The Ghost in Love (9 page)

“German. German Landis.”

He nodded but showed no sign of recognition. “Can I tell you a story, German? Can I tell you something else I remembered today that made me happy?”

She dipped her head stiffly in assent because she was almost afraid to hear what he was going to say next.

“When I was very young, my family went into New York one day to attend a play. When it was over, we walked down Times Square and Forty-second Street. Somehow I got separated from the others. I could not have been more than four or five and now I was lost in what at the time was a bad part of Manhattan.

“I was so young that one of the only things I knew about survival was men in uniform could be trusted. So in the midst of all my fear and crying I went looking for a man in uniform, any kind of uniform, to help me.

“In those days on the long traffic island in the middle of Times Square was a military recruitment center. Four men representing the four branches of the military sat at four desks, backs straight, wearing beautiful different-colored uniforms while waiting for potential recruits to enter the office.

“Their small building was made of almost all glass. I looked in, saw those uniforms, and knew
that's
where I had to go. They would help me. I crossed the street with the crowd and opened the door. The thing I remember most clearly now was one of the men looked at me standing there and said, ‘You'll have to come back in a few years, sport.' All the men laughed at that. Then I told them what had happened to me. Like the superheroes I knew they were, they somehow
magically found and contacted my frantic parents. In what felt like minutes, my mother came flying through the door and snatched me up in her arms.”

German had heard this story before. One day, when they were trading stories about their lives, Ben told it to her. But the incident had happened to his father fifty years earlier, not to Ben.

Ling entered the living room.

When old Ben saw the ghost he waved to it. “Hey there, how are you?”

“You can
see
me?” Ling said, startled.

“Of course I see you. I don't have much of a memory left but my eyes are still okay.”

German turned around to see whom he was addressing. When she saw no one was there, she headed for the kitchen. “I'll just go get the tea things.” On her way out she walked straight through Ling again.

They did not have much time to talk before she returned. The ghost could not believe that it was visible to the old man.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Old Ben counted and correctly said, “Twelve.”

“Do you know my name?”

“Well, sure, Ling. Of course I know your name.”

“How?”

The old man slid around on the large leather chair trying to find a more comfortable spot. He had hemorrhoids, which were a real nuisance sometimes when he was trying to get settled. “We met at the council. Don't you remember? We were introduced there.”

The council was where the recently deceased met their companion ghosts. Each person brought the ghost up to speed on what his or her life had been like. When the newly departed finished the account,
the ghost explained what came next. As soon as the relevant information was exchanged, the dead moved on to the Afterlife and the ghost went to earth to clear up any unfinished business the person had left.

Ling now asked, “How old are you?”

“Eighty-three,” Ben said proudly.

Almost half a century longer than Benjamin Gould was supposed to have lived.

“How can you remember the council if you're still alive?”

Ben twisted in his seat. The ghost's question didn't appear to faze him. “I remember a lot of things when my head is clear.” He closed his eyes then, or rather couldn't resist closing them. He'd found the perfect spot now on the comfortable chair, the morning's events had worn him out, and even on his best day this old man had about as much energy as would fill a thimble. “Let me just rest a minute and then we can talk some more if you'd like.”

But as soon as he closed his eyes, he was transformed back into Ben Gould at age thirty-four. The metamorphosis took seconds. The process looked very much like a reverse time-lapse film of a flower coming back to life, the old bent head swiftly and sinuously lifting, its wilted brown petals paling quickly back to white. A few seconds later this flower was fully erect, all of its colors alive, vivid and distinct again.

Thirty-four-year-old Ben opened his eyes, looked dazedly around at his living room, and rubbed his face with both hands. He must have been really whacked-out tired to have fallen asleep in the chair. He had no memory of what had just happened. He was not aware of any change. The last thing he clearly remembered was watching German walk away from him when they stood in front of Danielle Voyles's apartment building. Now he was home again and everything was
either a mystery or a mess. What was he supposed to do next? No wonder his psyche had demanded a short, coma-deep power nap. It needed to switch to screen saver to sort through all of the input that had arrived lately and see if any sense could be made of it.

“Can you hear me?” Ling the ghost asked now from across the room.

Young Ben could not hear or see the ghost. The dog entered the room but stopped on seeing the younger man sitting in the chair. Pilot looked from his master to the ghost. In response, Ling shrugged and threw up its hands. What was there to say?

As always, the ghost and the dog communicated telepathically.

“What's going on?” Pilot flicked his alert brown eyes from Ben to the ghost.

“See for yourself.
Poof!
—from one moment to the next, back to who he was.”

“Yes, Ling, I see that. But how?”

“I do not know. It just happened. I stood here and watched.” The ghost added unhappily, “This is all new territory to me, my friend.”

“But that old man
was
definitely him, too, right?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Well, how could he be an old man if he was supposed to die when he was thirty-four?”

Ling shook its head. “Because he obviously
didn't
die when he was thirty-four. Look—there he is, very much alive although he was scheduled to die months ago.”

“Is this supposed to be funny? Huh? Was all this your idea of a big joke, Ben?” German stood in the doorway holding a tea tray, fuming, staring daggers at her ex-boyfriend now turned malicious prankster.

“German, hi! You're here. What a great surprise.” He was so pleased to see her that what she'd just said didn't register.

“You're a jerk, Ben. On top of everything else, you're a nasty jerk.” She put the tray down on the floor and turned to get her jacket in the hall. She wanted to escape from this apartment as fast as she could.

Ben jumped up and hurried after her. “Wait. Where are you going? Wait!” He grabbed her elbow from behind as she moved away down the hall. Shaking his hand off, she whirled around to face him and give him the full nuclear blast of her anger, hurt, and sense of betrayal.

“Was it all a joke? Is this stuff
funny
to you? What happened in that woman's apartment this morning and those stories you told me about being invisible to her? Was that part of this stunt too? Did you enjoy my reaction when we were there?

“I was
scared
for you. In spite of the terrible way you've treated me, I was so worried about you. That's why I came over now: because I was so scared for you and wanted to help.

“Then that old man who knew things only you could know. Old Ben Gould. What a great touch: very clever. So where'd the old guy go? Did you sneak him out the door while I was in the kitchen making tea?

“You really tricked me, Ben. So bravo, if that's what you wanted. Especially those stories about being invisible to Danielle. And how she totally ignored you in her apartment as if you weren't there? That was brilliant. Then back here for the coup de grâce with the old man, old Ben Gould. Wonderfully staged. You win today's Oscar for special effects.”

She slapped his face and left.

Around midnight
, the dog opened the apartment door with both paws as it had done many times before. First, Pilot carried a small oak footstool in his mouth from the living room to the front door. Ben
had made that stool in high school shop class and often still sat on it while looking through his books.

Setting it down carefully on the floor, Pilot pushed the stool with his snout up against the front door. Luckily when German was living in the apartment she had replaced the original round doorknob with a horizontal stainless steel one from the 1970's she'd bought at a flea market in Stockholm. She had intended it to be a good luck charm for living with her new boyfriend. Installing it on his door exactly one month after moving in, she insisted that they hold a little ceremony for the new door handle, toasting it and their new life together with champagne. But when it brought no luck, she left it behind when she moved out. All one had to do to open the door was push down on the handle. Ben rarely remembered to lock it.

The trick was not in opening it so much as knowing the exact moment to jump away from the door as it began to swing open. At first, Pilot had a great deal of difficulty gauging this moment. Consequently the dog spent many failed tries getting it right.

Luckily the ghost was never around to witness any of this because Ling slept whenever Ben did. Or if it didn't sleep, it disappeared until Ben woke up in the morning or after a nap. Pilot asked about this but the ghost knew nothing. “I don't know where I go. I guess I sleep, like him.”

The dog had its escape procedure down pat by now. Once out of the apartment and in the hall, it pushed the door closed until it was just barely touching the frame. Then Pilot anchored it there with a small thick piece of carpet he kept hidden in the apartment for just this purpose. Next, down the stairs to the basement and out through a window there that was almost always open.

On the street, Pilot looked both ways to make sure no human was around. When he was positive the coast was clear, the dog called
telepathically for a guide, a useful perk all dogs had if they ever got lost.

Often—a little
too
often recently—the guide company sent something ridiculous like a Chihuahua to do the job. How many dogs on earth understood Chihuahua? Everyone knew the rule was you could only be guided either by your own breed or one that was at least part of your bloodline. The first time Pilot had called for a guide, an old beagle arrived panting as though it had just run back from the moon and was about to drop dead from exhaustion. The two dogs stared at each other a few long moments and then without a word the beagle walked away. Whatever was in charge of dispatch in this city apparently paid little attention when told what kind of dog needed to be led.

Down the street now a Rottweiler turned a corner and came trotting over. The two made eye contact and Pilot signaled that he had called for a guide. Luckily there was a bit of Rottweiler blood somewhere in Pilot's wild genetic mix, so this guide was fine.

Three feet away, the big black-and-gold dog stopped and said, “Are you ready, sir?”

“Yes.”

The Rottweiler came up to Pilot and they started walking.

“Nice night, isn't it?”

Trying to keep up with the dog, Pilot looked from side to side and nodded. “Yes. The breeze died down. It was a little windy before.”

They chatted while the giant dog moved through town. Pilot had called for a guide tonight because he was unfamiliar with the neighborhood he had to visit.

Like human beings, dogs are creatures of habit. They pee on the same trees; they revisit the same places again and again to sniff.
They're not as adventurous as people think. Dogs do not like surprises or change in general, no matter whether they are wild or domesticated. Follow a wild dog around for a while and you'll be surprised at how predictable it is. It follows familiar routes, forages in the same places for food, and only if none is found does it start exploring new territories. When Pilot lived on the street, he had a radius of about five miles he covered day after day. Of course that radius had been drastically reduced since he had been living with people and was walked on a leash. But Pilot didn't mind. So long as he was fed regularly and had a choice of comfortable places to sleep indoors, he didn't miss living free one bit.

“We've gotta slow down some up here because it can be tricky.”

Pilot looked at the Rottweiler and asked, “Tricky how?”

“You'll see in a minute. Maybe there won't be anything, but you never can tell at this intersection. I wanted to warn you just in case.”

Pilot did not like the sound of that but said nothing.

Soon trouble came at them from two different directions.

Cancer is pink, a pearlescent pink that moves swiftly and low to the ground like thin, beautiful fog. Dogs have the ability to see it but cannot avoid being touched by it if their time has come. Like most animals, dogs can both see and smell diseases. They learn to recognize the differences between the deadly ones and the nuisances. Unlike humans, dogs also know that happiness can be as fatal as a melanoma. They know that happiness always comes in varying shades of blue, some fatal and others not. Like any illness, when happiness has run its course, time is needed to recuperate from it—sometimes an entire lifetime.

Almost to itself, the Rottweiler muttered, “Cancer coming.”

“I see it.”

“Let's hope it's not here for either of us.”

“Right.” The two dogs watched nervously as the colorful mist floated toward them.

Pilot said quietly, “My mother died of cancer. Or that's what I heard. I hadn't seen her for a long time.”

When the disease was a few feet away, the Rottweiler unconsciously lowered itself to the ground. “It must be nice being a human being and not have to
see
these things, you know? If you're going to get cancer, then just get it. You don't need to see it coming down the street toward you and then climb up your leg. Damn. I hate this kind of suspense.”