The Woman Who Married a Cloud: The Collected Short Stories (64 page)

“That’s okay boy, that’s okay.” Mills put the bug back in his pocket. “He smells the cancer.”

“But why do
you
have it now?”

Instead of answering Beatrice’s question, the lawyer went on. “That night Heather explained everything to him: The alchemy, how she’d always been able to do it, how she hid the talent all her life despite a fascination with it ... everything.

“Vadim asked her to do something else, turn something else into gold, but she said no. He must accept that if they were to stay together. She had only prepared an
azoth
now to save his life. But he must never ask her to do alchemy again.”

“What’s an
azoth
?”

“Today we’d call it a panacea. It’s a universal medicine that cures anything.”

“Anything? AIDS? Cancer?”

“
Anything
. Authentic alchemists have known how to make it for centuries. But it’s almost impossible to find a master capable of mixing one for you.

“Heather and Vadim argued about it a long time. He said they could be rich; he could do all sorts of amazing things with both the money and her power. But she was unmoved. When he became insistent and the discussion got ugly between them, she said if he insisted it would be the end of their marriage.

“Vadim was a crook but not a stupid man; at least not
that
stupid yet. He knew when to back off. He agreed to do what she asked. Just knowing that she had cured him of terminal stomach cancer was enough for then. He was very grateful—for a while.”

“Heather had
never
used the power, never once before the time she cured him?”

Mills picked up a stick and threw it for the dog. “Very rarely. Not since she was an adult. Sometimes when she was young and her mother was desperate for money to pay unexpected bills, but only then. She said they got to know certain jewelers who would pay cash for the gold and not ask questions about where it came from.”

“Amazing.” Beatrice couldn’t help admiring Heather Cooke, if what Mills told her was true. Imagine having that ability but never using it.

The lawyer interrupted her musing. “The thing most people don’t know about alchemy is there are many different kinds, one more obscure than the other. There’s the classic ‘dross into gold’ variety that you mentioned. But another that’s way more interesting is something called Introvert or Internal alchemy that deals with the mystical and contemplative aspects of the science. It deals with
transformation.
”

Beatrice frowned. “You think alchemy is a
science,
Mills? Do you really? I always thought it was sort of—”

He answered firmly, “It is definitely a science, and a very old one. In various forms it dates back to the beginning of mankind, believe me. Remember Prometheus stealing fire from the gods? Think of him as the first alchemist. Many of the tenets of modern chemistry are based on experiments and discoveries that alchemists made centuries ago.”

They walked along in silence, Beatrice thinking it all over, Mills waiting for a sign from her to continue. Cornbread brought the stick back, eager for it to be thrown again. Two bicycle riders rode slowly past, sharing a laugh.

Beatrice stopped and pointed at her friend. “You’re going to tell me that Vadim screwed up. Because he was a crook, I assume it was because of that.”

Mills smiled. “Go on.”

Beatrice looked at her feet and thought about it some more. “He pulled off a big deal, or
tried
to pull one off with the Russian gangsters he’d contacted on their trip across the States.”

“Keep going—you’re close.”

“But everything went wrong and he ended up having to beg her to make some more gold so they wouldn’t kill him.”

The lawyer pretended to clap. “Pretty good, as far as I know. The truth is Heather would never tell me the details of exactly what happened because she thought knowing them might endanger me.”

“Why you, Mills?”

“Because the guys Vadim was involved with were frightening and ruthless, according to her. I assumed they were responsible for his death although nothing could be proved. Whatever Heather did for them I guess was enough though because nothing happened to Vadim ...
then
. By the time he was killed later, she was long gone from his life.

“When he came to her for help that time, she said she’d do it but wanted a divorce after it was over. Vadim thought she was just bluffing but she wasn’t.

“She did her alchemy again and made whatever it was he needed. But when the crisis passed, Vadim said he wouldn’t divorce her. He obviously had other plans for her and her ability.” Mills took the stick out of the dog’s drooly mouth and threw it as far as he could. “But by the time I met the guy, she must have done something pretty damned scary to convince him otherwise because Vadim was terrified of her. He would have divorced her in two seconds if that was possible. Neither of them told me what it was she had done, but it sure worked. That first time we met, he hadn’t been in my office five minutes before he started pleading ‘You’re her friend. She loves you. Please tell her not to turn me into gold. Please don’t let her do that.’ I didn’t know if he meant it literally or she’d done something equally terrifying to convince him. But the divorce went very quickly. When it was over he gave me this hat and thanked me for intervening. I didn’t say a thing to her about that, but he didn’t need to know.”

“And what happened to Heather after that?”

Mills shook his head. “I don’t know. She disappeared and I never heard from her again.”

“You never saw her after the divorce?”

Mills shook his head again.

Beatrice smiled, reached over and touched his cheek. “Liar. Thank you for being such a good liar. I bet you tell that story to all your female clients.”

Mills’ mouth dropped and then slowly curved into a wide happy smile. “It’s
you
? It’s really you?”

Beatrice nodded. “Yes.”

“When did you catch on; when did you wake up?”

“It began when you showed me the gold cancer bug. But it was all slow and blurry and unclear at first. I wasn’t sure what was happening so I waited and listened until everything came back to me. It really is like waking up in the morning.”

“It’s exactly like you said it would be.”

“That’s not me, Mills, it’s the alchemy.”

“But Heather, it’s really you? After all this time it’s really you?”

“Yes. And I’ll tell you certain details now that I couldn’t before because nobody knows who I am now. Enough time has passed.”

The Heather Cooke he had known since childhood was a tall thin woman with brown hair and features you remembered. In contrast, Beatrice Oakum was medium height, heavy, and plain faced except for her nice long blond hair.

“Can I ask what you made for the Russians? Or how you did it?”

Beatrice shook her head. “No. All you need to know about that is afterwards I had to find someone I could hide inside until the danger had passed. Transformation is one of the easier parts of Internal Alchemy, Mills. You want to enter and hide inside the soul of another person? It takes five minutes to mix up the drink you need.

“I went looking and as soon as I found Beatrice, I hibernated inside her, after telling her,
programming
her, to do a few things after sufficient time had passed: I told her to find you. I told her to wake me when you showed her the gold bug. I told her ... well, the rest isn’t necessary to explain. What’s most important is here I am, just looking a little different, eh?” She lifted both arms and the two old friends embraced while Cornbread jumped up on them, delighted to share their happiness. Eventually they separated. She took her old boyfriend’s arm and they began walking again.

“I cannot believe it’s you, Heather. I can’t believe it actually happened the way you said it would.”

She chuckled, “How many women clients did you tell my story to?”

“Four in the last three years. All of them were duly impressed, I must say. But none woke up when I showed them the bug. When they didn’t react, I just dropped it back in my pocket and finished telling them Heather Cooke’s great story. But I was only following your instructions. I’ve been dropping clues to you too all the time we’ve known each other. But you never responded until now.”

Pushing hair out of her face she said, “I’ll tell you some things now Mills, because I do believe I’m safe. I had to vanish so quickly back then because that bastard Vadim told them what I could do and they sent someone to get me. Do you remember what an
alkahest
is?”

“Yes, the universal solvent; a liquid that has the power to dissolve every other substance.”

Beatrice squeezed his arm. “You remembered! The man the Russians sent to get me, to bring me to them? I tricked him into drinking an alkahest.” She opened her mouth to continue but then decided not to. She was about to describe what happened to the Russian after he drank her version of the universal solvent. But a description wasn’t necessary because just the thought of it made Mills shudder.

“Afterwards I walked straight out of my apartment, called you and said what I was going to do and what you must do to bring me back. Then I went looking for someone to hide inside until the coast was clear.”

“But what happens to Beatrice now, Heather? If you remain inside her—”

Ignoring his question, the chubby blond woman leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur. “Good old Cornbread. Remember the day your father brought him home from the animal shelter? How old were we, twelve? From that very first day you were so in love with him. So what’s he now, thirty-five years old?”

Mills shrugged. “Probably closer to forty. The oldest dog in the world. It was your Christmas present to me that year. ‘Drink this, little Cornbread, and you’ll live forever.’

“But really Heather, what about Beatrice?”

She held up one finger as if to say
let’s not talk about that.

I
T BEGAN BY ACCIDENT,
as romances often do.

He’d had another rough night. A few days before, their new puppy broke its leg while playing. It was now encased in a tight bandage that covered a third of its lower body. This wrapping drove the young dog nuts. Obsessively it tried to tug the bandage off with its teeth.

Things were particularly bad at night when it would clomp from room to room, couch to chair to floor, trying to get comfortable and when it found that impossible, pull at the bandage. They’d bought one of those stiff plastic collars from the veterinarian that look like an inverted lampshade but are meant to keep an animal from getting at its wound. But the collar scared the dog and its panic at having to wear the large unwieldy thing made them fear that the puppy would do something to make the broken leg worse, so they took it off.

The man discovered the only thing that calmed the dog down was if he sat next to it on the living room couch with his hand resting on its head. Then the puppy would sleep a while, but he didn’t. Head bent to one side, a blanket draped over him, three nights in a row he’d done this and it showed. His face was swollen and drawn from lack of sleep. At six in the morning he’d lurch up from the couch goggle eyed and staggery and go out for coffee to buzz some kind of caffeine life back into his exhausted body.

He always went to the same café because it opened early. The women who worked there were all friendly and seemed glad to see him come in. The waitress he liked most was a dark thin woman named Joanna. He knew this only because of her nametag, not because she’d ever told him. She was nice looking but not special. She smiled a lot and seemed to have an authentically sunny personality. She greeted everyone who came in and was patient even during the hectic times when customers couldn’t decide what they wanted. On the third morning of his dog vigil, Joanna served him and then said, “You’re looking
tired
.”

He nodded, smiled and because he was so sleep deprived, said by accident “New baby.” Of course he’d meant to say “puppy” but his mind was so thick and confused by lack of sleep that the wrong word came out. Oh well, what difference did it make—puppies were babies too.

“Ahh, a sleepless Daddy! Lucky you.”

And then of course it was too late and awkward to correct himself and say, “No, I mean
puppy.
We have a new puppy that kept me up all night.”

Anyway it wasn’t important—they were only making superficial morning chitchat. Joanna walked away but a few minutes later returned with a big glistening cinnamon bun and put it down in front of him. “This is on the house,” she said. “All that sugar will give you extra energy.”

The bun was delicious. But how could he tell her now that he’d said it wrong and ... Forget it—it wasn’t worth the trouble.

When he got home he told his wife what had happened. Right away she asked why he’d lied to the waitress. He said he hadn’t lied; he slipped up and made a mistake. Because he was tired he said it wrong. That was way different from a lie. But he noticed his voice at the end of the sentence rose to a plaintive defensive whine.

“No, you
lied:
you let her believe we have a new baby. That’s not very nice.”

He loved his wife but didn’t like her then. She should have been amused; maybe shaken her head at the goofy situations we get ourselves into by accident sometimes in life. Instead she was scolding and pissy about it. He wanted to protest but held his tongue.

She persisted, “
Are
you going to tell her?”

“What, you mean the waitress?”

“Yes. Are you going to tell her about the dog?”

“I don’t know. Why is this important to you? Why not just leave it alone? Who cares?”

His wife looked at him for a few beats but he could not tell what was in her stare. In reaction he really wanted to do something absurd then like reach over and squeeze her nose, or stick out his tongue to remind her that neither of them held the high moral ground when it came to matters like this. They’d both lied plenty over the years—to each other and to the world.