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What exactly went on, who can say? But I felt something pass from me to him. I felt a rush of relief as something went from my hands into his head. He stepped back; his eyes were wide. “Wow, you’re not just fucking around, are you?”

I just sort of nodded and shook my head all at once. Like so much else, that something real had happened was both frightening and comforting.

I said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Sure,” he said, half in a daze, and we headed down a little two-rut dirt road that ran toward the woods behind the cabin.

“I think I’m starting to catch on,” he said.

“Well, it’s a funny thing. Once you start to get it, you won’t be able to figure out why you never saw it before. It’s really so simple.”

“Has your father been here?”

“No, I don’t think so. But he knows or strongly suspects it’s here. For some reason he couldn’t make it or didn’t want to. He sort of decided to send me instead.”

It was the first rational conversation I had had in a long time. Actually just about a day or so, but it seemed much longer. I felt relaxed and not half so lonely. Fan was catching on. There was someone to talk to. I started crying softly.

“What’s wrong, Mark?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. I just sort of wish he was here. I wish I could talk to him here like this. I mean with his body here like mine. I mean, I can talk to him like this now, but if he were here, if he brought his body along, all we’d be able to talk about would be Mickey Mantle or something neither of us really gives a shit about.”

“You mean he’s here now?”

“Yes. Dad, we know you’re here. Why don’t you bring your body along sometime?”

“Hi, Mark.”

“Hi, Pop.”

“Hey, Mark, did you ever think that maybe I’m writing this script?”

“Hey, Pop, did you ever think that maybe you’re not?”

“I mean, Mark, did you think that maybe I’m a good enough writer to write what you’re going through?”

“Frankly not, Pop. I don’t think anyone could.”

“Well, Mark, you’re probably right. I couldn’t begin to write what you’re living, not even begin. But you know there were guys who were really good. It’s really incredible some of the things people have written.”

“You mean like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky?”

“Ya, and there were some others, too.”

“Well, Pop, guess what your college-educated son just happened to pick up for light reading fresh out of the nut house? I just happen to have a copy of The Brothers Karamazov right here in my pocket.”

“Oh, shit, Mark, was that ever a mistake. But what a beautiful one. I mean, really, first thing you picked up when you got out?”

“Yup, Dad, you guessed it.”

“Well, Mark, let that book fall open.” I let the book open. About halfway down on the right-hand page, one sentence stood out, glowing from the rest of the print: THE END OF TIME WILL BE MARKED BY ACTS OF UNFATHOMABLE COMPASSION.

“Thanks, Dad.” Then I started to laugh in spite of myself just a slight chuckle.

“What’s funny, Mark?”

“Not much, Dad. I was just thinking what shit I would have gotten if I had Cat’s Cradle or something instead.”

“You don’t have to rub it in. There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you, Mark.”

“Fire away, Pop.”

“Well, Mark, just how exactly did you get here anyway?”

“Well, Dad, that was the one thing I thought you probably knew. After all, it was something I sort of picked up from you. It’s really amazingly simple. Just never turn down an invitation.”

“By, Mark.”

“By, Dad. See you around and thanks for dropping by.”

SARAH. There was something about Joe and Mary’s kid Sarah. Evil? Sexy? She wasn’t your standard three-year-old. You got the feeling that she knew things she shouldn’t know, being three and all. It was a lack of innocence. I know what it was now—the lack of innocence that comes from a calcium deficiency. She had rickets, but nobody knew that then.

When did she start calling me Daniel? And I called her Lion or Fire as the mood took me. Why wasn’t she in bed like good little three-year-olds would have been at that hour? But what hour was it? Chronology wasn’t my strong point.