The Stranger's Woes (78 page)

But nothing like that happened. Poor thing must have fainted dead away. Or maybe she was calling the police. Then again, maybe she decided that all was vanity and vexation of the spirit, after which she sat down in the lotus position and started mumbling some mantra suited to the occasion. You never know what a person will do when she encounters the uncanny and inexplicable.

There was a small commotion on the landing of the fourth floor—some repairmen and a few curious preschoolers. Well, what do you know? The darn elevator was stuck between floors. I was doing quite well if could foresee such a small mishap.

Then I took a long walk through the city. I got a bit wet, and very cold, but that didn’t take away from the pleasure of the walk. In the night, the city looked alien and, because of that, very beautiful. Much to my surprise, I realized that I could fall in love with it, given enough time. Maybe it was because night transformed the cityscape, and maybe it was because I finally felt I was a complete stranger on these broad streets. It is easy to love strange places: we take them for what they are and demand nothing but new experiences from them.

To warm myself up, I had some coffee with cognac in a cozy little bar, the name of which I don’t remember. I started to thaw out, and even felt like having some dinner. This was beginning to resemble the life I had gotten used to in Echo: a nice long dinner in a cozy tavern before I set out looking for my next adventure. Today, I was going on another dangerous trip: catching the streetcar that traveled down Green Street, following an unmarked route. I really hoped that this story would have a happy ending, just like the others before it.

I looked at my watch. Soon it would be midnight. Time to stop stuffing my belly and get out of here. I asked for the check, paid, and walked out. Time almost stopped dead in its tracks. It seemed as though none of my movements would ever be completed. The foot in my new shoe moved so slowly toward the ground that it felt like the asphalt was a mirage, a metaphysical carrot receding endlessly before a lazy donkey.

Yet I managed to walk, step after step. I moved forward feeling the cold tickling of Eternity on the back of my head. The very same Eternity that I wasn’t supposed to be teasing. Darn it, I thought. Lady Sotofa could have put it a little more clearly. If she’d just told me, “Don’t even think about going back to your World, Max,” I would have listened to her. At the very least, I would have tried. The most absurd thing was that the whole time I had never once thought about the holy water that was supposed to be the reason for this crazy trip.

When I got to Green Street, the electronic clock on top of the telephone company glowed 11:11. I remembered that I had always considered such symmetry to be a good sign, and turned away quickly so as not to see how the symmetry would shatter when the last digit turned to two. That, according to the same superstition, would have canceled out the good luck.

A moment later I heard the streetcar bell. The streetcar rumbled just like it had the first time, almost two years ago. On the other hand, though, it had just happened yesterday. Anyway, the last thing I wanted to do now was to try to comprehend the flow of time. I prefer not to have any particular opinion about such complex matters.

My head started to spin, but I managed to suppress the nausea fairly quickly. I inhaled and exhaled a few times, as Shurf Lonli-Lokli had taught me to do. Darn it, I thought. When I’m back in Echo, I simply must treat him to a good dinner. I owe him a big one. His breathing exercises have saved my life and sanity many times today already.

The moon looked out from behind the ragged edge of a cloud for a split second, and I could make out a familiar sign informing me that I was standing at the stop of the streetcar following route number 432. The number was the same. Praise be the Magicians, my Door between Worlds seemed to favor predictability over surprise.

The streetcar appeared from behind the corner and slowed down as it approached the stop. Everything was going according to plan. Better than I had dared hope. This mysterious express streetcar that followed the most improbable route between Worlds was at my service.

This time, however, I was going to have to negotiate with the driver. Sir Maba Kalox called him a Tipfinger. If I remembered correctly, he had said that a Tipfinger comes out of nowhere and feeds on our fears, anxieties, and premonitions. Sometimes a Tipfinger takes the form of a person and wanders around visiting his friends, scaring them by throwing fits, or just looking at them askance. Also, Maba told me that I had created the Tipfinger in my streetcar myself. Why on earth would I have done something like that? And how did I manage it? To tell the truth, I have done a lot of stupid things in my life. Some were even worse.

Okay, I thought. A Tipfinger it is, then. Whatever. I smiled wickedly and stared at the driver’s cabin. There he was, the Tipfinger, with his broad face and thin mustache. I couldn’t believe that two years back this ridiculous creature had scared the bejesus out of me. It was my luck that he had disappeared almost immediately, and I had mustered up courage to get into the streetcar. Looking back now, I realize it was the only right thing to do.

The streetcar stopped. The door at the front of the streetcar opened silently, and I dashed inside. This time the creature didn’t disappear. The streetcar wasn’t moving and the ugly mustached creature looked at me with bored indifference.

“Just the man I was looking for,” I said. “I’m going to teach you a lesson, pal. I’ll teach you how to scare novice travelers between Worlds. It’s bad manners to scare newbies, didn’t you know that?”

The driver didn’t say anything, but his face was undergoing a transformation. The mustached face slowly disappeared into a misty blur, and a few moments later it took the shape of another face. Grand Magician Maxlilgl Annox, the short-nosed apparition from Xolomi, was staring out at me. Then his face faded away, too, and now the piercing blue eyes of the late Magician Kiba Attsax were fixed on me.

I immediately realized what was going on.

“What? Are you trying to remember who it was that scared me not so long ago? Not going to work, pal. Just this morning I lost myself, but then I managed to find me again. I don’t think anything or anyone can scare me now. I’m in a very good mood tonight.”

I raised my left hand. Sure, it had a long way to go to match the death-dealing hand of Shurf Lonli-Lokli, but I always made do with what little I had.

“Do not waste your Lethal Sphere on me,” the creature said quietly.

Now his face didn’t look like anyone or anything, although an infinite number of vaguely familiar faces appeared through the shimmering mist that surrounded the Tipfinger’s head.

“Don’t waste it on you, you say?” I said, laughing, reveling in my own powers. “I’m a miser all right, but I can stand the loss of one for your sake.”

“It is your choice—you gave me my life, you can take it back—but whoever takes away the life of a Tipfinger must replace him. This is the law.”

The creature’s tone was listless and indifferent. It seemed that he didn’t care much about his fate. One of my hearts knew somehow that the Tipfinger wasn’t lying. The other heart was silent. It probably knew that no one was asking its opinion.

“Fine. We’ll do without Lethal Spheres. I’m not bloodthirsty. Step out for a second. Let’s have a talk.”

I was completely calm now. I didn’t feel like laughing, smiling, or even smirking. I was very tired and could think about only one thing: how great it would be to curl up on the rigid seat, close my eyes, and not open them until this wonderful vehicle delivered me back home to Echo. As for the Tipfinger, Mackie had told me that he could help me convince the World I was born in that I didn’t exist anymore. And I was beginning to guess what Mackie had meant by that.

The creature came out of the driver’s cabin and sat down on the front seat. I noticed that his body, too, had no definite shape. The Tipfinger was neither thin nor fat. Or, rather, he was thin and fat at the same time. The outlines of his body, which was quite anthropomorphic, trembled and faded away.

The doors of the streetcar closed and it finally began moving.

“Is this streetcar going to Echo?” I said.

“It will go where you want it to go,” said the creature.

“Okay. That’s not too bad.”

I gave a sigh of relief. God knows why, but I was still burdened by doubts, which I tried to ignore. I was so tired of uncertainties. I was generally tired.

“If I understand correctly, you can take any shape?” I said.

“Yes. I can look like whatever people around me want me to look like.”

“More like what they
don
’
t
want you to look like,” I said. “You feed on our fears, don’t you? That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.”

“This is also true.”

“Well, it’s your business,” I said. “But I didn’t make the Universe, unfortunately. If I had my way, everything would have been much simpler and much more pleasant. Now, tell me something. If I’ve got this right, you can’t decide what you will look like. Our inner fears dictate the shape you take, whether you want it or not, right?”

“Right,” the creature said.

“And if I tell you to take
my
shape?” I asked. “I don’t mean to say that I’m scared of my own face. I’m simply asking whether you can become my double. Can you do this?”

“I can,” the Tipfinger said.

His tone was as listless as before, but now there was a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Excellent. Then I want you to take my form and go to some place with a lot of people. Downtown somewhere. But what’s important is that you become a
dead
Max, and the sooner you do it the better. Is this possible?”

“It is.”

“Great. Oh, hold on a second. I think poor Max has to die right on the job. There are a lot of people at the editorial office now. And there won’t be any problem identifying me. Gosh, I can just imagine what a ruckus there’s going to be there.” I couldn’t restrain a malicious smile. “That’s it, then. After they bury me—you, that is—you’re free to do whatever you want to forevermore. Got it?”

“You are setting me free forevermore?” said the Tipfinger.

Ah, where was his melancholy now! He stared at me with eyes that were already starting to resemble my own and laughed.

“Thank you. I could not have counted on such generosity. I will do as you say. You can trust my word. You can trust any words uttered between Worlds. Did you know that?”