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momentless moment of distanceless passage through the planes of
interdimensional space formed again in his mind s eye.
There s something else I didn t tell you. You all assumed Etam brought my
body and soul here together.
He didn t. Maybe it was because of the drugs in me, but my identity was left
behind. It could have stayed behind and died an easy death. But some instinct
in me wouldn t let it.
Jax stared at him.
From the moment my identity entered interdimensional space, my new vision
began to operate, said
Doug. What I saw then seemed all blurred and-.out of focus. But I ve since
had time and maybe help to strengthen it and bring it into focus. The last
confusion ended when I saw Etam Kathang an hour ago. I remember and I
understand now. There are many, many roads between the planes, and all of them
are roads I can travel.
Jax stared at him, unconvinced. You ll still need help.
And maybe I ll get that, too, Doug said, smiling at Anvra.
Love will not be enough, muttered Jax.
But Doug was looking outward, beyond the Magus and the Sorcerer and the Water
Witch, beyond the room and beyond what the others could see. He was staring at
a dimensionless brightness through which a dark thing strode. And as he
looked, it turned toward him.
The Walker lifted a lumpish arm. And this time, the hand beckoned.
The saint who said, All the way to heaven is heaven, did not envision the
converse being equally true.
THE LAST DREAM
He meant it.
A couple of days back, or perhaps it was a week or so ago it was too much
trouble now to keep track of the calendar a reporter had got into his hospital
room. They had found the man, of course, and hustled him out again; but not
before he had had time to ask a few questions. Most of them were the same old
questions& what did it feel like to have run through thirty million dollars of
inheritance, would he do it all over again, etc. But there was one question
that hadn t been asked before. How did Tommy feel about dying?
I m looking forward to it, Tommy Harmen had said.
The reporter had made a note of that answer with pencil on some thickly
typewritten paper, sheaved together. A newsy point? Well, thought Tommy, I
meant it. It wasn t something he had said merely for the shock value. After
all, he was ninety-four. At ninety-four, dying wasn t something you considered
academically. It was right there in the room with you, like a piece of
furniture. Maybe it wasn t sprung or padded just to suit you, but it was
something to sit on anyway, and you planned on sitting on it. What the
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hell! Tommy Harmen chuckled at the profanity in his thoughts. Funny. Old
people shocked others as children did when they swore. You were supposed to be
above such
The chuckle, he realized suddenly, had also been in his mind. It was too much
effort to chuckle aloud.
They had him in an oxygen tent now. It made the room seem wavery and
unnatural, seen through the plastic. Which reminded him he needed that nurse.
Damn it, they took better care of the babies in the nursery ward, he d be
bound. With an effort as large as that in hauling back on the rod when there
was a big blue on the end of the line, he groped for the button. Where was the
damn thing& ? No matter. He gave up. After all, it was the hospital s good
name and odor that was at stake, not his.
He lay still, exhausted by the effort, lapsing into a light doze. Bet that
reporter hadn t believed him, knowing the things he d done, the places he d
been, the things he d& all over the world, too. There was that little island
down in the West Indies& and Antibes& and&
How about the jereboam? asked Winkie.
Jereboam, hell, he said. Let s have in the Methuselah.
& His vision cleared. He was sitting at a small, round table with a marble
top a real marble top.
Didn t know they made them any more, he said, testing it with his
fingernail.
You have to know the dealer, said Winkie. Tommy looked up. Winkie was
tipping back on two legs of the elegant occasional chair, with his collar
open. Drunk as usual. No, not drunk. Tight.
Tight as a lord. Square jaw hanging down, curly hair mussed. Handsome devil,
Winkie.
You ve taken off weight, said Tommy.
Polo, said Winkie. Makes all the difference. He winked. Second story
polo.
Tommy laughed and finished his glass. It was one of the good ones. Piper
Heidsieck? He looked about for the bottle, and then remembered they had just
ordered in the new one. He glanced around the room.
It was a drawing room, large, with comfortable furniture, but rather too many
tables to sit at and a small plush bar over in one corner. He felt a sudden
access of delight.
Why, it s a house! he said. A real house!
Exclusive, said Winkie. Very.
He looked back at Winkie.
You re looking damned young, he said. Where ve you been all these years?
Living it up, said Winkie. Here comes the champagne.
And it was coming. They were wheeling it in on a sort of cart, like he hadn t
seen since when was it? In the south of France, somewhere. And there was the
Methuselah, a great-granddaddy among champagne bottles.
Pop it, said Tommy to the black-tied waiter, who was releasing the wire from
the bottle s cork. I
don t care what it does to the bouquet. I want to hear it bang.
Yes, Mr. Harmen, said the waiter, his lean, bony face lit by a happy,
conspiratorial smile. Tommy peered suddenly at him.
Why, you re Caesare, he said. What re you doing on this side of the
world after all these years?
Tommy frowned. Why, that was back in the thirties no, the twenties
Twenty-five and twenty-six, Mr. Harmen, said Caesare. The cork flew suddenly
from the bottle and the impelling tips of his thumbs with a sound like a
cannon shot. Applause burst out, around the room.
Glancing up and about him, Tommy saw the room was now filled to overflowing
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with good-looking women and men in all sorts of costume, from evening clothes
to hunting outfits. The faces of old friends leaped out at him everywhere his
eyes fell among the crowd.
Winkie! he said.
What, Tomser? said Winkie, pushing a glass of the champagne from the
methuselah into his hand.
All the gals, said Tommy. All the guys. I know them all. What is this? Some
kind of party?
Graduation party, said Winkie, winking. Five guesses for who.
Me! cried Tommy, shot through suddenly with delight. Damn you, Winkie oh,
damn you!
Think nothing of it, said Winkie, winking like mad.
Tommy tossed off his glass of champagne. It went bubbling through all his
veins bringing fire to his body in every part of him.
Fill her up! shouted Tommy. Fill up, Winkie! Fill up, everybody! Let s kill
the old gent. Let s have a party!
Chattering and laughing, the surrounding crowd poured in around their table
and the bottle. Champagne danced and sparkled in Tommy s throat the best, the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
