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ONE

TWILIGHT TIME

1

On the desk in , and I knew that a terrible change was co

I ans and portents in the sky Toabout my future, and I don’t have a Gypsy’s ability to discern the patterns of fate in wet tea leaves

My father had been dying for days, however, and after spending the previous night at his bedside, blotting the sweat fro, I knew that he couldn’t hold on , for the first tiht years, alone

I am an only son, an only child, and o Her death had been a shock, but at least she had not been forced to endure a lingering illness

Last night just before dawn, exhausted, I had returned home to sleep But I had not slept much or well

Now I leaned forward in my chair and willed the phone to fall silent, but it would not

The dog also knehat the ringing low, and stared sorrowfully at me

Unlike others of his kind, he will hold anyas he is interested Animals usually stare directly at us only briefly—then look away as though unnerved by so they see in hus see, and perhaps he, too, is disturbed by it, but he is not intimidated

He is a strange dog But he is , my steadfast friend, and I love him

On the seventh ring, I surrendered to the inevitable and answered the phone

The caller was a nurse at Mercy Hospital I spoke to her without looking away from Orson

My father was quickly fading The nurse suggested that I come to his bedside without delay

As I put down the phone, Orson approached my chair and rested his burly black head in my lap He whi his tail

For a moment I was numb, unable to think or act The silence of the house, as deep as water in an oceanic abyss, was a crushing, i pressure Then I phoned Sasha Goodall to ask her to drive me to the hospital

Usually she slept froht o’clock She spun ht until six o’clock in the ht Bay At a few , she was retted the need to wake her

Like sad-eyed Orson, however, Sasha was my friend, to whom I could always turn And she was a far better driver than the dog

She answered on the second ring, with no trace of sleepiness in her voice Before I could tell her what had happened, she said, “Chris, I’ for this call and as if in the ringing of her phone she had heard the same ominous note that Orson and I had heard in mine

I bitas Dad was alive, hope re Even at the eleventh hour, the cancer o into remission

I believe in the possibility of miracles

After all, in spite of ht years, which is aht think it a curse

I believe in the possibility of miracles, but more to the point, I believe in our need for them

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Sasha promised

At night I could walk to the hospital, but at this hour I would be too er if I tried to make the trip on foot

“No,” I said “Drive carefully I’ll probably take ten et ready”

“Love you, Snowman”

“Love you,” I replied

I replaced the cap on the pen hich I had been writing when the call had coal-size tablet

Using a long-handled brass snuffer, I extinguished the three fat candles Thin, sinuous ghosts of smoke writhed in the shadows

Now, an hour before twilight, the sun was low in the sky but still dangerous It glies of the pleated shades that covered all the s

Anticipating my intentions, as usual, Orson was already out of the roo across the upstairs hall

He is a ninety-pound Labrador h the layered shadows of our house, he roams all but invisibly, his presence betrayed only by the thus and by the click of his claws on the hardwood floors

In my bedroom, across the hall from the study, I didn’t bother to switch on the di fixture The indirect, sour-yellow light of the westering sun, pressing at the edges of theshades, was sufficient for me

My eyes are better adapted to gloouratively speaking, a brother to the owl, I don’t have a special gift of nocturnal sight, nothing as ro as a paranor habituation to darkness has sharpened ht vision

Orson leaped onto the footstool and then curled on the arirded myself for the sunlit world

Fro bathroom, I withdrew a squeeze bottle of lotion that included a sunscreen with a rating of fifty I applied it generously to my face, ears, and neck

The lotion had a faint coconut scent, an aroma that I associate with palled with noontis that will be forever beyond rance of desire and denial and hopeless yearning, the succulent perfume of the unattainable

So on a Caribbean beach in a rain of sunshine, and the white sand under my feet seems to be a cushion of pure radiance The warmth of the sun on my skin is more erotic than a lover’s touch In the dreaht but pierced by it When I wake, I am bereft

Now the lotion, although s of the tropical sun, was cool on my face and neck I also worked it into my hands and wrists

The bathroole hich the shade was currently raised, but the space relass was frosted and because the incoraceful limbs of a metrosideros The silhouettes of leaves fluttered on the pane

In the mirror above the sink, my reflection was little ht, I would not have had a clear look at le bulb in the overhead fixture was of loattage and had a peach tint

Only rarely have I seen ht

Sasha says that I remind her of James Dean, more as he was in East of Eden than in Rebel Without a Cause

I myself don’t perceive the resemblance The hair is the same, yes, and the pale blue eyes But he looked so wounded, and I do not see myself that way

I am not James Dean I am no one but me, Christopher Snow, and I can live with that

Finished with the lotion, I returned to the bedroom Orson raised his head from the armchair to savor the coconut scent

I was already wearing athletic socks, Nikes, blue jeans, and a black T-shirt I quickly pulled on a black deni sleeves and buttoned it at the neck

Orson trailed me downstairs to the foyer Because the porch was deep with a low ceiling, and because two massive California live oaks stood in the yard, no direct sun could reach the sidelights flanking the front door; consequently, they were not covered with curtains or blinds The leaded panes—geolowed softly like jewels

I took a zippered, black leather jacket from the coat closet I would be out after dark, and even following a mild March day, the central coast of California can turn chilly when the sun goes down

From the closet shelf, I snatched a navy-blue, billed cap and pulled it on, tugging it low on my head Across the front, above the visor, in ruby-red embroidered letters, were the words Mystery Train

One night during the previous autumn, I had found the cap in Fort Wyvern, the abandoned ht Bay It had been the only object in a cool, dry, concrete-walled rooround

Although I had no idea to what the eht refer, I had kept the cap because it intrigued me

As I turned toward the front door, Orson whined beseechingly

I stooped and petted him “I’m sure Dad would like to see you one last time, fella I knoould But there’s no place for you in a hospital”