Stephen King - Wolves of the Calla

"Mind your feet," he said. "You don't need to pick up some sort of infection and carry it back to the other side."

They compromised at a rapid walk. Eddie and Jake, both shod, ran to meet them. Pedestrians moved out of their way without looking, or even breaking their conversations, Roland saw, and then observed that wasn't quite true. There was a little boy, surely no older than three, walking sturdily along next to his mother. The woman seemed to notice nothing, but as Eddie and Jake swung around them, the toddler watched with wide, wondering eyes… and then actually stretched out a hand, as if to stroke the briskly trotting Oy.

Eddie pulled ahead of Jake and arrived first. He held Susannah out at arm's length, looking at her. His expression, Roland saw, was really quite similar to that of the tot.

"Well? What do you think, sugar?" Susannah spoke nervously, like a woman who has come home to her husband with some radical new hairdo.

"A definite improvement," Eddie said. "I don't need em to love you, but they're way beyond good and into the land of excellent. Christ, now you're an inch taller than I am!"

Susannah saw this was true and laughed. Oy sniffed at the ankle that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen this woman, and then he laughed, too. It was an odd barky-bark of a sound, but quite clearly a laugh for all that.

"Like your legs, Suze," Jake said, and the perfunctory quality of this compliment made Susannah laugh again. The boy didn't notice; he had already turned to Roland. "Do you want to see the bookstore?"

"Is there anything to see?"

Jake's face clouded. "Actually, not much. It's closed."

"I would see the vacant lot, if there's time before we're sent back," Roland said. "And the rose."

"Do they hurt?" Eddie asked Susannah. He was looking at her closely indeed.

"They feel fine," she said, laughing. " Fine . "

"You look different."

"I bet!" she said, and executed a littie barefoot jig. It had been moons and moons since she had last danced, but the exultancy she so clearly felt made up for any lack of grace. A woman wearing a business suit and swinging a briefcase bore down on the ragged littie party of wanderers, then abruptly veered off, actually taking a few steps into the street to get around them. "You bet I do, I got legs!"

"Just like the song says," Eddie told her.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," he said, and slipped an arm around her waist. But again Roland saw him give her that searching, questioning look. But with luck he'll leave it alone , Roland thought.

And that was what Eddie did. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then turned to Roland. "So you want to see the famous vacant lot and the even more famous rose, huh? Well, so do I. Lead on, Jake."

Jake led them down Second Avenue, pausing only long enough so they could all take a quick peek into The Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind. No one was wasting light in this shop, however, and there really wasn't much to see. Roland was hoping for a look at the menu sign, but it was gone.

Reading his mind in the matter-of-fact way of people who share khef, Jake said, "He probably changes it every day."

"Maybe," Roland said. He looked in through the window a moment longer, saw nothing but darkened shelves, a few tables, and the counter Jake had mentioned-the one where the old fellows sat drinking coffee and playing this world's version of Casdes. Nothing to see, but something to feel, even through the glass: despair and loss. If it had been a smell, Roland thought, it would have been sour and a bit stale. The smell of failure. Maybe of good dreams that never grew. Which made it the perfect lever for someone like Enrico " Il Roche "Balazar.

"Seen enough?" Eddie asked.

"Yes. Let's go."

For Roland, the eight-block journey from Second and Fifty-fourth to Second and Forty-sixth was like visiting a country in which he had until that moment only half-believed. How much stranger must it be for Jake ? he wondered. The bum who'd asked the boy for a quarter was gone, but the restaurant he'd been sitting near was there: Chew Chew Mama's. This was on the corner of Second and Fifty-second. A block farther down was the record store, Tower of Power. It was still open-according to an overhead clock that told the time in large electric dots, it was only fourteen minutes after eight in the evening. Loud sounds were pouring out of the open door. Guitars and drums. This world's music. It reminded him of the sacrificial music played by the Grays, back in the city of Lud, and why not? This was Lud, in some twisted, otherwhere-and-when way. He was sure of it.

"It's the Rolling Stones," Jake said, "but not the one that was playing on the day I saw the rose. That one was 'Paint It Black.' "

"Don't you recognize this one?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, but I can't remember the title."

"Oh, but you should," Eddie said. "It's 'Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.'"

Susannah stopped, looked around. "Jake?"

Jake nodded. "He's right."

Eddie, meanwhile, had fished a piece of newspaper from the security-gated doorway next to Tower of Power Records. A section of The New York Times , in fact.

"Hon, didn't your ma ever teach you that gutter-trolling is generally not practiced by the better class of people?" Susannah asked.

Eddie ignored her. "Look at this," he said. "All of you."

Roland bent close, half-expecting to see news of another great plague, but there was nothing so shattering. At least not as far as he could tell.

"Read me what it says," he asked Jake. "The letters swim in and out of my mind. I think it's because we're todash-caught in between-"

"RHODESIAN FORCES TIGHTEN HOLD ON MOZAMBIQUE VILLAGES," Jake read, " TWO CARTER AIDES PREDICT A SAVING OF BILLIONS IN WELFARE PLAN. And down here, CHINESE DISCLOSE THAT 1976 QUAKE WAS DEADLIEST IN FOUR CENTURIES.

Also-"

"Who's Carter?" Susannah asked. "Is he the President before… Ronald Reagan ?" She garnished the last two words with a large wink. Eddie had so far been unable to convince her that he was serious about Reagan's being President. Nor would she believe Jake when the boy told her he knew it sounded crazy, but the idea was at least faintly plausible because Reagan had been governor of California. Susannah had simply laughed at this and nodded, as if giving him high marks for creativity. She knew Eddie had talked Jake into backing up his fish story, but she would not be hooked. She supposed she could see Paul Newman as President, maybe even Henry Fonda, who had looked presidential enough in Fail-Safe , but the host of Death Valley Days? Not on your bottom.

"Never mind Carter," Eddie said. "Look at the date ."

Roland tried, but it kept swimming in and out. It would almost settle into Great Letters that he could read, and then fall back into gibberish. "What is it, for your father's sake?"

"June second," Jake said. He looked at Eddie. "But if time's the same here and over on the other side, shouldn't it be June first ?"

"But it's not the same," Eddie said grimly. "It's not . Time goes by faster on this side. Game on. And the game-clock's running fast."

Roland considered. "If we come here again, it's going to be later each time, isn't it?"

Eddie nodded.

Roland went on, talking to himself as much as to the others. "Every minute we spend on the other side-the Calla side-a minute and a half goes by over here. Or maybe two."

"No, not two," Eddie said. "I'm sure it's not going double-time." But his uneasy glance back down at the date on the newspaper suggested he wasn't sure at all.

"Even if you're right," Roland said, "all we can do now is go forward."