Miracle Monday (14 page)

The
third
thing
I
wanted
to
mention
was
how
comfortable
and
stable
I'm
feeling
for
the
first
time
since
I
got
here
seven
years
ago.
Months.
Seven
months
ago.
Actually,
what
I'm
really
worried
about
is
that
somebody
might
see
my
Superman
encyclopedia
even
though
it's
not
going
to
be
compiled
for
another
seventy
years.
Or
somebody
might
see
this
journal
I'm
keeping
and
figure
out
that
I
don't
belong
here.
Or
I
might
go
out
to
the
movies
or
to
that
Don
Williams
concert
with
Jimmy
Olsen
like
he
wants
me
to
do
and
I
might
mistakenly
tell
him
not
to
go
to
Mars.
Or
I'm
worried
that
Lena
Thorul
sensed
something
horrible
about
me.
Or
that
I
can't
get
any
space
with
all
these
people
around
me
all
the
time.
Or
that
I
don't
belong
here.
Or
that
I'll
be
too
scared
to
go
to
sleep
for
the
rest
of
my
life
until
I
die.
Or
that
I'll
die.
 

I
was
feeling
perfectly
fine
when
I
started
typing
this,
and
I
still
feel
fine.
No
I
don't.
I
didn't
feel
fine
then
either.
I
haven't
felt
fine
since
I
went
out
to
dinner
three
days
ago.
Or
is
it
a
week
and
three
days
ago?
Haven't
I
been
typing
this
thing
for
at
least
a
week?
I
feel
like
something
inside
me
is
trying
to
tear
me
apart.
Like
there
are
two
forces
fighting
over
my
head.
Me
and
something
else.
I
don't
know
what.
 

I
need
some
space,
man.
I'm
burning
out.
 

Again the phone rang. "Lois?"

"Yes, speaking," she said as she went on trying to type a story in her cramped office.

"This is Lena."

"Lena? You sound funny. Is something wrong?"

"No, not as far as I know. Tell me something."

"Almost anything if I can do it fast."

"How do I get to Superman?"

"If I find out I'm sure as hell not going to tell you. What else do you want to know?"

"Seriously, Lois."

"Seriously? I thought you said nothing was wrong. Oh, hi Clark. Sorry, Lena, Clark just walked in."

"I just wanted to show you this, Lois." Clark held out his copy of the morning
Times
.
 

"What did you want Superman for, Lena?"

"I got something in the mail. A letter to him addressed care of me."

"It's Russell Baker's column," Clark said. "I thought you'd like it."

"I'll read it," Lois said, "if you'll be a dear and just leave it there on the desk. No, not you, Lena. I'm sorry, Clark. I mean I'm sorry, Lena. I'm sorry, Clark."

"I'm sorry, Lois," Clark said. "I'll see you later."

"It's really very strange," Lena said.

"Strangest thing I've heard all day," Lois said. "Not you, Clark. I'll see you later."

"All right, Lois," Lena said, and hung up.

"No, I didn't mean you, Lena," Lois said to the dead phone.

Lois sat with the phone in one hand, Clark's
Times
in the other and a look of clinical fascination on her face as she looked at Clark in the doorway.
 

"Sorry, Lois," Clark said and turned to go.

"Clark?" She decided to ask him.

"I'm sorry, Lois."

"Do you know how to find Superman?"

"Sometimes," he said.

"Sometimes. Yeah, me too."

"I heard he had dinner with Perry and his wife last night."

"Really? Maybe she's a better cook than I am."

"No, I don't think so," Clark volunteered. "Perry just wanted him to give his youngest son a pep talk. You know, Arnold, the one who always seems to be flunking out of college?"

"That's nice. I knew there had to be some sort of mission involved. Did it work?"

"I don't know. He just started at Stony Brook in January."

"Maybe if I adopted somebody really pitiful. Somebody with mange or rickets or something."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind, Clark."

Clark left, hoping no one would ask him why he was grinning. Kristin Wells, walking the other way down the hall to Lois's office smiled back at him, although Clark noticed that she had a slight tic above her left eye. He also noticed the freckle on the tip of her nose which seemed to be slowly driving Jimmy Olsen crazy. Poor Jimmy.

Lena Thorul was on the phone again with Lois, who had called Lena back to apologize for being so scattered when Lena had called earlier. Lois had no idea where to find Superman.

"The way he does things," Lois said, "is he sort of finds you. I heard Orson Welles is like that, but I don't suppose it's quite the same thing."

"Well, that's all right," Lena said. "I just had this feeling that I'd be able to find him if I called you."

"I'll let him know if I see him."

"Oh, thanks, Lois. It was just a feeling. Listen, now I've got to get off. There's someone at the door. I'll talk to you soon. Say hi to Kris."

Lena answered the door.

"I hear I've got some mail," Superman said.

"Oh," she said. "I don't suppose I should be surprised. You do this sort of thing all the time, don't you?"

"I'm afraid I do." He came in and closed the door.

"Well, here it is, then. Your letter."

It was a business-sized envelope whose return address said that it was from a person named Max Maven of Los Angeles. The name was vaguely familiar.

"I met him when I was a little girl," Lena said, "when we lived in New England. He's a mentalist. You must have heard of him."

"Yes, actually, I have. He does a very good act, according to most reviewers."

"Well, he was very strange. One day I ran into him at the candy store in town and he said that someday I would be his messenger."

"His messenger?"

"I don't usually look into people's minds unless there's a good reason. I respect people's privacy. But I tried to figure out what he meant by reading his mind, and it was completely shielded from me. No one's ever been able to do that before or since. I don't even remember saying anything to him. He just looked at me as though he knew me and said our paths would cross again. Does that make any sense to you, Superman?"

"I can't say it does," Superman answered, holding the letter at arm's distance and reading it through the envelope, "but that is probably not a relevant question in a lot of situations."

"I recognized him as the boy I met that day when I saw him on a talk show. He had lost some hair and wore all black and did all sorts of remarkable things. Told people their birthdays, quoted what people were writing on a pad out of his sight as they were writing it—that sort of thing. He looked a lot different, but I recognized him anyway. Oh dear, I hope I'm not bothering you with something trivial, Superman."

"No, no, not at all. Thank you very much."

"I just thought you had a kind of faraway look when I was talking."

"Did I? Just a premonition, I suppose. You know about those, don't you? I'll have to be leaving, Miss Thorul. Thanks for finally delivering your message."

"You're welcome," she started to say, but by the time she reached the second word of the phrase he was gone.

Superman streaked across the bending sky over America, wondering what he would find in California. The letter, which Superman had taken with him and was now allowing to burn to a cinder as he held it, catching the friction of Superman's flight, was brief enough:

Superman -

Meet me at my home sometime during the day you receive this letter, or I will send Lena Thorul a photostat of her birth certificate.

Max Maven had signed it and followed that with his Los Angeles address. Superman did not enjoy being coerced.

Although she did not know it, Lena Thorul had been acquainted with Superman for quite some time. She lived in Smallville when she took her first steps and left town shortly after she spoke her first sentence.

Superboy, one day, had foolishly given her older brother a strange glowing yellow sphere which Superboy had found in a big cavern under the woods near town. Lena's brother intended to see what it was, but Lena got to it first. She happened to touch the sphere and the plate over an electric socket at the same time and the sphere melted to sludge. Lena's brother, Lex, saw the thing melt, and saw the baby's hair stand on end for an instant. She did not seem to be nearly as distressed over the incident as Lex was. He could not decide whether to be angrier at himself for leaving the thing lying around, or at Superboy for not realizing he had picked up an artifact of an ancient exploration party from the nation of Atlantis.

Lena learned to talk quickly—too quickly—after the day her hair stood on end. She also showed immediate signs of second sight. She always knew where to find her toys, as well as her brother's and father's lost tools. She also knew, for a while, that Lex was still alive when her mother had told her that he had died in a mountain climbing accident, but she was discouraged from asking about him. In the course of the more that twenty years since the incident of the melted globe, Lena's extraordinary mind had been asked to repress a lot. Lena was fairly successful at keeping that mind out of other people's affairs and out of her own past.

If Superman were to make a list of the ten things he would least want to happen, having Lena Thorul see that the name on her birth certificate was
Lena Luthor
would certainly be on the list.
 

In Los Angeles there was another letter, a longer one this time which showed at least some regard for etiquette. It was taped to the performer's apartment door:

S.M. -

I trust you chose to enter through the door. Unfortunately I am not here at the moment, but you will probably be able to find me at the Magic Castle.

Mystically yours,

Max

This is not a likable man, Superman thought.

The Magic Castle was a private club in Hollywood and one had to be a member or a member's guest to get in. Max Maven had neglected to consider the possibility that the doorman would refuse to allow Superman entry and that, once refused, Superman would not consider entering by force. The doorman was not unaccustomed to people in capes and odd costumes and simply did not believe the man was who he claimed to be. For a moment, Superman considered telling the man the contents of his wallet, but he saw a friend inside who turned out to be a member of the club.