garth feels a great distance away, Mongo.'

'That doesn't seem like an answer.'

'Garth's 'I' is at the bottom of an ocean. It was too heavy. Garth had to leave 'I' behind in order to come back to the surface.'

'What ocean are you talking about?'

'Garth can say 'I' if it makes you feel more comfortable with him.'

'Jesus Christ,' I said, then sighed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. I forced myself to reach out and touch his hand, which was resting on the table next to his Walkman. The gesture felt unnatural. 'I don't want you to do me any favors, brother; I'm just trying to understand what you're saying and feeling. I want to help Garth get his 'I' back.'

'Garth's 'I' is dead, Mongo. If Garth ever went back down to look for it, he'd die too. The music keeps him from sinking.'

I sighed again, took my hand away from his. 'Garth, I have to say something.'

'Go ahead.'

'I feel like I'm talking to a stranger, and I don't like it.'

'Garth's sorry he makes you uncomfortable.'

'Don't be sorry; it's not your fault. I've been making myself uncomfortable, because I've been searching for some new kind of way to talk to you. If you were somebody else's brother, I think I could do that without any trouble. I know how sick you've been, and I can't tell you how happy I am to see you out of that Goddamn bed, walking around and talking-even if I don't understand what you're talking about. I should be patient and understanding, grateful that you're talking at all; I should just sit here and listen, and nod my head a lot-but I can't, Garth. I've got too much feeling; I can't find a new way to talk to you. I don't care how-or even if-you respond; I'm going to speak the way I always have to the Garth I know and love-the brother who once had a very powerful 'I'. It's the only way I can deal with this situation, and with you.'

'Garth understands,' my brother replied evenly. 'You should speak to him in any way that makes you comfortable.'

'But I want you to feel comfortable with me.'

'Garth is not uncomfortable with you, Mongo. Garth hasn't forgotten.'

'You haven't forgotten what?'

'All that we've been through together, and what Garth owes you.'

'You don't owe me anything; if anything, it's the other way around.'

'Garth hasn't forgotten how you loved and cared for him when he was sick.'