White Apples (31 page)

"You can't give yourself advice in the past, Vincent. That's absurd. Didn't you learn anything when you were dead?

The past is finished. Gigi didn't get turned on because
you
suggested kissing her neck.
He
thought of it—sexy little sixteen-year-old Vincent Et•trich.

"First you went to France and had your look around there, and now you're here. No one sent you to these places.

You chose to go. Now you want to go to the hospital where you died to see if any clues are there that you might be able to use.

"I'll save you the trip—there aren't. You hope you can find answers in the important parts of your past but you can't. No one can because the past is finished and fixed forever. Listen to me— it's all in the present. Everything you need and must do is here now. There is no way of avoiding that anymore.

"Do you know who put that cake box on the ground in France? Bruno Mann. You're so interested in connecting all the dots, then start there with your pal Bruno. Do you remember how this whole thing began?" Pulling up her new long hair, she pointed with the other hand at the back of her neck. "Do you remember my tattoo here?"

He looked up the ladder at her. In that dim light she was only a variety of grays. But it didn't matter because he was thinking about what she had said and the first time he'd seen the tattoo on her neck.

"Why did you do it that way, Coco? Why start this whole thing like that? It was such a weird way of showing me the truth about all this."

She threw her hands up in the air and looked at the heavens. "Vincent, I didn't do it that way,
you
did!
You
put that tattoo on the back of my neck. I was like a human Post-it note for you, but still it took you forever to read your own message."

"Holy shit." The truth hit him like a flame. She was right. Of course she was right.

"Yes, friend, holy shit. You must start seeing and understanding the notes you've written to yourself. They're all over your life now. Not in the past with Gigi Dardess and not in some obscure corner of the universe.
Here.
Right in the middle of your right now.

"You knew you had died and been resurrected. And you knew what you had to do here. You knew it all from the beginning but you didn't want to face it because it's so dangerous and hard."

In a voice as young and wobbly as an unsure child's he said, "This is scaring me."

Her voice softened. "I know. It's a very scary thing." "Coco, when we were at the zoo, did I really talk to the other me, the dead one?"

"Yes, of course you did. That's what I've been telling you. It was one of the only times you have consciously used the powers you have to survive. You could have been using them all along. But most of the time since you have been back you've chosen, con•sciously chosen, to ignore what you know and what you can do so that you don't have to face what you're here for."

A long silence followed and only after some time did Ettrich mumble just loud enough to be heard, "I guess because it's easier to work in an office than it is to fight the gods."

She chuckled. "And pick up women in lingerie stores."

"Yeah, that too." He felt so dumb, so weak, and so utterly incompetent to handle this. Squatting down, he picked up a handful of cool sand. Letting it slide slowly through his fingers, he watched the night ocean rise and fall in front of him, white on black, forever. Far down the beach he heard a woman's high laugh. Was it Gigi? Had his younger self made her laugh that night? He hoped so but he didn't remember. He hoped after it was over that they'd had a good laugh together. He remembered that at some point late that night he had taken her hand and the two of them had run down to the water and jumped in with their clothes on. The water was freezing and the cold went right into his balls but it felt good. He smiled at the memory and picked up another handful of sand.

A short time later the sound of music came from the same direction. The Beatles were singing "Get Back." Ettrich listened for a while and then couldn't help singing along a little. A song so lively and familiar lifted some of the great fear from his head and heart. He sang along some more and then stood up. Turning to the life•guard tower, he gestured for Coco to join him.

"What's up?" "Come down here."

She climbed down quickly thinking something was wrong. She was surprised to see when she got there that Vincent was dancing by himself. He was a terrible dancer but it didn't matter.

Grinning, Coco took a step toward him and shyly began to dance too. She was even worse at it than him. But they sort of danced together until the song ended and when it was over they were sorry. Luckily another good one came right on—Major Lance singing "Monkey Time."

Now fully caught up in it, Coco's style was to dance around in small circles while waving her hands excitedly above her head. She looked like a fanatic at a revival meeting. Ettrich was more reserved, dancing with his hands in his pockets—a little Fred Astaire there—and his shoulders bopping up and down to the beat. "This is good. Who's singing? I like the song." "Major Lance. It's called 'Monkey Time.' I think it was his only hit."

"It's got a great beat. But why are we dancing, Vincent?"

"Nietzsche said sometimes you reach a point when things get sobad that you can only do one of two things—laugh or go crazy. Tonight the third alternative is to dance."

Both of them had things they wanted to say to each other but now was not the right time for it. Too much had already been said. Too much had happened. Things had to sink in. Dancing was better.

A dog that had escaped from its yard dashed full speed down the beach for no other reason than it felt great. The dog had no plans, nowhere special to go, no females in heat giving the siren call. It was just running. The beach was the perfect place for that because it was flat and straight and soft on the feet. The dog also liked running here at night because there was never anyone around and those who were rarely paid attention to him. They didn't scream or try to catch him. They would only look and go back to their business. Sometimes one of them patted him as he passed by but that was all. It was okay for anything to be on the beach after dark. The dog ran past two people dancing and a

while later a bunch of young people sitting around the last flickers and cracks of a dying bonfire. They were listening to a portable radio. The music from it sounded small and tinny out there in the middle of the ocean's night. The dog had been hearing it for almost a mile as he ran toward it. The music carried. The only sounds at that late hour were the waves, the wind, that small music, and the animal's paws beating across the sand.

Adult Ettrich saw the mutt run by. It seemed to be moving to the music.

Young Ettrich, his back to the sea, did not see the dog. He was looking deep into the bonfire and thinking, "It happened. It really happened this time." But he didn't know what to do with that fact and it would take him a long time to put it into the proper per•spective.

After another half-mile the dog stopped, lifted its head, and appeared to be listening to something. Then it changed course and started inland. Because the ocean was receding behind it, the world was quieter here. The houses loomed dark and silent, hunched. Now and then a light someone forgot to turn off shone out. In one win•dow too high for the dog to see, a woman sat wearing an overcoat at a table, crying. A single candle burned in front of her. As the dog passed, she reached out to touch the soft wax dripping down the side of the white candle.

The dog continued running. It ran across town, it ran across America. Then it ran across the Atlantic Ocean and much of Europe until it arrived in Vienna. The next morning just after the sun came up, it stopped beneath the window of a large house in the Eighteenth District. The animal's pink tongue hung out. It was panting but wasn't tired.

Energized and alert, it sat on its haunches and looked up at a particular window. Perhaps ten minutes went by before the curtain up there slid aside and eventually someone looked down at it, smiling. They waved but the dog did not react. It sat there waiting.

"Isabelle, come to the window. I want you to see something," the old woman said in a dejected voice to her granddaughter. They had talked for many hours and then fallen asleep next to each other on the bed, holding hands as they had always done in the past.

The old woman slept only a few hours but awoke clear and refreshed, ready for whatever the day had to offer. As soon as she was up she wanted to wake her granddaughter and talk some more. It was such a long time since they'd been together. But even asleep Isabelle looked exhausted. So her grandmother rose and puttered around the room, putting her few things in order, turning on the electric kettle for tea. In the cupboard were two fresh
Topfen Golatsch
from the AIDA
Konditorei
—Isabelle's favorite breakfast. She took them out of the pink and white bag and put them on a plate in the center of the table. Looking at the pastries, she moved them around three times before she was satisfied with the arrangement. Every•thing had to be perfect for this breakfast together. She knew their time would be short but not how short.

Coming back here from death had made her see things more clearly and appreciate them better, but it did not make her miss life. It was too lopsided, too unfair and unclear about telling you what it wanted and what it was willing to give in return. That was one of the chief lessons the old woman had learned in death—life wanted things from you. If you did not have them, or give them, then life scowled and stopped caring about you. It was tempera•mental, biased, and in no way fair. If you had somehow been able to ask it point-blank what the meaning of life is, it would not have known—because the meaning of life changed from day to day and from person to person. She wanted to tell Isabelle about that. She wanted to tell this beloved child so many things that she had learned since dying. Some she could; others she was forbidden from doing.

Going to the window, she looked at the new day. The sun was out and reflecting off surfaces everywhere. So many dissimilar things connected by the rays of the morning sun. She looked all around outside—at the trees, the street, at the few passing cars and the gray plumes of smoke streaming from their tailpipes. Lastly she looked down at the yard in front of the house. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the dog sitting there looking up at her. Knowing exactly what this meant, she let the air out of her lungs in one long bitterly disappointed breath.

This wasn't fair—it really was not. Why hadn't they given her more time? One night was nowhere near enough.

One
lifetime
was not enough, but that was a different matter. This was genuinely unfair. They could have told her you will have one night. You will be allowed to talk with your granddaughter about these crucial things and nothing else. Then she could have planned everything better. As it was, Isabelle and she had spent most of the time reminiscing about people, the old days, and various shared memories that were delightful to discuss but of no importance when it came to helping her grandchild confront what was coming now.

The old woman put an insincere smile on her face and waved at the dog. It did hot respond other than to continue looking at her. She knew what it wanted and that she must act now because there was no more time. Letting the curtain drop back into place, she moved to the table. She touched one of the
golatschen
with her finger. Joys like sitting at this table and talking together over long intimate breakfasts were over forever. They had told her she could return and see Isabelle. They also named the conditions of the visit and she had readily agreed. The only thing she hadn't been told was how long she would be able to spend with her granddaughter.

Her room was small but she found a way to pace around it. She slid her hands into the pockets of her robe but then impatiently took them out again. She wanted to pull the curtain aside and look out the window again. The insane, impossible hope that the dog was no longer there crossed her mind. But she knew it wasn't gone. It was out in the yard waiting and there was nothing in death or life that she could do now but wake Isabelle and tell her she must leave.

"But why,
Oma?
I just got here yesterday."

"Because your friend is ready and he needs you." Standing next to her grandmother, Isabelle looked out the win•dow at the dog. "What's its name? Do they call it anything?" "Hietzl." It sounded like she was saying "heats'll." The name was so preposterous that in spite of herself, Isabelle gave a short hard laugh.
"Hietzl?
What kind of name is that?"

"I don't know, dear. That's just its name."

Isabelle said it again, trying to get something out of it. "That's a ridiculous name." "It is. Are you all right?"

The younger woman dropped the curtain and turned to her grandmother. They were standing shoulder to shoulder now. "No,
Oma,
I'm not all right but what does that matter now? If I have to go then obviously that's all I can do."

"Yes, it's out of my hands. You know if it were up to me I would keep you here as long as you liked. I was just so happy to have this chance to see you again. I was sure we would have more time." Her voice was so stricken that Isabelle forgot some of her fear and felt compelled to comfort her oldest friend.

"If they are sending me back so soon, that must mean Vincent has learned something important and is all right now.

He must have learned how to fight them."

Her grandmother crossed her arms tightly high on her chest and looked at them. "No, it means you must go back now because there is no more time. He needs you with him because you are his balance and his hope. Within the last day they have suddenly begun doing things, putting things in motion that must be stopped or else it will be irreversible." She thought of how at the beginning of World War Two the Polish army had heroically and quixotically sent their cav•alry to try and stop the tanks of the German
Wehrmacht
from invad•ing their country. Granted, Vincent Ettrich would not be alone in his fight against chaos, but he was on horseback while his opponent rode into battle atop the sleekest, most advanced weapons ever conceived. Her heart wept for Isabelle and her Vincent, but there was nothing that could be done about it.