The Ravine (31 page)

“Right. Like I believe that.”

“Honest injun,” said Officer B., which I thought might get him into a little trouble, it’s kind of an insensitive thing to say in Northern Ontario.

“Back off or I’m going to shoot Philly Four-Eyes here.” As though he needed to explain the epithet, Todd flicked at my spectacles with the barrel of the gun, and knocked them off my face.

So that everything became a blur.

And when that happened, I felt the same despair as poor Henry Bemis had felt on the library steps. In a post-holocaust world, he had found a reason to live—books and time enough at last to read them—and then, in an instant, everything was ruined. Even though my brother was once again tied up, even though my own death seemed likely, I’d maintained a small candle-flicker of hope. Now hope was gone forever.

I began to reach for Todd’s hand, and the gun.

I heard my brother’s voice—

“Don’t even think about it, Phil.”

—and everything went fairly crazy, although I, lost in my own blurry little universe, have a hard time relating exactly what took place. But I can report that Jay leapt from the shadows brandishing
two lengths of rope, the ones I’d used to bind his hands and feet. And then—employing the lethal towel-flicking technique we’d perfected in the steamy bathroom of our childhood home—he deftly removed the gun from Todd’s fat hand. “Hey!” ejaculated Todd, as the revolver spun end over end out of harm’s way. Todd pushed me away and went for Jay, his face twisted with rage. Jay flicked the other rope and caught the end of Todd’s nose. Todd put his hands over his face, and said, “Ouch.
Fuck.”

And then the OPP officers descended upon him.

That’s almost the end, although I should relate the conversation my brother and I had back in the motel room:

“How did you get out of the ropes? That was a Buntline Hitch, probably the very best knot there is.”

“I hooked my thumbs when I put my hands together. When you do that, it’s pretty easy to work your hands free. It’s an old magician’s trick.”

“What do you mean, an old magician’s trick? Where’d you learn that?”

“From television!”

“What?”

“Weird, eh? I’ve only watched television for about nine minutes my entire life. I watched Mickey Mantle strike out when I was a kid, and then I was in some bar, I forget which, and the teevee was showing
Magic Secrets Revealed
, and they explained that trick where a magician gets tied up, you know, but he doesn’t
really
get tied up …”

“See, I told you.”

“Hmm?”

“I told you teevee was great.”

“Maybe you’re right. We should all get down on our hands and knees and pray to the great magic box.”

“Not only should we, Jay, but we
do.”

And the next morning, when we pulled out onto the Trans-Canada Highway, the odometer on the Dodge Super Bee turned over, and there were nothing but zeroes.

“So … what did you think?”

“Well … I’m not sure I understood the ending. With all the zeroes.”

“I just wanted to indicate somehow that my life was suddenly filled with possibilities. There is no
ending
as such.”

“Uh-huh. And how much of the scene in the Luau Lounge …?”

“Is true? You heard about it on the news, didn’t you? A couple of weeks back?”

“I suppose. I didn’t really pay attention. I don’t remember anything about a hostage situation.”

“Is it important that it’s all
true
-true? How much of what Anthony Trollope wrote was true?”

“What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Well, we’re both novelists. And we’re both quiet, sobersided men of considerable industry.”

“Uh-huh. Give me a break.”

“Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. What did you think of the portrayal of,
oh, you?”

“Of me? Well, I thought it was, you know, fair.”

“Good.”

“It’s not like it’s a really
detailed
portrait. There are other women in the book besides me.”

“But it’s clear that you were, you know, where my heart lay.”

“Uhhh … nope. Not so much.”

“No, I guess you’re right. Not much was clear to me as I was writing the book. Things are much clearer now. Huh. Funny, eh?”

“What’s funny?”

“That my ending is the exact opposite to the ending of ‘Time Enough at Last.’”

“And the novel is a little too graphic, I think.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think Currer and Ellis should read it for a few years.”

“You’d be surprised at the things Currer and Ellis know about.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You coming over tonight?”

“Well … I think maybe I can finish the book tonight. I think maybe that if I sit here long enough, I should be able to come up with just the right sentence to finish the novel.”

“If I were you I’d just bung something down—
I woke up, it was all a dream
—and race over here.”

“All right. I’ll see you soon.”

I have awoken. It is all a dream.