The Tiger Catcher Page 23

  “You’re asking the wrong questions,” Devi said. “Not who is Karmadon, but what happens on zero meridian at noon. Not to the left of it or to the right of it, but directly on it.”

  “I don’t know, what happens?”

  “Things that go beyond the linear nature of time is what happens. Don’t look at me like that. You know there’s an unreality to time, an illusory component. That’s never more obvious than on the meridian as the sun passes overhead. Time is a contradiction. There’s an essential conflict built into time’s very nature—that each and every event was once future, is now present and has since passed. Every moment is all three, and neither, and all at once.”

  Julian opened his mouth to disagree. To vehemently disagree.

  Devi didn’t let him interrupt. “Think before you argue. Even as you’re opening your mouth, the first part of your sentence is gone, bye-bye. Before you so much as finish measuring the location of the sun, the sun is elsewhere. The hurricane doesn’t stand still, Julian, nor the earth, nor a single atom on it.”

  “Exactly,” Julian said. “But what’s past is past. Nothing can change it.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Why did Julian blink before he said yes, one hundred percent sure.

  “You don’t think the past could be like England, for example? A foreign country, where people do things differently. A place you can go, just as you’ve come here?”

  “Yes,” Julian said. “One hundred percent . . . sure.”

  “From the way you’re slumped, I can see why you’d think so,” Devi said. “You are deeply myopic.”

  “Nothing can change what’s already happened,” Julian said. “That’s pretty much a first principle.”

  “Listen to me very carefully,” Devi said. “Take your assumptions about what you know and throw them all out the window. All of them. You need to learn a new language. The language of the meridian, of universal time, of hope, and of faith. That’s your missing first principle right there.” Devi drew his finger in a straight line along the counter. “One of the many fallacies in your thinking comes from drawing time with a ruler on a flat surface. That’s not what time is. That’s not what the meridian is.” Devi formed his hands into a ball. “In the spacetime beyond this earth, the meridian is not a line but a celestial sphere. What’s another name for celestial? Heavenly. Spiritual. Otherworldly. Godly.”

  “Or planetary.” Trying to be scientific about it.

  “Yes,” Devi said. “Pertaining to planets. By definition, outside our known world. To make sense of the physical contradiction that is time, certainly to alter it requires an observer and a mover, like an axle in a wheel. It requires a soul. It requires you.”

  Julian sat hunched and slightly trembling.

  “Think of yourself as the hub inside this sphere, with the meridians crossing through you like spokes in every direction, north and south, east and west. You turn, and the lines of perspective turn with you. Every point on which you stand has an infinite number of zeniths and nadirs, of horizons and meridians,” Devi said. “It all depends on where you look. It all depends on where you step. Within yourself, you contain an infinite number of possibilities.” The small man paused so the broken man could absorb this. “You are the essential wave and particle in the immensity of all creation.”

  The clocks whirred. All was quiet.

  “And it just so happens,” the cook continued, almost as an afterthought, and so low that Julian had to stretch across the counter to hear, “that at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, there’s a spot on the Prime Meridian that once a year forms a small tear in the fabric of time and space. When the brightest star in our sky is crossing the highest point above your head, that is when you must act.”

  “Forms a what?” Did the man just say tear?

  “Once a year,” Devi said, “on the vernal equinox—when day and night are of equal length—a portal at the Transit Circle can open, and if you have heart enough and are strong enough, you can travel through this gate and search for Josephine in the past when her soul inhabited another body.”

  Julian was silent for several rotations of the beating clock.

  “Her quartz crystal will catch the sun and the chasm will open, just as it did for you in the mountains,” Devi continued. “It opens to its widest aperture a picosecond past twelve and closes a picosecond before 12:01. Every second that ticks by and the sun is in motion, the portal gets narrower and narrower until it squeezes shut. You have 59 seconds of motion, of action, of the future to change your life. Can you do it?”

  Julian let out a heaping breath. He didn’t realize how long he’d been holding it. His lungs filled with new air. “Devi, what are you talking about? What portal?” He stammered in incomprehension. “I thought you were going to, you know, burn some incense, call up her spirit, act as an intermediary. But you’re saying you’ve found a time machine?” Julian laughed. The knot in his body loosened. It didn’t help that Devi wasn’t smiling, but clearly the man could set up and carry a joke a long way for a payoff.

  “Have you ever been to Greenwich?” Devi asked, putting on a clean black apron. “It’s worth a look. It’s got a wonderful park, and for maritime history, the Cutty Sark. And my good friend Mark, owner of Junk Shop, sells all kinds of stuff out of his yard.” He brought out white plates and stacked them on the counter.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Why not?” Devi said. “You have no faith. What more is there to talk about?”

  “What you’re saying is impossible.”

  “Like your dream of her is impossible?”

  Julian inhaled. “More than that.”

  “Like when you told the Peckham man about your predicament, and he said it was impossible?”

  “Yes, like that,” Julian said, a shade less convincingly.

  Uninterested in persuading Julian further, Devi got busy laying out the cooking utensils he needed for lunch.

  “Is that it? You’re done talking?”

  “Do you want me to tell you more things you refuse to believe?”

  “Yes,” Julian said instantly. “I want you to tell me more things I refuse to believe.”

  Coming closer, Devi spoke intensely. “Under the Observatory, there’s a void where the bedrock has been dissolved by slightly acidic water. Rock and soil have been washed away. The structural integrity of earth has been breached. A sinkhole has formed. The vertical sinkhole is what leads you to a quartz cave. It’s a plumb line.”

  “Quartz did you say?” The slow wheels in Julian’s brain were grinding. “Where does the cave lead?”

  “To a river.”

  “You’re a joker. There are no caves and rivers under London.”

  “You’ve been here all this time and haven’t bothered to learn the history of our underground rivers?” Devi tutted.

  “I know the city was built on a marsh flat.”

  “That’s only part of it. The Londinium of two thousand years ago was a swamp of rivers and volcanic caves. Human development, irrigation, rechanneling of the water has made many rivers disappear and others recede underground, but some are still there, invisible to the naked eye. Like time is invisible to the naked eye,” Devi added pointedly. “Yet you’re still pretty sure time exists, aren’t you?”

  Julian wouldn’t be baited. Also he was sure of less and less. “Where does the river lead?”

  “To Josephine.”

  Julian’s teeth started to chatter. A shiver misaligned his spine.

  “Think of time as an overflowing river,” Devi said, “that runs through all things and all events and all souls. There is a point on this river when she was alive. Maybe you can steer your dinghy there.”

  “How would some river know where she is?” Julian muttered.

  “Her beret and crystal will take you to her.”

  He was roiling inside. This was preposterous! How did he get himself into this lunatic conversation, inside this lunatic joint, to this lunati
c man?

  “What are you worried about?” Devi said. “Either I’m right, or you’re right. It’s really quite Kantian.”

  “Kantian? No, no, don’t explain. Tell me,” Julian said, “when does this magical event occur?”

  “I told you. Tomorrow.”

  “You never said this.”

  “I did. I said vernal equinox. Do you not know when the vernal equinox is? What kind of a know-it-all are you?”

  “Tomorrow?” Julian emitted a dry laugh. “As in twenty-four hours from now?”

  “Correct,” Devi said. “You know—like in the future.”

  “Well, you’re not giving me much time to think about it, Devi.” He was humoring the cook.

  “You think that’s where your time crunch comes?” Devi said. “That you have twenty-four hours not to act but to think? Try getting down a narrowing spiral in 59 seconds. Or finding a moongate. Or navigating a black river in darkness, knowing that the human body can only be without food for forty days. Think about those things, why don’t you.”

  “I’m going to be without food for forty days?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m helping you assign priorities to this thinking you’re about to do.”

  Julian jumped off the stool. “This is crazy. Look, I have to go. Ashton’s waiting. How about this. I’ll go get some books on the meridian, on the history of the Observatory and this Transit Circle. I’ll go to Foyles on Charing Cross Road. They have a whole section on astronomy and navigation. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll come back when I have more info.” He reached for his coat.

  “Take all the time you need,” Devi said. “You’ve been taking your time so far. Why stop now?”

  “Settle down,” Julian said. “When is the next time this supposed thing opens?”

  “March 20.”

  “I don’t mean tomorrow. I mean the next time.”

  “How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Devi said. “A year from tomorrow. March 20.”

  “It only opens for 59 seconds once a year?”

  “Finally, I’m making myself clear.”

  Julian weakened.

  “So you see, you have plenty of time to get your head around it,” Devi said brightly. “Instead of searching for your lost love, you can take a year to read all about the meridian.”

  Devi was an immovable force. He would not be swayed. Could Julian be swayed? One man was a post and the other was flung about like a sapling in a storm. Julian perched on the stool for support, listening to the ticking of the clocks, the dripping of the faucet, the breathing of the little man, his own conflicted constricted gasps. There was a vacuous ringing between his ears.

  Devi tried again. Opening Julian’s palm and placing Josephine’s translucent stone into it, he said, “You had magic in your hands all this time and you didn’t know it. What’s the crystal made of?”

  “Quartz,” Julian dully replied.

  “Yes. It has light reflecting, light absorbing properties. It becomes charged when heated. Because it’s quartz, Julian. The second most abundant mineral found on earth. A major component of granite, which is nothing less than the earth’s core that’s been melted and cooled and hardened. And what does quartz do? It changes heat—another word for light—into electromagnetic energy. It focuses and amplifies this energy. Quartz is piezoelectric, which means it stores energy and discharges it when shaken or squeezed. And what do we use quartz for?” Devi opened his hands to the ticking clocks on his walls. “To measure time. And to heal the sick.”

  Julian’s breath was shallow.

  “I am your healer,” Devi said. “Go to Greenwich, my boy.” The cook lifted Julian’s hand to the ceiling. “Hold her quartz up to the sun. See if it might alter time.”

  Julian couldn’t explain to Devi that until Josephine came along and showed him what real magic was, he had been a rational man, jaded by years of working behind the curtain in Emerald City, no longer taken in by the optical illusions and special effects of moving pictures. While living in the land of enchantment for sale, Julian turned away from the make-believe of Tinseltown while he looked for practical solutions to everyday problems. How to simplify jobs. Reduce stress. Ease life. Clean stains off clothes. Marinate steak. How to find a non-poisonous plant in the wild to tame your raging head wound. A man who searched for household uses for honey and vodka while ignoring the dream life reflected in the fake windows of Technicolor backdrops was not a man who could easily see mystical power in arbitrary lines of navigational utility.

  Ashton—who believed good-naturedly and superficially in everything—mocked him for this. How can a man like you, Ashton would say, who was lost and then found, not believe in miracles? It wasn’t that Julian didn’t believe in miracles. But he was certain he’d been allotted his lifetime supply in Topanga Canyon.

  Today that man stared into Devi’s impassive face with disbelieving eyes.

  “Let’s say for a second, for a hypothetical, that I can . . . that this thing is real,” Julian said. “Can I come back?”

  “No,” Devi said. “You cannot. But finally you have asked a worthy question.”

  The impossibility of what Devi was telling him banged on the fear drum of Julian’s gut. He wanted to laugh, but a slasher-movie laugh. It’s not real! his raw senses cried. It’s a trick. It’s just another backlot.

  But what if it is real, a small voice inside him whispered.

  And what was more terrifying?

  That it wasn’t real?

  Or that it was?

  30

  Notting Hill

  A DAZED JULIAN STUMBLED TO THE TRAIN. BY THE TIME HE got out at Moorgate and ran through the rain to the Gallery in Austin Friars, where Ashton was unhappily waiting, it was well past their appointed hour.

  “Sorry, man, I have no watch,” Julian said, “and my phone’s never charged.”

  “Whose fault is that? Why do I have to suffer because you can’t get your shit together? I have to be at Heathrow by four.”

  They ordered fish and chips, but Julian couldn’t eat. Devi told him not to. How ridiculous! He was so agitated, he didn’t know how Ashton didn’t notice his hyperactive body.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Ashton placed his hand over Julian’s arm. “Stop twitching. What the hell?” So perhaps he did notice. “Are you on drugs or something?”

  “Not anymore. Don’t worry,” Julian added when he saw Ashton’s face. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  “Will you find us a place by May 1?”

  May 1 was the future. “Sure.”

  “You inspire zero confidence. Can you try not to get fired?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That would entail you actually going to work.”

  “First thing tomorrow morning I’m there.” That was also the future. Julian grabbed the arm of his chair.

  “Do not write any more headlines like FREQUENT SEX ENHANCES PREGNANCY CHANCES.”

  “Why, is it not true?”

  “Graham’s so pissed, Jules. Like so pissed. He says he’ll never forgive you for tricking him the other day.”

  “What did I do? Oh.” Julian actually laughed. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I simply asked him if first hand was two words or one. I sought his wise counsel. He told me either way was correct. So I followed his advice and wrote it as two words. How is that my fault?”

  “Because of the headline you wrote, that’s how,” said Ashton. “INTERNS WANT FIRST HAND JOB EXPERIENCE.”

  Both men laughed.

  “You’re making a mockery of journalistic practices,” Ashton said, cheerful and light-hearted. “I’m going to reassign you when I take over. I can’t have you making a fool of me, too.”

  “Can’t wait,” Julian said. “To where?”

  “Since you can’t do the job you’ve got, obviously I’m going to have to promote you,” replied Ashton. “Graham’s been moved to the basement, to records, the poor bastard. I’m giving you his old job and putt
ing you in charge of the editorial department.” He whipped open last Friday’s Evening Standard. “Now check this out.” He showed Julian a circled ad for an apartment. “Bright airy furnished two-bedroom flat near Notting Hill on Cambridge Gardens. Look at the price. Not bad. Go rent it. No questions asked.”

  “You don’t want to live there,” said Julian.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No. The higher numbers on Cambridge Gardens are under the A-40 highway. You’ll be in a nuthouse in a week from the noise.” He mushed around his mushy peas.

  Ashton showed him another place on Elgin Crescent.

  Julian shook his head. “Not there, either. There’s a pub on Elgin Crescent, one of the loudest in London,” he said. “Every Friday night someone’s getting arrested. Recently a bloke got killed.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “It was in all the papers,” Julian said calmly. “Why are you shouting?”

  “Oh, now he’s calm.”

  “I’m always calm. Also, Ashton, I told you that Nextel is nowhere near Notting Hill. How do you plan on getting to work every morning?”

  “Hop on the Central Line, baby.” Ashton grinned. “Get off at Bank.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Julian said. “You’ll be letting three jammed trains go by before you can squeeze your ass on a Central Line train. Might as well take the Circle Line. Either way, it’ll take us over an hour to get to work. Is that what you want?”

  “No, Jules, what I want,” Ashton said, “is you back in our beautiful L.A., living your life and getting jiggy with the babes. But since I can’t have that, yes, I want a ritzy flat in Notting Hill with a palm tree outside to remind me of home. Hey, we only live once.”

  Did they only live once? “You’ll never hear a Hindu say that,” Julian said lightly. “But seriously, Ash, what about Riley? She didn’t seem too happy with the idea of you on your own five thousand miles away.”

  “I won’t be on my own. I’ll be with you.” Ashton slapped the newspaper closed. “Did I tell you we’re in couple’s therapy?”

  “You and Riley are in therapy together?”

  “Crazy, right? Everybody in L.A. is in therapy, you know that. Even Riley’s Yorkie. Lucky for me the dog has his own therapist. But yeah. She wants to make sure we can work out our shit before we get married.”