Page 29 (1/2)
ONE
WAKING, I HEARD A WARM WIND STRUMMING the loose screen at the open , and I thought Stormy, but it was not
The desert air smelled faintly of roses, which were not in bloom, and of dust, which in the Mojave flourishes twelve months of the year
Precipitation falls on the town of Pico Mundo only during our brief winter This ht was not, however, sweetened by the scent of rain
I hoped to hear the fading rumble of thunder If a peal had awakened me, it must have been thunder in a dream
Holdingto the silence, and felt the silence listening to me
The nightstand clock painted glowing nuloom—2:41 AM
For ain bed But these days I do not sleep as well as I did when I was young I am twenty-one and much older than when I enty
Certain that I had co over me, one with a cocky smile and one with sad concern, I sat up and switched on the lamp
A single Elvis stood in a corner: a life-size cardboard figure that had been part of a theater-lobby display for Blue Hawaii In a Hawaiian shirt and a lei, he looked self-confident and happy
Back in 1961, he’d had much to be happy about Blue Haas a hit filold records that year, including “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and he was falling in love with Priscilla Beaulieu
Less happily, at the insistence of his er, Tom Parker, he had turned down the lead in West Side Story in favor of mediocre movie fare like Follow That Dream Gladys Presley, his beloved mother, had been dead three years, and still he felt the loss of her, acutely Only twenty-six, he’d begun to have weight problems
Cardboard Elvis sret, untouched by grief, a stranger to despair
I envy him There is no cardboard replica of ain
The laht revealed another presence, as patient as he was desperate Evidently he had been watchingfor me to wake
I said, “Hello, Dr Jessup”
Dr Wilbur Jessup was incapable of a response Anguish flooded his face His eyes were desolate pools; all hope had drowned in those lonely depths
“I’m sorry to see you here,” I said
Heanything, but as an expression of frustration He pressed his fists to his chest
Dr Jessup had never previously visited ed in Pico Mundo But I clung to denial, and I spoke to hiot out of bed
“Did I leave the door unlocked?”
He shook his head Tears blurred his eyes, but he did not wail or even whimper
Fetching a pair of jeans froetful lately”
He opened his fists and stared at his palms His hands trembled He buried his face in them
“There’s so et,” I continued as I pulled on socks and shoes, “but only the small stuff slips my mind—like where I left the keys, whether I locked the door, that I’m out of milk…”
Dr Jessup, a radiologist at County General Hospital, was a gentle h he had never before been this quiet
Because I had not worn a T-shirt to bed, I plucked a white one from a drawer
I have a few black T-shirts, but mostly white In addition to a selection of blue jeans, I have two pair of white chinos
This apartment provides only a small closet Half of it is empty So are the bottom drawers of my dresser
I do not own a suit Or a tie Or shoes that need to be shined
For cool weather, I oo crew-neck sweaters
Once I bought a sweater vest Te that I had introduced an unthinkable level of complexity to my wardrobe, I returned it to the store the next day
My four-hundred-pound friend and mentor, P Oswald Boone, has warned me that my sartorial style represents a serious threat to the apparel industry
I’ve noted more than once that the articles in Ozzie’s wardrobe are of such enormous diht otherwise put in jeopardy
Barefoot, Dr Jessup wore cotton pajaors of restless sleep
“Sir, I wish you’d say so,” I told him “I really wish you would”
Instead of obliging ist lowered his hands from his face, turned, and walked out of the bedroom
I glanced at the wall above the bed Fra machine It promises YOU ARE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER
Each ht, I read theain, sometimes more than once, before sleep, if sleep will come to me
I am sustained by the certainty th
at life hasAs does death
Frohtstand, I retrieved my cell phone The first number on speed dial is the office of Wyatt Porter, chief of the Pico Mundo Police Department The second is his home number The third is his cell phone
More likely than not, I would be calling Chief Porter, one place or another, before dawn
In the living rooht and discovered that Dr Jessup had been standing in the dark, a the thrift-shop treasures hich the place is furnished
When I went to the front door and opened it, he did not follow Although he had sought e for what lay ahead
In the rubescent light from an old bronze lamp with a beaded shade, the eclectic decor—Stickley-style armchairs, plulass vases—evidently appealed to him
“No offense,” I said, “but you don’t belong here, sir”
Dr Jessup silently regarded ht have been supplication
“This place is filled to the brim with the past There’s room for Elvis and me, and memories, but not for anyone new”
I stepped into the public hall and pulled the door shut
My apartment is one of two on the first floor of a converted Victorian house Once a rale-family home, the place still offers considerable charm
For years I lived in one rented rooe My bed had been just a few steps froerator Life was simpler then, and the future clear
I traded that place for this not because I needed more space, but because my heart is here now, and forever
The front door of the house featured an oval of leaded glass The night beyond looked sharply beveled and organized into a pattern that anyone could understand
When I stepped onto the porch, this night proved to be like all others: deep,with the potential for chaos
Frostone path, to public sidewalk, I looked around for Dr Jessup but didn’t see him