Stone Junction

  ‘I hurt you,’ Clyde said, amazed, destroyed, lost. He slid off me onto the floor and curled up in a ball, sobbing. I jumped naked from the bed, looking for something to club him with, or to scream for help, or run, but instead I knelt down beside him, stroked his shoulder, whispered it was all right, it was over.

  I promised him I wouldn’t tell.

  He promised he’d help me escape.

  Daniel reappeared with the Diamond. He was sitting cross-legged, the Diamond before him, on a high desert somewhere in Arizona on a windless, starless night, with the moon close to the horizon. He was crying, but he couldn’t remember why. Not because he couldn’t see inside the Diamond-center flame. He would eventually. The Diamond needed to be seen as much as he needed to see it. He could feel the permission there, but not the way. He would just have to keep sitting at the gate, keep mapping the axis of light until it illuminated the way. He smiled at the memory of Wild Bill trying to hammer into him that the map was not the journey.

  ‘Okay, Wild Bill,’ he said aloud, ‘until it illuminates the territory.’

  He looked at the Diamond in front of him and told Volta, ‘It’s not a metaphor. It’s not the seed of the next universe. It is not a beacon. I think the Diamond is an entrance, a door, a portal – into what, I don’t know, but I will find out. When I do, and if I can, I will bring it to you.’

  Since the telephone call nearly a day ago, Daniel talked aloud to Volta to discover and rehearse what he wanted to say the next time he called. He’d been too rattled from the theft the first time, less certain. One part of Daniel’s new certainty was the understanding that the Diamond wouldn’t permit him full passage until he honored his agreement with Volta or could explain, to his satisfaction and Volta’s, why he couldn’t bring him the Diamond. Daniel’s failure to fulfill his part of the agreement upset him deeply. He wondered if that was why he was crying when he reappeared, or if it was because he’d had to return. He checked his watch: They’d been gone five hours.

  He’d discovered that when the Diamond vanished with him in daylight, he couldn’t see the spiral flame inside. The flame either dissolved in the sunlight or fused with it. The spiral-flame center was only visible when he vanished at night, and Daniel was convinced the flame was the threshold he needed to cross to enter the sphere.

  He wiped his tears. As he got to his feet, he was seized by a vision of two moons on the horizon, one setting, one rising to meet it in mirror image. For a spinning moment he thought the moon was setting over the ocean or a lake, but unless the desert had turned liquid this was physically impossible. But so, supposedly, was vanishing. He thought his tears might be refracting the light and wiped his eyes again, this time with his sleeve. When he looked up, the moons were almost touching, as if a ghost twin were rising to join the real moon. He watched them melt into one. The moon seemed to brighten as it set.

  Daniel shook his head. ‘What do you say, Volta? Was that a vision, an optical illusion, a hallucination, or a nightly occurrence I just haven’t noticed before?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. He put the Diamond in the bowling bag and headed for his truck. When he pulled onto the highway five minutes later, he was laughing.

  When Smiling Jack called Volta the next morning he had something besides his essential good humor to make him cheerful. ‘We have made Melvin Keyes “extremely uncomfortable.” That’s his description of how he felt about providing the identity of the Livermore snitch, but I thought his discomfort came from the idea that we were about to start running downhill with his nuts in our hand. I gambled that the guy was this Debritto shit, and it was. I could almost feel the phone trembling in poor Melvin’s hand. I told him I’d get back to him soon, and while I understood he could fabricate any name he pleased, dump it on anybody, I knew it was one of three people as sure as I knew Debritto did Dredneau – and I also mentioned that solid documentation brightened my disposition and excited my gratitude.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Volta said.

  Jack’s smile broadened. ‘Let’s make it a roll – you give me some good news.’

  ‘He hasn’t called,’ Volta said. ‘However, the sun rose this morning.’

  ‘Now, you got it, Volt – look on the bright side.’

  Daniel had driven an hour west, watching the mountains take form in the rising light, when he caught some words in the corner of his eye, a blink, subliminal, but enough to shatter his reverie. He hit the brakes and fishtailed to a stop, then slammed the truck in reverse and backed up the highway.

  The sign was written in sun-bleached red paint on a piece of whitewashed plywood wired to a cactus:

  TWO MOONS REST STOP

  1 mi. right on dirt road

  Cabins Food Pool TV

  Daniel decided the two moons he’d seen earlier were a vision from the Diamond instructing him to rest. The last time he’d slept was before the theft. The last time he’d eaten, too. He’d been drawing energy from vanishing with the Diamond, and now maybe it wanted some back. He drove on slowly, turning right at a rutted dirt road marked with an arrow that lanced two circles.

  A dusty mile farther on was a weather-beaten building with office vacancy lettered in peeling white paint. Behind the office, arranged in a ramshackle circle, were twelve cabins, none of which had been close to a paintbrush in the last decade. Daniel stiffly dismounted from the cab and looked around. If not for some tire tracks near the office, he would have thought the Two Moons Rest Stop had been abandoned. He knocked on the office door.

  A short, strong-shouldered man wearing black cotton slippers with plastic soles, jeans, and a short-sleeved red-and-yellow checked shirt opened it immediately. Daniel thought he might be either American Indian or Mongolian: of all the faces Daniel had studied with Jean Bluer, this would have been the most difficult to duplicate. He judged the man to be in his early fifties, but realized he might be off twenty years on either side.

  The man looked past Daniel. ‘Nice truck,’ he said. ‘That three-fifty’s a good engine.’ He turned his attention to Daniel. ‘You want a cabin?’

  Daniel, about to slide into his Isaiah Kharome voice, looked into the man’s shrewd black eyes and decided to play it straight. ‘Yes, I do. I know it’s a little early to be checking in – wanted to make Phoenix, but I’m too tired to drive. Safer to stop.’

  The man nodded. ‘Figured you were a guest. The bill collectors never drive campers. They like those compact foreign rigs. I’ll get you a key.’ He turned back into the office, saying over his shoulder, ‘Welcome to come in if you want.’

  ‘Thanks, but I could use some air.’ Daniel glanced around as he waited. The cabins didn’t look like much, but as long as they had a hot bath and a bed he didn’t care. He didn’t see the pool or the coffee shop.

  The man, moving silently in his slippers, returned holding a large leather cup and a feather.

  Daniel indicated the feather. ‘That from an owl?’

  ‘Great Horned. Found it on the door step the day after we bought the place.’ The man squatted on the porch and slowly swept the owl feather back and forth above the sun-bleached planks, shaking the cup and chanting softly to himself. Abruptly, he spilled the cup’s contents onto the decking: twelve small brass keys, various small bones and claws, a flat silver disc, a small gold nugget, obsidian shards of various shapes and transparencies, a pig tusk, and four dried seeds, each different, and none that Daniel recognized.

  The man studied the arrangement a moment, then decisively picked up a key and gave it to Daniel. ‘Number Five.’ He pointed to the cabin. ‘That one there. Park in back.’

  Daniel hefted the key in his palm. Hesitantly, he said, ‘I didn’t notice the coffee shop.’

  The man looked up blankly. ‘Coffee shop?’

  ‘I mean, I just assumed – the sign down the road said food.’

  The man tilted his head. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Got some jerky and half a loaf of pumpernickel bread in the house. I’ll bring it over a
s soon as I get the keys put away.’

  ‘Don’t bother yourself, really – I have some stuff in the truck.’

  ‘No bother. I’ll bring it over in a bit. You go ahead and get started on your rest.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Daniel said. He felt he should go, but stood there watching the man return the various items to the cup. ‘I’ve been told my curiosity often lapses into rudeness, but I can’t help asking how you can tell which key to select.’

  The man dropped the last seed into the cup and rose to his feet, facing Daniel. ‘I don’t know how I do it. Kept trying, and after a while got a feel for it, I guess.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Daniel said, ‘I see. So it’s intuitive, right? I mean, there’s no method.’

  ‘No, no particular method. But there are traditions.’

  Daniel plunged to the point: ‘Well, what exactly do you feel?’

  The man cocked his head, sunlight catching his high, strong cheekbones. ‘What do I feel? I feel which key fits the guest.’

  ‘Ah ha,’ Daniel said, realizing no secrets were going to escape the tautology of the obvious, ‘sure – that makes sense. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.’

  The man shrugged. ‘I don’t mind.’

  Daniel parked behind the cabin. As he came around to the front – there didn’t seem to be a back door – he saw the swimming pool set in the center of the encircling cabins. It appeared to be about six feet wide, and sloped dramatically from three feet deep to nine. There was no water in the pool. Weeds flourished in the long cracks where the cement had buckled and slipped.

  The cabin wasn’t locked. The interior, though sparely furnished, seemed even smaller than the outside suggested. But it had four large windows and it was clean. A wood heater dominated the center of the room. The squat lines of the iron bedframe were softened by the sheen of its polyester cover. Half a cord of wood was stacked along one wall, and on the opposite side was a formica table with two straight-back chairs. A TV, a fat seventeen-inch Philco from the mid-sixties, occupied most of the tabletop, its rabbit-ears antenna giving it an odd sense of alertness. Daniel assumed the single door led to the bathroom, but found only a toilet and washbasin behind it. He pissed, then washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He soon discovered there were no towels.

  Moderately annoyed, Daniel – face still dripping – was standing in front of the TV waiting for it to come on when the manager said from the open front door, ‘It’s not plugged in.’

  ‘Oh,’ Daniel said.

  The man set plastic-wrapped jerky and slices of pumpernickel on top of the TV. ‘Actually,’ he said, looking at the screen, ‘it wouldn’t matter if it was plugged in, because we don’t have electricity. And if we did, they would probably turn it off after a couple of months and send some righteous, brutal men around to collect money. I don’t like to do business with such people. Their hearts are no bigger than mouse shit.’

  ‘Speaking of business practices, it seems to me that your sign out on the highway is sort of misleading.’

  ‘Maybe. We do have cabins, food, pool, and TV, but sometimes not all at once. Besides, did I ask you for money?’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Daniel acknowledged, surprised.

  ‘We don’t charge. It’s shameful to accept money from guests.’

  Daniel didn’t know what to do with that information, so he said, ‘Why don’t you put free on your sign?’

  ‘Because nobody would be surprised when they got here.’

  Daniel stared at him, then shook his head. ‘I’m sorry – I seem to be having comprehension difficulties. What’s your name? If I’m your guest, I should know who to thank for this hospitality.’

  ‘Wally Moon.’

  ‘Mine’s Daniel Pearse,’ Daniel told him, ignoring his cover. ‘If it’s not too personal, Wally, could I ask your nationality?’

  ‘My mother, Lao-Shi, was Chinese; my father was a full-blood Apache named Burning Moon.’

  ‘And may I ask why this place is called Two Moons? Did you have a vision?’

  ‘No, I took up with a woman. She is part Apache and part Seminole and some Cajun. She is not a relative, but her name is also Moon. It’s a common name.’

  ‘So: Two Moons.’

  ‘My wife likes it. Her name is Annie. She’s not here right now because she’s menstruating. She goes off to the mountains then. She doesn’t like being around me when she’s menstruating. Says I screw up the reception. Women are all a little strange, but Annie is really something. I love her.’

  Daniel felt his face distort as he fought back tears. When he tried to speak his voice cracked so badly there was no point in trying to hide. He quit fighting.

  He felt Wally Moon’s hand softly on his shoulder. ‘You just need rest, Daniel. There’s a sweathouse outside and a cold shower. The lamps and kerosene are on the closet shelf. Come over if there’s anything you want. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.’

  Daniel gathered himself and said, ‘Thank you.’ He tried to smile. ‘What is this, some halfway house for fools?’

  ‘No. Simply a place to rest.’

  When Wally had left, Daniel brought in the bowling bag with the Diamond zipped inside. He laid down beside it on the bed. He tried to think about what he was doing or could do or should, but it whirled away like water down a drain and in moments he was asleep.

  THE THERAPEUTIC JOURNAL OF JENNIFER RAINE APRIL 5?

  I numbed and dumbed it through the day, nibbled my mush, nodded through my half-hour with the Doc. He said I looked pensive and withdrawn. I told him Mia was sick. That’s when he chose to make his stunning-insight move, so contrived and dramatic you could tell he’d been saving it till I was weak: ‘Jenny, do you know that in Italian “mia” means “me”?’

  I sank my fangs in Doctor Putney’s vanity and let it drip: ‘Doc, didn’t it ever cross your feeble mind that Mia is the acronym for Missing in Action? I named her after her father. It was a great marriage, Doc. We were both Soldiers of Fortune – the only man-wife team in the world – but his ’chute didn’t open on a jump over Borneo. No need to even look for his body in the jungle, but since there’s no body, he’s officially MIA. You get it, or you want pictures? How about some pictures of my pussy, Doc? Some mental spread shots?’ Cause this distressed little damsel do declare she don’t know what scares you worse, her mind or her cunt.’

  I’ll say this for the Doc, he had the class to say, ‘I don’t know either.’

  Ain’t that the truth. He suggested we take a week off to consider whether there was any point in trying to continue working together. He thought I might have better luck with a female Jungian.

  Personally, I think I’m healing, and I’m doing it against a run of bad luck. What did that crazy gambler in Oakland always say? ‘Your luck’s bound to change if your chips hold out.’ And I might be digging for the last handful, but I’m still digging. Or as my new loverboy, the Dharma Joker, says on his radio show, ‘Dig it all, and when it’s all dug up, little darling, put it on the line.’ He didn’t actually say that yet, but he could the next time.

  I didn’t tell the Doctor about Clyde. I promised Clyde I wouldn’t, and I’ve learned how strong it makes me to honor promises. I don’t feel Clyde will mess with other women, but he might, and her suffering will be marked on my soul. But I don’t feel guilty about my silence. I’ve learned about guilt. It’s an abscessed truth, rotting with denial. And I need every truth I can get if I want to get well. I need the responsibility for my silence and for what I say. I want the consequences of my judgment.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have hidden Mia. I don’t know. She could feel my fear from under the bed, and since she has such a powerful imagination, that might have been worse. She cried most of the day, but is sleeping now. I’ll talk to her about it in the morning.

  As we’d arranged, I met Clyde after therapy, under the big oak on the side lawn. It was difficult to make him tell me how he’d gotten into the women’s wing. He trembled the whole
time, mumbled, wouldn’t look at me. I looked at him with revulsion, and sorrow, and pity, and love, and helplessness, until the feelings whirled and blurred together and I had to freeze myself to concentrate on making him tell me how he’d got in. He gave me ten dollars, two crumpled, clammy fives – he said it was all he had but he could try to steal some from the other men when they were asleep. Touched, touched almost to tears again, I told him ten was enough, and enough was plenty.

  Clyde started snuffling then, spreading his arms out in misery as if I might hold him. When I stepped back, he dropped to his knees like a broken pilgrim, a doom-struck suitor of my violated affections. I thanked him for his help, repeated my promise not to tell, and turned and walked away, hating him for taking what can only be given, loathing his damaged, presumptuous greed, and loving him because his shame was greater than my forgiveness.

  The moment I turned from Clyde and started walking away, the lightning scar at the base of my spine started burning like dry ice. I can still feel it as I write this, but it’s more like a numb warmth now. I feel an intense desire to open, to be known – I suppose it’s some sort of balancing response to Clyde. No wonder I’m locked up.

  But Mia and me won’t be shut-ins much longer. I told her what we have to do before I sang her to sleep, and promised to wake her when it was time. Promises to keep and miles to go before we sleep, miles before we’re gone. Everything’s packed in a tight bundle, except this journal and the radio. I’m going to change the journal to a notebook. We’ll need the radio to beam in on the DJ. I’ve been running the dial from one end to the other, but either the DJ’s not sending or I’m not receiving. I need directions to the grave.

  I’m leaving the Doc a note on my pillow: ‘Gone dancing with the DJ. Don’t wait up.’

  Daniel struggled to open his eyes but he was being lowered into a fresh, clay-streaked grave, his naked body glowing in the alkaline light of the moon. Standing in a circle around the pit, twelve old women were singing a wordless incantation of wails and parched moans, their upraised faces shining like oiled leather, their bodies swaying to the feathered tambourines they played. But the music Daniel heard wasn’t the thump and shimmer of tambourines, but the sound of shattering glass.