How to Tell Toledo from the Night Sky Read online

  19

  George woke up. His first instinct was to not open his eyes; the headache was that bad. He gently extracted his arm from under Irene’s face, replaced it with a pillow, and left her sleeping there on the white cotton. He pulled the sheet up around her body and padded across the faded carpet and out of the room. In the bathroom, he closed the door so that it would be dark. He opened the medicine cabinet and by feel identified and took out a spray bottle, which he squirted into each nostril, sharply inhaling. He shut the medicine cabinet and looked at where he knew the mirror was, except that he was in the dark.

  “This is a love story,” he said. “Act one, boy meets girl. Act two, boy loses girl. This is act two.”

  He could feel the painkiller entering his headache and wrapping it up in cool plastic, pushing it back into its container, closing the lid. He stood there in the bathroom in the dark until he could roll his head around on his neck and not feel like he was going to pass out. Then he opened the door and went out. He pulled some jeans on from his dresser, thought about making a sandwich, and leaned over Irene and kissed her on the temple.

  “Sweetheart,” he said. She opened her eyes and stared straight across the room as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” But when she turned to face him, she was pale.

  “Come and let me make you lunch,” he said. “I have a way with meat and bread. We need to get going, because I have something at the institute I’m dying to show you before my lecture.”

  She nodded. She reached for the sheet and pulled it up around her chin.

  “Come on, don’t you want to see your supercollider?”

  *

  Irene and George stood in the elevator, going down. There were only two buttons on the wall: M and S. They’d started out in main and they were going to sub.

  “This is the world’s biggest scientific instrument you’re about to see,” said George.

  “I managed alright with one the size of a large bathtub,” said Irene.

  “This one is bigger than the one you had,” said George. “Therefore better.”

  “Hmm,” said Irene. “That remains to be seen.”

  Once they stepped foot on campus, Irene had gotten tough again, as if her combative exterior went on like a uniform when she was near science. George looked at her now, her jaw set and her eyes seeming to try to pierce through the elevator doors. She was a little dynamo. He felt a pang of love for her, watching her cross her arms and tap the toe of her ugly boot. This is a love story about astronomy, he thought. Twin souls collide and love each other forever. And no one ever goes crazy. And no one ever dies. And the universe folds back on itself and clicks into place, and the pylons holding up the electrical wires are really trees. And the trees are really gods.

  When the elevator stopped and they stepped out into the cavern, Irene’s eyes got wide, and she said, out loud, “Whoa.” It had astonished George, too, when he first saw it. A tunnel, several stories high, was lined and laid with brightly colored wires, plastic tubes and disks, and it echoed amazingly, like a never-ending tiled bathroom, or a canyon, or a cave. Halfway to the ceiling was a tube, where the supercollider was being built. All around the opening on each side of the cavern were bright tiles, scaffolding, wires, and lights.

  Dr. Bryant rattled down a flight of metal steps he had been climbing and came toward them with his arms open.

  “Welcome, Dr. Sparks,” he said. “Welcome to your new domain. I’ve got several appointments for you this afternoon, with engineers and fabricators, electrochemists and a couple of structural guys—I think your designs are going to fit right into our model.”

  Irene shook hands with Dr. Bryant and then turned to George. He knew immediately that she wasn’t going to kiss him or give his crotch a good-bye pat or smooth his hair away from his face and look longingly into his eyes or anything. She was going to work, and she had probably said, if he had been paying attention, that at work they wouldn’t be allowed to be together. Not yet. Dr. Bryant was looking at him expectantly, as if he wanted George to leave.

  “Have you?” said Dr. Bryant.

  “Have I?” asked George.

  “Have you seen her?” said Irene.

  “No,” said George. “Unless you mean her?” George pointed to Irene.

  “No, George, I mean Kate—Dr. Oakenshield. Your friend? Have you seen her? She didn’t show up for her class this morning, and she hasn’t tweeted. I thought maybe she had spent the night with you?”

  “What?!” said George. “Of course not! Because fraternizing with other astronomers is both wrong and terrible.”

  Irene’s face was inscrutable.

  Dr. Bryant winked knowingly at George. “We all know you’ve been trying to get next to Dr. Oakenshield for months,” he said. To Irene he added, “Of course as a policy we don’t encourage our faculty to intermingle, but we work in such close quarters, there are some inevitable relationships that develop. I’m sure it was the same at your old lab.”

  “No,” said Irene sagely. “We never fraternized. We also thought it wrong and terrible.”

  “Dr. Sparks,” said Dr. Bryant, “this world is merciless. You must take love where you can find it.”

  Irene stared at him. He went on, “Anyway, George, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. But I’m afraid there might be trouble at home for her, if you know what I mean. I’ll give you a ring when I’ve gotten to the bottom of it.”

  Then George walked away. It felt like there was ripping, like anyone could have heard it, when they separated. He didn’t want to separate from Irene. It felt really wrong.

  *

  George’s class was over. He waited another hour, doing some paperwork. He made some calls, looking for Kate Oakenshield, then dialed the Euphrates Project switchboard and got through to Irene.

  “Sparks,” she growled.

  “Hey,” he said. “There you are.” The sound of her voice was like a hand on him. He felt it.

  “It’s amazing down here, George,” she said.

  “Great,” said George. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “But I’ve had a lot of meetings this afternoon, now some things have to get done before we can proceed … if you want to…”

  “Yes,” said George. “I do want to. I need you, for something that might be a little awkward—”

  “Can’t be more awkward than stealing my mother’s ashes from the funeral home.”

  “Right,” said George. “Can’t it be? Maybe. I’ll come and get you.”

  *

  George’s car seats were awash with papers and books, and the floor was covered in empty Coke cans and coffee cups. In the back, an incredibly large ivy plant spread its many limbs around the trunk and over the backseat’s headrests, having no trouble breathing.

  “Mites?” said Irene, pointing at it before she entered the car. “You don’t get mites?”

  “I get oxygen,” said George. He swept the front seat clear for her and then swept the backseat clear as well as she got in.

  “Are we picking up a hitchhiker?” Irene wanted to know.

  “In a manner of speaking,” said George. “We’re going to need your boyfriend for this errand, see? We’re going to need Enkidu. For backup.”

  “What?”

  “I need a heavy, to be honest,” said George. “We’re going on a rescue mission. And I’d feel better if I had some muscle on our side.”

  Twenty minutes later, Belion was glowering in the back, Irene and George were sitting in front, and the Volvo was on the freeway, headed west. Picking up Belion had been awkward for George for several reasons.

  First there was the fact that when Irene directed George to her mother’s house, she had instructed George to drive straight to the house of the drunk psychic who had advised him to wait for a dreaming astronomer with brown hair. Irene’s mother’s house was the psychic’s house, which meant that Irene’s mother was the psychic. Georg
e had almost said something. It was at the front of his mouth, waiting to spring out, “Hey, you know what? I’ve been here before!” But he stopped himself. After her freaky reaction to the fact that they shared a birthday, George felt doubtful that Irene would embrace the information that her own mother had counseled George over a crystal ball, had recognized her daughter as George’s future spouse.

  It was the kind of information that George could tolerate but Irene could not. He was finding out all about Irene, and this was one of the main things: when confronted with a bizarre coincidence like this, Irene was not one to shake her head and comment on the mysteries of the universe. She was one to smack someone, deny having ever had a mother, and never speak to George again. So he kept his mouth shut.

  Then there was the awkward moment while George was inside the car and Irene and Belion were outside the car and Irene was explaining something very firmly to him and used the words “penis sex” and pointed to George, and then clapped her hands together in Belion’s face. George had emerged from his car, looking hopeful and inoffensive, he thought.

  “Come on, Belion,” he heard Irene say. “It’ll be just like your game—you the strong warrior, saving the damsel in distress. We need you. We need the Archmage of the Underdark. It’s a mission, Belion. Come on! There might even be weapons.”

  Now Belion was in the backseat and looking none too happy. That was OK, George thought. George needed Belion to be a bit riled up, for what they were going to do.

  “Ever been to Sylvania before, Belion?” asked George.

  “He’s been to Sylvania,” Irene speculated.

  “It is Belion, isn’t it?” said George.

  There was a pause, and then Irene prompted, “Belion, say it’s Belion.”

  “It’s Belion,” he said.

  George went on. “So, you’ve been to Sylvania before, then? Lots of times?”

  “Tell me, again, what has happened to this girl?” Belion asked.

  George put on his turn signal, and they got off the freeway. “Well, she’s been kind of kidnapped by her father. You know, he raised her as a mute.”

  “She’s Kate Oakenshield, the girl who was raised mute. You may have seen it on the Learning Channel,” Irene explained further.

  “Oh, you saw that?” George asked her. “Did you see me?”

  “No,” said Irene. “My mother sent me a video once, but I didn’t watch the whole thing. It was quite the news item, here in Toledo.”

  Belion growled. “So, again, I’m asking, what has happened to her?”

  “Well, her father raised her mute, right, to develop her math brain. You know, no language, just music and, you know, noises and stuff,” George said.

  “Did it work?” Belion asked.

  “Oh, did it,” said George. “Yes, all the way. She’s a freaky genius.”

  “So what’s wrong then?” Belion asked.

  “She was raised mute. No talking,” Irene emphasized. “That’s not normal, Belion.”

  “Not normal for you, fancy madam.”

  George laughed. “Fancy madam! I like this guy.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” said Belion.

  The Volvo rolled past the Spuyten Duyval Country Club and into the wooded valleys of the Irwin Prairie State Nature Preserve. After a few more turns deeper into the woods, George pulled in to The Cedars and followed a circular drive around to park in front of a large brick manor house. He pushed the car into park and unfolded himself from behind the wheel, strode around the front of the car to take a fighting stance outside the front door.

  Irene got out of the car and stood on the gravel of the driveway, still holding the door between her and the house, but Belion did not emerge. Good, George thought. Secret weapon: giant hairy guy. This is how we bring Oakenshield down.

  George shouted at the front door. “Alright, Oakenshield, I’m back. And I brought reinforcements. You let Kate out of there now, or we’re coming in.”

  There was no answer.

  Irene said, “Belion, you should get out.”

  Belion emerged from the backseat bit by bit: first his meaty hand, then his arm and leg, then the rest of his body, leveraged out by his hand on the door frame.

  George yelled, “Take a look, Oakenshield. And kindly remember, you’re the guy who couldn’t even take my elderly mother in a fair fight. How’d you like to go up and down the block with our young friend here?”

  “Your penis sex friend is a fruitcake,” said Belion calmly to Irene.

  “Belion,” said George. “Can’t you roar or something? Wave your arms threateningly?”

  “Well, like what?” Belion asked.

  George demonstrated what he meant, cantering about on the portico in front of the door, swinging his arms like a mad gorilla. But Belion was unmoved.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to?” George asked.

  Belion shook his hairy head. “No, but I enjoyed watching you do it.”

  Upstairs on the second floor, a window creaked open, and a dark head emerged.

  “Emma!” cried George. “That’s the housekeeper,” he explained to Irene and Belion.

  The housekeeper poked her head out the window. She pointed up, mutely, to a balcony on the third floor. George looked up. A curtain fluttered. And Kate Oakenshield stepped out onto the balcony, violin in hand. She was wearing a strange silver robe that George had never seen before, and it covered her so completely that George wasn’t even sure it was her until she removed the hood, set the violin on her shoulder, and began to play Brahms. She cast a mournful eye down at her visitors as the melody soared.

  Belion barked out a laugh. “Silvergirl? You have got to be kidding me,” he said, as if to himself.

  “Picturesque, isn’t she?” said George.

  Belion did not reply, but walked purposefully to the door and opened it, closed it gently behind him, and was gone.

  George called up to Kate on her balcony. “Nevermind, Kate, Belion is coming!”

  Kate continued to play her violin. George saw that eye-contact time was over. But he still called again, “This is Irene.” He pointed at Irene, and Irene smiled a wan smile. “You’ll see her lots when you come back to the institute. She’s very nice.”

  “Looks like she’s back to not talking,” Irene said to George.

  “Yeah,” said George. “She kind of regresses when he convinces her to spend any time here. I think they’ve got a whole ballroom full of finches, puts her into some kind of twittery epileptic state.”

  “Lucky she has you,” Irene said. He couldn’t read the look on her face, but he felt it might be jealousy.

  “Yes, well, I can’t leave her out here, can I?” he pleaded.

  Upstairs on the balcony, a door opened. Belion emerged, picked up Kate and her violin, and carried her inside. The door closed.

  “Well, that was better than I expected!” George said.

  Irene nodded. “He must like her. He must like you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come out here.”

  “Maybe it’s just that he likes you,” George said.

  Irene smiled. The sight of it sent a spear through George’s heart. The smile said that everything was OK. “He really is very smart.”

  “And Kate, too,” George added. “Very smart.”

  “I’ve lived with him for three years. Three years I’ve been living with Belion.”

  George shook his head. “Well, we’re not going to be messing around with them much anymore.”

  “Really? Are you sure? You came out here for her—”

  George smiled now. “I can’t honestly stand the sight of her anymore, sweetheart.”

  “It’s me you want?” said Irene. “I mean, out of all the girls you—”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Belion banged out the front door carrying Kate, her violin, several other instrument cases, and a couple of birdcages, too.

  “Hey!” George leaped away from the car and Irene and clapped his hands together. “Excellent, well, you
got her. Very nice. A fine job.”

  Belion opened the car and set Kate down like a baby in the backseat, tucked her silver robe in neatly, and then raised the hatch on the wagon. He flung the overgrown ivy onto the gravel drive without even looking at it and replaced it with Kate’s possessions.

  “That’s all she pointed to. Should be enough,” said Belion.

  “Hey, my ivy! That plant is forty years old!” George protested.

  “Don’t grow plants in your car anymore, fruity,” Belion told him. “Then you won’t have to worry about people getting rid of them.”

  “I need more oxygen than other people,” said George.

  At this juncture, Father Oakenshield fluttered out of the front door waving a shovel.

  “This is illegal! This is kidnapping! I’m calling the police!” he complained.

  “Good,” George told him. “Call the police, you ass. They’ll love taking another trip out here to Birdybird Farm.”

  “Police!” the old man yelled. “Emma, call the police!”

  The housekeeper poked her head out her window again and waved off George and the rest of them silently, rolling her eyes. She glared at Father Oakenshield and withdrew her head.

  Belion closed the trunk and came around to the side of the car where Father Oakenshield was staging his little attack.

  “Hi,” said Belion, “I’m Belion.”

  Father Oakenshield was silent, and Belion went on. “If you ever approach her, breathe on her, call her, think of her, or even remember her, even in the night, even in the dark, I will be there, standing over you, and I will kill you before your heart takes its next beat.”

  “He’s the Archmage of the Underdark,” Irene added.

  “I’m beginning to see that,” said George.

  Father Oakenshield retreated to the portico, dropping his shovel. Belion slid himself into the backseat beside Kate, and George and Irene took their places in the front.

  “Drive, George. Drive,” Belion commanded.

  *

  Toledo, the Glass City, sparkled on the edge of the Maumee Bay. In the harbor downtown, boats bobbed around the marina and the calls of gulls echoed across the water. Citizens walked along the waterfront, their glasses rosy in the late afternoon sun, their laptop bags bathed in reflected light from the tall glass buildings. Down farther south, by the industrial docks, machines clanged and cranes swung wide over container ships. Little puffy clouds hung pink against the deep blue sky in arrays and arcs, bisected by jet trails.