The Tiger Catcher Page 40

  “Um—Jules?”

  “Isn’t the toilet remarkable?” Julian said. “Did you know that in half the world they still practice open defecation?”

  “Well, you know what they say,” Ashton said, “practice makes perfect.” He grinned. “Still, I didn’t know that, and more important, didn’t wish to know that.”

  “In the old days,” Julian went on, “the castles where royals lived had garderobes, which were basically stone seats that emptied down a trough into the moat surrounding the castle. And the gong farmer cleaned out the moat every day. And he never washed his hands, and he’d walk through the house infecting every person he came near. Is it any wonder so many died before they were eighteen.” Julian shook his head.

  “What the hell? Lots of people lived past eighteen,” Ashton the history major said. “The eighth Henry. The first Elizabeth. The second Charles. Queen Victoria.”

  “Let’s go,” Julian said, pushing past his friend. “Before the market closes.” He could never ask Ashton’s advice about this, even in the hypothetical, much less tell him the truth. “You want to eat at the Granger if the line’s not too long?” The Granger was the hottest brunch place in West London.

  At the Granger over ricotta waffles, Ashton caught Julian staring at him. “Jules, why are you gaping at me the way you were just gaping at that toilet an hour ago?”

  Julian blinked and looked away. “What way is that, Ash?”

  “Like on the one hand you’re pleased I’m so shiny and new, but on the other, ashamed by how you’re about to desecrate me.” Ashton laughed.

  And Julian forced out a laugh also.

  Before going out drinking they headed to the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill to catch a documentary about a British explorer named Robert Falcon Scott, and his failed expedition to claim the South Pole for Britain in 1912. Failed in every sense of the word. He and his four men had arrived at the South Pole 34 days too late. Roald Amundsen from Norway got there first (“Those damn Vikings!” Ashton said). Heartbroken, the five men trudged nearly 900 miles back to their ship through blizzard winds and 50 below temperatures before freezing to death a few miles from the coast. Some of their bodies have never been found. “I knew you’d like that film, Jules,” Ashton said as they left the theatre. “It resonates with you, don’t it? You love taking the scenic route and ending up where you’re not supposed to be.”

  “I wind up on Antrobus Street, not in Antarctica!”

  The quote from the film that stayed with Julian was from Charles Bukowski who said that it wasn’t whether you succeeded or failed that mattered most. What mattered most was how you walked through the fire.

  Bullshit, Julian thought. What mattered most was whether you succeeded or failed in the one irreducible imperative of your life.

  And Robert Falcon Scott had failed.

  ***

  What was the irreducible imperative of Julian’s life? And what was he prepared to give up in his quest for it?

  All the documentaries and late night pubs, all the stars over London and the ceilings in his apartment and the pavements under his feet, all the wrong cafés with metal tables and golden awnings couldn’t help Julian wade through a future he did not know and could not know, did not see and could not see.

  What should he do?

  Julian hated, hated to admit it, but he feared Devi was right. It seemed better to leave well enough alone, make peace, move forward, stay put, rebuild what he had.

  Certainly, it was easier.

  But was it?

  Julian didn’t feel easy. He felt hard and heavy.

  When you didn’t know what to do, how did you decide which path to take, with the future unknowable? What was the right choice?

  Julian knew how you decided. It was one of his least popular life hacks. The thing you didn’t want to do was nearly always the right choice. That’s how you made your decision in the absence of other compelling evidence. You did the thing you didn’t want to do. Did you train first or go drinking. Did you eat first or go running. Did you stay in bed or get up and get on with your day? Did you stay put or run away. Did you do the impossible thing and fly through a black hole in search of the missing or did you stay put and forge a new life? Were you made to last or made to be broken?

  But even here, nothing was clear. On the surface, though to stay seemed the easy choice, it was also the hardest.

  Because Julian didn’t want to stay.

  Everything felt so fragile, all his mutually exclusive options dangling above him on silk spider threads.

  He remembered the debt to Sweeney, returned to Greenwich, gave the man two hundred pounds for the coat, apologized. Sweeney’s reaction puzzled Julian. The guard struggled to remember him. He recalled a man being naked in the middle of the Transit Room, but had forgotten giving Julian his coat. He thought he had misplaced it. “This is what happens when you get to be my age, mate,” Sweeney said. “Your memory goes. Don’t take it personal.” He took Julian’s money, because what sucker wouldn’t, and he shook Julian’s hand, but then without interest stared at Julian who stood by the telescope holding up the quartz crystal to the sky, as indifferent to him as the old guard.

  You be sure to come back and see us again, Sweeney said before going on break.

  I’m not coming back, Julian wanted to say. You will never see me again. But he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say it because he didn’t mean it.

  Julian kept asking Devi what he would do if he was in Julian’s shoes.

  For weeks Devi wouldn’t reply. The man’s black eyes would rest on Julian, bottomless, fake-calm, judging, appraising, beseeching.

  “I’m not the center of your newfound life,” Devi finally said. “You are the center of your life. The question in front of you is a question each of us must answer for ourselves. You, me, Ashton, Josephine. Each one of us is the keeper of our own souls. What are you prepared to give up to live how you want? What are you prepared to lose to try to attain it? And what if you fail? Because that’s also what’s at stake here. That is also one of your options. That you will sacrifice everything and gain nothing. Can you live with that?”

  For a long time Devi waited while Julian gathered his thoughts to speak.

  Why would I gain nothing, Julian said, weakened in spirit. That is just one unlikely possibility. One among many.

  I’m asking you only about that one, unlikely as it may be, Devi said.

  Don’t you think there could be a fate beyond the fates, said Julian, not answering.

  “I showed it to you already,” Devi replied. “If there is another fate, I do not know it. Would it help you if I answered your question? All right. I’ll tell you. I would never go.” Devi looked away. “I would never go again.”

  While Ashton slept away his hangovers, Julian kept coming back to Greenwich on Sunday mornings, standing as if at an altar in front of the black mute motionless telescope pointing up at the infinite meridian. Julian wished Devi understood something. Not just Devi. Ashton, too, and Riley, and Nigel, and Callie. What Devi was talking about, it meant nothing. London, Los Angeles. The comfortable bed Julian slept in, his liquid brunches, the walks through Portobello Market, the coffee he liked and couldn’t go without, the great new song, the latest book, the blockbuster movie. None of it meant anything without her. He knew he’d feel better eventually. But after what happened to her, life would never again mean to him what it used to.

  Devi responded poorly to this. “The sullen are punished by being drowned in muddy waters until the end of forever,” Devi said. “Is that what you want?”

  It wasn’t what Julian wanted. He wasn’t sullen. He wasn’t drowning. What he wanted was to take back his life. Not to turn his back on her, not to take a beating, not to be swallowed, hidden, left behind, but to start over. Not to feel so alone. Falling in love with her had changed everything he knew.

  Ask yourself the only question worth getting an answer to, Devi said. Are you prepared to risk everything to gain nothing?
<
br />   Julian didn’t know if he was prepared to do that. But it was also difficult to state exactly what it was he’d be losing.

  “Everything you have, and everything you love, and everything you know,” Devi said with dark certainty.

  How could Julian take a stand against that? The ground was shifting under his feet.

  A small voice tried to make its timid exit out of Julian’s throat. But wasn’t there another outcome? Couldn’t he lose everything—and gain everything? Wasn’t that also a possibility?

  When they first met they were lovers for barely a minute. They didn’t talk enough about the future or the past, about the profound or the mundane. They stepped into Eden where the unreal was real and their little L.A. life was nothing but a dream. Who had time to shoot the breeze when they had been so busy living. She acted breathy and carefree, though many things frightened her. The ocean, the fiery Santa Ana winds, traffic, gangs, hard drugs, loud noises, explosives. Don’t worry, he told her, a fake cavalier knight, you’re safe with me.

  Once when the ocean was clear, he carried her in and they bobbed shivering in the slow lapping tide, her arms around his neck. Even now he felt her cold slender body in his hands wrapped around him in the Pacific off Zuma. It’s better with you, she said. Everything is better with you. Wasn’t that the truth, he thought, but what he said was, it’s call time. Dante and Beatrice are waiting for you on stage at the Greek. No, don’t make me, she said. I don’t want to go back. I just want to stay here with you, in the ocean. Please. I don’t want to go back.

  But they went back.

  Julian remained haunted by her face. She had come to him for a few days—once in L.A. and once in Clerkenwell long ago—and walked off with his life. He had hoped for so much more. He had hoped for love. He did not wish to know only the meaning of despair. Would she feel betrayed to be deserted by him when he was supposed to be at his post? Would she even care? Had she already forgotten him, the one who had mourned her, the one who mourned her still, who loved her still?

  Julian’s human heart was in conflict with itself, trembling. Josephine . . . Mia . . . Mary . . .

  His choice wasn’t the lady, or the tiger. The lady and the tiger were both behind door number two. Behind door number one was nothing.

  He stood for a long time on the meridian even after noon had come and gone, his hand half outstretched, the crystal silent, the sun in hazy retreat. The holy girl asked, will you remember me? Will you ever remember how you once loved me, or will you forget that, too, as you’ve forgotten the other joys in your life? How could he leave her. In her was the soul of the prophets and the saints and of all those slain upon the earth. In her soul was a heart that was his. It was by her side that he must end his life. Julian knew it. He felt it. He was a soldier, and she was his country.

  As the fool thinks, so the bell clinks. There is no return from death, the wise man said.

  And the fool replied, but what if there was?

  Author’s Note

  I have taken a few liberties with mathematics, longitude, geography, various disciplines of science, the calendar, and the English language.

  There will also undoubtedly be some unintended tiny errors of fact. For all this, I beg your indulgence.

  As for the tale’s more fantastical assertions, I stand behind them. First, tiger catching is a real thing. Second, shame toast is crazy delicious. And, when properly applied, love can accomplish remarkable feats.

  An Excerpt from A Beggar’s Kingdom

  Read on for an exclusive extract from

  A Beggar’s Kingdom,

  book two in the End of Forever saga . . .

  Real Artifacts from Imaginary Places

  ASHTON STOOD, HIS BLOND HAIR SPIKING OUT OF HIS baseball cap, his arms crossed, his crystal eyes incredulous, watching Josephine cajole Zakiyyah into going on Peter Pan’s Flight. Julian, Josephine, Ashton, and Zakiyyah were in Disneyland, the last two under protest.

  “Z, what’s not to love? You fly over London with Peter Pan aboard a magical pirate ship to Never Land. Come on, let’s go, look, the line’s getting longer.”

  “Is it pretend fly?” asked Zakiyyah.

  “No,” replied Ashton. “It’s real fly. And real London. And real magic pirate ship. And definitely real Never Land.”

  Zakiyyah rolled her eyes. She almost gave him the finger. “Is it fast? Is it spinny? Is it dark? I don’t want to be dizzy. I don’t want to be scared, and I don’t want to be jostled.”

  “Would you like to be someplace else?” Ashton said.

  “No, I just want to have fun.”

  “And Peter Pan’s magical flight over London doesn’t qualify?” Ashton said, and sideways to Julian added, “What kind of fun are we supposed to have with someone like that? I can’t believe Riley agreed to let me come with you three. I’m going to have to take her to Jamaica to make it up to her.”

  “You have a lot to make up for all around, especially after the crap you pulled at lunch the other week,” Julian said. “So shut up and take it.”

  “Story of my life,” Ashton said.

  “What kind of fun are we supposed to have with someone like that?” Zakiyyah said to Josephine. “His idea of fun is making fun of me.”

  “He’s not making fun of you, Z. He’s teasing you.”

  “That’s not teasing!”

  “Shh, yes, it is. You’re driving everybody nuts,” Josephine said, and then louder to the men, “Z is new to this. She’s never been to Disneyland.”

  “What kind of a human being has never been to Disneyland,” Ashton whispered to Julian.

  “That’s not true!” Zakiyyah said. “I went once with my cousins.”

  “Sitting on a bench while the kids go on rides by themselves is not going to Disneyland, Z.”

  Zakiyyah tutted. “Is there maybe a slow train ride somewhere?”

  “How about It’s a Small World?” Ashton said, addressing Zakiyyah but facing Julian and widening his eyes into saucers. “It’s a slow boat ride.”

  “I guess that might be okay. As long as the boat is not in real water. Is it in real water?”

  “No,” Ashton said. “The boat is in fake water.”

  “Is that what you mean when you say he’s teasing me?” Zakiyyah said to Josephine. “You sure it’s not mocking me?”

  “Positive, Z. It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. Let’s go on It’s a Small World.”

  After it got dark and the toddlers had left and the crowds died down a bit, the three of them convinced Zakiyyah to go on Space Mountain. She half-agreed but balked when she saw the four-man luge they were supposed to board. Josephine would sit in front of Julian, between his legs, and that meant that Zakiyyah would have to sit in front of Ashton, between his. “Can we try a different seating arrangement?”

  “Like what?” Ashton said, keeping his voice even.

  “Like maybe the girls together and the boys together.”

  “Jules, honey, what do you think?” Ashton asked, pitching his voice two octaves higher. “Would you like to sit between my legs, pumpkin, or do you want me between yours this time around?”

  “Z, come on,” Josephine said. “Don’t make that face. He’s right. It’s one ride. You’ll love it. Just . . .”

  “Instead of you sitting in front of me,” Ashton said to Zakiyyah, as cordial as could be, “would you prefer I sit in front of you?”

  “You want to sit between my open legs?” Zakiyyah’s disbelieving tone was not close to cordial.

  “Just making suggestions, trying to be helpful.”

  “Aside from other issues, I won’t be able to see anything,” Z said. “You’re too tall. You’ll be blocking my view the whole ride.”

  Ashton knocked into Julian as they were about to get in. “Dude,” he whispered (hissed), “you haven’t told her Space Mountain is a black hole with nothing to see?”

  “We haven’t even told her it’s a roller coaster,” Julian said. “You want her to go on the ride
or don’t you?”

  “Do you need me to answer that?”

  They climbed in, Ashton and Julian first, then the girls in front of them. Zakiyyah tried to sit forward as much as possible, but the bench was narrow and short. Her hips fitted between Ashton’s splayed legs.

  “Can you open your legs any wider?” she said.

  “The bishop said to the barmaid,” Ashton said.

  “Josephine! Your friend’s friend is making inappropriate remarks to me.”

  “Yes, they’re called jokes,” said Ashton.

  “They’re certainly not jokes because jokes are funny. People laugh at jokes. Did you hear anyone laughing?”

  Zakiyyah sat primly, holding her purse in her lap.

  Ashton shook his head, sighed. “Um, why don’t you put your bag down below, maybe hold on to the grip bars.”

  “I’m fine just the way I am, thank you very much,” she said. “Don’t move too close.”

  “Not to worry.”

  They were off.

  Zakiyyah was thrown backwards—into Ashton’s chest. Her hips locked inside Ashton’s legs. The purse dropped in the footwell. She seized the handlebars and screamed for two minutes in the dark cavernous dome.

  When it was over, Julian helped a shaky Zakiyyah out, Josephine already jumping and clapping on the platform. “Z! How was it? Did you love it, Z?”

  “Did I love being terrified?”

  They had a ride photo made of the four of them: Zakiyyah’s mouth gaping open, her eyes huge, the other three exhilarated and laughing. They gave it to her as a keepsake of her first time on Space Mountain, a real artifact from an imaginary place.

  “Maybe next time we can try Peter Pan,” Ashton said as they were walking out.

  “Who says there’s going to be a next time,” said Zakiyyah.

  “Thank you for making this happen,” Josephine whispered to Julian, wrapping herself around his arm in the parking lot. “I know it didn’t seem like it, but she had fun. Though you know what didn’t help? Your Ashton pretending to be a jester. You don’t have to try so hard when you look like a knight, you know. Is he trying to be funny like you?”