Wizard of the Pigeons (15 page)

Wizard ate ravenously, scarcely chewing, enjoying the scraping of large hunks of food moving down his throat. He washed it down with draughts of the cold beer whenever his mouth got too dry to chew. There was
lettuce, tomatoes, onions, turkey and cheese, and the fragrant, chewy bread itself. He didn't see Lynda as he ate, only becoming aware of her when she replaced his mug with a full one. He didn't care for the beer, but drank it for the moisture. He recalled the taste, the slight bitterness. He seemed to remember that when he had been thirsty, they never let him have any, but there were too many times when there was too much of it and he had drunk beer until his belly sloshed. When that had been he could not be sure; there was only the unpleasant memory of thick cigarette smoke and too many people talking too loudly. His mind veered from the thought. He took a final swallow and stared in surprise at his empty plate.

‘Hungry guy,' Lynda observed with maternal pride. ‘Finish off your beer. Bet you feel better now.'

Wizard checked. He was not sure himself that better was an accurate description. He felt heavy, logy as a sated wolf. His neck did not seem as strong as usual. It took a small portion of his concentration to keep his head upright; it wanted to sag onto the table. Setting down his empty mug, he leaned heavily into the wall and sighed. The honesty of the bricks comforted him. He looked at the woman beside him very carefully. This was the second time she had fed him, yet she did not make him feel that he owed her anything. She was smiling at him, seeming glad of his attention. She had blue eyes and a straight nose and abundant blonde hair. Her mouth was too generous for contemporary beauty, but he found he liked it. Her hands, lying soft and empty on the table top, were small, but not well cared for. Working hands.

‘What?' she asked softly.

‘I am trying to figure you out,' he told her solemnly.

‘There isn't much to figure out.' She gave a deprecating little laugh. ‘I'm just me. Just what you see. Maybe you think I want something from you, because of the way I've, well, almost picked you up. But that's not how it is, really. I don't like to be alone. That's part of it. And I like helping people. I know that sounds corny, but it really is true. When I saw you sitting alone on the bench with only pigeons for company, my heart just went out to you. I mean, at first I was really pissed at you for the way you took Booth's breakfast, and let me get the blame for it. But even right there in Duffy's, I looked at you and couldn't stay mad. The way you peeked around your newspaper, suddenly it just seemed so funny. Did you see Booth's face when he tossed down my keys and his food was gone? Did you see him?'

Lynda began to giggle. Wizard watched her face, studying the sparkle that came into her eyes and made her girlish. There was something here for him, something warm. He caught at that thought and tried to find the sense in it, but he could no longer follow it.

She had his hand. He looked down in some surprise, wondering why he hadn't noticed her touch before. Her hands were white in contrast to his. His were browned and bony with little gristly scars on his knuckles. The comparison made him feel strong. She squeezed his hand gently, and the touch was good.

‘You haven't told me a thing about yourself. And I've talked and talked about me, and I suddenly realize that I just bought dinner for a man, I don't even know his name. So what's your name?'

The simple question stopped him cold. He had not
realized how much he had relaxed in her company until the iciness of her querying tightened his muscles. He searched her face for signs of treachery. Her blue eyes went wider at his grim expression and her smile lost its confidence. He took a deep breath to spill out some sort of an answer, but it came out as a racking cough. It didn't stop. It tortured him, driving the air from his lungs, reddening his face and making tears roll from the corners of his eyes. He pushed against Lynda and then staggered to his feet, his hands on his knees as he bent to try and take in air. Other customers were looking up in dismay, and one man rose to ask her if her friend were choking. Wizard shook his head in an emphatic no. ‘Air,' he gasped. ‘Cold air.'

He shook Lynda's grip from his sleeve and staggered out the door of City Picnics. In the hallway he headed for the stairs and clambered up them, still wheezing and hacking. The circle of his vision was narrowing, darkness closing in from the periphery. He got the door open and staggered out onto the sidewalk, to lean up against the building. His chest did not feel so compressed here. He began to take small, short breaths and then longer, deeper ones. His face was still cooling when Lynda dashed out the door, her head swivelling in all directions.

‘There you are!' she exclaimed. She dropped her shopping bag and shrugged into her raincoat, gripping her purse strap with her teeth. ‘Are you all right?' she demanded as soon as her mouth was empty. ‘That was just awful! Everyone was so worried, but I said it was just a bronchial attack and grabbed my stuff and followed you. I could tell you didn't want everyone making a big fuss over you. Now, are you okay?'

Wizard nodded slowly. He straightened from leaning on the building, and she instantly had his arm. She was strong, taking part of his weight whether he wanted her to or not. She began to steer him slowly down the sidewalk, talking all the while. That was one good thing about her. She talked so much that he had to say almost nothing at all. Now, why was that good? he wondered. He tuned into her monologue. ‘…Hot buttered rum. Or a hot toddy or Irish coffee. Something hot. I bet I know a good place for that. It'll cut that junk in your throat and make you feel better. Warm you up inside. Come on, it's only a few blocks from here.'

Wizard found himself nodding as he leaned against her support. She fit neatly under his arm. A hooker walked past them, headed in the opposite direction. Her heels tacked clearly against the pavement as she strode along, heading for more heavily travelled streets. He had a brief impression of her short bright dress, the elegantly casual coiling of her hair upon her shoulders that was her only wrap against the cold November night, and her parted lips shining in the lamplight. Then her black empty eyes hit him with a bolt of sadness that staggered him back against the wall of the building. She turned her head as she passed, tearing him with the hooks of her smile. Her agony raced through him. For a second he felt sure that, had he been alone, she would have said something to him, and he would have Known something to tell her. But he wasn't alone, and he didn't Know, and she kept clipping along, her footsteps fading swiftly from his hearing. He rubbed his forehead and pushed the hair back from his face. Lynda was staring at him. He had almost forgotten her.

‘What was that?' she demanded, little lights dancing angrily in her eyes.

‘I don't know,' he managed. Then more words pushed up out of him, words he hadn't consciously planned to say. ‘Lynda. I have to go home now. Thank you for treating me so kindly. But.'

‘Oh, no, you don't.' She gripped his arm firmly and hauled him up beside her. ‘Some chippie walks past and gives you the eye, and you decide to drop me and give chase, huh?'

‘No. No, not that way at all!'

‘I know!' Her tone changed, and he stared at her, astonished. She had been joking with him, he realized giddily. Joking. ‘No, I knew you weren't going after her. But I also knew where you were going. What are you worried about? that they'll run out of cots at the shelter? Forget that tonight. You're with me now, and I plan to take good care of you. We're going to take care of that cough and get you all straightened around. You just wait and see. And trust me. I mean it now. Trust me. Come on.'

She dragged at him like a riptide. There was no resistance left in him. He pushed away his worries as she wrapped his arm around her. They walked, he paying no attention to where they were going.

Second Avenue South. It took a while for him to recognize it, lit up for the evening trade. Neon signs and streetlights and the headlights of passing cars gave more light to the barren streets than they got by day. The brightness of a beer advertisement in the night dazzled his eyes. But the place she chose for them was neither bright nor inviting. She trundled him past the Silver Dollar,
Bogart's, and the Columbus Tavern to draw him into a place whose name he didn't notice.

The door was heavy, but she dragged him inside. Most of the interior space was devoted to pool tables with low, shaded lights dangling over the green felt. The men playing were working men. Regulars. It was obvious from a glance that he had entered their territory and they looked up from their games to stare at Wizard for longer than was polite. There was a long bar to the right, and to this Lynda steered him.

She hitched her tidy hips neatly onto a seat, but Wizard mounted the backless stool as if it were a strange animal. A confusion of odours assaulted him. He let his eyes rove over the back shelves of tall bottles. ‘Teddy!' Lynda called out. She was in command here, and enjoying it. ‘Let us have a couple of Irish coffees. In mugs; I hate those phony glass things. Seems quiet in here tonight.'

It seemed anything but quiet to Wizard. There was the clack and rumble of the pool games and a large-pored man on television was excitedly relating the events of a ball game, backed by a chorus of male voices laughing and swearing and muttering. Above it all was the high-pitched whisper of the television tube, harmonizing with the special pitch of the fluorescent lights over the pool tables. Like tiny twin drills the high sounds bored into Wizard's ears and temples. And there was a third type of sound, for his ears only. Danger was screaming in here, pressing in all around him like a million tiny needles trying to pierce his flesh with their warnings. Danger and trap and an exposed back and an idiot on point and a coward on drag, they all screamed, all demanding his attention at once. His eyes roamed the room, trying
to find the source of his uneasiness, but found nothing. Only people, the same sort of people he moved among every day. Teddy was settling mugs before them then.

‘So where's Booth these days?' Teddy asked Lynda in a genially teasing voice.

‘Not here, thank God!' she replied emphatically. Something whizzed past Wizard's mind, some very important clue. He went groping after it, but just as he nearly had it, Lynda shook his arm. ‘Come on, I want you to drink this. It'll do you good. Clear your chest so you can breathe. Try it, baby.' She set an example, sipping from her mug as her eyes darted around the room. He wondered what she was watching for.

He picked up his own mug. The aroma of coffee rose like a benediction. He put it to his lips and drew in a mouthful. The cream was sweet, the coffee strong and the whiskey bit pleasantly. Somehow he had not expected it. As he set down the mug he observed to Lynda, ‘There's whiskey in my coffee.'

‘I hope to God there is, at the prices Teddy charges. Drink it up. Make you feel warmer.'

Wizard nodded as he sipped again. A secret warmth was spreading out from his belly now.

‘Listen,' Lynda said suddenly, standing up. ‘I gotta visit the little girls' room. You sit tight and watch my stuff. Okay?'

Wizard nodded distractedly. He was experimenting with the coffee, sipping it and trying to sort out the electric shocks of the whiskey from the steady rush of the caffeine. He wrapped both hands around the mug, enjoying the heat against his chilled fingers. He glanced up to find Teddy watching him, a cruel smile hovering on
his mouth. Then the smile went past Wizard and turned to a scowl. Wizard heard him growl softly to himself in puzzlement. He followed Teddy's stare.

She was a stout woman, dressed all in black. Her white hair was up in a severe bun at the back of her neck. Her disapproving mouth was buttoned over her double chin. She wore her heavy black good coat and sensible black lace-up shoes. Her eyes were black, too, and piercing. They bored into Wizard, and her second chin trembled with the strength of her indignation. She pushed past a pool player, spoiling his shot, and stepped up to within inches of Wizard. Her raspy voice cut through the noise of the bar like a radio signal cutting through static.

‘I can't believe you're doing this to yourself! Adding booze on top of everything else. You're poisoning yourself! And what about the rest of us? After you go down, what happens to us? You've got to pull out of this tailspin.'

‘Stop bothering the customers, ma'am. This is no place for a lady like yourself. You could get into trouble here. Best you go home now.' Teddy had come out from behind the bar. He didn't look as tall as he had when serving drinks. He tried to take the old woman's arm, but she jerked away from him angrily. She glared at the attention she was getting and lifted her voice high.

‘Alcohol is a poison. Poison, plain and simple. You can dilute it, you can flavour it, you can age it in oak casks, but it is still poison. You are ingesting poison with every sip you take and asking your body to deal with it. Your body has enough to deal with just surviving in this day and age, without your deliberately poisoning it. Some of us,' her eyes stabbed Wizard, ‘are less able to deal with the poisons of alcohol than others. Show yourself
a man. Put down that evil drink and walk out of here. Take command of your life again!'

She shouted the last sentence as Teddy steered her toward the door, her head swivelling on her neck to fling the message at him. ‘A poison!' she called as the door swung shut. ‘Poisonous bait in a trap for the unwary!'

He felt relieved when she was gone, yet, again, the uneasiness nibbled at him. He had missed another clue. He was sure there was a hint at the reason for the nervousness that plagued him here. Yet it was not in the old woman's words, which he accepted as absolute truth, but in Teddy's. He knew he shouldn't be here. He sipped at his coffee, weighing its bits of clues. But just as they started to tumble into a pattern, he felt a bump of warm flesh and Lynda was back on the barstool behind him. ‘Did you miss me?' she asked in a silky voice.