A Certain Slant of Light (16 page)

  
In the theater, Dawn and Chris sat together, Jack and Rayna
sat together, Libby sat down, and Mitch looked around for James.

  
"I gotta take a leak," James said. Mitch gave him a wary
glance but sat next to Libby when he left. I stayed behind, lingering in the aisle. Rayna offered everyone thin strings of red candy.
Libby ate some, chewing with her mouth open, watching Mitch.

  
"Did anyone ever tell you you look like a movie star?" Libby
asked him.

  
"No."

  
"That guy from—what's the name of that movie? No, wait,
not him." Libby furrowed her brow. "You look like that other guy."

  
"Who's that actress you look like?" said Mitch with unnoticed
sarcasm.

  
"From the Levis commercial?" she said, delighted.

  
"No, that other chick," said Mitch. "Ask Rayna."

  
James returned but stepped into the nearly empty row behind
Mitch and the others. He sat one seat in from the aisle and I took
the empty seat beside him. When the lights went dim, he leaned
back, looking over at me.

  
Mitch turned around and glared at him. "What's with you?"
he whispered.

  
"Shh," Libby hushed him.

  
James watched the screen now, but he put his hand on the
armrest and I pressed my fingers into his. He had taken off his
jacket and I watched the brown shirt rise and fall as he breathed,
the movie light shifting shadows over the shape of his arm. The
two couples cuddled together, Chris and Dawn head to head, Rayna held a string of candy in her teeth and let Jack nibble it
until they were kissing, Libby turned to look at Mitch every few
seconds, but Mitch never moved. And James sat still as well, ex
cept during a scene in which the man and woman who had been
robbing banks and running from policemen were nude, making
love to loud music. I dropped my gaze, choosing to look down at
James's hand.

  
I missed silent movies. The music was more integral, like a
sound painting. Emotions were not lost but heightened because of
the muteness. When you read the actors' eyes, a secret language
formed in your mind. If truth be told, more often than not, I
watched the audience instead of the screen while attending silent
pictures with my Knight. As the light dappled across the forest of
faces, I could watch them create inside their hearts each a differ
ent story from the same images. It was a shame the way modern movies smothered their stories with songs and loaded every mo
ment with noises and words. Little was left to the imagination.

  
James watched the screen but shifted uncomfortably to the
sounds of moans and cries. Libby whispered something in Mitch's
ear, and when she looked back at the screen, Mitch turned and
watched her for a long moment.

  
Libby went with her sister, three of them crammed in the
back of Rayna's car. She rolled down the window as they were
about to pull away and waved. "Call me some time," she yelled.
She grinned with white baby-sized teeth, her black curls bobbing.

  
Mitch just watched her, looking ill.

  
"That Libby is a trip," said James as we stood beside the rusty
car.

  
"No kidding." Then he looked at James. "When we got pulled
over, why the hell were you hiding in the back seat, for Christ's
sake?"

  
"I wasn't hiding," said James.

  
"You can't lie worth shit," said his brother. "Don't ever play
poker for money."

  
We drove back to Amelia Street, me in the back seat, James
with his arm on the open window.

  
"Thanks," said James.

  
"What for?"

  
"For buying me dinner and stuff."

  
"Well, when I get you that great job, you can start taking
me out."

  
"Okay."

  
There was silence again.

  
"So, what did Libby do to make you swerve?" asked James.

  
"Not another fuckin' word about her," Mitch groaned.

  
James laughed.

  
When I had followed them into the house, Mitch went off to
bed and I sat at James's desk. Amid the monster cartoons, there
was a new drawing now. It looked nothing like the snarling crea
tures around it. It was a light pencil sketch of a pair of eyes. An
itching pleasure curled into me when I realized who the model
must have been. James took a white undershirt and shorts with
him to the bathroom and came back wearing them. He sat on
his bed.

  
"So you slept last night," he said.

  
"Yes."

  
He lay down on his blanket close to the wall, leaving a space for me. I sat with him.

  
"Did you have a wife when you were James?" I tried to pre
tend I didn't care one way or the other.

  
He hesitated. "I don't think so." Then he asked, "Did you
have a True Love?"

  
"No," I said. "Just a husband."

  
"I'm sorry." He didn't ask me for details, and I wouldn't have
been able to provide many even if he had.

  
"I wonder why you didn't get all your memories back when
you went into Billy's body," I said.

  
"Maybe it takes time."

  
I knew
I
didn't want to remember everything. "What was the
very first thing you remembered when you became Billy?"

  
He smiled. "How the knothole in our porch steps looked like a
cat's eye."

  
"I don't think I'll know how to take a body," I confessed. But I
wanted with a full-moon fever to touch James.

  
"Tomorrow we'll look for someone who needs saving," he said
quietly.

  
I reclined, facing him.

  
"You'll love it," he told me. "When you step into the flesh,
you can smell grass again. And drink water. You can grip a stone
and throw it. Everything will be fine."

  
He sounded so sure, I couldn't help but believe him. I had my
arm at my side, and now I lifted my hand to his, where it rested
on the blanket. Without intending to, my hand passed through
him from the thighs up to his heart before I pulled away, tingling.
He gasped and his eyes widened in amazement.

  
"I'm sorry," I said, worried that I had inadvertently stopped his heart. Then I saw his hand move to his shorts and press the
hardness under his clothes against his body. His face flushed. I
leapt out of the bed to the corner of the room.

  
"I'm sorry," he echoed. "It's all right." He took the pillow and covered himself with it.

  
"It's my fault," I stammered. I wanted to fly away.

  
"I didn't mean to offend you," said James. "You surprised me."

  
"I'll be back in the morning," I told him.

  
"No, no," he whispered. "Rest in the bed. I'll sleep on the
floor."

  
I shook my head. "Please," said James. "Otherwise I won't be
able to sleep."

  
He stood, still holding the pillow in front of him. I moved to
the bed and lay down, both embarrassed and secretly flattered. A
flitting memory of warm skin under a cool sheet made me blush.
I lay there and watched him, glad to be in his bed rather than
alone on the roof. He turned out the light and stretched out on
the floor, tucking the pillow under his head now.

  
"Maybe tomorrow," he whispered, "you'll taste an apple."

Seven

As THE TWILIGHT before dawn began to form objects out of what
had been invisible, the window frame cast a cross on the wall,
turning the little room into a chapel. On the floor beside the bed,
James sat up with a start, like a dog that hears gunfire. He looked
at me where I sat on his mattress. "Don't go anywhere," he said.

  
While he showered, I wandered through the house. Passing
the bathroom door, I heard the echoed hiss of water running,
and, as I passed Mitch's room, I heard a voice. I couldn't under
stand the words, but there was a kind of anguish in the tone. I
moved through the wall and found Mitch sleeping with a sheet
over him up to his bare chest. I could see his tattoos better now:
around his left arm, a Celtic braid; around his right, a chain of
thorns; and over his heart, a single sword no bigger than a butter
fly. He seemed deeply asleep, but then he spoke.

  
"You bastard." His face, eyes shut hard, went from anger to
pain in one instant. A sob shook him, and he swung his right arm
over his body as if trying to free it from something. Then he sat
up with a cry and opened his eyes.

  
"Shit," he muttered. He rubbed his face where tears had not
had time to run and shook himself. Looking at the clock, he
sighed.

  
"I hate Third Sunday."