Fifty Degrees Below - Kim Stanley Robinson [165]
“Oh sorry. That’s a witch on a broom, but he’s made the witch an owl in this case.”
“Ghost festival?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“That is very danger.” Tibetan was made of syllable roots that stayed the same in different word forms, and Frank noticed that a lot of the Khembalis used English nouns the same way, letting them do the work of verbs and modifiers: “You will learn to meditation.” “He became enlightenment.”
As they drifted off to sleep the two of them would hold strange conversations, involving both languages and a lot of confusion. Companionship without comprehension; it was just the kind of company that suited Frank. It reminded him of the bros in the park. In fact he told Rudra about his acquaintances in the park, and the winter they had had.
“Wandering tramps are often spirits in disguise.”
“I’m sure.”
The whole situation in the household was proving more congenial to Frank than he had expected it to be. Not knowing the language excused him from many conversations, but there were always people around; a crowd, faces gradually known, amazing faces, but few of them named or spoken to. That too was somewhat like being in the park with the bros. But it was warmer; and easier. He didn’t have to decide where to be so often, where to go. What to do next—it was as simple as that. He didn’t have to decide what to do every hour or so. That was hard even without damage to the prefrontal cortex.
One decision remained easy; on Friday after work, he drove over to Bethesda and ate at Rio Grande, and then at quarter to nine he was standing before his telephone at the Metro bus stop. He waited through nine, and at 9:05 called Caroline’s number. No answer.
He wondered if he could find out the location of her number. But would knowing it help him in any way, given that she didn’t appear to be going there? What could have happened? What he should do? What might keep her from calling? Deep uneasiness was almost indistinguishable from fear.
He was walking sightlessly down Wisconsin toward his van, deep in his uneasiness, when his cell phone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket, while at the same time seeing that he was standing right before the elevator box that he and Caroline had emerged from last year. His heart leaped—”Hello?”
“Frank it’s me.”
“Oh good. What’s happening?”
“—really sorry, I couldn’t get there last week and I thought I’d be able to make it this week but I couldn’t. I can’t talk long. I just slipped out.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Well yeah, but look I need to just set up another call here and get off. He’s suddenly asking me to do things on Fridays and I don’t know if it means anything, but can you be there at that number next Monday at nine?”
“Sure but hey listen, can you make a call to the Khembali embassy house in Arlington? They’re not under his surveillance are they?”
“I don’t think so. Who are they?”
“Embassy of Khembalung, their house is in Arlington. I’m staying there now and so you can call me there whenever you get free. In the evenings I’ll likely be around.”
“Okay I’ll look for a chance and call soon. I’m so sorry about this. He’s changed jobs again and it’s getting really complicated.”
“That’s okay, I’m just glad to hear from you!”
“Yeah I bet, I mean I would be too. I’ll call real soon okay?”
“Okay.”
“Love you bye.”
It was amazing how much better he felt. Lack of affect was clearly not his problem; on the contrary, he had to avoid being overwhelmed by feelings. Giddy with relief, happy, worried, pleased, in love, frightened: but what did all those feelings combined add up to? This was what the studies never seemed to discuss, that you could feel so many different things at the same time. He felt Caroline. The uncanny presence of their elevator box, standing there before him throughout their conversation, had given him a palpable sense of her, an instant connection from the moment she spoke. Some