Circuit Of Heaven (38 page)

“Why all the guns, Gabriel?”

“In this fallen world, they are the scepters of authority. They will not be necessary after His will is done”.

“And the people in the Bin?”

“They will spend eternity in the Hell they have chosen.”

“The virus doesn’t hurt them?”

“They have already destroyed themselves”.

“Come on, Gabriel, quit the double talk. You know what I mean.”

“The virus itself will not alter their wretched existence—just as they would have it.”

“So everybody’s happy.”

Gabriel laughed. “You’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The Judgment of the Lord.”

“He takes orders from you, does He?”

“I do His will.”

“It must get a little tricky sometimes telling which is which. What are you going to tell those folks out there if God doesn’t show up, Gabriel?”

“He will come.”

“Guess we’ll find out on Friday.”

AFTER
HIS
MEETING
WITH
GABRIEL
,
NEMO
RETRACED
HIS
steps on his own. The guards had all left with their savior. Nemo thought of that chanting mass of people, and wondered if he was doing the right thing, involving himself with a man like Gabriel. But maybe Gabriel was saving them all, like he said, giving them something to believe in. Who was Nemo to judge? Until a few days ago, he wouldn’t have shed a tear if the Bin had vanished. He’d shed more than a few now, but he would anyway. And as long as it was there, a day wouldn’t go by he wouldn’t think about Justine. And Angelina.

He was closing a door. That’s all he was doing. A door that never shouldn’ve been opened in the first place. All these people buried here—they lived their whole lives knowing they would die. Maybe we need that, Nemo thought. He’d welcome his own death right about now. Nemo. No one. That’s what it meant in Latin, Lawrence had told him. That’s who he wanted to be: no one.

The moon was now obscured by the trees, and the torches all extinguished. He searched the horizon for some hint of the pyramid, but he couldn’t see it. He stopped. He was pretty sure he was headed in the right general direction, but he hadn’t been paying any attention, just putting one foot in front of the other. Now he was lost.

There was nothing to do but keep walking. If he stayed on the road, surely sooner or later, they all led to the gate. He trudged on, searching the rows of spires and crosses for some familiar landmark, when he saw something that made his blood run cold.

There was a dog, maybe fifteen feet ahead of him, standing perfectly still. Nemo looked for the rest of the pack, listened carefully, but there was nothing. Maybe it was a loner. Sometimes they were the most dangerous of all, taking chances a pack wouldn’t take. Slowly, he drew the crowbar out of his pants and braced himself.

But it didn’t move. It stood there, staring at him. He couldn’t turn back. He’d only get more lost than he already was. He had to stick to the road. Hell with it, he thought, advancing on the dog, holding the crowbar at the ready. It stood its ground, not moving a muscle. He was practically on top of the damn thing now. If it sprang at close range, he wouldn’t even have time to get a blow in. He’d have to make the first move, try to scare it off.

He took a deep breath and screamed, swinging the crowbar back and forth, charging on the dog for all he was worth. The crowbar clanged off its head and bounced out of his hand, leaving it numb. He looked down at his adversary, still standing there as if waiting to be petted. He reached out to touch its fur. It was metal. He’d just attacked an iron dog.

He remembered it now. It was the only thing in the cemetery that had interested Rosalind. She’d sat on its back as if it were a pony, and put a wreath of flowers around its neck. He laughed at himself and moved on. He’d gone about thirty yards when he spotted the apex of the pyramid and oriented himself. Then he realized he’d left the crowbar lying on the ground. Let the dog have it, he thought.

HE
WENT
DOWN
INTO
OREGON
HILL
STATION
INTENDING
to catch the northbound local, but he caught an eastbound train instead and got off at Capitol Square Station. Lawrence said his mom wanted to talk to him.
What would Jesus do?
the graffiti artist asked him again. As Nemo recalled, He’d said he had no mother when she wanted to talk to Him. Well, that might do for God, but Nemo had a few things he wanted to say to his mom and dad, before he told them good-bye, once and for all.

He expected his parents to be in bed, but there was a light on in the back of the house. He climbed the same wall he’d vaulted a few hours earlier and looked through the bay window. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. There was a drink beside her, but it looked as if she hadn’t touched it, and half the ice was melted. She must’ve sensed him looking at her, because she brought her head up sharply and stared out the window. But she couldn’t see him in the darkness.

She looked awful. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face puffy. As he watched, her face crumpled in pain, and she began to cry again. He came out of the shadows, and she jumped back, knocking over her chair. He rushed in through the back door and took her in his arms. “Oh God, Nemo!” she sobbed. “Please forgive me.” He rocked her in his arms, soothed and reassured her, settled her in another chair, turned the fallen one upright, and sat down beside her.

It wasn’t until then that he saw his father standing on the back stairs. “I must’ve fallen asleep,” he said. “I don’t know how. I was going to write you a letter, but then who would deliver it? And what would I say? Please forgive us, Nemo.” He came down the stairs and sat at the table. His eyes were red, as well. He had a dazed, distracted look about him. Nemo had never seen his father cry.

Nemo stood up. He didn’t want their pain and guilt. It was theirs. They’d earned it. “I’ve come to say good-bye,” he said. “That’s all.”

His mother looked up at him and rose to her feet. But she didn’t run into his arms as he thought she would. She steadied herself on the table’s edge and pointed to his chair. “Sit down, Nemo. I have something to tell you.”

“I’ve heard enough, Mother. I’m leaving now.”

“No! Sit down! I’m your mother, no matter what I’ve done, no matter what you think I’ve done.” Her hand, still pointing at the chair, was trembling, but her face was determined.

He sat down on the edge of the chair. He’d never seen his mother like this. She sat down and spread her hands palms down on the table. His father reached for her, but she shook her head, and he withdrew his hand. She spoke to the backs of her hands. “When I was growing up, I adored my mother and father. We were so happy. I thought nothing could ever change that. But after my father died, I found out he wasn’t my father, that he’d known it all along, died with the knowledge his wife had betrayed him, and that I was the result. God, how he must’ve hated me sometimes. Daddy’s little girl. I never forgave my mother for that.

“After you were born, I didn’t want you to see her, to have anything to do with her. I said it was because of the Alzheimer,‘s that it would confuse and frighten you, but that wasn’t it at all. I wanted to punish her. I didn’t want her to know you.

“We only took you to see her the one time. Your father thought you should at least meet her before she died. She was pretty far gone by then. I knew she wouldn’t remember it. There were times she didn’t even know me. She had a Construct nurse who stayed with her, but I still came every day to fix her meals and check on her. Some days, she didn’t get out of bed at all.

“But the day we brought you, she was downstairs waiting for us, all dressed. Her hair was even combed. She came to life, and she was like herself again. She made a great fuss over you, sat you in her lap, and wouldn’t let you leave her side. You remember that, don’t you?”

Nemo nodded. “She took me up in the attic.”

His mother smiled. “She hadn’t been up there in over ten years. She argued with me about everything. But she remembered me. She even remembered your father. The next day, she died.”

“The next day. I thought—”

“We kept it from you. You were talking about her all the time, asking when we would go visit Grandma again. We didn’t take you to the funeral. You were only five. When we finally told you, you cried for two solid days. I thought that would be it. But you were obsessed with her, especially after we moved into her house, hoarding her things, going up to the attic whenever we turned out backs. I used to think you did it just to drive me mad, but that wasn’t it. You loved her, and she loved you—even though I’d kept you apart. I often prayed that I’d never taken you there. I said it wasn’t fair for you to love her when she’d betrayed my father, betrayed me. A thousand times I almost told you what she was—this woman you’d idolized. Just yesterday, I almost told you. But a lot has happened since then.”

She looked Nemo in the eye, her voice strong and steady. “Now, I have betrayed you, my only son. I knew it was wrong as I was doing it, but I talked myself into it, convinced myself I was doing the right thing. It all happened so easily.

“I don’t know why she did what she did. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I forgive her. I hope she finds it in her heart to forgive me.”

Now they’ll have eternity to work it out, Nemo thought. He didn’t want to hear any of this. It had nothing to do with him. He didn’t really care whether she
meant
to fuck up his life or not. She’d done it. And she wasn’t going to get another chance to try it again. She was looking at him as if he should say something, apparently finished with her confession.

“There’s one thing you’ve left out. Who was my grandfather?”

She spoke quietly, struggling to say it. “Newman Rogers. He and Mother were old friends.”

“So it was friendly adultery. Glad to hear it. Lawrence told me, but I didn’t believe him. It was just too fucking crazy. Where is my illustrious grandfather? Does he send Christmas cards? Drop by on his birthday?”

“I don’t know,” his mother said, on the verge of tears. “I’ve never laid eyes on him.”

Nemo stood and stepped away from the table. “If I’m lucky, I won’t either. I’m getting out of this nuthouse. Good-bye, Mom, Dad. It’s been real.”

His mother leaned toward him. “Nemo, she’s suffered enough heartache. She loves you. Forgive her.”

“You don’t give up, do you, Mom? You figure if she was good enough for your father, she’s good enough for me?”

His father came out of his chair. “How dare you talk to your mother like that!” His mother rose to her feet to stop him, planting her hands on his chest.

Nemo stared at them, knowing he should just leave, but the words kept running through his mind, daring him to speak them, to try them out, to see what they could do. “I have no mother. I have no father. They burned themselves up when I was ten years old. But spare your sympathy. I’ve gotten over it.”

And then he left them. Mom and Dad. Todd and Elizabeth. Weeping at their table. For how long? Who could say? Perhaps forever. That’s how he’d remember them, anyway. As he made his way home, he recalled that he’d had some things he’d wanted to say to them. Now, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what they were. Anything would’ve been better than what he’d said. Maybe Gabriel and his crew were right. Maybe Christ was just a cruel, vindictive bastard.

AFTER
JUSTINE
LEFT
MR.
MENSO
,
SHE
WANDERED
around the city, avoiding her room, not wanting to be alone, but not wanting to be with anyone, even herself. Especially herself. She headed for Constitution Avenue, but the kite flyers weren’t out at six o’clock in the morning. Only a group of men on racing bikes. They sat upright when they saw her, riding with no hands to impress her, waving and blowing kisses as they swept past. She remembered Nemo flying a kite, Patrick’s solemn voice saying,
If you let go, it will fall down
. She wanted to hang on, but to what?

The sun was coming up as she climbed the steps to the Rogers Memorial. In preparation for the big birthday celebration tomorrow, banners were draped across the front, a grandstand and a speakers’ platform set up on the lawn. They glistened with morning dew. A pair of squirrels were chasing each other back and forth across the top of the grandstand until they leapt for an overhanging branch and continued the chase from tree to tree.

Inside, the place was deserted. Justine walked past all the exhibits, without a glance, into the great hall. Newman was nearing the end of his speech. If you listened closely to the recording, you could hear the uncomfortable murmur from the crowd as he talked about God. She rode up to the third floor and stood face-to-face with him—so huge one of his eyes was the size of her head, so huge she hadn’t recognized him as Mr. Menso. She saw it now. He was thirty-one years younger, the wrinkles not so deep and numerous, his voice stronger. Sadder. She sat on the balcony, her feet dangling over the edge, and listened to his speech, over and over again.

This time, she listened to the words he didn’t say—knowing that, as he spoke, he was giving up all hope of Angelina, because he had to tend to his creation, take responsibility for what he’d done. A year later, she was a widow. No wonder he went a little crazy.

That first day in his shop, he’d said this place needed to change. Looking at his face, as he took off his glasses and rubbed his enormous eyes, she thought she could see the change he longed for—even then, on that very first day—he wanted his creation to let him go. Now he had her to deal with, raised from the dead, asking him only to help her die. In spite of her own troubles, she felt sorry for him.

She felt a responsibility for the fragments of Angelina’s life that had passed on to her, a desire to bring them together, to discover the missing pieces, to make them whole again. She’d been remembering all morning—Angelina’s memories, now hers. She regarded them differently than Angelina did. For Justine, they were memories of who she used to be, not of who she still was. What would Angelina do? she asked herself for the thousandth time. Whatever Justine decided, it was for all of them. She imagined herself outside, reunited with Nemo, lying in his arms. But she could just as easily imagine him turning his back on her a second time. She couldn’t imagine a more lonely death. Newman’s speech started again, and she grasped the railing and pulled herself to her feet.