I tried to estimate how much I was being paid in Echo for the services I rendered to His Majesty King Gurig VIII. I got mixed up for a few moments, numbers dancing around in my head, while I tried to figure out what the purchasing power of one Unified Kingdom Crown was. Finally, I arrived at some astronomical number: my salary was about a million US dollars or more a year.
Well, that’s the most persuasive reason for returning as soon as possible, I thought, going back out into the unpleasant drizzle. Where else can you get paid that much to do your favorite work?
I wandered around aimlessly. The city where I had lived for several years now seemed a very strange place. High-rises, asphalt sidewalks, the roar of the engines of public buses—it all looked surreal. Most peculiar of all (and, frankly, very annoying) were the faces of the passersby. I had already gotten used to the faces of the inhabitants of another World. Compared to them, the faces of my compatriots looked quite unattractive, although I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was different about them.
Walking outside hadn’t calmed me down. On the contrary, at some point I felt even worse. I had just gone down into an underpass. When I stepped on the dirty concrete floor of that dreadful catacomb, I understood the full horror of my situation. It was clear to me that I had no idea how I was going to return to Echo. It looked like I had only had a one-way ticket. Goodbye, my hopes. Fare ye well, and please tell Sir Juffin Hully that he got mixed up with a total moron. Now, could you please try not to make too much noise driving nails in my brand-new coffin? Thank you.
The pain in my chest returned and brought me to my senses. Both of my hearts went crazy and attacked each other like fighting roosters. I think I must have been crying. In any case, some unidentified wet substance was making its way down my cheek. A fat woman in a red coat looked at me like I was mad, and gave me a wide berth. I was mad. Completely insane. Insane in the membrane.
It took me only a few seconds to hit rock bottom in the final circle of my very own hell. But when I did, my spirits soared. I remembered that I had my personal Door between Worlds in this city: the wonderful, handy little streetcar that was probably still running down Green Street. If I remembered correctly, Sir Maba Kalox had said that the Door was still open. Of course, a maniac murderer had once used it, and Juffin and I hunted for him high and low throughout Echo. But if he could use it, there was all the more reason I could, too. After all, the Door had been created for me. It shouldn’t be a problem for me to use it again.
I laughed with relief. It looked very much like a fit of hysterics. Passersby, I’m sure, were amused, but I ignored their mistrustful looks. Someone’s magnanimous hand was wiping off the writing above the Gates of Hell, the writing that read “Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.” It turned out that the dire warning had been written in plain chalk, not in letters of fire. My future again glowed with the bright lights of a fair. Hopes that had almost gone were now returning like swallows to their nests in spring. My head was spinning, this time because I was happy. I had to crouch down on my haunches—this sudden change of spirits had drained me of strength.
“Are you all right, young man?” A pleasant middle-aged woman was nudging me. “Are you all right?” she said.
“Don’t pay any attention to me,” I said. “I’ve simply gone mad. It happens sometimes.” And I laughed again.
“I’ve never seen anyone so happy about such a turn of events. Well, I guess you’re going to be fine, since you haven’t lost your optimism,” she said.
Her voice sounded familiar. No, not her voice but the intonations. Did I speak like that sometimes?
I raised my head to look at her, but she had already gone. Dozens of people were walking past me, and a dog was barking somewhere nearby. A moment later I realized the dog was barking at me. An angry man in a sweatsuit was trying to restrain a huge German shepherd on a leash. The hairs on the dog’s back were standing on end. I shuddered, got to my feet, and went up into the street.
The rain had almost stopped. I walked slowly down the street slowly toward my house. I felt calm and light. I knew what I had to do, and I was not going to waste another minute. This walk did me a great deal of good, I thought, and now it’s time to go back. After all, I had promised Melifaro that he wouldn’t even begin to miss me. I had to keep my word.
I was very hungry and bought a hotdog. There was too much fat in the hotdog, and the bun was tasteless. I ate about half of it and threw the rest on the sidewalk. The bun attracted the attention of several sparrows, and a large bold crow hopped over to it. It was sure the hotdog belonged to it alone, and was now pondering how to bring this idea home to the sparrows. I smiled and walked away. Inside me, everything was peaceful and quiet. This mood was not really in keeping with the circumstances of my official visit to my homeland, but I deserved a break.
I returned home and opened my small, shabby refrigerator. The failed culinary experiment with the hotdog on the street had only stimulated my appetite. Fortunately, I found cheese and some vegetable in the fridge. Nothing too exciting, but it was better than the disgusting hotdog.
After my little snack, I turned on the coffee maker again. While the alchemy of turning bitter and inedible seeds into a heavenly drink was taking place in the corner of the kitchen, I decided to experiment with Silent Speech. After my trip to Kettari with Lonli-Lokli, I knew that sending a call to someone in another World was virtually impossible. Virtually, however, did not mean absolutely. The question was: Whom should I start with?
Most of all I wanted to talk to Juffin, but that was clearly outside the realm of possibility. If time in the Unified Kingdom flowed at the same pace as it did here, Juffin was still trying to appease the mysterious Spirit of Xolomi. On the other hand, if time in each World had a mind of its own . . . Should I try it? I thought. But my second heart, the origins of which were still a mystery to me, had already contracted, suggesting that my attempt would fail. I could relax: that wise muscle was a very good adviser.
Then I remembered Sir Maba Kalox. The powerful, retired Grand Magician was an experienced traveler between Worlds. Maybe he’d want to chat with me as a fellow voyager? We could discuss a few common professional issues. I listened to the radar of my heart, but this time it was puzzled and silent. Perhaps it had no idea how the experiment would end.
I wasted almost half an hour trying to reach Sir Maba. This resulted in little more than a great quantity of perspiration spread evenly across the surface of my body.
I gave up with loud sigh of desperation and poured myself some coffee. What a marvelous concoction it was! It was the only thing I truly missed in the Unified Kingdom—although, come to think of it, there had been a brief but memorable time when I had had excellent coffee almost every day, thanks to Mackie Ainti, the old sheriff of Kettari. I remember him calling my favorite beverage “liquid tar,” and asking me if I’d get sick from drinking it. Still, he was kind enough not to deny me a second helping. Hold on a minute . . . But of course! Mackie Ainti. Why didn’t I think of him before? Mackie was the only person whose help I knew I could rely on in any World.
Mackie was . . . Frankly, I didn’t really know who he was, that man with the red mustache and a face that was already a little blurry in my memory. I didn’t doubt for a second that it would be easy for him to chat with me no matter where I was. The only thing that mattered was his mood, which worked in mysterious ways.
I put the cup aside and took a careful look at my reflection in the dim TV screen. The eyes of my distorted reflection shone with a cold light that frightened me. That was probably a good thing, I thought. A man with a pair of ordinary, dull eyes would hardly be capable of discussing the technical details of a magical journey from one World to another with an inhabitant of that other World.
I sent a call to Sir Mackie Ainti. Almost immediately I felt crushed by an immense weight, as though I had temporarily switched places with the muscle-bound Atlas said to support the heavens. But I was happy: the sensation was almost identi
cal to what I had experienced when I communicated with Mackie on my return trip from Kettari to Echo. One doesn’t forget such things easily.
Tough, huh? Mackie’s Silent Speech betrayed a hint of compassion. My apologies, Max, but I can be a pretty overwhelming interlocutor. Then again, everybody’s got his faults. You’re in trouble, I reckon?
I suppose I don’t have to tell you much. You probably know it all already.
More or less. Your World took you back. It happens.
Well, it didn’t exactly take me back. I was all my fault. I—
Hold it right there. The last thing I want is to listen to your crazy theories. And it’s for your own good. The only thing you should keep in mind is this: your World took you back, no matter what you think about it. It ain’t that simple. It breaks down like this. There’s a few hundred people in your World who know that you’re living among them. I can’t say they’re really concerned about you, but you are a part of their lives. They’re sure you’re going to show up at work tonight. If you don’t, they’ll call you at home and you’ll pick up the phone. If not tonight, then maybe tomorrow, or in a couple of years. Sooner or later you’ll resurface, and for your acquaintances this is as obvious as the sky above. They don’t even think about it. They know it. It ain’t easy to just up and disappear. Their memories of you are what bind you to their reality, the World you were born in—the place you’re supposed to be living until the day you die. That’s how your mighty compatriots think about it, without even realizing their own mightiness. Too bad we can’t put their powers to good use. But I digress. Get a load of this, Max. It ain’t that difficult for you to return. You’ll manage. You’ll figure it out. Your kind always does. But remember, someday your World will take you back again. And again, and again. Until you’re able to convince it that you don’t exist anymore. Got it?
No, not really. Mackie, it’s really hard for me to talk to you. Well, you know that already. Maybe you could just tell me what to do?
I just did. You need to convince your World that you don’t exist. Convince everyone concerned, and do it in dead earnest. Your idea about the streetcar is a mighty good one. Keep working on it. But be prepared for a surprise. I reckon you forgot about the coachman. Whatever you call him. Is there a special word for what he does?
It’s okay, I understand what you mean. He’s called a driver. Sir Maba Kalox called him a Tipfinger. He told me something about him, but I didn’t understand.
I can just imagine Maba’s “explanations.” Of course you didn’t understand a lick of what he said. But that don’t matter. Just remember that you shouldn’t be afraid of him. Beating him is as easy as Chakatta Pie. Especially for you. But don’t kill him—ask him a few questions first. He’s your chance, Max. Be careful with him, though. The Tipfinger is the most cunning creature in the Universe. Or one of ’em . . .
His words were beginning to trail away. The weight was becoming unbearable. It was a miracle that I had managed to sustain the conversation for so long. Silent Speech had never been my strongest point.
Thanks, Mackie. These were the last words I could squeeze out. I decided not to postpone the words of gratitude for another time since I wasn’t even sure that “other time” would ever come.
Happy to oblige. Don’t fret. You’ll pull it off. Just remember—
What I was supposed to remember would remain unknown because the invisible steamroller had smashed me against the kitchen wall. For some time I didn’t exist in any World at all, but then I came to. My clothes were soaked with perspiration. I knew, however, that I had gotten off easy.
I went to the bathroom, took a shower, and put my wet clothes in the trash. I didn’t think I’d be needing them anymore. No matter how hard it was to talk to the old sheriff of Kettari, talking with him had removed a huge weight from my shoulders.
Mackie doesn’t speak idly, I thought. If he says I’ll be all right, then I’ll be all right. He approves of my idea to take the streetcar back to Echo, so that’s great. If he says it will be easy for me to beat that creature in the driver’s cabin, then it will be. He even says it will help me somehow. Perfect. If Mackie says so.
Now I felt like someone who had just bought a plane ticket or won the trip of a lifetime. I was counting the hours before my plane would take off, and I thought I should probably start packing.
Well, that was, of course, a metaphor. I didn’t really have to pack anything to take back to Echo. I was taking no souvenirs. I doubted I’d want to keep a memento of this trip home and look at it during long winter nights. If anything, it would become a recurring theme of my future nightmares. But never mind, I’ll get over it somehow, I thought. I didn’t even want to take a packet of coffee with me. To the Magicians with it, I thought. Next time I go to Kettari to thank Sir Mackie Ainti, I’ll get some at his expense. After all, I’m already used to kamra. It’s a great thing, so I think I’ll stick to it.
There was, however, one thing that I wanted to take back to Echo with me—not so much for myself as for Juffin and my other colleagues. I had been wanting to show them a good movie. I had been dying to see the expression of otherworldly curiosity on Sir Juffin Hully’s face when the “Columbia Pictures Presents” credits appear on the TV screen.
Thank goodness there were VCRs, TVs, and cute, fat videotapes in my homeland. And thank goodness I had learned a nice, useful trick: I could easily take with me just about anything I wanted. Even the Statue of Liberty. All I needed to do was to shrink it down to almost nothing and place it between my left thumb and index finger. That was a piece of cake for me. Then again, what would I do with that Mother of All Exiles when I was back in Echo?
I was looking forward to exercising the tricks of my trade. I imagined with relish how I would carry off the entire stock of a video store in my mystical fist. Then it occurred to me that there was no need to rob a store. There was a video collection in this city that, until recently, I had considered mine. And what a fabulous collection it was, in spite of my humble income. One day, about a year before my departure to Echo, I had lost the entire collection along with my girlfriend. My former girlfriend, that is.
I poured the rest of the coffee into my cup, lit up, and pondered the breakup. It was a fairly nasty story. Nothing that stretched the limits of the imagination—just a regular nasty thing that regularly happened to regular people. The present-day me couldn’t care less about that stupid page in the history of poor Max. I’d seen worse things happen to him. But the possibility of restoring justice intrigued me. That was my favorite pastime. If I could have my way, I’d be restoring justice every hour on the hour.
I looked at the clock, then at the calendar. Saturday, six p.m. Perfect. Just what I needed. At this hour Julia was usually home studying French. She would definitely run off somewhere later, but not before eight. Praise be the Magicians, her habits were absolutely invariable. It was habits like hers that kept the world going. I had had the opportunity to study her habits well for about two years. Two very good years. It’s too bad the finale turned out so ugly. It fell far short of what would make a good soap opera.
When we first started seeing each other, I couldn’t believe my eyes: could there still be such wonderful girls roaming the surface of this planet? She got almost all of my jokes, even those that were more risqué. Frankly, the risqué jokes were the ones she got best. Back then we laughed like crazy every day. She was always overjoyed to see me, and didn’t get too upset when I disappeared for several days. That—combined with a clever face, beautiful eyes, and an independent spirit—was worth a great deal to me.
Everything was great. Life seemed not just tolerable but wonderful. I warmed up, relaxed, was tame enough to be hand-fed, and even purred occasionally. Would the two of us be able to turn human existence into a wondrous event? I wondered. If the relationship had lasted any longer, I probably would have learned to answer that question with a short and unequivocal “yes” rather than indecisive mumbling.
Then one day, my gi
rlfriend told me that, sure, we were having a great time together, but . . . That ellipsis, as it turned out, meant that I had to learn a great deal about human nature, and I had to learn it the hard way. I learned that my beloved would soon be sharing her life with a so-called real husband. Free love, mind you, was all well and good, but a woman’s got to think about a family and children. My constant presence hindered the realization of her matrimonial plans. So, I was told, we could keep seeing each other, but not as often. My one true love needed time to prepare for her happily-ever-after.
I’m afraid my reaction to the news was like that of an extraterrestrial. You might have thought I had never heard anything like it before. I felt I had been betrayed. The woman I trusted more that I trusted myself had swapped me for some abstract family happiness and the “maternal instinct.” That’s what I told her. Not the nicest thing to say, I realized, but all the other things that were on my mind then were even worse, and I never knew how to keep my mouth shut. In hindsight, now I know that it wasn’t the worst breakup in my life. I’ve had worse. Much worse. But back then it all looked very different to me.
Long story short, I left and slammed the door. I disconnected the phone and tried to get myself back in shape for a couple of months. All of my love affairs had ended in a similar fashion. I should have gotten used to it by then. Everything has its price, and if you resolutely refuse to accept certain fundamental principles of human existence, don’t be surprised when, sooner or later, people stop accepting you. They will extricate you gently from their lives, like a healthy organism rejects a foreign body, in the interests of survival.
But Julia was more than just another cute girl in a long line of short love affairs. I thought she was my good friend, and a wonderful exception to all possible and impossible rules. To hear from her the exact words I had heard from the others was a hit below the belt. And what a hit it was. I had always been an incorrigible idealist. It was even surprising that I could forgive representatives of the human race their daily trips to the bathroom.