The Road to Amber (8 page)

You might say I was pathologically circumspect in this regard; even so, I did glimpse Morrie going around corners on a few occasions.

I kept wondering, though, given my line of work, when—not if—we would meet, and whether I would be able to carry the encounter with sufficient aplomb so as not to reveal that I possessed the ability to see him. When it did occur, of course, it was nowhere near the hospital, and I was not even thinking of these matters.

It was a Saturday evening in October and I heard the squeal of brakes followed by the sound of a heavy impact up the street from our home. I grabbed my bag and a flashlight and was out the door in moments. Betty followed me as I hurried to the corner where two cars had collided. Broken glass was everywhere and the smell of gasoline was strong.

Each vehicle had but a driver. One was obviously dead, and the other—a younger man—was badly injured, but still breathing.

“Go call 911!” I shouted to Betty as I moved to succor the second man. He had been thrown from the car and lay upon the pavement, a massive, well muscled individual with a bubbly pneumothorax, heavy arterial bleeding, numerous lesser lacerations, a possibly broken back, and fractured skull.

As I slapped a cover on the pneumothorax and moved to deal with the bleeding, a familiar figure was suddenly beside me. I forgot to pretend to be unseeing. In the press of the moment, I simply nodded, and said, “Can’t argue with you about this one. Take him if you must.”

“No,” he said. “Save him for me, Dave. Shoot him up with bleafage. You’ve got all the time you need.”

“What’s so special about him, Morrie? I haven’t forgotten how you treated me when I wanted to make an exception.”

“All right. I’ll forgive and forget if you’ll do the same—and save this guy. My power, as I’ve often said, is not over death.”

“Then how’s about you promise to let me save whom I can, and do whatever I would with the bleafage?”

“Looks like you’re doing that, anyway. But all right, I’ll make it formal.”

“I wish you could have been at my wedding, Morrie.”

“I was there.”

“You were? I didn’t see you.”

“I was in the back. I wore bright colors so you wouldn’t notice.”

“That guy in the Hawaiian shirt?”

“Yes, that was me.”

”I’ll be damned.”

“And I sent you the microwave oven.”

“There was no card with it.”

“Well, we weren’t talking.”

“I did wonder about the Heat of Hell brand name. Good oven, though, I’ll give you that. Thanks.”

My patient moaned.

“About this guy, Morrie—Why are you so dead set against taking him?”

“You don’t recognize him?”

“Too much blood on his face.”

“That’s the new quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons.”

“No kidding. But what about the balance between life and death and all that?”

“They’re really going to need him this season.”

“I forgot you were a Falcons fan.”

“The bleafage, boy, the bleafage.”

And so…The Falcons are doing well this season, not the least because of their new quarterback. Not too many people die during Falcons’ games, because Morrie comes by for beer and pizza and we watch them on the tube together. He collects with a vengeance afterward, though, if the Falcons don’t do well. Read the obits.

Morrie hints strongly that he’d like to know what I did with the candles. But he can keep on wondering.

Don Laurel and I stay in touch. He comes by every Halloween for a glass of blood and we bring each other up to date on everything from bleafage to candles. And sometimes he changes into a bicycle for old times sake, and we ride between the worlds.

This mornmg. I waIked back to the crossroads where the accident had occurred. Morrie was standing beside a lamppost petting a dead cat.

“Morning, Dave.”

“Morning. You’re up bright and early.”

“I thought you might be coming by. When’s she due?”

“In the spring.”

“You really want me for godfather?”

“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather have. Was the same dream sent to my dad?”

“No. It’s a remake. I updated it. Been watching some MTV.”

“Kind of thought so. Care for a cup of coffee?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

We walked home as the morning shadows fled. Whoever catches them may make himself a cloak of darkness.

It’s probably coincidental that Zelazny featured Death / The Grim Reaper in two tales written near the end of his life—this one and the planned trilogy,
Donnerjack, of Virtu
;
The Gods of Virtu
; and
Virtu, Virtu
.
[1]
By all accounts, Zelazny was in good spirits and full of life during his last year. He rewrote “Godson” as a musical comedy. Just a few months before his death, Zelazny performed it solo (chanting, not singing) at a party hosted by George R. R. Martin.
[2]

The fairy tale “Godfather Death,” told by the Brothers Grimm and many others, forms this story’s basis. The boy is the thirteenth son of a poor tailor, who cannot afford to raise him. The tailor seeks help from God and the Devil, but turns them down. He accepts Death because Death treats rich and poor alike. Death looks after the boy and helps him to become a great physician. Death gives him a magic healing herb and wants him to use it only if Death stands at the head of the bed. If Death stands at the foot, the patient must die. The Godson disobeys him once to save the King. Angry, Death warns him never to do it again. The Princess falls deathly ill; the Godson loves her and heals her with the herb. Death transports the Godson into a cave filled with millions of candles. “Each time a candle grows low and snuffs out, a life is ended. This sputtering one is yours.” The Godson begs Death to light another candle for him, but the candle flickers out, and the Godson drops dead as the story ends.

A
Trotskyite
is a follower of Leon Trotsky who promoted Marxist theory and left-wing policies.
Limned
means outlined.
Stalactites
hang from the roof of a cavern. A
plinth
is a slab of rock. Schubert’s
Quartet in D Minor
is an appropriate piece of music for Death. Written in 1824 by Franz Schubert just after he became aware of his ruined health, it is popularly called the
Death and the Maiden Quartet
.
Liniments
are medicinal fluids rubbed into the skin;
electuaries
are oral drugs prepared as a pasty mass with sugar and water or honey;
fomentations
are poultices.
Zen
Buddhism seeks enlightenment through meditation and by jarring the intellect with aphorisms such as “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”
Yin-yang
is the Chinese concept of dualistic forces in the universe.
Fettle
is condition.

1. Roger Zelazny
   , Jane Lindskold, Twayne 1993.
   
2. Locus
   , Vol 35 No 2, August 1995.
   

SCENE 1

David Wayne’s bedroom. Pre-dawn light shines through the window. MORRIS LEATHEM sits on a chair beside a window. He is tall, thin. He wears black. He rises, smiling, and crosses to the side of the bed where DAVID, a 10-year-old boy, sleeps.

DAVID awakens, as MORRIS helps him to his feet and hands him his robe.

Put it on.

He leads DAVID out of the room. Lights cross-fade, come up on other half of stage, revealing a dimly-lit, empty shopping mall.

What are we doing here?

I’d like you to walk through, look around, and tell me what you’d like for a birthday present.

I know right where it is! Come on!

DAVID leads MORRIE past a bench where a NIGHT WATCHMAN lies unmoving. DAVID stops before a store window displaying bicycles, and points.

Which one?

The black one.

(chuckles)

One black bicycle for David. I’ll get you one like that, only better. It’ll be delivered later today.

Thank you.

(hugs him)

Don’t you think we ought to wake that guard up? His boss might come by.

He’s been dead for some time, David. Myocardial infarct. Died in his sleep.

Oh.

That’s how most people say they’d like to go, so he had it good. Just turned 73 last month. His boss thought he was younger. Name’s William Strayleigh-“Bill” to his friends.

Gee, you know a lot of people.

You meet everybody in my line of work.

SCENE 2

Kitchen. AUNT ROSE is seated when DAVID, now dressed, enters and sits. He opens a card beside his plate and reads it.

Thanks, Aunt Rose.

Just wanted you to know we hadn’t forgotten.

My godfather Morrie remembered, too. He was by earlier, and he took me to the mall to pick out a present and—

(glances at clock on wall)

The mall doesn’t open for another half-hour.

I know. But he got me in anyway. Too bad about the night watchman, though. Died in his sleep on a bench. I’m getting a black 10-speed that’ll be sent over this afternoon.

Don’t start on that business again, David. You know it bothers Uncle Matt.

Just wanted you to know the bike was coming.

Nobody’s been here this morning. Nobody’s been out and back in. You miss your folks. It’s natural you have these dreams around your birthday.

(rises to her feet)