John Wright - Fugitives of Chaos

Not five minutes later we were both eating potato bread and butter pancakes and breakfast ham; not what I expected a Hindu to serve. (I had never seen pancakes before; I thought only Americans ate them.) Of course, the place was called "Jerry's Fine Cafe," and Jerry (whose name was probably Ramarjuna or Sajeeve) was a dark-skinned man who came out and exchanged pleasantries with Sam.

Jerry looked disapprovingly at my eagle, but Sam told him the bird was my Seeing Eye bird and the law required

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shop owners to allow him on the premises. Sam and I were the only customers in the place, so Jerry let the matter rest

I leaned and whispered, "Is it okay to take these boots off? My feet are all wet and sore."

Sam leaned and whispered back, "Go on. Jerry comes back, I'll tell him yer Japanese."

He stared, not without curiosity, at my beaded slippers, glittering with translucent green beads and lines of crystal. I dried my feet off with a paper napkin, and put my feet back into the slippers, but left the boots on the seat of the chair next to me.

"Yew need something warm in you," he said.

I sipped my first ever cup of coffee. Bleh. Did people actually drink this stuff?

We ate without speaking for a time. I was very hungry.

Then, with no preamble, Sam pointed at me with a fork, which had a piece of pancake on it, dripping syrup. "I been thinking! Here are my wishes. First, I got a nephew who's wrong in the head. They have him in this place near Edgestow. He's fifteen, but he thinks he's five. Bright, for a five-year-old, but…

Well, I'd wish his head back straight. I'd wish my wife, second wife, be up in heaven with the angels. She died of tuberculosis, oh, four years back. About this time of year. First wife, I'd wish her straight to hell, her and her lawyers, too. That's three. Course, Annie probably didn't need any help from me getting to heaven, so let me change my second wish to curing everyone who's got tuberculosis. Filthy disease.

Aside from that, I don't have much I need. Wouldn't wish for money, though. Ruins people. How 'bout yew?"

"Well, I actually have magic powers, and I am trying to decide how to use them."

"Hn. Use 'em for good rather than for evil, I'd say. Create world peace, that'd be a good one. So they let yew out of the institution on Christmas, do they? I don't suppose yew know my nephew. Mortie Finklestein."

I goggled at him. "Your name is Finklestein?"

"My sis, she married a Jew. What's so bad about that! Is it a crime to marry out of the faith? Benjamin Disraeli was a Jew, and he was the finest PM this island ever had, says I, bar none. Einstein was a Jew and smartest man ever lived, wasn't he?" He waved the bit of pancake to make his point, and chomped into it aggressively.

He poured himself another cup of coffee, and poured some more in my cup, even though I didn't ask. I felt I had to try another sip, since he had poured for me. I stirred in five little plastic containers of cream, to make it as white as possible, and endless spoonfuls of sugar. Bleh. Who invented this stuff?

I looked at him, and said in an accusing voice, "You stopped because you saw my hair, didn't you? Had I been a man, you would have kept going."

Now it was his turn to goggle at me. "What? Yew think it rude to be polite?"

"Maybe I don't like being condescended to."

"Well, hn! When yoor done eating up, I can give yer a lift back and putcha in the snow, if yew like." He snorted and laughed, pleased at his own wit.

Then he put his fork down and pointed his finger toward my face, very rudely, I thought: "Lookee here, life is more cruel to women than it is to men, and there is no use saying it's not! Here yew are, a woman stood up at the altar, or one who says she is, and yoor telling me women and men got dealt the same hand of cards?"

I felt I had to stand up for my sex: "The equality between men and women requires that they be treated the same."

"Yeah? Well, I don't know what kind of men you know, but the ones I know always feel a little hurt when yew give 'em a hand. Y'know? I'm not saying it's right or wrong, I'm just saying women make it easier for yew to help them. And being pretty as a Sunday morning doesn't hurt matters either.

"Besides, no girl ever tried to hijack my load. You think it don't happen, but it does. In Liverpool, I was once.

"But, listen here! Don't turn down help when someone reaches out his hand, hn? It's the only thing that keeps human beings alive on the Earth, and I am right about that!"

He picked up his fork and stabbed it back into the pile of pancakes. He chewed for a moment, and then spoke with his mouth full, mumbling. I had never seen someone talk with food in their mouth before, and I stared in amazement. But I suppose there was no Mrs. Wren in his life to slap him with a ruler for bad table manners.

This is what he said: "Little missy, I stopped when yew fell, 'cause I hear'd a cry, a high cry, and I thought yew were holding a baby in yoor arms. And yew fell down."

He swallowed a bit; then he continued: "Maybe I shouldna stopped for a woman with a baby on Christmas Day, issat what yew think? But I hear'd the cry and I stopped. Didn't expect it was yer pet screeching."

We ate in silence for a while. I felt a bit like a wretch. This man was the only person who had rescued me with whom I had argued. (How many times had I been rescued… ? Just the Grendel menace: once by Boggin, once by Telegonus, once by the eagle… was there one I had forgotten? Romus had rescued me from Erichtho…)

I started to apologize, but he waved my words away, and changed the subject. Sam said, "What can yew do with your magic powers? Talk to the departed, tip tables, tell fortunes, that sort of thing?"

I said, "Well, maybe I can show you…"

I looked into the fourth dimension again. I saw two things at once. The rooms of the little restaurant were laid out like a blueprint. I could see Jerry in the back room. He was on the telephone, saying, "Yes, Constable, I am not very likely to be mistaken! It is one of the five strange children from the Branshead estate. How is it possible I could not know one of them? The ones who never get any older…"

At the same time, I saw the moral strand running to me jerk, and flicker with light. This time, I used one of the other senses to look at the first sense, and sought its internal nature. Magic. I was seeing a magic spell. A finding spell.

I jumped to my feet. I pulled and pushed on the higher parts of my body, but it was mostly still numb. I could not deploy my wings or move into hyperspace.

Sam dropped his fork. "Um. Don't get excited———Is, ah, is everything… ?"

"Sam!" I leaned across the table and kissed him.

He looked, at once, startled, pleased, surprised, and worried. "Hold on…"

"Thanks for saving me! You're my second rescuer today, fourth one this week. I must run. I have enemies. Bad, bad people. Actually, um, gods. Old gods from the pagan days. They are beyond your strength. Don't follow me!"

I stepped toward the door and he grabbed at my arm. My "pet bird" snapped at his fingers with the razor-edged bolt-cutters of his beak, but I yanked the bird back with one hand before he drew blood.

The snapping bird made Sam flinch, and I was away.

Even had Sam been faster than me in the sprint (which I doubt), he was not faster than me in the steeplechase. I leaped from table to table in a straight line toward the door, and cleared one or two chairs in my way with a good takeoff, slightly wobbly landing. I lost the bearskin rug behind me during one jump.

The little bell tinkled, and I was out the door.

On the street, Waterside Street. Still deserted. Maybe everyone was at church; I could hear bells tolling solemnly in the distance. Which way? Would any direct tion do? Away from the docks, though: I might have to come back here, and it would not do to lead any pursuit that direction.