Richard Powers - The Echo Maker

“What kind of place is this?” Weber asked.

Mark sized him up out of the corner of his eye. “Isn’t it obvious?” Karin sat on the foot of the bed, her hair a cape around her shoulders. Her brother eased himself into a chair, flapping his tennis shoes on the floor and enjoying the clatter. He waved for Weber to sit in the chair opposite him. Weber lowered himself to the cushions. Mark giggled. “You supposed to be old, or something?”

“Ach. Not my favorite topic. So what exactly do they call this place?”

“Well, Doc.” Mark inclined his head. He gazed out from under his bunched eyebrows and whispered, “Some folks in these parts call it Dead Man’s Glands.”

Weber blinked, and Mark barked with pleasure. Karin sat despairing on the bed, picking at her slacks.

“How long have you been here?”

Mark shot an anxious glance at the bed. Karin averted her eyes, looking back at Weber. Mark cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll tell you. Pretty much forever?”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Do you mean why I’m here and not home? Or why I’m here and not dead? Same answer, on both counts.” Mark pulled his sweatshirt taut and leaned forward. “Read the scriptshirt, man.” The card-playing, beer-drinking dog asking, What The Hell Do I Know?

“You don’t have to perform for him, Mark.”

“Hey! What do you care? You’re the one who wants me here.”

Weber asked, “So what do they do for you here?”

The boy-man turned contemplative. He stroked his bare chin. They might have been talking politics or religion. “Well, you know what this is. It’s — well, you know: a nursery home. Where they take you when you’re banged up and no good to anybody?”

“You got banged up?”

The face yanked back, snorting. “Put it this way? The doctors claim I’m not exactly what I was before.”

“Do you think they’re right?”

Mark shrugged. A spasm shot through him. One hand tugged the baby-blue cap over his brows. The other thrust out. “Ask her. She keeps telling them what I was .”

Karin pressed one wrist to her temple and stood. “Excuse me,” she apologized, and stumbled from the room.

Weber persisted. “You had an accident?”

Mark considered this: one of many possibilities. He slumped deeper into his chair, toeing the floor in front of him. “Well, I rolled my truck, you know. Totaled it. At least that’s what they tell me. They haven’t actually produced the evidence or anything. They’re not real big on evidence here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?” He sat up and leaned forward again. “Fantastic ’84 cherry-red Dodge Ram. Rebuilt engine block. Modified drive shaft. Totally pimped. You’d love it.”

He sounded like a typical American man in his twenties, from any of the big, empty states. Weber hooked his thumb toward the empty hallway. “Tell me about her.”

Mark’s hands picked at the knit cap. “Well, Doc. You know? It gets pretty complicated, pretty fast.”

“I can see that.”

“She thinks that if she does a perfect imitation, I’ll take her for my sister.”

“She isn’t?”

Mark tsked and waved his index finger in the air, a stubby, pink window wiper. “Not even close! Okay, so she looks a lot like Karin. But there are some obvious differences. My sister is like…a Labor Day picnic. This one’s a business lunch. You know: eye on the clock. My sister makes you feel safe. Easy. This one’s totally high maintenance. Plus, Karin is heavier. Actually a bit of a tub. This woman is almost sexy.”

“Does she sound at all—?”

“And they messed up the face a little. Know what I’m saying? Her expressions, or such. My sister laughs at my jokes. This one’s scared all the time. Weepy. Talk about hair trigger? Real easy to freak out.” He shook his head. Something long and silent passed through him. “Similar. Very similar. But worlds apart.”

Weber toyed with his ancient wire-rims. He stroked the crown of his balding head. Mark unconsciously fingered his cap. “Is she the only one?” Weber asked. Mark just stared at him. “I mean, is anyone else not what they seem?”

“Jesus, you’re the doctor, right? You ought to know that nobody’s ‘What They Seem.’” He hunched, peeking out through the scare quotes he formed next to his ears. “But I know what you’re saying. I’ve got this buddy, Rupp. That bastard and me do everything together. Something weird has happened to him, too. The fake Karin has him brainwashed or something. And they swapped my damn dog. Can you believe that? Beautiful border collie, black and white, with a little gold around the shoulders. Now what kind of sick person would want to…?” He stopped playing hockey with his toes. His hands fell to his lap. He leaned forward. “It’s like some horror flick, sometimes. I can’t figure out what’s going on.” His eyes filled with animal alarm, ready to ask even this stranger for help.

“Does…this woman know things that only your sister should know?”

“Well, you know. She could’ve learned that shit anywhere.” Mark twisted on his cushions, fists near his face, like a fetus warding off the world’s first blows. “Just when I most need my real sister, I’m supposed to accept this imitation.”

“Why do you suppose this is happening?”

Mark straightened and gazed at Weber. “Now, that’s a damn good question. Best question I’ve heard in a long time.” He stared off into the middle distance. “It’s got to have something to do with…what you were talking about. Rolling the rig.” For a minute, he was gone, wrestling with something too big for him. Then Mark came back. “Here’s what I’m thinking. Something happened to me, after…whatever happened.” He held his palm out, not even glancing at Weber. “My sister — my real sister — and Rupp, maybe, took the Ram somewhere where I wouldn’t be able to see it. Where it wouldn’t upset me. Then they got this other woman who looked like Karin, so I wouldn’t notice she was gone.” He looked up at Weber, hopeful.

Weber tilted one shoulder. “And how long has she been gone?”

Mark threw two hands above his head, then brought them back down across his chest. “For as long as this other one’s been here.” His face clouded in pain. “She’s not at her old place. I’ve tried her number. And it sounds like that job of hers canned her.”

“What do you suppose your sister might be doing?”

“Well, I don’t know. Getting the truck fixed up, like I said? Maybe she’s holding off contact until it’s ready. To surprise me?”

“For months?”

Mark curled his lip, sarcastically. “Have you ever repaired a truck? Takes some time, you know. To get it like new.”

“Your sister knows how to work on trucks?”

Mark snorted. “Does the pope shit on Catholics? She could probably strip that cheap Jap four-cylinder of hers down to washers and put it back together into something halfway decent, if she wanted to.”

“What kind of car does the other woman drive?”

“Ah!” Mark glanced sidelong at Weber, refusing to surrender. “You’ve noticed. Yes, she’s been pretty complete at copying the details. That’s what’s so scary.”

“Do you remember anything about the accident?”

Mark’s head spun through half a circle, cornered. “Shrink, let’s just relax and regroup for a minute, shall we?”

“Sure. I’m with you.” Weber leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head.

Mark regarded him, his mouth open. Slowly, the jaw firmed into a chuckle. “Serious? You for real?” A series of low, clunking thuds came out of him, the laughter of someone stuck in puberty. He kicked out his legs and folded his own hands behind his head, like a toddler imitating his father. “This is more like it! The good life.” He smiled and flashed Weber a thumbs-up. “You hear that Antarctica is breaking up?”