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avevale_intelligencer"Hello, Jerry," she says as I pause in the doorway, and it's her and it's her voice and I'm just standing there, one hand on my stick, the other on the door jamb, trying to think of something to say that won't be a bloody cliche.
"You owe me twenty piastres," I say.
She smiles. "It was sixty."
"I know, but I can't say that right now. You could have given me some warning. I'd have kept my teeth in."
"Go and get 'em. I'll wait."
"Nah, I can manage the occasional S. Just don't ask me about the bird on the beach purveying the dead marine life."
That gets a little laugh, and my heart does something peculiar inside me.
"So," she says, "you got it."
"Donnelly got it."
"Donnelly?"
"Donnelly. He was on the rope as I climbed out of there, he watched me stash it in the lockbox before Nate broke out the booze, and when we all woke up in the morning he, the lockbox, and all the camels were gone."
"The little rat," she exclaims. "He must have had help."
I nod. "I figured either Delahaye or Prokorin."
"What did you do?"
"Me? Nothing. It just seemed like the perfect ending, after...you know. I got out of the business."
"Jerry, you didn't."
"I did too. There just didn't seem to be much point."
Her eyes are lowered. "I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault. I got you into it. I should have been more of the dominant male and left you washing dishes back at camp like a good little girl."
"You might have tried," she says, flashing those eyes at me. Then she looks around the room. "So you came back here to wallow."
"Via several intriguing-looking bottles and a spell in hospital. Now I drink tonic water and write books."
"Who's the champagne for?"
"You. It's the same bottle I bought before we set off. Never had the heart to get rid of it."
"Jerry, you idiot, it'll be undrinkable."
"No loss to me."
She hesitates. "Actually, Jerry, that's the reason I'm here." She meets my eyes again. "It's kind of got to go back. The--the thing, I mean."
"What?" I blink. "Why now?"
"It hasn't mattered till now. There's an important date coming up...in the old calendar, you know...and it needs to be in place, or...bad things will happen."
"Why come to me?" I don't boggle at the notion. I've seen enough to know that strange things exist, and she never lied to me except that one time. "Donnelly's your man."
"You were the one who took it off the altar. I'm bound to you till it's returned."
"As incentives go," I say, "that's not one of the best."
"You'll find it grows on you," she says.
"There's nothing left of the place," I say, trying another angle. "It came down around us--God, you know that. It's just a big pile of sand."
"Nevertheless," she says. "We've got a little over three months."
"To find Donnelly, find out what he did with it, steal it and return it to a big pile of sand." I look down at myself, spotted old hand trembling on the handle of the stick. "It may have escaped your notice, darling, but I'm not quite as young as I used to be."
"We'll need some help, obviously," she says. "I'll have to leave that to you. I'm not allowed to talk to anyone else."
"'Course not. You're a ghost, or more likely a figment of my senile imagination." I'm surprised this hasn't occurred to me sooner, actually.
"I'm real enough," she says, getting up off the chest and coming to touch my arm. "I'm just...bound by different rules now." Her touch is real, warm and solid and God how I want those fifty years back. "We'll make plans in the morning. I'll be with you all the time, Jerry darling, from now till the moment we put it back. We do have some catching up to do. Unless you'd rather sleep?"
My turn to laugh. "I can sleep when I'm dead," I say, with more bravado than I actually feel.
She smiles again. "Have you at least kept the piano in tune?"
"Had it done two weeks ago. Almost like I knew you'd be coming by."
She looks off to the side, and frowns. "And when was the last time you polished my trumpet?"
"I don't think that's the sort of question a lady should ask a gentleman," I say, because if I don't make some kind of a joke out of it I'm going to start crying, and we laugh together, and it feels good, for the first time in fifty long years something actually feels good. At that point I don't care if it's all real or not. I want it to be real.
And that's how it started.
"You owe me twenty piastres," I say.
She smiles. "It was sixty."
"I know, but I can't say that right now. You could have given me some warning. I'd have kept my teeth in."
"Go and get 'em. I'll wait."
"Nah, I can manage the occasional S. Just don't ask me about the bird on the beach purveying the dead marine life."
That gets a little laugh, and my heart does something peculiar inside me.
"So," she says, "you got it."
"Donnelly got it."
"Donnelly?"
"Donnelly. He was on the rope as I climbed out of there, he watched me stash it in the lockbox before Nate broke out the booze, and when we all woke up in the morning he, the lockbox, and all the camels were gone."
"The little rat," she exclaims. "He must have had help."
I nod. "I figured either Delahaye or Prokorin."
"What did you do?"
"Me? Nothing. It just seemed like the perfect ending, after...you know. I got out of the business."
"Jerry, you didn't."
"I did too. There just didn't seem to be much point."
Her eyes are lowered. "I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault. I got you into it. I should have been more of the dominant male and left you washing dishes back at camp like a good little girl."
"You might have tried," she says, flashing those eyes at me. Then she looks around the room. "So you came back here to wallow."
"Via several intriguing-looking bottles and a spell in hospital. Now I drink tonic water and write books."
"Who's the champagne for?"
"You. It's the same bottle I bought before we set off. Never had the heart to get rid of it."
"Jerry, you idiot, it'll be undrinkable."
"No loss to me."
She hesitates. "Actually, Jerry, that's the reason I'm here." She meets my eyes again. "It's kind of got to go back. The--the thing, I mean."
"What?" I blink. "Why now?"
"It hasn't mattered till now. There's an important date coming up...in the old calendar, you know...and it needs to be in place, or...bad things will happen."
"Why come to me?" I don't boggle at the notion. I've seen enough to know that strange things exist, and she never lied to me except that one time. "Donnelly's your man."
"You were the one who took it off the altar. I'm bound to you till it's returned."
"As incentives go," I say, "that's not one of the best."
"You'll find it grows on you," she says.
"There's nothing left of the place," I say, trying another angle. "It came down around us--God, you know that. It's just a big pile of sand."
"Nevertheless," she says. "We've got a little over three months."
"To find Donnelly, find out what he did with it, steal it and return it to a big pile of sand." I look down at myself, spotted old hand trembling on the handle of the stick. "It may have escaped your notice, darling, but I'm not quite as young as I used to be."
"We'll need some help, obviously," she says. "I'll have to leave that to you. I'm not allowed to talk to anyone else."
"'Course not. You're a ghost, or more likely a figment of my senile imagination." I'm surprised this hasn't occurred to me sooner, actually.
"I'm real enough," she says, getting up off the chest and coming to touch my arm. "I'm just...bound by different rules now." Her touch is real, warm and solid and God how I want those fifty years back. "We'll make plans in the morning. I'll be with you all the time, Jerry darling, from now till the moment we put it back. We do have some catching up to do. Unless you'd rather sleep?"
My turn to laugh. "I can sleep when I'm dead," I say, with more bravado than I actually feel.
She smiles again. "Have you at least kept the piano in tune?"
"Had it done two weeks ago. Almost like I knew you'd be coming by."
She looks off to the side, and frowns. "And when was the last time you polished my trumpet?"
"I don't think that's the sort of question a lady should ask a gentleman," I say, because if I don't make some kind of a joke out of it I'm going to start crying, and we laugh together, and it feels good, for the first time in fifty long years something actually feels good. At that point I don't care if it's all real or not. I want it to be real.
And that's how it started.
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no subject
Date: 2015-07-21 08:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-21 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-21 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-21 02:28 pm (UTC)T!?
F!!???
Second
no subject
Date: 2015-07-22 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-28 02:19 pm (UTC)Please proceed further down your line of narrative, so that we can at least get things in perspective and focus.
Thank you,
yr Lt.