Bathing the Lion (18 page)

“Now you’re sounding like a Zen Buddhist.”

Remco nodded. “All I know is how dangerous it is to wrap your life around objects you own. Because sooner or later everything breaks or wears out, right? It rips, gets lost …
or
stolen, and no matter how it happens, when it’s gone too often you feel gutted, like someone’s cut off one of your limbs. But Kaspar, it’s only
stuff
. Aren’t we crazy to invest so much of our selves in it? A little perspective please. Own it, yes, love it, but make sure you’re able to move on if you lose it. If you can’t, then don’t get it because it’ll end up making you sick and it’s one of the few diseases we can easily avoid.”

“But you loved your knives.”

“I did and I
do
, and I hope like hell they’re found. But tonight what I’ve got is my brand-new super-duper steam iron. So I’m going to have an ironing orgy to make me feel better. And you know what? It will.”

Kaspar thought about Remco as he drove out of Rhode Island into Massachusetts and shared donuts from a big bag with D Train, who lay contentedly on a magenta pillow on the passenger’s seat. If he could apply Remco’s “just walk away” approach to his past life, Kaspar was certain it would improve many things. His time as a mechanic was finished. There was nothing else to do but accept the fact and move on. He resolved to work toward that frame of mind.

For the most part he succeeded. The Vermont town turned out to be terrific—rural and charming but very hip too due in large part to the excellent private college there. Creating the Benn Corbin store from scratch was interesting, challenging work. And to his delighted surprise quite a few intriguing-looking women in the town didn’t break eye contact when he crossed paths with them on the streets.

One splendid summer afternoon Kaspar realized he had never been happier in his life or both of his lives, past and present. Not fireworks-orgasms-and-champagne happy, but on waking in the morning he was glad almost every single day to be exactly where he was. He had never before experienced the feeling of genuine, constant well-being and it was a true revelation. The longer the satisfaction continued, the less he thought about his previous life as a mechanic and the extraordinary things he’d once seen and been able to do. Misery may love company but happiness is content to be alone. The funny irony of his existence now was, as long as he was this happy and content with his lot, Kaspar didn’t need to make much of an effort to “walk away” from his mechanic’s life because now he was sated with
this
one both in mind and heart.

What added to his pleasure was D Train’s company. From the beginning the dog loved living in the country. He loved their long walks together, loved to watch the wildlife everywhere around them—the rabbits, deer, and especially the birds. Once they even saw what appeared to be a moose way off in the distance. Man and dog looked at each other and, bedazzled, Kaspar couldn’t help saying, “Pretty damned cool, huh?” D never showed the slightest desire to chase any of these animals—watching them was enough for him. For exercise he preferred digging holes, chewing the big bones Kaspar regularly brought him from the butcher, and sniffing the country air, which was always brimming with interesting and exotic new aromas he had never known before.

After work in the store the first summer, Kaspar often walked down the street to the town diner and had them make up a big sandwich for him. Then he’d drive out into the country with D Train, where they would walk for miles, at first very slowly, when the dog was still recovering. Kaspar liked to sit on a tree stump or boulder and eat his jumbo sandwich and drink a beer while watching the sun go down. D sat nearby, lifting his head now and then to sample various breezes or watch any nearby animals. Later when Kaspar started dating women from the town, he invited some of them to come along on these walks, which was fine with D, who always liked company. But Kaspar soon realized it was not the same when another person accompanied them. He had no children and was sure he never would. D Train was the closest to a son he had and these walks in the country belonged only to the two of them, which was as it should be.

Once after hearing Kaspar rhapsodize about a particularly beautiful September trek he’d taken in a forest, Dean suggested he buy camping gear and stay out in the woods for a night or two while the weather was still nice. Kaspar thought the suggestion was hilarious and said so. “I’m not Daniel
Boone
. I like to walk in the woods, but I like sleeping in a bed more.”

He rented a small green cottage a few blocks from the section of town where the store was. He and the dog walked to work every day no matter the weather and made friends with most everyone they met along the way. Townspeople were first curious and eventually pleased when they got to know these two new neighbors. Kaspar was always willing to stop and chat with anyone. If asked, he would explain where he was from, why he was here, the name of his pit bull, where
he
came from … or basically anything others wanted to know. He never seemed in a hurry to leave.

D Train quickly became so familiar and popular in town, Dean suggested they use his likeness on their store logo, stationery, and business cards. When a customer came in, D would often follow them around the place like a salesman eager to help out. He never bothered anyone or intruded on their space unless he was invited over to be petted. The most interesting thing was despite D’s great warmth and friendliness, he was quick to sense whenever someone didn’t like dogs or him in particular. Once he’d caught their negative vibe, he would invariably retreat to a far corner of the store until the person left.

One afternoon in late August three women entered Benn Corbin when Kaspar was there alone. They were pleasant-looking but not at all unusual or specially dressed. Long hair down to their shoulders or up in ponytails, minimal makeup, none of their faces were memorable—sort of suburbs-pretty. The type of woman you see driving kids to soccer or band practice in either a big whomping SUV or a politically correct green machine like a Toyota Prius. You might notice her passing by, but mostly because she was blond and well kept.

These women all appeared to be in their late thirties or early forties, casually dressed in jeans and jersey shirts. One of them wore a frayed Baltimore Orioles baseball cap pulled low. Really, the only small detail that stood out was all three were wearing exactly the same kind of black and white high-top sneakers that looked right-out-of-the-box new.

Kaspar was arranging stock in the back of the store and didn’t hear them come in. Reemerging with a pair of rust-colored corduroy trousers draped over one arm, he first saw D Train gazing lovingly up at one of the women, who was scratching the top of his head with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. On seeing the women, Kaspar stopped, shook his head, and gave a big smile. “Well, well,
well
, look who’s here! What brought you ladies way up north?”

“We weren’t sure how you’d react to seeing us,” one of the women said.

“We didn’t even know
if
you’d react, Kaspar. Maybe you wouldn’t recognize us,” said another.

“It’s always possible,” the third added while continuing to scratch the dog’s head.

“How could I forget you guys? Come on, sit down on the couch. How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?” He shifted the pants from one arm to the other and walked forward to shake all of their hands for quite a long time. It seemed an unnecessarily formal thing to do, but the women accepted the gesture.

One of them said, “A thousand years?”

“Yes, about what I figured. And where was it?”

“The Gudrun Asteroid.”

“Eee—that was a rough time. Especially how it ended up.” Kaspar shook his head and looked out the window, remembering. “Wow, the Gudrun Asteroid.
Truly
unpleasant!”

“Yes, it was, but you didn’t stick around to see what happened
afterward
. Even uglier, my friend, believe me.”

Kaspar slid the corduroys onto a wooden hanger and hung them on a rack. “Really, it was bad? I had to go to another assignment.”

“Brutal. Consider yourself lucky. Lots of blood on the stars after we were finished there.”

“More like scorched earth,” Number Two added while adjusting the tongue in her sneaker.

The third woman said nothing but her grim look said she agreed.

“Well, thankfully it’s over. Why are you here now? I mean, I’m delighted to see you but curious too. Vermont’s pretty far from home.”

One of the women lifted a purse into her lap and opened it. Reaching in, she brought out a large black squirming shiny disgusting obviously alive, your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine
thing
. Kaspar watched calmly as she broke it into three wiggling pieces and handed them to her colleagues. Politely she offered her section to Kaspar but he put up a hand, no thanks. The women began eating their portions with great gusto.

“Have your tastes changed a lot since you’ve been here, Kaspar? Do you like food on Earth?”

“Yes, I do, it’s terrific. I’m especially fond of coffee.”

“How interesting, because none of us do. We prefer our own.” The others nodded as they ate with obvious relish their portions of the revolting black writhing mass.

Kaspar wanted to find out before Dean returned why they had come here. Maybe there were things that needed discussing only among the four of them.

D Train lay down on the floor with a satisfied groan.

“You’ve never wanted to eat it?”

“The dog? No, he’s my friend.”

“
Really
? He looks very delicious, Kaspar.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

The dog scratcher said, “There’s been a change. I mean, there’s going to
be
a change. We were sent to warn you so you can prepare.”

Kaspar tensed. “What kind of change?”

The woman in the baseball cap swallowed some food, wiped her mouth with a lilac-colored handkerchief, and said, “A Somersault.”

“No! Soon?” Kaspar was stunned.

“Yes.”

“They haven’t had a Somersault since—”

“We know.”

His voice rose into complaint. “But what am I supposed to do about it? And what about others like me? I’ve been really conscientious the whole time I’ve been here. Never broke a rule, never told anyone anything—nothing, not a word. Even when my dog was shot and I thought he was going to die I stayed silent and didn’t ask for help. I’ve been good.”

“We know, Kaspar, but this isn’t only about you, remember. Everything and everyone will be affected—us too. We’re threatened by it too.”

“Yes, but you’re mechanics and this is a
Somersault
. You have your powers; I have nothing but memories
of
those powers. A hell of a difference. When will it begin?”

“They don’t know; no one ever knows with one. We all just have to be ready. It’s why they sent us out to talk to those who chose to keep their memories. Obviously it’s going to be harder on you. It could happen anytime. You’re one of the last we have to see.”

Slapping his thighs in fear and frustration, Kaspar groaned, “
Jesus!
”

One of the women asked sweetly, “Who’s Jesus?”

*   *   *

As testament to his ever-increasing humanity, Kaspar didn’t really notice when things began to change, albeit the first signs were small. Of course right after the three women visited he was vigilant and skittish about strange sounds or occurrences, frowned at out-of-the-ordinary anythings or psychic bumps in his road. But when life remained calm and very much same-old, same-old day after day with no suspicious dark clouds looming on his horizon, he was gradually lulled into thinking mostly about other much more pleasant things, like the affair he had begun with Vanessa Corbin, or her heavenly recipe for Polish
zurek
soup.

In a way Kaspar Benn was like the people who reside in areas of frequent earthquake activity—San Francisco, Thessaloniki, Islamabad. Ask them how they can bear living in a place under constant threat, how they can confidently walk around every day on a piece of earth that is not their friend and probably planning at this very minute its next attempt to kill them. The citizens of these shakyvilles say they’ve got an emergency pack all ready to go complete with flashlight, bottled water, canned salmon, and three flares. Or they get stoic and cite well-worn bromides like when your time’s up, your time’s up—so live with it: carpe diem.
Or
they turn feisty and annoyed at you for bringing up the ugly, sword-of-Damocles subject. They rebuke you for being morbid. It’s not possible to really discuss it with them because deep down they know they’re living on borrowed time (or borrowed
Earth
) but have grown adept at keeping the eventuality out of their thoughts. In other words, after Kaspar learned a Somersault was imminent he looked away from the abyss by immersing himself in the many pleasures inherent in being human. There was sex and food, fine cashmere and shell cordovan shoes, and those gorgeous long walks in the woods with D Train.

Kaspar was a man with a sunny nature who liked bourgeois things, not overly bright but so what? He had realized the smarter a person was, the more unhappy they often were for a variety of reasons, both logical and not. Selfish but effortlessly charming, he was especially good at knowing when to take and when to give. He had no qualms about fucking his partner’s wife, but he also worked tremendously hard to make Benn Corbin successful. Both he and Dean knew, without his many significant contributions, not least of which was his winning personality, the store would have failed.

Kaspar knew the Somersault had begun when he started sharing others’ dreams. These people did not know it was happening, but he did immediately. In essence while asleep, he moved into their heads and witnessed their night dreams along with them. Kaspar fully enjoyed the occurrence and eagerly looked forward to these uninhibited, candid peeks in the windows of others’ subconscious. Yes, it was a kind of voyeurism but he didn’t care and didn’t feel guilty. The experience was good fun, a free ticket to someone else’s hidden home movies. The dreamers weren’t hurt, and some of the things he saw on these excursions were instructive. He knew for certain this dream sharing had to do with the start of the Somersault.