The Book of Joby (124 page)

“Not really safe to tell you.” Raphael looked around them pointedly. “The air’s got ears, as you should know.”

“I thought no demon could get near me now,” said Joby.

“There are lots of ways to hear things without ‘getting near,’ ” Raphael scoffed. “Even your kind can do that. And it’s not
your
safety we’re talking about now anyway. That’s why they have no address.”

“Then how am I supposed to find them?” Joby protested.

“Follow your heart,” Raphael said. “You’ll get there.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” Joby complained. “What, am I in the
Wizard of Oz
now? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what it says,” Raphael told him soberly. “Follow your heart, Joby.
It’s
got the compass. It always did. And don’t forget to give Hawk Rose’s message.”

Joby stared at him. “So, what, I just get in my car and start driving?”

“Sounds good, and if you gonna do it, I wouldn’ wait aroun’ here askin’ questions all day neither, beeyatch,” Raphael japed.

“Are you serious?” Joby asked. “Just get in my car? Right now? . . . And just drive . . . anywhere?”

“Hey,” the angel shrugged, “least you ain’t got to hitchhike this time.” He stood up to go. “This has been very helpful, Mr. Peterson.” He smiled, went to the door, then turned and said, “I’d be goin’ pretty soon, like right away then, huh? And remember what they always say: third time’s the charm!” He winked and shut the door behind him.

For a minute, Joby simply stared. Then he got up and rushed to follow
Raphael, unable to believe that those were really all the instructions he was going to get. But when he yanked the door back open, he found no trace of anyone.

Running to Sarina’s office, he stuck his head in through her open door, and said, “Sarina, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Okay.” She smiled. “It’s slow here anyway. I’ll cover it. See you tomorrow.”

“No,” Joby said. “I mean, I have to leave completely. Maybe for a while.I . . . just didn’t want to go without saying good-bye this time.”

She looked at him, confused. “What? . . . Why? How long are you going for?”

“I’m not sure,” Joby said, beginning to realize how many things he was walking out on. “There’s not much stuff in my apartment yet, but if I’m not back in time to pay the rent, you can have it all, okay? Use it here, or just give it all away. I’m sorry to ask this, Sarina, but I don’t think I even have time to go home.”

“Joby, what’s going on?” she said, clearly alarmed.

“I heard from Laura,” Joby said.

“That’s great!” she exclaimed. “But why—”

“I’m not really sure,” he said, embarrassed. “It’s complicated, but I . . . I think I’ve got to go right now. I’m sorry. Is it okay?”

“Okay,” she said, looking concerned again. “Will I ever see you again?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Joby shrugged. He darted in to kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a peach, Sarina, and you’re doing a real fine thing here. It’s been great to see you. Thanks for everything. Good luck! Good-bye!”

“Good-bye!” she said as he ran for the exit. “Good luck!”

A moment later, he pulled into traffic still wondering where he was supposed to go. He filled his tank at the first gas station he saw, and bought a toothbrush and some other things at the mini-mart there, then got back on the road, and headed west because the light seemed nicer that way.

He chose the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge because of its name. That took him to Highway 101, where he headed north until he realized he was driving to Taubolt. Even though it wasn’t there anymore, he couldn’t think of any other place to go. Taubolt was the only place this highway had ever gone that mattered.

Now what?
he thought an hour later, as he approached the point where he would have to leave the highway or keep on going. It was getting on toward sunset. Standing at the off-ramp was a hitchhiker, who would be hitching in
the dark before much longer. There’d been a soft spot in Joby’s heart for hitchers ever since the night he’d fled to Taubolt, so he pulled over as the young man ran to meet him.

The guy pulled Joby’s car door open, and they both just stared.

“Joby!” said the boy.

“Swami?” said Joby in amazement. “What on God’s green earth? You’re back! Has anybody told you?”

“Yeah,” Swami answered glumly. “I’ve already been there, and I knew anyway. I just came back to make sure no one’s left behind. What a trip running into you, though!”

“Tell me about it!” said Joby. “Geez, it’s great to see you!” Then, recalling what Swami had been sent away to look for, Joby asked, “Did you find it?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But we will.”

“Well, get in,” Joby told him. “I’ll take you wherever you’re headed now. I have no idea where I’m going anyway.”

“Great!” said Swami, jumping in beside him. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?” said Joby.

Swami gave him an odd look. “Not really safe to give directions out here.”

Joby’s mouth went dry. “You
know
. . . where I’m supposed to be going?”

“Don’t know where you
were
going, but I know where you should go now.” Swami grinned. “They’ll all be glad to see you.”

“Are Hawk and Laura there?” Joby asked.

“Of course,” said Swami. “Almost everyone. And you’re a hero, you know.”

“Why?” asked Joby. “I destroyed their town.”

“More like moved it.” Swami shrugged. “And you saved the Garden Coast, just like I always knew you would.”

“How the heck do you figure that?” Joby asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” Swami said. “That whole stretch of coast has been declared
severely
unstable. Nobody’s gonna be allowed to rebuild a thing there now for years. Maybe never!” He grinned at Joby. “I knew somehow you were gonna save it, Joby. I just didn’t guess you’d do it this way.”

“Lucifer won’t care whether he’s allowed to rebuild,” Joby said. “How does that protect the Garden from him?”

“Demons we can deal with,” Swami said. “With the Creator’s help, that’s covered now for good. It’s the
people
we had to worry about. Protecting the Garden on a coast crawling with tourists would’ve been next to impossible. But almost no one will be going anywhere near there for ages now. Taubolt’s
gone. Everybody thinks the place is dangerous. Who’s gonna want to vacation there?”

“So where are you all going to live now that Taubolt’s gone?”

“I just told you,” Swami smiled, “it isn’t really. Sooner or later, every flower dies and goes to seed, Joby. That doesn’t mean there’s no more flowers. Taubolt’s just blooming somewhere else now. It wasn’t just a place, you know. And even though we haven’t found the Cup yet, I found something almost as good—even better in a way. Oh, and by the way,” Swami grinned, “in gratitude for your heroism, the Bobs have canceled all your debts.”

“What debts?”

“Here’s a tip,” Swami smiled enigmatically, “never tell imps you’ll ‘owe them.’ Not even as a joke.”

“Well, I’ll be d—” Joby suddenly reconsidered his choice of words.

“Hawk’s gonna be pretty glad to see you,” said Swami. “He’s started writing his
masterpiece,
but he’s gonna need a lot of help from you.”

“I don’t think so,” Joby said. “My son’s twice the storyteller I’ll ever hope to be. His grandfather saw to that.”

“Don’t you even want to know the title?” Swami asked.

“Sure. What is it?”

“The Book of Joby.”
Swami grinned.

“Tell me you’re joking,” Joby groaned.

“Nope,” Swami chuckled, “We can’t wait to read it, but Hawk doesn’t know a lot of the story yet, so your help
is
gonna be kind of crucial.”

“I was told my suffering was over,” Joby sighed, though, of course, he was very pleased. “Well, let’s not just sit here on this shoulder gabbing. Which way do I go?”

“Just drive.” Swami grinned. “You’re already headed in the right direction.”

It was late September, and the Creator had invited Gabe to come catch the end of the baseball season at a sports bar in Tucson, Arizona. They sat at a small table on the upper deck, just two more cowboys throwing down a beer or three before the game.

At the moment, all the bar’s TV screens were still tuned to the last few moments of a weekly magazine show devoted, this week, to the sensational earthquake that had recently demolished California’s premier resort town of Taubolt. Gabe and his boss had watched spectacular footage of the devastation narrated by a stream of experts explaining the event’s geological origins, many unpleasant consequences, and, of course, the rather bizarre stories told by more than a few survivors. Gabe had listened with interest as several still traumatized tourists and ex-residents described monsters throwing fire-balls at buildings and pushing down walls without ever touching them. At present, a nationally renowned psychiatrist was explaining the concept of mass hysteria.

“During a particularly traumatic event of this kind,” the doctor said excitedly, “entire crowds of people can, by unconscious consensus and amplified power of suggestion, all project the same meaning onto what they’re undergoing. They literally
share
a hallucination.”

“Fascinatin’,” the Creator murmured. “It’d only work on Californians though.”

“This phenomenon has been amply documented on numerous occasions,” the psychiatrist continued, “during natural disasters like this one, and also during large, emotionally charged religious gatherings, such as mass sightings of the Virgin Mary in Europe, for instance, though some of those may be traceable to the poisoning of communal grain supplies by molds such as ergot.”

“Don’t think she’d like the sound of that,” mused Gabriel.

“No way,” the Creator agreed. “Mary keeps a
spotless
kitchen.”

“Think she’s watchin’ somewhere?” Gabe asked.

“For that guy’s sake, I hope not,” the Creator said, tipping back his hat. “You know how she gets when she’s chafed.”

While they’d been talking, the program had moved on to an interview with one last quake survivor. She was an elderly woman with long disheveled hair piled in a disorderly bun. It had been dyed, but not recently enough to hide the white roots showing at every part. Her makeup seemed hastily applied, and her whole demeanor mildly hysterical, as if she were a very old Ophelia. The screen caption read, “Agnes Hamilton: prominent former resident of Taubolt.”

“Well, of course I plan to fight the ruling!” she snapped. “Never allowed to rebuild anything again? That’s ridiculous! Everything I had was invested in that town! Don’t they understand that? If things are a little bit unstable, reinforce them, but they can’t just shut me out that way. I was a very wealthy woman! That town was my life!”

The camera zoomed in on her distraught expression just as she wiped a fleck of spittle from the corner of her mouth, smearing her lipstick.

“Poor woman,” the Creator sighed.

As the credits ended and they rolled a beer commercial, Gabe turned to the Creator and said, “I’ve been wonderin’ about somethin’. May I ask?”

“Whadda
you
think?” The Creator smiled, still gazing at the commercial.

“Right,” Gabe said, embarrassed. “Okay, well, I’m happy as anyone, of course, about how everything came out, but . . .” He really wasn’t sure he should be asking this.

“Spit it out, compadre,” the Creator growled.

“Well, what if You had lost? You
could
have lost, couldn’t You?”

“I can do anything.” The Creator grinned.

“Then, what would You have done?” Gabe said.

The Creator shrugged and took another pull at His beer. “I’d have ponied up, I guess, just like I promised. I’m no cheater. You know that.”

“You’d have just wiped everything out?” Gabe said. “Even me?”

“Yup,” the Creator said grimly. “Sorry, pardner, but a promise is a promise.”

“And made everything over according to
his instructions
?”

“Well, now, that’s the problem, ain’t it?” the Creator said. “Seems like old Lucy kinda overlooked the fact he’s a part of creation too. He does that a lot. You noticed?”

Gabe was too dumbstruck to answer.

“Soon as I’d wiped every last thing out,” the Creator continued, scratching
the back of His head, “I’d have asked for his instructions, of course, but if he wasn’t there to give ’em . . . well, a plain old post ’n’ hole man like Me oughtn’t presume to guess what a brilliant mind like his would’ve wanted. I s’pose I’d just have had to make it all up again without him.” He grinned. “You think?”

Gabe was shocked, not just at the plan’s simplicity, but also at its callousness. “With all due respect, My Lord, what about all the good and loyal beings . . . well, like myself?” he said, daring to express a little of the umbrage he was feeling. “It wouldn’t have bothered You to wipe us all out just to get my brother off Your back?”

The Creator tipped His hat so far back it nearly fell off, looked surprised, and said, “Well, I’d have brought you all right back, of course. ’Cept for old Lucy, maybe. Who said I wouldn’t? There’s no rule says I can’t bring You back, is there?
I
sure never wrote one.” He gazed at the ceiling and murmured, “Why does everybody seem to have such trouble gettin’ that?” He looked back at Gabe, and said, “Have a little faith, for cryin’ out loud.”