The Memory Artists (23 page)

“I’ve got another idea. Distaval. They’re coming up with radical new—”

“Distaval? You mean thalidomide? Are you out of your mind?”

“I know that’s what Norval thinks.”

“No, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean … I meant it rhetorically. And Norval doesn’t think that either.”

“He said that I wasn’t overfurnished in the brain department. That I’m as dumb as a box of rocks.”

No, what he actually said, Noel recalled, was that you have moments of spasmodic illumination, like a bulb that’s gone loose in its socket. And that I am to push him down a long flight of highly polished stairs if he ever becomes like you. “No, JJ, he doesn’t … think that, he just, you know, he’s like that with everybody. Take everything he says with a grain of salt. A drum of salt.”

“I overheard him at the party. While I was changing he asked if I was ‘crazed’. But you know what? I don’t give a beaver’s dam.”

“Well, first of all, he was quite drunk, and second—”

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t mind, it’s the brain God gave me. I’ve never complained. But I’m not as dumb as he thinks, it’s just that sometimes I get overexcited and my brain overheats and everything bundles together and sounds stupid.”

“I know the feeling.”

“You do?”

“Perfectly.”

“I think that Norval judges people only by their brains, their intellectual powers. If there’s no logic, no learning, he just … ridicules. But there are two kinds of intelligence, my mom used to say—that of the brain, and that of the heart. And I think the second kind is the most important. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The best people I’ve met have something Norval doesn’t have: intelligence of the heart. Kindness, generosity, tolerance, acceptance of weakness.
L’intelligence du coeur
—that’s what Mom called it. And that’s what you have, Noel. You have both kinds, in fact.”

“Well, thanks, but I’m not sure that—”

“You do, trust me.”

Noel fidgeted, never good at fielding compliments; he hadn’t had much practice. “You do too, JJ. In fact, I was wondering if … well, if I could use your intelligence, if you’d like to help me out, go into a kind of partnership. I need someone like you—a Web magician, herbal alchemist, inventor.”

JJ’s face shone, taking on a shade of peach. “Really? Anytime, Noel. You can count on me, I’m your man.”

“I’ll pay you—”

“You can pay me never. You’re my friend, like a blood brother. And you rescued my scrapbook and love letters. You’re a hero in my book. You risked your life. I’ll never forget that.”

“Well, thanks, but I … I hardly …”

“You did. Now can we see your lab?”

Noel sighed. He was afraid they’d be up all night if he agreed. “Tomorrow? Aren’t you … exhausted after a day like this?”

“I only need four hours. I’m usually too excited to sleep. I need less sleep than Edison. Did you know that according to a recent study, those that sleep less than the sacred eight actually live longer?”

“I didn’t know that. I guess I’m going to live a long time.”

“Hey Noel, why did the man run around his bed?”

Noel paused. “Uh, let me see. Because he wanted to catch up on his sleep?”

“Yes! You heard that one? Shall we take a gander at the lab now?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Do you think we can make some stink bombs or laughing gas or cannon crackers?”

Noel laughed, remembering the days with his father when they made all three. “Why not?”

“You know, now that I think of it, we should ask Sam for her help too.”

“Samira? She’s an actress … I mean she’s an expert in literature, isn’t she?”

“She’s a woman. She’ll know what to do. She’ll know how to help your mom.”

“Well, fine, I’m sure she … could be very helpful. But I doubt if she’d—”

“Is Sam fly or what? Is she slammin’?”

Noel paused, wondering whether he’d misheard. What language was that? “I’m sorry?”

“Sam. Is she hot or what? Is she not swoonworthy?”

“Oh. Yes, I … I suppose she is. Swoonworthy.”

“Don’t tell her I said this, Noel, but I think she’s got a crush on you. Just a hunch I got …”

To Noel the word “crush” was like a blast from a stun gun, or the tremor of an earthquake. He was stupended. Impossible, he thought, JJ’s got things
totally
backwards. But what if. Yes,
what if
…

“Can I ask you a question, Noel? Why does your mom have such a huge house?” JJ scrutinised his new best friend, his facial transformations. “Noel? You with me? Noel?” He was headed for another upper thunder point, but Noel saw it coming.

“Sorry, I …” Noel struggled to tear his thoughts from Samira. “The house … it’s a long story.” Impossible, I couldn’t have heard him right ... “My dad … he’s the one who wanted it. He used to drive by it all the time. And then my mom inherited some money and they decided they wanted a big house. ‘To fill it up with children,’ Mom said. But it didn’t work out that way. And then after my father died she wanted to ‘fill it up with orphans.’ But it was too late. The adoption agencies were looking for couples. Plus she was into her forties by then.”

“That’s very kind, very generous of her. She must be a sweetheart— like
my
mom. And like Samira—she told me she wants to adopt because she doesn’t think she can have kids of her own.”

“Really? She said that? When, tonight?”

JJ put his hand over his mouth. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell anybody.”

“Don’t worry, I—”

“But didn’t I see a ‘For Sale’ sign outside? You guys moving?”

“Yeah, we … we can’t make the payments, the remortgage payments.”

“Oh bummage. But you guys must be rolling, you live in Outremont! These ceilings must be eighteen feet high!”

“Well, we
were
… rolling, kind of, after my grandmother died. But the money’s long gone. Med school was expensive and then … renovations, and now the memory potions I’m making, and the new lab equipment. Plus my mom lost some of it on … well, bad investments, shall we say, and we had lots of debts before that. Because of me. I’ve been a lifelong drain—”

“Take the sign down.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You want to stay here?”

“Yes, but—”

“Take the sign down. We’ll find a way. I’m great at finding money, plus I’ll move in for a few days, if it’s OK with you and your mom. And pay rent. And sell off some of my kits …”

“No, really, JJ, that’s
absolutely
not necessary … I mean you can move in for a while, as long as you want, but I can’t expect … Where are you going?”

JJ was heading for the door. “How do you open this thing?”

“A then Z. Twice.”

“Got it. First, the sign comes down. Then we go down and check out your lab.”

JJ stayed the next fifty-two days. Gradually, Noel began to spend less and less time with his mother—only an hour or two a day for meals—and more and more time in the lab. He also saw less of Norval; they took turns cancelling their weekly matinée. As for Samira, he saw her once leaving the Psych building, but she barely acknowledged him. So much for the “crush,” thought Noel.

Most days Noel would work from late morning to 4 a.m., which included trips to McGill’s Health Sciences Library, memorising JJ’s natural therapy books (the sections relating to the brain), and working and consulting with Dr. Vorta. At least four hours a day he would have company downstairs: labouring on a rickety bridge table with his reconditioned computers, JJ now shared Noel’s equipment, patiently preparing his homeopathic elixirs and admixtures, grey-matter elevators and memory escalators.

Like his mother, JJ related things more than once, not out of forgetfulness but out of a child’s excitement at reliving, at sharing, cherished moments of the past. This never bothered Noel.

JJ also liked to whistle. At first Noel found his meandering strains— usually “Yellow Bird” or improvisational and keyless variations— distracting, but after a while he found it oddly comforting. He also got used to his habit of playing tunes on his teeth with a pencil, and of slurping
every
liquid, including herbal teas, through a straw. Nor did Noel mind when JJ urinated in the laundry-room sink, rising on his toes, glancing furtively this way and that. None of this bothered Noel because he was starting to make progress, real progress, and JJ seemed to be a part of that.

What he did mind was JJ’s grunts as he listened, on his headphones, to his mother’s
Hits from the Sixties
box set. Without Noel knowing it, JJ repeated three in particular, over and over, perhaps for luck: “Do You Believe in Magic?”, “Love Potion #9” and “Magic Carpet Ride.” Also for luck, with Noel
very
much knowing it, JJ wore his bubblegum-pink socks in the lab, day after day.

After four and a half weeks of toil and quest, on the first Sunday in March, Noel got a flash of inspiration, a glimmer of supranormal insight. He was at Mount Royal Cemetery, watching cloud-shadows sweep across the fields, when a rustling sound distracted him, a squirrel or bird perhaps, foraging in graveyard grass. He turned and saw a shaft of sunlight illuminating, ever so briefly, the chiselled letters of his father’s headstone. Back home, he scrambled up to the attic for books from his childhood, then flew down the stairs like a five-year-old at Christmas. For the rest of the day he worked in the basement, alone.

Around nine, JJ came down with a tray of sandwiches. “Your mom made these for you. You must be famished.”

With a magnifying glass Noel was examining prismatic beads and globules frothing inside an Erlenmeyer. He replied with a grunt.

“Hey Noel. Two travellers are crossing a desert. What would they live on if their food ran out?”

“Just a sec.”

“They’d live on the sandwiches there.”

Satisfied with the colour change in the emulsion, Noel lowered the flame beneath it with fingers blackened by chemicals. He replaced the magnifying glass in its sheath, copied some entries into a notebook.

“They’d live on the
sand which is there
,” JJ repeated.

Noel looked up from his notebook. “Is that tuna? Good, I could use some brain food. I’m trying to make a leap here …” Of imagination, he nearly added. He felt it as though it were a new sense, arriving late, like wisdom teeth.

“What are you up to?”

Noel nodded towards the flask. “Pyridoxal phosphate.”

“Cool.” JJ leaned over and examined the billowing liquid. “What’s that?”

“It’s … well, involved in the synthesis of two neurotransmitters—serotonin and norepinephrine. There’s something about it in my dad’s notes.”

“
Very
cool. Everything on track?”

“I think so. How about you, JJ? How are things going?”

“Rollin’. All four tyres pumped.” He grinned, gleamed.

JJ was always gleaming—his very blood must be high-gloss, a special glaze or lacquer. Which protected him from things like loneliness or boredom or depression, which allowed him to go through life with a smile on his face, to see life as a treasure hunt and the world as Aladdin’s cave. “Do things
ever
go badly for you, JJ?” said Noel, between mouthfuls of white tuna. “Are you
ever
unhappy?”

The question made JJ shrug. “I guess I’m hardwired for happiness. Every day there’s something new and magical in life. Although I have to admit I’d go back to my childhood in a second. The past is safe ...” JJ let the sentence trail. “I remember one time after a baseball game—”

“You were carried on your teammates’ shoulders, I know. But as an adult do you
never
get sad or depressed? What about … I don’t know, after losing family members or … friends?”

“Well, I was sad when
papa
met his Maker in ‘97, and when Jesus welcomed
maman
to heaven in ‘91, and when my girlfriend dumped me in ‘86. Of course I miss them. But I’m grateful for the time I spent with them. You see, no one can take that happiness away from me. It’s mine, for ever and ever. I still have that love, inside me. I carry it around wherever I go. It lives on in memory.”

Noel nodded, swallowed. “And those three times are the
only
times you’ve been unhappy?”

“There’s been other times. But heh! If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. Under the snow lies summer, remember. If everything was perfect, we’d appreciate nothing.” JJ poked one of his nostrils with his finger, causing Noel to look away. “When life zigs, zag!”

Noel smiled, his mind drifting to something Norval had said about JJ, about his “fatal penchant for potted wisdom.” But this was not a bad quality, Noel decided, and certainly not fatal. JJ lived his life by adages such as these, and they were worth living by. In a state of abstraction Noel gazed at his guest’s attire: a fire-engine-red bathrobe with a toothbrush sticking out of one pocket, a cell phone out of the other.

“Do I look fat in this?” said JJ.

“No … not at all, I was just—”

“I know. I took one of your toothbrushes. Your new purple one, I hope you don’t mind. But you’ve got so many … I mean, it’s none of my business, but why do you have so many? Do you sell them?”