Bathing the Lion (28 page)

Scratching both dogs’ heads as they pushed their big bodies up against her legs, she thought, Kaspar’s not here so I can’t talk to him about this. What now? Then there were sounds from inside the house—laughter? Moving closer to the building, for the second time that night she found herself looking in windows like a peeping tom. She walked slowly around to the back of the house where she noticed a dim light flickering inside one window. She moved closer for a better look.

More laughter, sexy laughter, the kind from lovers who have just finished or are about to begin. The light inside came from candles—a bunch were placed all around one room, dimly revealing it with their shy sway and flickers of pale yellow. By all indications Jane expected it to be a bedroom but realized after squinting hard for a better view it was the kitchen.

Sitting across from each other at a small metal table in the center of the room were Kaspar and Vanessa Corbin. Both were fully dressed and the table between them was covered with plates of food.

Jane put her hand on the side of the house. In the short time traveling from Bill’s house to here, her mechanic self had awakened further so she knew now by doing this, she would be able to hear everything that was said inside. To her surprise and amusement, the two were only talking about food. Sex took no part in their conversation. She’d heard rumors about something going on between Vanessa and Kaspar but the talk neither fazed nor interested her. Jane had enough trouble dealing with the singer on a professional level. She didn’t care what Vanessa did in her time outside the bar. Besides, gossip was like junk food: you ate it with a kind of fanatical glee, but then felt like shit when you realized you’d emptied the bag and your guts were now stuffed with lard. If there was any truth to the rumor, the only one she felt sorry for was Dean Corbin, who was a very decent, stand-up guy.

While the dogs kept her company, Jane listened to the conversation inside Kaspar’s kitchen. The more she heard, the more she enjoyed it because it sounded like two swooning gourmands talking food porn rather than red hot lovers hungry only to jump each other’s bones. Eavesdropping on their chat, she could tell right away there was between them the kind of easy intimacy longtime lovers have with each other. But whether those two were physically intimate was another question. However, the most interesting thing she learned came from the dogs.

D Train kept walking over and rubbing his head against her legs. While doing this, he’d look up at her and doggy-grin while his whole body wriggled affection and desire for a pat. Jane was torn between listening to the conversation inside the house and giving the friendly dog the attention he craved.

Squatting down to D’s level, she briskly rubbed his head with both hands, then up and down his back and sides. His gyrating body grew frantic with love and appreciation. On noticing that his friend had the woman’s attention and caresses, Kos came over for his share. The two goofy dogs were nothing if not enthusiastic in competing for her hands. Their squirms, head tosses, paw whacks, and body bumps eventually got the best of Jane’s balance and knocked her from a squat onto the ground. The dogs loved that and engulfed her with kisses and big feet all over her. Grinning, she tried to stand up but was still on skates. They were no good for getting her balance gyroscope back on track.

“Come on guys—help me up.” Using their muscled backs as leverage, she pushed hard enough to rise. Neither dog seemed to mind.

While her fingers were still on their backs, Jane suddenly began to experience the world through the dogs’ brains and not her own. Mechanics can enter any mind they choose. The difference here was she didn’t choose to enter D Train’s and Kos’s minds—it happened on its own.

The world as they perceived it was very similar to the human world except for one key difference—dogs know what comes after death. In the brief moments Jane Claudius lived as a canine, she saw and understood for the first time what death was and what came afterward.

It was not bad.

This
is the primary reason why most dogs are so merry and resilient: death is no more frightening than traveling to a distant land where the landscape is lushly tropical or glacially polar or simply unlike anyplace you’ve ever been. Just the smells alone …

Jane and Felice had once gone to Marrakesh. The first thing that crossed her mind now was the smells of the markets there: so extreme, exotic, and mysterious. The whole time they were in Morocco neither woman could get over the constant barrage of unknown, wildly
foreign
tantalizing scents. They kept asking each other, “Do you smell
that
? What is it?”

Whether as a mechanic or a human who had been enlightened, Jane knew for certain now what death was and it was not to be feared. She assumed it was why Lola had been so cheerful when they spoke outside the Edmondses’ house. Overcome by this epiphany, she brought both hands to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut to hold back grateful tears. Her connection to the dogs was broken and instantly she was herself again. But it took a while to mentally digest and accept what had just been revealed. She opened her eyes after hearing voices on the other side of the house.

Looking in the kitchen window, she saw the candles were still burning and the table was covered with plates, but no one was in the room. Listening to the voices, she heard Vanessa say good-bye. Footsteps clomped down the wooden porch stairs. Both dogs took off to investigate. Jane didn’t move until she heard a car start and move off down the street. Then she walked around the house and rang the front bell.

Kaspar answered the door holding a plate piled high with wedges of cheese, crackers, and glistening black and green olives. Working on a mouthful he said awkwardly, “Jane! This is a surprise—come in.” He seemed happy to see her but mildly perplexed.

He flicked on lights as they walked down the narrow hall and into the living room. It was the first time Jane had been in Kaspar Benn’s house and she liked what she saw.

He collected things. Black-and-white vintage photographs covered the walls, all of them interesting enough on first glance to make her want to stop and examine each one. A handsome hanging brass and smoked crystal lamp spread a warm buttery light over the hall. Kaspar said he’d bought the lamp at the Viennese flea market. On a long industrial-looking brushed aluminum table were arranged a quirky assortment of found and flea market objects: two old street signs peppered with what looked like bullet holes, an array of pocketknives, a gouged and scratched wooden bocce ball, a large crudely made copper bowl holding battered old pool balls. Next to it were metal toys, and in the middle of the table was a large white display window head of a handsome man that appeared to be from the 1920s or ’30s. When they walked by the bust, Kaspar tapped it and said, “my personal Jay Gatsby.” Jane wished she could linger and look at everything more carefully but once they reached the living room Kaspar gestured her to a leather sofa the color of an old brown football. He sat down in an equally worn Eames lounge chair facing it.

“Nine o’clock on a Tuesday night in the middle of my life the mysterious Jane Claudius shows up out of the blue at the door. This is a surprise. How’d you know where I live? How come you’re not at the bar?”

“Kaspar, I know about mechanics. I know you used to be one. I also know about the Somersault that’s coming.”

He stiffened but said nothing, only put the plate he was holding slowly and carefully down on the floor next to his chair. Bending forward he looked up, appraising her.

She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’m in the middle of a flip right now and don’t know how long it’s going to last. So I need to get some answers from you fast.”

Hearing that one word convinced Kaspar she was telling the truth. “You know about flips?”

“Yes. I have so much to tell you and I will if there’s enough time, but first I have to ask my questions. You’ve got to give me some answers. As I said, I don’t know how long I’ll be here; the flip has already happened twice to me.”

Nodding, he tried to hide his bewilderment and worry behind a placid face. But his insides were going off like an explosion in a fireworks factory. “If it’s true and you are in a flip, Jane, you can ask me anything because I won’t remember any of this after you’ve gone. It’s how they work.”

“I know, Kaspar.”

“
How
can you know?”

“Because I was a mechanic too.” As fast as possible she told him about how the other three people—Dean, Vanessa, and Bill Edmonds—had been mechanics too, their shared dream, and what had happened to them since the dream. She knew Kaspar needed to know these facts in order to have some kind of background before she asked her questions. But she was petrified that in the middle of her explanation another flip would occur and she’d lose the chance to ask them. At the end of her brief account he started to speak but she brushed it aside and begged, “Please—
please
just let me ask my questions first.”

“Okay, Jane, I understand. What do you want to know?”

She took the drawings out of her pocket and put them down in front of him. “What do these mean? Do you know what they are?”

He’d never seen them before but after a brief glimpse at both he knew what they were. “I do, but I can’t tell you what they mean.”

She grimaced. “Why? You
have
to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to—it’s because I
can’t
, Jane.”

“
Why not?
”

He put his hands down flat on the papers. “Have you seen hieroglyphics?”

“You mean like the Egyptian ones?”

“Egyptian, Mayan, Cretan … it doesn’t matter which. The word ‘hieroglyph’ is actually Greek and means ‘sacred carving.’ These pages
are
sacred too in a way because they were definitely drawn by a mechanic and I know they’re instructions of some sort. This I
can
tell you. I’d recognize Egyptian hieroglyphics if I saw some, but I wouldn’t
understand
them. The same thing goes with these drawings.”

“How do you know they were drawn by a mechanic?”

Kaspar quickly pointed to four things on one sheet, then tapped the page with his thumb. “These figures tell me who wrote it and the fourth says, look at this drawing in combination with the one of the bottles on it.”

In a worried voice she asked, “
Why?
What do they mean? What do they say? This drawing is only a bunch of ink bottles.”

“I agree.”

Frustrated and almost angry, she latched onto something he’d said. “But those figures—how come you recognized them but nothing else?”

“Because they represent my name—the name I had as a mechanic. Plus it’s my handwriting;
I
did these drawings, Jane. That’s what the third figure says—this one here. I haven’t done them
yet
obviously, but if what you’re telling me is true then we have to assume I
will
sometime in the future. That future me made these drawings and gave them to you, probably thinking they’ll help once you decipher them.” Kaspar shook his head and looked at the papers again. “It’s so strange to get a glimpse of your future no matter how unclear it is. I have no idea what these mean but I drew them, there’s no question about it.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Huddled together over the drawings, neither Jane nor Kaspar had seen the man now standing in the doorway.

Kaspar did a double take—this wasn’t possible. “
Crebold
?” He hadn’t seen him since their mechanic days. “What are you doing here?”

Crebold pointed at Jane. “I thought I’d make a guest appearance in her flip. Glad to see me?”

Kaspar said nothing but didn’t like it. What
was
he doing here? Jane had told about the others in the dream but said nothing about Crebold because she’d forgotten him. Who was he anyway? As far as she knew, just a guy who’d been with Kaspar Benn on the country road along with the others—and the elephant, and the talking chair.…

Kaspar got up and warily made himself shake Crebold’s hand. Then he asked if Jane had ever seen this man before.

“Yes, he was with you in our dream.”

The mechanic nodded. “But we haven’t been formally introduced. You can call me Crebold if you like, or”—he said something incomprehensible. Seeing the blank look on her face he said, “Ah too bad, you don’t understand our language yet. But any time now I’m sure you will, Jane.”

“You were on the road with Kaspar.”

“Right.”

“Why are you here?”

Crebold pointed to the drawings. “I need to take those with me; they shouldn’t be here.” He leered at Kaspar. “You don’t know what we’re talking about, do you, old friend
?
I cannot express how much that pleases me. Jane and I are talking about
your
future and events you know nothing about yet.”

Ignoring the taunt, Kaspar asked, “Why do you want these drawings?”

“You remember the rules, pal—mechanics can never divulge the future to mortals.”

Kaspar wasn’t having it. “The fact you’re here in
her
flip, making your presence known to both of us, is breaking the rules, Crebold. Both of those things are taboo for mechanics. Rule number one: stealth. Remain unseen—anonymity at all costs.”

“Yes, well, some of those rules have changed since you retired. Just give me the drawings and I’ll go.” He wore a smug smirk that Kaspar wanted to slap off his face. The arrogant little prick.

Jane asked, “Why do they matter to you?”

“Kaspar cheated back there on the road. He slipped those drawings into your pocket because he wants you to decipher them and use the information if you can, no matter what happens to him.”

Kaspar couldn’t resist asking. “What are they? What do they mean?”

“In part they’re instructions—instructions about how mechanics function. They’re also a kind of map of the human heart, translated into a visual language humans can understand.”