A Curable Romantic (96 page)

“Well,” I said, getting up and moving away. There’d be no help from this quarter, I could see. I left them arguing behind me. But, brother, what if this, and No, brother, we can’t that, back and forth, back and forth, until
cried, “Dr. Sammelsohn!” and ran after me. Wanting nothing more to do with them, however, I kept walking, blowing into my hands, trying to warm them.

“Will you come with us, then?” he said, catching up with me.

“Come with you?” His words seemed to have no meaning. “Where?”

“It’s never been done before, you know that, don’t you?”
said, catching up with us as well.

“I know. I know that,”
said.

“Maybe once or twice before but that’s it.”

WE ALL STOOD
in the middle of Tłomackie Place Square facing in the same direction.

“Perhaps you should stand between us, Dr. Sammelsohn.”

I had no idea what they were up to, but it seemed useless to resist. It’s difficult to describe what next occurred. The two of them began reciting or rather chanting in a kind of susurrous rasp — the words are impossible for me to reproduce — and the sky, slowly at first, but then more quickly, began to roil. The dark rain-filled clouds began to form into whirling coils, as the wind picked up. My hat blew off, and
grabbed my arm when, by instinct, I began to dash after it. “Forget it!”
barked into the gales, grappling me to his side. “Let it go, Dr. Sammelsohn. Let it go!”

With his chin pointed high,
searched the skies. “Can you see it, brother?”

“Not yet.”

“There? Is it there?”

peered through the lashing storm. “I don’t think so.”

“What is it you’re looking for?”

“There! Isn’t that it?”
said.

“I believe so,”
said. “Finally.” He pointed with his truncheon. “Do you see it, Dr. Sammelsohn, that little black rectangle among those purplish clouds way up there?”

I squinted, looking through the storm, expecting to see — what? I don’t know. The longer I stood in Tłomackie Place Square, the more ridiculous the enterprise seemed. However, despite my cynicism, I couldn’t deny that in the quadrant of the sky where
was pointing, there seemed to be a black doorway.

“Do you mean that little black doorway?” I said.

“Precisely,”
said.

“Now, watch this,”
said.

As I did, the firmament, as though it were a blanket, seemed to rumple. Behind the fabric, so to speak, it seemed as though a staircase was being lowered, the cloth conforming to the shape of the stairs. Step after step, it descended towards us, each step appearing larger as it grew nearer, until it stopped with a clunk at our feet.