Circuit Of Heaven (15 page)

Nemo followed Peter to the desk, where a Bible lay open with a yellow pad and a pencil beside it. The pad was covered with tiny writing and elaborate doodles in the margins, crosses and pentagons mostly. At the top of the page, a daggerlike cross pierced a black pentagon. Drops of carefully drawn blood dripped down into the text. On the wall above the desk was a homemade calendar drawn on the same yellow-ruled paper, the days crossed off one by one. Today was already crossed off.

Peter was excited, hopping from one foot to the other. Nemo’d never seen him like this. Peter had always been a sour, taciturn man. “Gabriel tells me he spoke with you,” Peter said, smiling, and Nemo saw clearly for the first time that several of Peter’s teeth were missing. “He says you’ll do perfectly. He says he’ll meet with you again soon.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Meet with me for what?”

Peter’s voice became low and confidential. “You are the promised one.”

“Promised for what? What are you talking about?”

Peter shook his head violently. “Only Gabriel can tell you.” He looked around the room as if checking to see if anyone had crawled under the door as they were talking. Somehow Peter had latched onto Nemo as his only ally. Against what, Nemo wasn’t sure. From the look in Peter’s eyes, he wasn’t too sure himself, but it was bigger than he was.

Nemo backed toward the door, nodding and smiling his way out. “Thanks for the message, Peter. I’ve got work to do. See you around.”

“Don’t go,” Peter said, and laid his hand on Nemo’s arm, then quickly withdrew it. “I’m sorry. Gabriel said I shouldn’t talk to you just yet, that your path had not yet been revealed to you. He said when you knew the truth, you’d save us. You will won’t you?”

Nemo patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll do what I can, Peter.”

“You won’t tell Gabriel I talked to you, will you?”

“I won’t breathe a word.”

As Nemo walked away, Peter called after him in a guarded voice, “Everything depends on you.”

Poor crazy bastard, Nemo thought.

Nemo had planned to spend the rest of the morning and afternoon cannibalizing a stack of Discmen for parts. Lawrence had swapped a rusty pistol for them, but they weren’t much better than the pistol. They’d gotten too hot sometime or other and most of the circuit boards were warped and falling apart. A couple of the drive mechanisms were okay though. He listened to Aimee Mann as he worked, and tried to figure out what he was going to say to Justine when he saw her.

He’d just have to level with her. If he’d met her out here, there’d be no question, but even the thought of going into the Bin frightened him. He kept picturing himself back inside the crematorium, rolling into the flames. He wasn’t watching what he was doing, and a drop of molten solder landed on the back of his hand. He jumped, dropping the soldering iron onto one of the few usable circuit boards, melting a hole in the middle of it. He peeled the solder off his skin, revealing a drop-shaped burn, already starting to blister. He grabbed the soldering iron and started to throw it across the room, stopped himself, and stowed it away. Then he put everything on his workbench away. I’ll clean house, he thought. At least I can’t hurt myself doing that.

IT
WAS
NEMO’S
TURN
TO
MAKE
SUPPER
. HE
MADE
A
STEW
with the rest of the sausages, some potatoes and onions, and some homemade beer. He told Lawrence he was going to see Justine, and that he might not be home till late. Lawrence didn’t ask any questions. Nemo didn’t tell Lawrence what he’d decided to do, as he’d said he would. He was afraid Lawrence would want to talk it to death. Besides, Nemo still wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

As he walked down to Jonathan’s he looked up at the moon. It was a perfect night. A light breeze, scented with wisteria, riffled the grass. A cat, perched on top of the rusted-out pickup, watched him pass, the moonlight glittering in its eyes. It gave out a moaning growl to warn him not to get too close. There was a dark shape, probably a squirrel, in its jaws. Nemo growled back, and it bolted into the darkness, its claws skittering along the top of the truck.

Jonathan’s father, Harold, let Nemo in and called up the stairs to Jonathan. “Beautiful night,” he said to Nemo, and Nemo agreed that it was. If he disapproved of Nemo dragging his son into the Bin, he didn’t let on.

Jonathan’s little brother, Matthew, was working at a treadle sewing machine in the front room. He looked up as Nemo walked in and gave him a little wave. “Hey, Nemo. Lawrence said you might have some Discmen to swap soon.” He pointed to his work. “Trade you a couple of shirts.”

“Sounds good. It’s pretty slim pickings, though. I’m not sure I’m going to get a working machine out of this mess.”

“What do you need with a Discman?” Harold asked his son.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Same thing you needed with that Polaroid camera that didn’t work.”

“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” Harold muttered. “Fortunately for you, young man, I believe the rod takes many forms. The camera works fine. The film was out of date. If you want to squander your labor on a Discman, I won’t stop you, but I don’t want to hear any of that turn-of-the-century garbage in my house.”

“It has headphones, right Nemo?”

Nemo could barely suppress his smile. “Yes, it does. If I can get one to work, I’ll throw in a few gospel CDs along with it.”

Matthew grinned. “In case Dad wants to listen to it.”

Nemo’d watched them play this game before—Matthew pretending to be the backsliding youth, while his dad blustered appropriately. But Nemo knew what Harold knew, that Matthew’s faith would weather any music he might listen to. He was here, after all.

Jonathan’s mother, Constance, came out of the back of the house. She had on a leather apron, and her hair was tied up in a scarf. Her face was flushed and sweaty. “Nemo, happy birthday! I’d give you a hug, but I’d get soot all over you. I was finishing up your birthday present.” She was holding a small white box in her hands. She looked around. “Where’s Jonathan?”

“I hollered at him,” Harold said, “I don’t know what could be taking him so long.”

“He’s making himself into a red-hot Bin stud,” Matthew said.

“One more remark out of you,” Harold said, “and you’ll be washing dishes for a year.”

Matthew hung his head, as much to hide his smile as show his penitence. “Yes, sir. You want me to go get him?”

“Tell him we’re ready to give Nemo his birthday present,” Constance said.

As Matthew went up the stairs, Nemo said, “You really shouldn’t have done anything for my birthday.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Constance said. “I enjoyed making it. I just hope you like it. Jonathan seemed to think you would, but I wasn’t sure.”

Jonathan descended the stairs with Matthew on his heels. Jonathan was dressed in pressed slacks and a white linen shirt. His hair was combed back, and he had shiny black loafers on.

“Check it out,” Matthew said. “Big bro steps out.”

“Enough,” Harold said. “We’re celebrating a birthday here.” When they were all gathered around Nemo, he nodded to his wife. “Constance.”

She hesitated before handing Nemo the box. He knew, since Constance did metalwork, it would be something made of metal, but he had no idea what. He opened the lid and found a cross made from beaten silver, strung on a leather thong. The cross looked like a two-limbed tree. The gnarls of the wood suggested a man on the cross, but when you looked closely, it might only be the shape of an ordinary tree. He took it out of the box and slipped it over his head. “I love it,” he said.

“Harold thought it was too Catholic looking,” Constance said. “If you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”

“I didn’t say it was too Catholic,” Harold said. “I just thought it looked a lot like a crucifix. That’s all.”

“It’s perfect,” Nemo said, hugging Constance in spite of the soot, hugging them all. For the first time all day, his heavy heart lifted just a bit. He had a good life, he told himself.

When he and Jonathan were outside, Nemo couldn’t resist. “You do look pretty spiffy.”

“Not you too.”

“How did you get your hair to do that?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Isn’t it customary to dress nicely to go out in the evening?”

Nemo laughed. “You look great, Jonathan.”

“I don’t look like an idiot?”

“Trust me.”

As they were descending into Northside Station, Jonathan was studying his feet, “It’s kind of nice, actually, to be wearing these shoes to someplace besides a funeral.”

By the time they boarded the train, they were both more somber. Since their visit to the crematorium, Jonathan had avoided the northbound train, and Nemo couldn’t blame him. He should’ve suggested they go in at Richmond and take the virtual, Nemo thought, but he’d been too much in his own head to think of it. Jonathan was doing Nemo a favor by going in at all. When they passed the glow of the crematorium, Jonathan scrupulously avoided looking at it and didn’t say a word.

Nemo noticed, in the tangle of graffiti, the same pentagon impaled by a cross he’d seen on Peter’s yellow pad, the words
THE
TIME
IS AT HAND
! scrawled over it like a rainbow. He thought he’d seen it before, but hadn’t taken much notice of it till now. He started to ask Jonathan about it, but he was lost in his own thoughts.

Once they were inside, though, Jonathan cheered up, studying everything in the Bin as if he were trying to memorize it, rubbernecking the crowds of people, listening to their babble as if it all meant something. Whenever Nemo thought he had Jonathan figured out, he’d do something to surprise him. Nemo left Jonathan to his sightseeing and stewed over his own problems. But finally, as they were walking down the street toward the club, brushing past the crowds, lovely and boisterous even on a Sunday night, Nemo asked Jonathan what he thought of the place.

“It’s remarkable.”

“You’re not getting tempted, are you?”

“Oh, no,” Jonathan said. “I expected it to be remarkable.”

Nemo had to laugh in spite of himself. As they walked through the door into the club, a team of holographic Clydesdales clattered over their heads. Jonathan looked up and followed their progress around the room, smiling.

Justine must’ve been watching for them. She hurried up to Nemo before they sat down, put her arm around his waist, and kissed his cheek. He breathed in her scent and let his arm settle around her shoulders. He looked into her bright eyes and then quickly away. It was all he could do not to take her into his arms. “You really came,” she said excitedly. “I can’t believe it.”

“Justine, this is Jonathan. I told you about him. Jonathan, this is Justine.”

Nemo watched them meet. He expected some judgment in Jonathan’s eyes, but there wasn’t. They shook hands and smiled at each other, then at Nemo—the reason they were meeting at all. “Let’s sit down,” Nemo said. “I could use a drink.”

Justine led them to a table in front of the bandstand. She had on another black knit dress. This one was cut low in the back. Nemo held his breath as he watched her move just ahead of him. “I saved this table for you,” she said. Jonathan was still watching the Clydesdales orbiting the room.

They all sat down together. Justine only had a few minutes before she had to go on. Nemo could tell by the way she was acting that she’d been waiting all day just to see him—that for her their one kiss had been enough to cancel the differences between them. He watched her as she talked to Jonathan. He couldn’t imagine what they would talk about—
Hi, aren’t you a religious fanatic?—Oh yes, and aren’t you the heathen stealing the soul of my best friend
? But it didn’t go like that at all.

They talked about music, about guitars, about growing tomatoes and peppers, and Nemo wondered what she thought about his bringing a friend, wondered if she knew Jonathan was supposed to be a chaperone. Nemo felt silly now for being afraid of her. But it wasn’t her he was afraid of. It was himself.

She caught Nemo staring at her. She smiled and winked, leaned toward Jonathan with a confidential air. “Jonathan, tell me about Nemo. I’m collecting information on him. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

Jonathan played along with her, seemingly as contented as a well-fed tomcat. He’d ordered himself a glass of red wine and was sipping it. “Nemo is a true rebel,” he said.

She looked over at Nemo, her eyes shining. “Is that what you are?” she asked.

“I’m staying out of this,” Nemo said.

She made a face and turned back to Jonathan. “Maybe, he’s just contrary,” she said.

“Oh no, that’s why he’s a true rebel. For example, I’m a Christian, and he’s not. Now, a false rebel wouldn’t have had anything to do with me. But we’ve been friends for seven years, and though we’ve argued endlessly about religion, he’s never once belittled my faith or judged me in any way.”

“So he’s a quiet rebel,” Justine said, smiling at Nemo with love in her eyes.

“That’s right,” said Jonathan.

“I’m going to be a noisy rebel if we don’t change the subject,” Nemo said.

Justine laughed and kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

At her closeness, the touch of her lips, he felt a tingling all over. He closed his eyes. “Me too,” he said, and squeezed her hand.

The rest of the band took to the stage and started tuning their instruments. The drummer practiced the same riff over and over.

“Gotta go,” she said. “I’m doing a song special for you, Nemo.” She laughed at herself and smiled into his eyes. “Listen up,” she said softly.

She kissed his lips, a soft, tender kiss, and rose from the table. “Wish me luck,” she said to both of them. Nemo had forgotten Jonathan was even there. “See you at the break.”

WHEN
SHE’D
GONE
,
JONATHAN
SAID
, “
LAWRENCE
WAS
right. She is very lovely and charming. I like her. You two seem made for each other.”

“You’re a big help.”

“Did you want me to
not
like her?” He took another sip of his wine.