Wizard of the Pigeons (2 page)

With a flash of light and a roar of wind, he appeared in the door of the restaurant. A secretary hurrying through her half-hour lunch break paused with her burger halfway to her lips. Framed by a rectangle of bright blue October, the man in the door blazed blue and white and gold. A
strange little squirt of extra blood shot through her heart at the sight of him. Wasn't he the illustration of the wandering prince from some half-forgotten book in her childhood? Sunlight rested on his hair like a mother's fond benediction. He was too vital and sparkling for her to break her stare away.

Then the tinted glass door on its pneumatic closer eased shut behind him, revealing to her the cheat. Bereft of wind and sun at his back, the man who had seemed to fill the doorway was only slightly taller than average. The gold highlights on his hair faded to a brown tousle; even this boyishness was denied by a sprinkling of grey throughout it. His lined and weathered face contradicted his youthful stance and easy walk. Just some smalltime logger from Aberdeen who had wandered into Seattle for a day of shopping. His longsleeved wool shirt was a subdued blue plaid; thermal underwear peeked out the open collar. Dark brown corduroy slacks sheathed his long legs. The blue spark of fascination in his eyes was only something she had imagined. When the secretary realized her gaze was being returned with interest, she stared past him, scowling slightly, and returned to her hamburger. Wizard shrugged and strolled to the end of the line at the counter.

Once in line, he took the folded
Seattle Times
from under his arm and stuffed it into the top of his plastic shopping bag. He scanned the restaurant expectantly. The place was an elegantly disguised cafeteria. The tables had donned red-checked cloths and boasted small guttering candles in little red hobnail holders. Their dimmed gleam was augmented by the shining fluorescent light over the stainless steel salad bar. The girl clearing tables wore a lacy little apron and a dainty starched cap. But the fine
masquerade was betrayed by the metal dispenser for paper napkins on the condiment bar, and the swing-front plastic trash containers that crouched discreetly beneath potted plants. Wizard was not deceived. He caught the glance of a small girl seated at a corner table with her brother and parents. His face lit when he spotted her. With a broad grin and a wink, he reduced her to giggles.

‘Ready to order, sir,' the cashier informed him. Her square plastic name tag introduced her as Nina Cashier Trainee.

‘Coffee.' He tried a melting smile on her, but she was too nervous to thaw. He jingled the change in his pocket as her finger wiped his order into her machine.

‘You want that to go,' she told him.

‘No, I'll drink it here.' He refocused the smile on her. ‘It's pretty nippy outside.'

She mustered an uncertain authority. ‘You can't sit in a booth with just coffee and be alone.' She gabbled the words as her pen jabbed up at a sign posted high above anyone's eye level. In stout black letters it proclaimed LONE PATRONS OR PERSONS ORDERING LESS THAN $1.50 EACH ARE NOT PERMITTED TO SIT IN BOOTHS BETWEEN 11:00 AND 2:00 PM, DUE TO LIMITED TABLE SPACE. THE MANAGEMENT REGRETS THIS NECESSARY MEASURE IN OUR EFFORTS TO KEEP OUR PRICES LOW. So did Wizard. The sign had not been there last month.

‘But I'm not alone, Miss Nina.' His use of her name unbalanced her. ‘I'm joining some friends. Looks like I'm a bit late.' He winked at the little girl in the corner booth, and she squirmed delightedly. ‘Isn't the kid a doll? Her mom looked just like that when we were kids.'

Nina hastily surrendered, barely glancing at the child. ‘A real cutie. Fifty-seven cents, please. Help yourself to refills from our bottomless pot.'

‘I always do.' He pushed mixed coins onto the counter to equal exactly fifty-seven cents. ‘I used to be a regular here, but the service got so bad I quit coming in. With people like you working here, maybe I'll become a regular again.'

For an instant a real person peered out of her eyes at him. He received a flash of gratitude. He smiled at her and let the tension out of her bunched shoulders. She served him steaming coffee in a heavy white mug. He let her forget him completely as she turned to her next customer.

Wizard took his mug to the condiment counter. He helped himself to three packets of cream substitute and six packets of sugar, a plastic spoon, and four napkins. He sauntered casually over to the corner booth where the small girl and her brother pushed their food about on their plates as their parents lingered over coffee. He halted just short of intruding on them and allowed himself a few silent moments to make character adjustments. ‘Turning the facets of your personality until an appropriate one is face up' was how Cassie described it when she had taught him how. Prepared, he took the one more pace that put him within their space, and waited for the husband to look up. He did so quickly, his brown eyes narrowing. The muscles in his thick neck bunched as the man hiked his shoulder warningly, and set down his coffee mug to have his fists free. Very territorial, Wizard decided. He smiled ingratiatingly, cocking his head like a friendly pup.

‘Hi!' he ventured in an uncertain voice. He cleared his
throat and shifted his feet awkwardly. A country twang invaded his voice. ‘I, uh, I hate to intrude, but I wonder if I could share your table. I'm waiting for my lady friend.'

‘Then wait at an empty table,' the man growled. His wife looked both apprehensive and intrigued.

‘Uh, I would, but, well, look, it's like this. The first time I ever took her out, we wound up here, sitting at this table until three in the morning. Since then, we've always sat here whenever we come in. And well, today is kind of special. I think I'm going to, you know, ask her. I got the ring and the whole bit.' He patted his breast pocket with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. His soft voice was awed at his own boldness.

The seated man was not moved. ‘Buzz off,' he growled, but his wife reached quickly to cover his hand with hers.

‘Come on, Ted, show a little sense of romance. What harm can it do? We're nearly finished anyway.'

‘Well…' She squeezed his hand warmly as she smiled at him. Ted's hackles went down. ‘I guess it's okay.' Ted gave a snort of harsh laughter. ‘But maybe I'd be doing you a bigger favour if I refused. Look how they get, once you marry 'em. Changing my mind before I can even decide. Yeah, sit!' Ted pointed commandingly at the end of the booth bench, and Wizard dropped into it obediently. He leaned his shopping bag carefully against the seat, and smiled with a shy tolerance at Ted's rough joking.

‘Well, you know how it is, sir. I've been thinking it's about time I took the step. I'm not a spring chicken anymore. I want to do this thing while I still got the time to get me some pretty babies like yours and be a daddy to them.' He spoke with a farm boy's eloquence.

‘Hell, ain't never too old for that, long as you find a woman young enough!' Ted laughed knowingly.

‘Yessir,' Wizard agreed, but he blushed and looked aside as he did so. Ted took pity on him. Poor sucker couldn't keep his eyes off the door, let alone make conversation. ‘Eat up, kids. I want to be on the road before the traffic hits, and your mom still has three more places she wants to spend my money.'

‘Oh, Ted!' the woman protested, giving their visitor a sideways glance to assure him that women were not as bad as Ted painted them. The stranger smiled back at her with his eyes, his mouth scarcely moving. Then his eyes darted back to the door.

Ted pushed his plate away. Leaning back into the booth seat, he lit a cigarette. ‘Finish your lunch, kids,' he repeated insistently, a trace of annoyance coming into his voice. ‘Clean up those plates.'

The boy looked down at his hamburger in despair. It had been neatly cut into two halves for him. He had managed to eat most of one piece. ‘I'm full, Dad,' he said softly, as if fearful of being heard. His sister pushed her salad plate aside boldly. ‘Can't we have dessert before we go?' she pleaded loudly.

‘No!' snapped Ted. ‘And you, Timmy, just dig into that food. It cost good money and I want it eaten. Now, not next week!'

‘I can't!' Timmy despaired. ‘I'm full! If I eat anymore, I'm gonna throw up.'

Ted's move was so casual it had to be habit. His right hand, with the cigarette in it, stayed relaxed, but his left became a claw that seized Timmy's narrow shoulder. It squeezed. ‘If I get that “throw-up” bit one more time, you
are going to regret it. I said eat, boy, and I meant it. Clean up that plate, or I'll clean you up.'

Cold tension rushed up from the children. The little girl made herself smaller. She took a carrot stick in both hands, like a chipmunk, and quickly nibbled it down. She refused to look at her father or brother. The boy Timmy had ceased trying to squirm away from Ted's white-knuckled grip. He picked up his hamburger half and tried to finish it. His breath caught as he tried to chew, sounding like weeping, but no tears showed on his tight face.

The woman's face flushed with embarrassment, but Ted was too focused on his dominance to care if he caused a scene. The stranger was oblivious, anyway. His long narrow hand had fallen to the table, where he toyed with the candle in its scarlet holder. He lifted it and swirled it gently, watching the flame gutter and leap as the wax washed around the wick.

‘It's a very big hamburger for such a small boy.' The stranger did not speak in his self-effacing country twang. His tone made him an interloper at the table, drew Ted's eyes to him and refocused his anger. Wizard's eyes met his. Their stares locked. Wizard's eyes blazed an unnatural electric blue. Abruptly he switched his gaze to Timmy. Ted's startled gaze followed his.

Wizard had continued to toy with the candle. The light from his candle faded, then leaped up with a white intensity. It became the only important light in the dimmed restaurant. It licked over the boy's face, playing games with his features. His round child's chin jutted into the firm jaw of a young man; his small nose lengthened; the brows on the ridges above his eyes thickened, and deepened the eyes themselves into a man's angry stare.
The anger and hurt in his face were not the emotions of a wilful brat. Ted was looking into the eyes of a young man being forced to act against his own judgement and resenting it keenly. One day he would have to justify himself to that man. His hand dropped limply from his son's shoulder.

The candle flickered down, but Ted's vision did not pass. How long since he had last looked at this boy? There had been a baby, like an annoying possession, and then a toddler, like an unruly domestic pet. They were gone. This was a small person. Someday he would have to confront him as an adult. Ted's jaw gave a single quiver, then stiffened again. Wizard set the candle down on the table.

‘If you're full, Tim, don't eat the damn thing. But next time, tell me before I order it for you. It'll save us both a hell of a lot of trouble.' Ted leaned forward angrily to grind out his cigarette on the untouched hamburger half. Wizard flinched slightly, but made no remark. The woman was looking from face to face in consternation. A message had passed, a change had been wrought; she knew it, but she also knew she had missed it. She began helping her daughter into her coat. She gave the stranger a long look from the corners of her eyes. He met it full face and nodded to acknowledge her uneasiness. Ted was moving to leave, almost fleeing. She rose and gathered her purse and bags. Nodding to the stranger, she managed, ‘Best of luck to both of you.'

‘And to you, also,' Wizard replied gravely. He watched them walk to the door, the girl holding her mother's hand, the boy walking out of his father's reach. They would need more than his luck wish. He gave a small sigh for them, and turned his attention to more immediate matters. Nina was
busy taking orders; the aproned girl had just carried a tub of dirty dishes back to the dishroom. Wizard assembled his lunch.

Only the top of Tim's hamburger had been fouled. He discarded it and placed the rest on the woman's plate beside the handful of crisply dark french fries she had rejected. Both the children had been served from the salad bar. Their two plates were a trove of broccoli spears, cauliflower florets, sweet pickles, and garbanzo beans. They had devoured the more prosaic radishes and carrot sticks, but left these adult-bestowed vegetables for him. Ted's plate donated a wedge of garlic toast, one corner slightly sogged with spaghetti sauce, and two sprigs of parsley. Not a feast, he reflected, but certainly far from famine. And he needed it. The candle business had drained his reserve energies. It hadn't been wise. If Cassie heard of it, she'd call him a meddler, even as her eyes sparkled with the fun of it.

He ate without haste, but he did not dawdle. He had to remember that he was the man who had arrived late for a lunch date. No reason to rush. In the course of his meal, he refilled his mug four times, feeling with pleasure the hot rush of caffeine that restored him. During his fifth and final cup, he neatly stacked the dishes out of the way. He drew his newspaper from his shopping bag, folded it to the want ads and studied it with no interest. He had possessed the paper for several days now. It was beginning to look a little worn; best replace it today. So essential a prop was not to be neglected.

As he gazed unseeing at the dense black type, he reviewed his morning. The Celestial Seasonings Sampler was the high point today. He had found the box of tea bags in the dumpster in the alley behind the health food
store. The corner of the box was crushed, but the tea bags were intact in their brightly coloured envelopes. The same dumpster had yielded four Sweet and Innocent honey candy suckers, smashed, but still in their wrappers. In a dumpster four blocks away, he had found two packets of tall candles, each broken in several places, but still quite useful. An excellent morning. The magic was flowing today, and the light was still before him.

Wizard drained his mug and set it on the table. With a sigh he folded his paper and slipped it once more into his shopping bag. The bag itself was an exceptionally good one, of stout plastic and solid green, except for the slogan, SEATTLE, THE EMERALD CITY. It, too, had come to him just this morning. Rising, he glanced around the place and left his best wishes upon it.