Bathing the Lion (15 page)

“A little girl who was never born. Oh yeah, and Keebler who was once a two-inch-high statue but came alive and grew,” Edmonds added.

Phone pressed to his ear, Kaspar lowered his chin to his chest. “Is anyone there as confused as I am?”

“We all are, Kaspar. None of us have the slightest idea of what’s going on or what it means.”

Kaspar took his watch off the nightstand and looked at it. “What time is it there?”

“Noon.”

“What
are
we supposed to do? Does anyone know? Did the girl tell any of you what to do in the dream? She didn’t say anything to me except I had to get going. Then she burned my phone and called me Muba, which only now I know is the name of that red elephant with a map on its side. Not terribly helpful clues in unraveling this mystery.”

The four people in Vermont looked at each other to see if there was anything to add, but there wasn’t. In Vienna, Kaspar rubbed the back of the phone nervously with his thumb and willed anyone on the other end of the line to say anything that could help.

Dean said, “We have to figure this out. Let’s just start from there. What are we supposed to do? Why did we all share this dream and what are we supposed to do about it?”

“Dean?”

“Yes, Kaspar?”

“I’ll have to call you back.”

“
What?
We just started talking—”

“I’ll call you back.”

There was a click, a hiss, and the line went dead. Puzzled, Dean looked at the receiver in his hand. “He hung up.”

“Maybe he had to go to the bathroom.”

“Maybe.”

*   *   *

The reason why Kaspar Benn hung up so abruptly was a light went on in his toilet. Moments later someone walked out of there into the bedroom.

Kaspar recognized the person instantly, but that did not make it any better. Under his breath he grumbled, “Shit!” but carefully, so as not to be heard.

“Kaspar.”

“
Crebold
. What are you doing here?”

The other man smirked. Both of them knew damned well why he was there. “Kaspar. What kind of dopey name is that?
Kaspar Benn
.”

“It’s German, so it’s just exotic enough–sounding for me to use it as an excuse for whatever mistakes I make here, and I make plenty of them, believe me.”

“I’ve noticed. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“No.” The visitor sat on the bed. Kaspar grudgingly extended a hand and they shook. “Well, here we are. Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“I have.” But Kaspar’s voice did not sound like he was enjoying anything at the moment.

“You’re a fool, Kaspar. You really screwed this up. The
dream
last night … oh brother, seriously dumb. How did you manage it?”

“I
didn’t
do it—it just happened. Don’t blame it on me.” His voice was small, trying to be smaller.

“What were you
thinking
, Kaspar? I mean, how stupid could you be?”

“
I didn’t do it.
”

“I told you—”

Kaspar’s voice was eager to agree. “Yes, you did. You absolutely did tell me.”

“I told you not to come here like this, but you insisted.”

“I was stubborn.”

“No—you were
stupid
: profoundly, selfishly, blindly
stupid
.” Crebold slowly hit the mattress with a fist after every word, as if pounding a nail into wood.

“All right—
stupid
. I get your point—I was stupid. I admit it.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “I am guilty of first-degree stupidity.”

“Skip the sarcasm, Kaspar. You knew what you were doing. It’s part of the job description. We’re mechanics—or at least you
were
.

“We know how things work; we fix them or adjust them and then move on. We don’t invent them and we sure as hell don’t alter them. I can’t believe what an idiot you are.” Crebold’s hands were very animated and expressive as he spoke. They danced along with his words; they pointed and sailed and made fists when the phrases called for it. They conducted the music coming out of his mouth.

“I just thought—” Kaspar’s voice was one stop away from a moan.

“You’re going to try and justify what happened? Don’t—you fucked up—
the end
, okay? Sharing last night’s dream with those other people was exhibit A of what happens when you go against policy. It’s a catastrophe anyone could see coming ten miles away. Especially you—a
mechanic
!”

Kaspar sat still and stared unseeing into the darkness. “I’m not a mechanic anymore—I’m retired, remember? And I didn’t
do
anything! I didn’t make them share the dream. The memory—I really believed I could handle it. I thought I could have both.”

“You were wrong on both counts, friend. Now we’ve got a major toxic spill here that needs to be cleaned up ASAP.”

Kaspar’s phone rang again. He flung it away. It hit a wall, caromed off, and bounced several times on the wooden floor where it continued to ring. Temper flaring, he stood up, intending to crush the thing with his bare foot.

Crebold reached over and grabbed his arm. “Leave it.”

Kaspar puffed his lips in frustration. “
Shit.
”

The waiter didn’t like twins. He’d never liked them, even though he’d never known any personally. Like Afghan dogs, vegans, and Christian Scientists, all he knew about them was what he read and saw, but it was enough.

Twins dressed the same, wore the same haircuts, and married exactly the same sort of people. Even when separated at birth and moved a thousand miles apart, twins somehow weirdly managed to mirror each other right down to their politics, professions, sports teams they rooted for, religions they joined, and the number of kids they had. It was a fact. Weird, weird, and
weird
. The waiter had recently seen a documentary on TV about twins that reinforced everything he believed: Twins
=
freaks
=
stay away from me.

And now first thing on a Monday morning there were a pair of almost identical-looking twins sitting at one of his tables! The only good thing about it was they were dressed differently so it was not difficult telling them apart. In fact they were night and day different. One looked sharp in tip-to-toe expensive everything—the man clearly put serious money, thought, and care into what he wore. In contrast, his brother was dressed in dull and duller. He looked like an East German Trabant salesman in 1967: a cheap-looking, ill-fitting blue suit, thin black tie with a too small knot, and a white shirt with an oversized collar fifteen years out of fashion. The waiter noticed all these details because off duty, he was one spiffy dresser himself and had the ladies to prove it.

“Gentlemen, what can I get you?”

The dull-looking twin ordered—get this—a glass of tomato juice with a poached egg
inside
it. The waiter paused while writing this down to look over the top of his eyeglasses at the man to make sure he’d heard correctly. The guy didn’t even have the courtesy to look back. He just continued speaking to his brother. He was not only a twin, but rude too.

Making eye contact with the waiter, the well-dressed one asked for a cappuccino and smiled.

“That’ll be one cappuccino and one tomato juice with a poached egg
in
it?”

“Yes.”

“Very good, sir.”

When the waiter was gone, Kaspar asked his “brother” Crebold, “Why are you doing this? It’s not necessary.”

“Our waiter doesn’t like twins; he thinks we’re weird. So I’m going to prove he’s right.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Crebold. Just let the man do his job.”

“Oh, like you did yours, huh?” Crebold leaned forward and put both elbows on the table. He rested his chin on his hands. “Kaspar, I do
not
want to be here. I seriously don’t. You have no idea how many other things I would rather be doing than sitting in a smelly, smoky Viennese café with you, figuring out how to clean up the mess you’ve made on Earth. Remember the time you went skiing?”

Kaspar frowned. “I loathe skiing.”

Crebold pointed an index finger at him like a gun. “Exactly—and I feel the same kind of loathing being here. But I must be here because of you. So let’s work together to fix this as quickly as possible so I can leave and you can go back to selling shirts.”

“You say it with such disdain.”

Crebold leered. He’d obviously been anticipating this exchange. “Do you really like selling clothes? Is it satisfying measuring men’s asses with a tape measure so their new trousers fit correctly? Is the customer always right?”

Kaspar started to answer, hesitated, and chose to go in another direction. “Where are you going when you retire, Crebold?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let them decide. But when they do, I will be blissfully unaware of their decision. Even if I end up measuring men’s asses too, I won’t remember where I came from. Unlike you, I will not ask to keep my memory.”

They had known each other for ages and worked together almost as long. From the beginning there’d been a mutual dislike, but both of them were completely dedicated to the job, so there was always respect. Dislike but respect—it was sufficient for a professional relationship. Most important, both believed in the work and helped one another whenever necessary.

Kaspar was a natural at the job, while Crebold had to work very hard just to keep up. Of course that was part of what caused tension between the two of them. Everything seemed to come easy to Kaspar: He did the work well and with almost no effort. He was liked and admired; others asked for his advice or wanted to be his friend.

In contrast Crebold was a loner, a glum hair-splitting overachiever who constantly let others know how hard he was working. In general he was the kind of low-key pain in the ass you’d never want to have a drink with even if he was paying.

But both considered themselves no more than soldiers on the front lines, there to protect a system they believed in and to keep things moving in a positive direction. Kaspar was slightly older than Crebold and that was why he was retired now. No matter how dedicated you were to the job, at a specific age you were forced to retire, no exceptions. Kaspar hated to do it, but those were the rules. When his time came he was sad but prepared.

When asked where he wanted to retire, he shrugged indifferently and remained silent. A number of places were suggested. He said any of them was fine. He did have one request though—please don’t erase my memory.

They asked why.

“If I don’t remember who I’ve been, I don’t believe I’ll be able to really appreciate wherever you send me, no matter how long I live there,” Kaspar answered, although he knew what he asked for was unusual and against the rules.

For the most part it was a pleasant informative meeting. All parties were reasonable and open to suggestion. Kaspar’s request
was
out of the ordinary and would make things more difficult for him in his new life. But quite a few imminent retirees made this same request and a good number of them were granted. Of course memory or not, in the new life they would lose the mechanic’s powers as well as the ability to recognize other retirees, including those who’d also been allowed to keep their memory.
Those
rules were set in stone.

By coincidence Crebold was at the meeting. Like jury duty, all mechanics were required to sit on the retirement board periodically and cast a vote. He did not request it but was pleased to learn he would be directly involved in this particular review.

When it was his turn to question Kaspar, Crebold asked in a strong, assured voice, “You don’t care where you retire?”

“No, anywhere is fine.”

“You only want to keep your memory?”

“Right.”

“But it’s unfair to the other retirees and likely to cause trouble no matter where you go.”

Kaspar remained calm and reasonable. “True, but I didn’t think there was any harm in asking. I know quite a few others have been allowed to do it.”

Crebold already knew the answer to his next question but asked it anyway for effect. “How long were you on the job?”

“Seven kleems.”

“And you’ve been a mechanic the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“You fixed broken things?”

“Yes, mostly. At the beginning I was assigned other jobs like everyone, but for the most part yes, I was a fixer.”

“With your experience, don’t you think it’s likely one way or another you’ll disturb things
wherever
you go if your memory is left intact? Haven’t you learned anything from this job?”

One of the Deciders sternly scolded, “Enough, Crebold. You’re out of line. You’re being provocative and argumentative because you two obviously have issues. But those issues are not our concern here and you know it. He made a request, an entirely valid one, which is his right. Be quiet now; you’ve said enough.”

Crebold was livid. Even here, even now, they were siding with Kaspar while at the same time putting
him
down. It was so unfair. His demeanor was placid but inside he seethed.

Kaspar asked, “Am I allowed to know how it works? How I go from this life to the new one?”

“It’s instantaneous. One moment you’re here and the next you inhabit the new life we’ve created for you. In your mind you’ll have all the information necessary for complete integration. No one there will notice your arrival—we arrange it so whoever you’re initially in contact with believes you’ve always been there.”

Unsurprisingly in the end Kaspar was allowed to keep his memory and sent to Earth, of all places. The last conversation the two mechanics had before he left was civil if understandably cool. Crebold asked Kaspar if he knew anything about Earth.

“Not a single thing. They say it’s pretty though—very green.”