Jesse Ball - The Way Through Doors

— GOOD-BYE, she said. I’ll be back soon.

— When? called the pamphleteer.

Sif’s pretty head poked back through the door.

— By good, I mean that the book had better make life better in at least six or seven definite ways immediately. Also, there had better be somewhere in it a method for handling fortune and chance so as to best provoke the most complicated, involved, and glorious refractions of what’s possible.

— Look in section three, said the pamphleteer.

But Sif was already gone away down to the street. A man was passing, carefully transporting his entire life and a mustache with great speed between the tables, chairs, waiters, and regulars of a sprawling street café. She followed. This was how she chose her routes, by tailing someone for precisely seven minutes, deciding upon where he or she must be going, and then going there, independent of him or her. This course of action had often resulted in her arriving at a person’s destination ahead of that person, which then gave that person the feeling that there were some favorable circumstances or kismet involving the two of them. But, in fact, it was merely caprice on the part of Sif.

At some point she entered a park and climbed a tree. Someone saw and told a policeman. The policeman came over. Sif was seated quite high up in the tree and was reading W.F. The policeman shouted up to her.

— Miss, he said, you’ll have to come down.

She set her book a moment upon her crossed legs and peered down at the police officer. Taking from her bag a small square of card stock, she dropped it expertly. The card stock fluttered through the air and hovered a moment before the police officer, who caught it. It said:

Pardon me, I am almost entirely deaf. I would, in general, prefer not to speak to you, however, if you must speak with me, please write your remarks out legibly in longhand (or preferably type them), and deliver them to me. Two things: Do not use scraps of odd paper or the backs of promotional materials, envelopes, etc., for this purpose. I choose to read only elegantly assembled correspondence. And second, allow a period of time for me to read and then respond to your message. Also, I would appreciate if, during that time, you would go away. Find something else to do and then return. If you allow enough time I will be likely to have responded. I’m sorry that these measures are required of you, and also of myself, however, I am, as I have said, rather hard of hearing, and it would be kind of you to do this little thing in order to make me more comfortable in the world.

The policeman was young. He was a good-natured fellow and well liked. Everyone thought that he would go far. Already proposals were being put forward at the station house by his superiors that he ought to be transferred to Homicide and made a detective. He had the peculiar faculty of having the proper resources to deal with many odd and inflammable situations.

He read the card over twice, then put it into the pocket of his jacket. He looked up at Sif, met her gaze, then held up one finger. He walked away from her tree, left the park, and crossed the street. A copy shop was there. The policeman talked awhile with the clerk in the copy shop. The clerk immediately went into the back and attended to the policeman’s order, putting it ahead of all the other orders that had piled up through the course of the day. Some few moments later he returned and pressed a package into the policeman’s waiting hand. The officer thanked the clerk and left the store. He then went into the next store, which was a tobacco store. There he purchased an expensive Italian pen along with a bottle of ink. These in tow, he crossed the street, reentered the park, and took a seat at one of several stone tables. Sif’s view of these stone tables was obscured, and though she had seen the other proceedings, she could no longer see what was passing. After perhaps five minutes, the officer reappeared beneath her tree. A small boy was with him. The officer handed the small boy an envelope. The boy shimmied up the tree to Sif. They looked at each other.

— Hello, he said. My name’s Morris. I’m very good at walking far and at climbing trees.

— Do you have something for me? asked Sif.

— I do, said Morris the tree climber and far walker. He handed Sif an envelope. It was a printed envelope, and said,

Miles Lutheran

Officer of the Law

Tompkins Square Park Task Force

12 October xxxx

GIRL in TREE

Vocation or Title Unknown

Tompkins Square Park

Third Tree from the Street, within Fenced Enclosure Opposite East 340 Tenth Street.

Sif smiled to herself.

— Thank you, Morris, she said. You can go now.

— All right, said Morris, who proceeded to descend the tree very rapidly, going headfirst like a squirrel, but without difficulty or incident.

Sif opened the letter. She admired the penmanship and the quality of the ink and paper.

Dear Girl in Tree,

I’m sorry, but I am going to have to ask you to come down. This is principally because I am afraid for your safety, not because you are hard of hearing, but because it is a simple and easy thing to fall from a tree and hurt oneself. Now, I know that you don’t think you are going to fall. You may say to yourself, I have never fallen. Why should I fall? Well, miss, falls are almost always unexpected.

Please come down. If you need a ladder, hold up two fingers and I will go about getting one. Otherwise, have a fine day.

Yours Most Sincerely and Assiduously,

Miles Lutheran

Officer of the Law

Sif put the letter back into its envelope. She took W.F. from off her lap and replaced it in its box. She then put envelope and box into her bag and climbed down from the tree. The policeman and boy were gone.

She walked very briskly up and down in front of the tree three times, and then went to sit in a little unmarked Thai bistro that took up all three floors of a brownstone on a nearby street. There was nothing on the exterior of the restaurant to let anyone know that such a fine and splendid establishment was within. Luckily, enough people knew about it that its existence was not in jeopardy. She took a seat near the back. After a moment a waitress appeared. This waitress crossed the floor slowly, not looking at Sif. At the last moment, it was as though she looked up into Sif’s face. She shouted out, SIF! and, untying her apron, pulled a chair up beside her.

— Dear Sif, she said. How nice of you to come.

— Shall we exchange confidences? asked Sif.

— Let’s, said the girl.

Her name was Claude, just like the Maude.

— He gave me the W.F., said Sif. Want to see?

— It was no dream; I lay broad waking, said Claude.

— What? asked Sif.

— Where is it? asked Claude.

— Here, said Sif. She took the little box out of the bag, slid the W.F. out of the box, and handed it to the waitress.

— How nice! said Claude, feeling with her hands the thin, expensive paper. Does it say, Since in a net I seek to hold the wind?