A Murder of Crows (32 page)

Then he bent his knees and leapt, and he was looking at himself from outside the clear glass building and he was spinning slowly, arms outstretched. Then his breath was taken from him as he inverted and spun slowly—head down, arms out—as a beautiful diamond inside the diamond of his dream.

Then he heard the old woman's voice, a voice that although he knew he'd never heard it before was as familiar as the sound of the waves against the pebbles on a Vancouver Island beach:

For fear of nightmares, humanity is abandoning dreaming. You have been chosen, Seth—chosen to maintain dreaming in a world that shortly will dream no more.

And over and over he heard the voice—and round and round he turned, upside down, arms spread wide, in the midst of the diamond—and finally knew the path that was chosen for him.

You have been chosen, Seth, to maintain dreaming in a world that shortly will dream no more.

Shortly will dream no more.

Dream no more.

Dream no more.

Dream no more.

Now, Seth, dream the dream of the future—of that which you will bring into being.

DECKER LOOKED DESPERATELY FOR SOLACE. FOR A MOMENT OF
peace in a world gone crazy. A son in the clutches of a madman, his own life—now that he knew what had happened in that igloo all those years ago—spiralling violently out of control. And now him in flight yet again, but this time running—to hide, to find a moment of relief, to . . . he didn't know what.

On the endless plane ride he purchased Internet access and went to the YouTube video Eddie had noted in his script of
Love and Pain and the Dwarf in the Garden
in what seemed like years ago, back in their hotel room in Las Vegas.

Paul Simon was playing a concert in Toronto and someone called out “Play
Duncan
” and then a woman shouted, “I learned how to play the guitar to that song.” And Paul Simon said, “You learned how to play the guitar to this song?” She answered yes, and Paul Simon said, “Well then, come up.”

And she did.

A T-shirted woman in her middle thirties named Rayna stumbled up to the stage, her hands openly trembling, fingers all atwitch—but when Simon handed her a guitar she put the strap over her shoulder, fingered her long lank hair behind her ears, and a delight bloomed on her face as she fell into a deep present tense.

At first there was only awe on her face, but it was quickly replaced by glory when she realised that she was going to actually play with Paul Simon.

And although she flubbed an opening chord change she
persevered and joy—sheer joy, wild joy, ecstatic joy, God's wind filling her—pulled her head up into the pure air of the jet stream, and she sang, and flew.

And when she came to the fourth verse where she took him to the woods, she sang the line:

Here comes something and it feels so good

and she screamed in ecstasy, a garden of gifts around her, the profound opening of music in her.

Decker played it over and over again—marvelled, cried and laughed at the same time and hoped that at some time in his life he'd feel the freedom of flight she felt. Although on the Boeing 747 he felt a captive as it plunged through the night, an unwieldy falcon carrying him back to Windhoek, Namibia—and an uncertain future.

* * *

Like Tom Hanks at the end of
Cast Away,
Decker allowed the rented Jeep to lead him. Of course in Namibia there weren't that many choices.

He followed Highway 1 for days, sleeping in his vehicle with the Southern Cross above him and Scorpio rising. In the morning the Hindi people's oddly magical mannequins appeared from somewhere beside his car. Each morning with the pale moon on the horizon he left money in the pouches of the statues then got back in his car, and drove.

Just past nightfall on the fifth day he approached the junction of Highways 1 and 6, where there was a rest spot—a petrol station, a gift shop, and a bakery that smelled of fresh-cooked apple pies.

As he got out of the Jeep he saw a large white man blowing the Namibian dust off his hands with an air compressor used for filling tires.

The man looked up and saw Decker, and his large round face turned dark and stern. Then words came from his mouth. “Welcome to Solitaire, Mr. Roberts. I've waited a long time for your coming. I'm glad you finally found your path.”

I'd like to thank my valued friend, talented director at the University of Cape Town and tour guide extraordinaire, Geoffrey Hyland, for insisting that I see Namibia. There are places of real magic in the world—Namibia is one of them—and I would never have discovered it without Geoff's help. I'd also like to thank the teachers of Pro Actors Lab—Rae Ellen, Glen, Marvin, John and Bruce—who worked overtime at the studio while I banged away on my computer keyboard. As well the many talented acting students that it has been my privilege to teach over these now twenty-plus years. Finally, my attorney/agent Michael Levine who has been in my corner for a very long time; Alison Clarke from Simon & Schuster Canada whose tireless work on the manuscript helped me wrestle this one to the page; and Kevin Hanson of Simon & Schuster Canada whose belief in my writing has been so important to me.

ALSO BY DAVID ROTENBERG

The Placebo Effect: First Book of the Junction Chronicles

Shanghai, the Ivory Compact

The Zhong Fong detective series

The Golden Mountain Murders

The Hamlet Murders

Hua Shan Hospital Murders

The Lake Ching Murders: A Mystery of Fire and Ice

The Shanghai Murders: A Mystery of Love and Ivory

Touchstone

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by David Rotenberg.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Touchstone trade paper edition February 2013

TOUCHSTONE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

ISBN 978-1-4391-7014-4

ISBN 978-1-4391-7265-0 (eBook)