Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“You see the dust to the right of the star we’re measuring?” Eric said, pointing again. “We’re not sure yet, it’s early, but the gap there might be another star forming.”

“When will you know?” Liesl said.

Eric smiled. “Not for years. The dust has to fuse, a long process. But we can track the movement.”

“It’s real dust? Not just light?”

“Real dust. And gas. Particles of elements. But we see it as light. Sometimes it’s what’s in the way. But with this, you see beyond, what’s really there.”

“I wonder,” Ostermann said, “do we want to see everything so clearly.”

“Well, you want to see this clearly or you won’t get the measurements right,” Eric said, no poet.

Ostermann smiled. “Yes, that’s right. A distraction, if we want to know. But beautiful, I think, all the same.”

“Well, yes,” Eric said, not sure what he meant. “You have to be careful. You see the star there on the right, two o’clock? That was mine, my project. I knew it, all its properties. And then there was movement, some dust, and it confused everything. I began to doubt it, what I already knew. But that was with the sixty-inch. With this it was clear again, the same properties. Which was lucky for me. My whole dissertation was based on it. Years of work.”

But nothing was clear yet. The names had to mean something, people Minot would be interested in. Focus. Who interested him? Ben turned to Dieter.

“Is there a phone up here?”

“In the director’s office. You’re still worried about your friend? Come, I’ll show you.”

They walked back across the bridge, stars everywhere, a whole sky of them. There were other phone books. Follow the logic. Dieter turned on the light in the office.

“Thanks. Don’t wait. I can find my way back.”

Dieter hesitated, but then made a polite nod and backed out, pointing to the light, a reminder.

It was late but Kelly was still at his desk.

“See? Something always turns up. You got a body or just a tip?”

“I need a favor.”

“Last time I looked, you owed me.”

“Now I’ll owe you two. You’ve got all the studio phone listings, right?”

“Maybe.”

“You’d have to. They’d be your favorite bedtime reading. I want you to look up a few names-just tell me which studio.”

“I should do this why?” Kelly said, playing with him, a wiseguy line.

“Does your paper know you’re moonlighting for Polly?”

There was a silence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then you’d have a tough time explaining it to them, wouldn’t you? If they ever asked. Come on, Kelly, there’s nothing to this. Just pull the lists out of the drawer, and we’re done in two minutes.”

“There goes one,” Kelly said.

“Wallace, first name Arnold. You’ll find it near the bottom of the list.”

“Ha ha.”

Ben could hear a shuffling of papers.

“Nope.”

“Not at Fox?”

“Not anywhere.”

“Try Gilbert, Raymond.”

Another shuffle.

“Gilbert, Allen, at Republic. No Raymond. Who are these guys supposed to be?”

“Friends of my brother. I found them in his book and I’m trying to get in touch.” The lie said easily, a little wave of turbulence over the wire. “Try Friedman, Alfred.”

But Friedman wasn’t there, either, nor three others. Ben looked at the list, stymied. Minot was going after the industry, but Danny was feeding him someone else.

“So who could they be?” he said aloud, but really to himself.

“Bookies. IOUs. Muscle. All guys, right?” Kelly’s world.

“Okay, thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

“How about a little payback? Something on Dick Marshall and the sister.”

“How would I know?”

“You live there. Give me an item. I could sell anything on them.”

“I’m not there anymore. I’m at the Cherokee.”

“What, his room? Talk about sick.”

“I haven’t run into any ghosts yet.”

“Maybe he’ll talk to you in the night. Tell you who he was banging.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“About that other thing. Polly. How’d you happen to come up with that?”

“A shot in the dark. Thanks for the favor.”

“A shot in the dark.”

“Now I owe you two.”

He stared at the list again, then put it back in his pocket, out of ideas. Maybe he’ll talk to you in the night.

He walked back to the dome smelling the night moisture on the pines, fresh, something to wipe away Kelly. I could sell anything on them. Inside, Eric was demonstrating a spectroscopic binary, the guests following attentively, as if it made sense.

“He’s all right?” Dieter said.

“Yes, thanks. What have I missed?”

Dieter smiled. “Advanced Astronomy 205-his course. Do you think they’ll pass the exam?” he said, nodding to the others.

They adjusted the mirror again, a new perspective, larger than the last, but Dieter noticed that people had begun to tire.

“Eric, I promised the guests a nightcap, so I’m going to steal them from you.”

“Yes, I’ll just finish with this magnification. Now see those very small points there? Outside, they’d be invisible. The eye simply can’t take them in. But they’re out there. We have no idea what we’re going to see when we build the new scope down at Palomar. Two-hundred-inch. Things in there we can’t see now,” he said, pointing to the image, his voice excited.

What wasn’t he seeing? A San Francisco postmark. Someone who didn’t know Danny had died. And no way of telling him, no return address. But they must have communicated somehow. The letter hadn’t dropped out of the sky. Was some response expected? What if he hadn’t taken it, just let it sit there? He held the thought for a minute, like a breath. But it wouldn’t just sit there. Somebody else would have picked it up.

Eric finally finished, to a chorus of thank-yous. Outside, the sky seemed less full, limited by the unaided eye to only a sampling of stars, like the ceiling of the Wilshire Temple. Could it only have been this morning? Gazing up while the music tugged at him, back to Otto, an invisible chord. Suddenly he felt tired, light-headed, as if he had climbed up to this thin air on foot. Good seeing. But how could you do it below? You had to wait for a flash, something that broke through all the obscuring dust. Sam Pilcer looking at his son, his heart suddenly visible. Bunny gazing at a bandage, finally without irony. This wasn’t all they were-the other parts were still there-but without the glimpse you couldn’t really see them, take some kind of measure. Maybe the letter, if he could explain it, was a flash, a way to see Danny.

He stopped, looking up again. But he already knew him. The way Eric had known his star, before all the dust got in the way. The same properties, the same constant light. And if you knew that, you could explain the rest. He hadn’t mentioned Jack MacDonald after he’d seen him, an easy bone to toss. He hadn’t mentioned Rosemary, either. He never stopped writing to Ben, stayed with Otto to the end. Got Liesl out, a dangerous trip. Who he really was.

Back at the lodge, they spoke German for Heinrich’s sake and Ben, already tired, found himself sitting back, not really listening. They were huddled around the table drinking, and for an instant he saw them as Danny might have, refugees in a mountain hut waiting to be smuggled across. But now they were here, at the end of another continent, and Heinrich was talking about going back.

“But you don’t consider the rest of us,” Dieter said. “The effect it might have.” He waved his hand in a circle. “A decision like this-it will draw attention to all of us.”

“But only I would be going.”