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aluminum-siding man again.  You know, he said, chattily,  transformation
from man to animal and back being, by definition, impossible, we need to
look for other solutions. Depersonalization, obviously, and likewise some
form of projection. Brain damage? Perhaps. Pseudo-neurotic
schizophrenia? Laughably so. Some cases have been treated with
intravenous thioridazine hydrochloride.
 Successfully?
He chuckled.  That s what I like. A man with a sense of humor. I m
sure we can do business.
 I told you already. I don t need aluminum siding.
 Our business is more remarkable than that, and of far greater
importance. You re new in town, Mr. Talbot. It would be a pity if we found
ourselves at, shall we say, loggerheads? 
 You can say whatever you like, pal. In my book you re just another
adjustment, waiting to be made.
 We re ending the world, Mr. Talbot. The Deep Ones will rise out of
their ocean graves and eat the moon like a ripe plum.
 Then I won t ever have to worry about full moons anymore, will I?
 Don t try and cross us, he began, but I growled at him, and he fell
silent.
Outside my window the snow was still falling.
Across Marsh Street, in the window directly opposite mine, the most
beautiful woman I had ever seen stood in the ruby glare of her neon sign,
and she stared at me.
She beckoned, with one finger.
I put down the phone on the aluminum-siding man for the second time
that afternoon, and went downstairs, and crossed the street at something
close to a run; but I looked both ways before I crossed.
She was dressed in silks. The room was lit only by candles, and stank
of incense and patchouli oil.
She smiled at me as I walked in, beckoned me over to her seat by the
window. She was playing a card game with a tarot deck, some version of
solitaire. As I reached her, one hand swept up the cards, wrapped them in a
silk scarf, placed them gently in a wooden box.
The scents of the room made my head pound. I hadn t eaten anything
today, I realized; perhaps, that was what was making me light-headed. I sat
down, across the table from her, in the candlelight.
She extended her hand, and took my hand in hers.
She stared at my palm, touched it, softly, with her forefinger.
 Hair? She was puzzled.
 Yeah, well, I m on my own a lot. I grinned. I had hoped it was a
friendly grin, but she raised an eyebrow at me anyway.
 When I look at you, said Madame Ezekiel,  this is what I see. I see
the eye of a man. Also I see the eye of a wolf. In the eye of a man I see
honesty, decency, inno-cence. I see an upright man who walks on the
square. And in the eye of the wolf I see a groaning and a growling, night
howls and cries, I see a monster running with blood-flecked spittle in the
darkness of the borders of the town.
 How can you see a growl or a cry?
She smiled.  It is not hard, she said. Her accent was not American. It
was Russian, or Maltese, or Egyptian perhaps.  In the eye of the mind we
see many things.
Madame Ezekiel closed her green eyes. She had remark-ably long
eyelashes; her skin was pale, and her black hair was never still it drifted
gently around her head, in the silks, as if it were floating on distant tides.
 There is a traditional way, she told me.  A way to wash off a bad
shape. You stand in running water, in clear spring water, while eating white
rose petals.
 And then?
 The shape of darkness will be washed from you.
 It will return, I told her,  with the next full of the moon.
 So, said Madame Ezekiel,  once the shape is washed from you, you
open your veins in the running water. It will sting mightily, of course. But the
river will carry the blood away.
She was dressed in silks, in scarves and cloths of a hundred different
colors, each bright and vivid, even in the muted light of the candles.
Her eyes opened.
 Now, she said.  The Tarot. She unwrapped her deck from the black
silk scarf that held it, passed me the cards to shuffle. I fanned them, riffed
and bridged them.
 Slower, slower, she said.  Let them get to know you. Let them love
you, like . . . like a woman would love you.
I held them tightly, then passed them back to her.
She turned over the first card. It was called The War-wolf. It showed
darkness and amber eyes, a smile in white and red.
Her green eyes showed confusion. They were the green of emeralds. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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