12TH STANZA JAKE AND CALLAHAN ONE Don Callahan had had many dreams of returning to America. Usually they began with him waking up under a high, fair desert sky full of the puffy clouds baseball players call angels or in his own rectory bed in the town of Jerusalems Lot, Maine. No matter which locale it happened to be, hed be nearly overwhelmed with relief, his first instinct for prayer. Oh, thank God. Thank God it was only a dream and finally I am awake. He was awake now, no question of that. He turned a complete circle in the air and saw Jake do exactly the same in front of him. He lost one of his sandals. He could hear Oy yapping and Eddie roaring in protest. He could hear taxi horns, that sublime New York street music, and something else, as well a preacher. Really cruising along, by the sound of him. Third gear, at least. Maybe overdrive. One of Callahans ankles clipped the side of the Unfound Door as he went through and there was a burst of terrific pain from that spot. Then the ankle (and the area around it) went numb. There was a speedy riffle of todash chimes, like a thirtythreeandathird record played at fortyfive rpm. A buffet of conflicting air currents hit him, and suddenly he was smelling gasoline and exhaust instead of the Doorway Caves dank air. First street music; now street perfume. For a moment there were two preachers. Henchick behind, roaring Behold, the door opens! and another one ahead, bellowing Say GAWD, brotha, thats right, say GAWD on Second Avenue! More twins, Callahan thoughtthere was time for thatand then the door behind him blammed shut and the only Godshouter was the one on Second Avenue. Callahan also had time to think Welcome home, you sonofabitch, welcome back to America, and then he landed. TWO It was quite an allout crash, but he came down hard on his hands and knees. His jeans protected the latter parts to some degree (although they tore), but the sidewalk scraped what felt like an acre of skin from his palms. He heard the rose, singing powerfully and undisturbed. Callahan rolled over onto his back and looked up at the sky, snarling with pain, holding his bleeding, buzzing hands in front of his face. A drop of blood from the left one splashed onto his cheek like a tear. Where the fuck did you come from, my friend? asked an astounded black man in gray fatigues. He seemed to have been the only one to mark Don Callahans dramatic reentry into America. He was staring down at the man on the sidewalk with wide eyes. Oz, Callahan said, and sat up. His hands stung fiercely and now his ankle was back, complaining in loud yowpyowpyowp bursts of pain that were in perfect synch with his elevated heartbeat. Go on, fella. Get out of here. Im okay, so twentythree skidoo. Whatever you say, bro. Later. The man in the gray fatiguesa janitor just offshift was Callahans guessstarted walking. He favored Callahan with one final glancestill amazed but already beginning to doubt what hed seenand then skirted the little crowd listening to the street preacher. A moment later he was gone. Callahan got to his feet and stood on one of the steps leading up to Hammarskjld Plaza, looking for Jake. He didnt see him. He looked the other way, for the Unfound Door, but that was gone, too. Now listen, my friends! Listen, I say God, I say Gods love, I say gimme hallelujah! Hallelujah, said a member of the street preachers crowd, not really sounding all that into it. I say amen, thank you, brotha! Now listen because this is Americas time of TESTING and America is FAILING her TEST! This country needs a BOMB, not a newkewlar one but a GAWDBOMB, can you say hallelujah? Jake! Callahan shouted. Jake, where are you? Jake! Oy! That was Jake, his voice raised in a scream. Oy, LOOK OUT! There was a yapping, excited bark Callahan would have recognized anywhere. Then the scream of locked tires. The blare of a horn. And the thud. THREE Callahan forgot about his bashed ankle and sizzling palms. He ran around the preachers little crowd (it had turned as one to the street and the preacher had quit his rant in midflow) and saw Jake standing in Second Avenue, in front of a Yellow Cab that had slewed to a crooked stop no more than an inch from his legs. Blue smoke was still drifting up from its rear tires. The drivers face was a pallid, craning O of shock. Oy was crouched between Jakes feet. To Callahan the bumbler looked freaked out but otherwise all right. The thud came again and yet again. It was Jake, bringing his balledup fist down on the hood of the taxi. Asshole! Jake yelled at the pallid O on the other side of the windshield. Thud! Why dont you Thud! watch where THUD! the fuck youre GOING! THUDTHUD! You give it to im, Cholly! yelled someone from across the street, where perhaps three dozen people had stopped to watch the fun. The taxis door opened. The long tall helicopter who stepped out was wearing what Callahan thought was called a dashiki over jeans and huge mutant sneakers with boomerangs on the sides. There was a fez on his head, which probably accounted somewhat for the impression of extreme height, but not entirely. Callahan guessed the guy was at least six and a half feet tall, fiercely bearded, and scowling at Jake. Callahan started toward this developing scene with a sinking heart, barely aware that one of his feet was bare, slapping the pavement with every other step. The street preacher was also moving toward the developing confrontation. Behind the taxi stopped in the intersection, another driver, interested in nothing but his own scheduled evening plans, laid on his horn with both handsWHEEEOOOONNNNNNK!!!and leaned out his window, hollering Move it, Abdul, youre blockin the box! Jake paid no attention. He was in a total fury. This time he brought both fists down on the hood of the taxi, like Ratso Rizzo in Midnight CowboyTHUD! You almost ran my friend down, you asshole, did you even LOOK THUD! where you were GOING? Before Jake could bring his fists down on the hood of the taxi againwhich he obviously meant to do until he was satisfiedthe driver grabbed his right wrist. Stop doing that, you little punk! he cried in an outraged and strangely high voice. I am telling you Jake stepped back, breaking free of the tall taxi drivers grip. Then, in a liquid motion too quick for Callahan to follow, the kid yanked the Ruger from the dockers clutch under his arm and pointed it at the drivers nose. Tell me what? Jake raged at him. Tell me what? That you were driving too fast and almost ran down my friend? That you dont want to die here in the street with a hole in your head? Tell me WHAT? A woman on the far side of Second Avenue either saw the gun or caught a whiff of Jakes homicidal fury. She screamed and started hurrying away. Several more followed her example. Others gathered at the curb, smelling blood. Incredibly, one of thema young man wearing his hat turned around backwardshouted Go on, kid! Ventilate that cameljockey! The driver backed up two steps, his eyes widening. He held up his hands to his shoulders. Do not shoot me, boy! Please! Then say youre sorry! Jake raved. If you want to live, you cry my pardon! And his! And his! Jakes skin was dead pale except for tiny red spots of color high up on his cheekbones. His eyes were huge and wet. What Don Callahan saw most clearly and liked least was the way the barrel of the Ruger was trembling. Say youre sorry for the way you were driving, you careless motherfucker! Do it now! Do it now! Oy whined uneasily and said, Ake! Jake looked down at him. When he did, the taxi driver lunged for the gun. Callahan hit him with a fairly respectable right cross and the driver sprawled against the front of his car, his fez tumbling from his head. The driver behind him had clear lanes on either side and could have swung around but continued to lay on his horn instead, yelling Move it buddy, move it! Some of the spectators on the far side of Second were actually applauding like spectators at a Madison Square Garden fight, and Callahan thought Why, this place is a madhouse. Did I know that before and forget, or is it something I just learned? The street preacher, a man with a beard and long white hair that descended to his shoulders, was now standing beside Jake, and when Jake started to raise the Ruger again, the preacher laid a gentle, unhurried hand on the boys wrist. Holster it, boy, he said. Stick it away, praise Jesus. Jake looked at him and saw what Susannah had seen not long before a man who looked eerily like Henchick of the Manni. Jake put the gun back into the dockers clutch, then bent and picked up Oy. The bumbler whined, stretched his face toward Jakes on his long neck, and began to lick the boys cheek. Callahan, meanwhile, had taken the drivers arm and was leading him back toward his hack. He fished in his pocket and palmed a tendollar bill which was about half the money theyd managed to put together for this little safari. All over, he said to the driver, speaking in what he hoped was a soothing voice. No harm, no foul, you go your way, he goes his And then, past the hackie, yelling at the relentless hornhonker Horn works, you nimrod, so why not give it a rest and try your lights? That little bastard was pointing the gun at me, said the taxi driver. He felt on his head for his fez and didnt find it. Its only a model, Callahan said soothingly. The kind of thing you build from a kit, doesnt even fire pellets. I assure y Hey, pal! cried the street preacher, and when the taxi driver looked, the preacher underhanded him the faded red fez. With this back on his head, the driver seemed more willing to be reasonable. More willing yet when Callahan pressed the ten into his hand. The guy behind the cab was driving an elderly whale of a Lincoln. Now he laid on his horn again. You may be biting my crank, Mr. Monkeymeat! the taxi driver yelled at him, and Callahan almost burst out laughing. He started toward the guy in the Lincoln. When the taxi driver tried to join him, Callahan put his hands on the mans shoulders and stopped him. Let me handle this. Im a religious. Making the lion lie down with the lamb is my job. The street preacher joined them in time to hear this. Jake had retired to the background. He was standing beside the street preachers van and checking Oys legs to make sure he was uninjured. Brother! the street preacher addressed Callahan. May I ask your denomination? Your, I say hallelujah, your view of the Almighty? Im a Catholic, Callahan said. Therefore, I view the Almightys a guy. The street preacher held out a large, gnarled hand. It produced exactly the sort of fervent, justshortofcrushing grip Callahan had expected. The mans cadences, combined with his faint Southern accent, made Callahan think of Foghorn Leghorn in the Warner Bros. cartoons. Im Earl Harrigan, the preacher said, continuing to wring Callahans fingers. Church of the Holy GodBomb, Brooklyn and America. A pleasure to meet you, Father. Im sort of semiretired, Callahan said. If you have to call me something, make it Pere. Or just Don. Don Callahan. Praise Jesus, Father Don! Callahan sighed and supposed Father Don would have to do. He went to the Lincoln. The cab driver, meanwhile, scooted away with his OFF DUTY light on. Before Callahan could speak to the Lincolns driver, that worthy got out on his own. It was Callahans night for tall men. This one went about sixthree and was carrying a large belly. Its all over, Callahan told him. I suggest you get back in your car and drive out of here. It aint over until I say its over, Mr. Lincoln demurred. I got Abduls medallion number; what I want from you, Sparky, is the name and address of that kid with the dog. I also want a closer look at the pistol he justow, ow! OWW! OWWWWW! Quit it! Reverend Earl Harrigan had seized one of Mr. Lincolns hands and twisted it behind his back. Now he seemed to be doing something creative to the mans thumb. Callahan couldnt see exactly what it was. The angle was wrong. God loves you so much, Harrigan said, speaking quietly into Mr. Lincolns ear. And what He wants in return, you loudmouth shithead, is for you to give me hallelujah and then go on your way. Can you give me hallelujah? OWW, OWWW, let go! Police! POLEECE! Only policeman apt to be on this block around now would be Officer Benzyck, and hes already given me my nightly ticket and moved on. By now hell be in Denniss, having a pecan waffle and double bacon, praise God, so I want you to think about this. There came a cracking sound from behind Mr. Lincolns back that set Callahans teeth on edge. He didnt like to think Mr. Lincolns thumb had made that sound, but didnt know what else it could have been. Mr. Lincoln cocked his head skyward on his thick neck and let out a long exhalation of pure painYaaaahhhhhhh! You want to give me hallelujah, brother, advised Rev. Harrigan, or youll be, praise God, carrying your thumb home in your breast pocket. Hallelujah, whispered Mr. Lincoln. His complexion had gone an ocher shade. Callahan thought some of that might be attributable to the orangey streetlamps which at some point had replaced the fluorescents of his own time. Probably not all of it, though. Good! Now say amen. Youll feel better when you do. AAmen. Praise God! Praise Jeeeeeeeeesus! Let me go  let go of my thumb! Are you going to get out of here and stop blocking this intersection if I do? Yes! Without any more fiddlededee or hideyho, praise Jesus? Yes! Harrigan leaned yet closer to Mr. Lincoln, his lips stopping less than half an inch from a large plug of yelloworange wax caught in the cup of Mr. Lincolns ear. Callahan watched this with fascination and complete absorption, all other unresolved issues and unfulfilled goals for the time being forgotten. The Pere was more than halfway to believing that if Jesus had had Earl Harrigan on His team, it probably would have been old Pontius who ended up on the cross. My friend, bombs will soon begin to fall Godbombs. And you have to choose whether you want to be among those who are, praise Jesus, up in the sky dropping those bombs, or those who are in the villages below, getting blown to smithereens. Now I sense this isnt the time or place for you to make a choice for Christ, but will you at least think about these things, sir? Mr. Lincolns response must have been a tad slow for Rev. Harrigan, because that worthy did something else to the hand he had pinned behind Mr. Lincolns back. Mr. Lincoln uttered another high, breathless scream. I said, will you think about these things? Yes! Yes! Yes! Then get in your car and drive away and God bless you and keep you. Harrigan released Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln backed away from him, eyes wide, and got back into his car. A moment later he was driving down Second Avenuefast. Harrigan turned to Callahan and said, Catholics are going to Hell, Father Don. Idolators, each and every one of them; they bow to the Cult of Mary. And the Pope! Dont get me started on him! Yet I have known some fine Catholic folks, and have no doubt youre one of them. It may be I can pray you through to a change of faith. Lacking that, I may be able to pray you through the flames. He looked back at the sidewalk in front of what now seemed to be called Hammarskjld Plaza. I believe my congregation has dispersed. Sorry about that, Callahan said. Harrigan shrugged. Folks dont come to Jesus in the summertime, anyway, he said matteroffactly. They do a little windowshopping and then go back to their sinning. Winters the time for serious crusading  got to get you a little storefront where you can give em hot soup and hot scripture on a cold night. He looked down at Callahans feet and said, You seem to have lost one of your sandals, my mackerelsnapping friend. A new horn blared at them and a perfectly amazing taxito Callahan it looked like a newer version of the old VW Microbuseswent swerving past with a passenger yelling something out at them. It probably wasnt happy birthday. Also, if we dont get out of the street, faith may not be enough to protect us. FOUR Hes all right, Jake said, setting Oy down on the sidewalk. I flipped, didnt I? Im sorry. Perfectly understandable, the Rev. Harrigan assured him. What an interesting dog! Ive never seen one that looked quite like that, praise Jesus! And he bent to Oy. Hes a mixed breed, Jake said tightly, and he doesnt like strangers. Oy showed how much he disliked and distrusted them by raising his head to Harrigans hand and flattening his ears in order to improve the stroking surface. He grinned up at the preacher as if they were old, old pals. Callahan, meanwhile, was looking around. It was New York, and in New York people had a tendency to mind their business and let you mind yours, but still, Jake had drawn a gun. Callahan didnt know how many folks had seen it, but he did know it would only take one to report it, perhaps to this Officer Benzyck Harrigan had mentioned, and put them in trouble when they could least afford it. He looked at Oy and thought, Do me a favor and dont say anything, okay? Jake can maybe pass you off as some new kind of Corgi or Border Collie hybrid, but the minute you start talking, that goes out the window. So do me a favor and dont. Good boy, said Harrigan, and after Jakes friend miraculously did not respond by saying Oy! the preacher straightened up. I have something for you, Father Don. Just a minute. Sir, we really have to I have something for you, too, sonpraise Jesus, say dear Lord! But first  this wont take but a second  Harrigan ran to open the side door of his illegally parked old Dodge van, ducked inside, rummaged. Callahan bore this for awhile, but the sense of passing seconds quickly became too much. Sir, Im sorry, but Here they are! Harrigan exclaimed and backed out of the van with the first two fingers of his right hand stuck into the heels of a pair of battered brown loafers. If youre less than a size twelve, we can stuff em with newspaper. More, and I guess youre out of luck. A twelve is exactly what I am, Callahan said, and ventured a praiseGod as well as a thankyou. He was actually most comfortable in size eleven and a half shoes, but these were close enough, and he slipped them on with genuine gratitude. And now we Harrigan turned to the boy and said, The woman youre after got into a cab right where we had our little dustup, and no more than half an hour ago. He grinned at Jakes rapidly changing expressionfirst astonishment, then delight. She said the other one is in charge, that youd know who the other one was, and where the other one is taking her. Yeah, to the Dixie Pig, Jake said. Lex and Sixtyfirst. Pere, we might still have time to catch her, but only if we go right now. She No, Harrigan said. The woman who spoke to meinside my head she spoke to me and clear as a bell, praise Jesussaid you were to go to the hotel first. Which hotel? Callahan asked. Harrigan pointed down Fortysixth Street to the PlazaPark Hyatt. Thats the only one in the neighborhood  and thats the direction she came from. Thank you, Callahan said. Did she say why we were to go there? No, Harrigan said serenely, I believe right around then the other one caught her blabbing and shut her up. Then into the taxi and away she went! Speaking of moving on Jake began. Harrigan nodded, but also raised an admonitory finger. By all means, but remember that the Godbombs are going to fall. Never mind the showers of blessingthats for Methodist wimps and Episcopalian scuzzballs! The bombs are gonna fall! And boys? They turned back to him. I know you fellas are as much Gods human children as I am, for Ive smelled your sweat, praise Jesus. But what about the lady? The laydees, for in truth I blieve there were two of em. What about them? The woman you mets with us, Callahan said after a brief hesitation. Shes okay. I wonder about that, Harrigan said. The Book sayspraise God and praise His Holy Wordto beware of the strange woman, for her lips drip as does the honeycomb but her feet go down to death and her steps take hold on hell. Remove thy way from her and come not nigh the door of her house. He had raised one lumpy hand in a benedictory gesture as he offered this. Now he lowered it and shrugged. That aint exact, I dont have the memory for scripture that I did when I was younger and Bibleshoutin down south with my Daddy, but I think you get the drift. Book of Proverbs, Callahan said. Harrigan nodded. Chapter five, say Gawd. Then he turned and contemplated the building which rose into the night sky behind him. Jake started away, but Callahan stayed him with a touch  although when Jake raised his eyebrows, Callahan could only shake his head. No, he didnt know why. All he knew was that they werent quite through with Harrigan yet. This is a city stuffed with sin and sick with transgression, the preacher said at last. Sodom on the halfshell, Gomorrah on a graham cracker, ready for the Godbomb that will surely fall from the skies, say hallelujah, say sweet Jesus and gimme amen. But this right here is a good place. A good place. Can you boys feel it? Yes, Jake said. Can you hear it? Yes, Jake and Callahan said together. Amen! I thought it would all stop when they tore down the little deli that stood here years and years ago. But it didnt. Those angelic voices So speaks Gan along the Beam, Jake said. Callahan turned to him and saw the boys head cocked to one side, his face wearing the calm look of entrancement. Jake said So speaks Gan, and in the voice of the can calah, which some call angels. Gan denies the can toi; with the merry heart of the guiltless he denies the Crimson King and Discordia itself. Callahan looked at him with wide eyesfrightened eyesbut Harrigan nodded matteroffactly, as if he had heard it all before. Perhaps he had. There was a vacant lot after the deli, and then they built this. Two Hammarskjld Plaza. And I thought, Well, thatll end it and then Ill move on, for Satans grip is strong and his hoof prints leave deep tracks in the ground, and there no flower will bloom and no grain will grow. Can you say seelah? He raised his arms, his gnarly old mans hands, trembling with the outriders of Parkinsons, turned upward to the sky in that open immemorial gesture of praise and surrender. Yet still it sings, he said, and dropped them. Selah, Callahan murmured. You say true, we say thank ya. It is a flower, Harrigan said, for once I went in there to see. In the lobby, somebody say hallelujah, I say in the lobby between the doors to the street and the elevators to those upper floors where God knows how much dollarbill fuckery is done, theres a little garden growing in the sun which falls through the tall windows, a garden behind velvet ropes, and the sign says GIVEN BY THE TET CORPORATION, IN HONOR OF THE BEAME FAMILY, AND IN MEMORY OF GILEAD. Does it? Jake said, and his face lit with a glad smile. Do you say so, sai Harrigan? Boy, if Im lyin Im dyin. Gawdbomb! And in the middle of all those flowers there grows a single wild rose, so beautiful that I saw it and wept as those by the waters of Babylon, the great river that flows by Zion. And the men coming and going in that place, them with their briefcases stuffed full of Satans piecework, many of them wept, too. Wept and went right on about their whores business as if they didnt even know. They know, Jake said softly. You know what I think, Mr. Harrigan? I think the rose is a secret their hearts keep, and that if anyone threatened it, most of them would fight to protect it. Maybe to the death. He looked up at Callahan. Pere, we have to go. Yes. Not a bad idea, Harrigan agreed, for mine eyes can see Officer Benzyck headed back this way, and it might be well if you were gone when he gets here. Im glad your furry little friend wasnt hurt, son. Thanks, Mr. Harrigan. Praise God, hes no more a dog than I am, is he? No, sir, Jake said, smiling widely. Beware that woman, boys. She put a thought in my head. I call that witchcraft. And she was two. Twinssaytwim, aye, Callahan said, and then (without knowing he meant to do it until it was done) he sketched the sign of the cross in front of the preacher. Thank you for your blessing, heathen or not, Earl Harrigan said, clearly touched. Then he turned toward the approaching NYPD patrolman and called cheerfully, Officer Benzyck! Good to see you and theres some jam right there on your collar, praise God! And while Officer Benzyck was studying the jam on his uniform collar, Jake and Callahan slipped away. FIVE Whooeee, Jake said under his breath as they walked toward the brightly underlit hotel canopy. A white limousine, easily twice the size of any Jake had seen before (and hed seen his share; once his father had even taken him to the Emmys), was offloading laughing men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses. They came out in a seemingly endless stream. Yes indeed, Callahan said. Its like being on a roller coaster, isnt it? Jake said, Were not even supposed to be here. This was Roland and Eddies job. We were just supposed to go see Calvin Tower. Something apparently thought different. Well, it should have thought twice, Jake said gloomily. A kid and a priest, with one gun between them? Its a joke. What are our chances, if the Dixie Pig is full of vampires and low men unwinding on their day off? Callahan did not respond to this, although the prospect of trying to rescue Susannah from the Dixie Pig terrified him. What was that Gan stuff you were spouting? Jake shook his head. I dont knowI can barely remember what I said. I think its part of the touch, Pere. And do you know where I think I got it? Mia? The boy nodded. Oy trotted neatly at his heel, his long snout not quite touching Jakes calf. And Im getting something else, as well. I keep seeing this black man in a jail cell. Theres a radio playing, telling him all these people are deadthe Kennedys, Marilyn Monroe, George Harrison, Peter Sellers, Itzak Rabin, whoever he is. I think it might be the jail in Oxford, Mississippi, where they kept Odetta Holmes for awhile. But this is a man you see. Not Susannah but a man. Yes, with a toothbrush mustache, and he wears funny little goldrimmed glasses, like a wizard in a fairytale. They stopped just outside the radiance of the hotels entrance. A doorman in a green swallowtail coat blew an earsplitting blast on his little silver whistle, hailing down a Yellow Cab. Is it Gan, do you think? Is the black man in the jail cell Gan? I dont know. Jake shook his head with frustration. Theres something about the Dogan, too, all mixed in. And this comes from the touch. Yes, but its not from Mia or Susannah or you or me. I think  Jakes voice lowered. I think I better figure out who that black man is and what he means to us, because I think that what Im seeing comes from the Dark Tower itself. He looked at Callahan solemnly. In some ways, were getting very close to it, and thats why its so dangerous for the katet to be broken like it is. In some ways, were almost there. SIX Jake took charge smoothly and completely from the moment he stepped out of the revolving doors with Oy in his arms and then put the billybumbler down on the lobbys tile floor. Callahan didnt think the kid was even aware of it, and probably that was all to the good. If he got selfconscious, his confidence might crumble. Oy sniffed delicately at his own reflection in one of the lobbys green glass walls, then followed Jake to the desk, his claws clicking faintly on the black and white marble squares. Callahan walked beside him, aware that he was looking at the future and trying not to goggle at it too obviously. She was here, Jake said. Pere, I can almost see her. Both of them, her and Mia. Before Callahan could reply, Jake was at the desk. Cry pardon, maam, he said. My name is Jake Chambers. Do you have a message for me, or a package, or something? Itd be either from Susannah Dean or maybe from a Miss Mia. The woman peered down doubtfully at Oy for a moment. Oy looked up at her with a cheery grin that revealed a great many teeth. Perhaps these disturbed the clerk, because she turned away from him with a frown and examined the screen of her computer. Chambers? she asked. Yes, maam. Spoken in his best gettingalongwithgrownups voice. It had been awhile since hed needed to use that one, but it was still there, Jake found, and within easy reach. I have something for you, but its not from a woman. Its from someone named Stephen King. She smiled. I dont suppose its the famous writer? Do you know him? No, maam, Jake said, and snuck a sidewards glance at Callahan. Neither of them had heard of Stephen King until recently, but Jake understood why the name might give his current traveling companion the chills. Callahan didnt look particularly chilly at the moment, but his mouth had thinned to a single line. Well, she said, I suppose its a common enough name, isnt it? Probably there are normal Stephen Kings all over the United States who wish hed just  I dont know  give it a rest. She voiced a nervous little laugh, and Callahan wondered what had set her on edge. Oy, who got less doggy the longer you looked at him? Maybe, but Callahan thought it was more likely something in Jake, something that whispered danger. Perhaps even gunslinger. Certainly there was something in him that set him apart from other boys. Far. Callahan thought of him pulling the Ruger from the dockers clutch and sticking it under the unfortunate taxi drivers nose. Tell me that you were driving too fast and almost ran down my friend! hed screamed, his finger already white on the trigger. Tell me that you dont want to die here in the street with a hole in your head! Was that the way an ordinary twelveyearold reacted to a nearmiss accident? Callahan thought not. He thought the desk clerk was right to be nervous. As for himself, Callahan realized he felt a little better about their chances at the Dixie Pig. Not a lot, but a little. SEVEN Jake, perhaps sensing something a little offkilter, flashed the clerk his best gettingalongwithgrownups smile, but to Callahan it looked like Oys too many teeth. Just a moment, she said, turning away from him. Jake gave Callahan a puzzled whats upwithher look. Callahan shrugged and spread his hands. The clerk went to a cabinet behind her, opened it, looked through the contents of a box stored inside, and returned to the desk with an envelope bearing the PlazaParks logo. Jakes nameand something elsehad been written on the front in what looked like halfscript and halfprinting Jake Chambers This is the Truth She slid it across the desk to him, careful that their fingers should not touch. Jake took it and ran his fingers down the length of it. There was a piece of paper inside. Something else, as well. A hard narrow strip. He tore open the envelope and pulled out the paper. Folded inside it was the slim, white plastic rectangle of a hotel MagCard. The note had been written on a cheeky piece of stationery headed CALLING ALL BLOWHARDS. The message itself was only three lines long Dadachum, dadachee, not to worry, youve got the key. Dadachud, dadached, see it, Jake! The key is red! Jake looked at the MagCard and watched color abruptly swirl into it, turning it the color of blood almost instantly. Couldnt be red until the message was read, Jake thought, smiling a little at the ideas riddleish quality. He looked up to see if the clerk had seen the MagCards transformation, but she had found something which required her attention at the far end of the desk. And Callahan was checking out a couple of women whod just come strolling in from the street. He might be a Pere, Jake reflected, but his eye for the ladies still seemed to be in proper working order. Jake looked back at the paper and was just in time to read the last line Dadachum, dadachee, give this boy a plastic key. A couple of years before, his mother and father had given him a Tyco Chemistry Set for Christmas. Using the instruction booklet, hed whipped up a batch of invisible ink.


The words written in the stuff had faded almost as quickly as these words were fading now, only if you looked very closely, you could still read the message written in chemistry set ink. This one, however, was authentically gone, and Jake knew why. Its purpose had been served. There was no more need for it. Ditto the line about the key being red, and sure enough, that was fading, as well. Only the first line remained, as if he needed reminding Dadachum, dadachee, not to worry, youve got the key. Had Stephen King sent this message? Jake doubted it. More likely one of the other players in the gameperhaps even Roland or Eddiehad used the name to get his attention. Still, hed run upon two things since arriving here that encouraged him enormously. The first was the continued singing of the rose. It was stronger than ever, really, even though a skyscraper had been built on the vacant lot. The second was that Stephen King was apparently still alive twentyfour years after creating Jakes traveling companion. And no longer just a writer but a famous writer. Great. For now things were still rattling precariously along the right set of tracks. Jake grabbed Father Callahans arm and led him toward the gift shop and tinkling cocktail piano. Oy followed, padding at Jakes knee. Along the wall they found a line of house phones. When the operator answers, Jake said, tell her you want to talk to your friend Susannah Dean, or to her friend, Mia. Shell ask me what room, Callahan said. Tell her you forgot, but its on the nineteenth floor. How do you Itll be the nineteenth, just trust me. I do, Callahan said. The phone rang twice and then the operator asked how she could help. Callahan told her. He was connected, and in some room on the nineteenth floor, a telephone began to ring. Jake watched the Pere begin to speak, then subside into listening again with a small, bemused smile on his face. After a few moments, he hung up. Answering machine! he said. They have a machine that takes guests calls and then tapes messages! What a wonderful invention! Yeah, Jake said. Anyway, we know for sure that shes out and for pretty sure she didnt leave anyone behind to watch her gunna. But, just in case  He patted the front of his shirt, which now concealed the Ruger. As they crossed the lobby to the elevator bank, Callahan said What do we want in her room? I dont know. Callahan touched him on the shoulder. I think you do. The doors of the middle elevator popped open and Jake got on with Oy still at heel. Callahan followed, but Jake thought he was all at once dragging his feet a little. Maybe, Jake said as they started up. And maybe you do, too. Callahans stomach suddenly felt heavier, as if hed just finished a large meal. He supposed the added weight was fear. I thought I was rid of it, he said. When Roland took it out of the church, I really thought I was rid of it. Some bad pennies just keep turning up, Jake said. EIGHT He was prepared to try his unique red key in every door on the nineteenth floor if he had to, but Jake knew 1919 was right even before they reached it. Callahan did, too, and a sheen of sweat broke on his forehead. It felt thin and hot. Feverish. Even Oy knew. The bumbler whined uneasily. Jake, Callahan said. We need to think this over. That thing is dangerous. Worse, its malevolent. Thats why we gotta take it, Jake said patiently. He stood in front of 1919, drumming the MagCard between his fingers. From behind the doorand under it, and through itcame a hideous drone like the singing voice of some apocalyptic idiot. Mixed in was the sound of jangling, outoftune chimes. Jake knew the ball had the power to send you todash, and in those dark and mostly doorless spaces, it was all too possible to become lost forever. Even if you found your way to another version of Earth, it would have a queer darkness to it, as if the sun were always on the verge of total eclipse. Have you seen it? Callahan asked. Jake shook his head. I have, Callahan said dully, and armed sweat from his forehead. His cheeks had gone leaden. Theres an Eye in it. I think its the Crimson Kings eye. I think its a part of him thats trapped in there forever, and insane. Jake, taking that ball to a place where there are vampires and low menservants of the Kingwould be like giving Adolf Hitler an Abomb for his birthday. Jake knew perfectly well that Black Thirteen was capable of doing great, perhaps illimitable, damage. But he knew something else, as well. Pere, if Mia left Black Thirteen in this room and shes now going to where they are, theyll know about it soon enough. And theyll be after it in one of their big flashy cars before you can say Jack Robinson. Cant we leave it for Roland? Callahan asked miserably. Yes, Jake said. Thats a good idea, just like taking it to the Dixie Pig is a bad one. But we cant leave it for him here. Then, before Callahan could say anything else, Jake slid the bloodred MagCard into the slot above the doorknob. There was a loud click and the door swung open. Oy, stay right here, outside the door. Ake! He sat down, curling his cartoon squiggle of a tail around his paws, and looked at Jake with anxious eyes. Before they went in, Jake laid a cold hand on Callahans wrist and said a terrible thing. Guard your mind. NINE Mia had left the lights on, and yet a queer darkness had crept into Room 1919 since her departure. Jake recognized it for what it was todash darkness. The droning song of the idiot and the muffled, jangling chimes were coming from the closet. Its awake, he thought with mounting dismay. It was asleep beforedozing, at leastbut all this moving around woke it up. What do I do? Are the box and the bowling bag enough to make it safe? Do I have anything that will make it safer? Any charm, any sigul? As Jake opened the closet door, Callahan found himself exerting all the force of his willwhich was considerablejust to keep from fleeing. That atonal humming and the occasional jangling chimes beneath it offended his ears and mind and heart. He kept remembering the way station, and how he had shrieked when the hooded man had opened the box. How slick the thing inside had been! It had been lying on red velvet  and it had rolled. Had looked at him, and all the malevolent madness of the universe had been in that disembodied, leering gaze. I will not run. I will not. If the boy can stay, I can stay. Ah, but the boy was a gunslinger, and that made a difference. He was more than kas child; he was Roland of Gileads child as well, his adopted son. Dont you see how pale he is? Hes as scared as you are, for Christs sake! Now get hold of yourself, man! Perhaps it was perverse, but observing Jakes extreme pallor steadied him. When an old bit of nonsense song occurred to him and he began to sing under his breath, he steadied yet more. Round and round the mulberry bush, he sang in a whisper, the monkey chased the weasel  the monkey thought twas all in fun  Jake eased open the closet. There was a room safe inside. He tried 1919 and nothing happened. He paused to let the safe mechanism reset itself, wiped sweat from his forehead with both hands (they were shaking), and tried again. This time he punched 1999, and the safe swung open. Black Thirteens droning song and the contrapuntal jangle of the todash chimes both increased. The sounds were like chilly fingers prying around in their heads. And it can send you places, Callahan thought. All you have to do is let down your guard a little bit  open the bag  open the box  and then  oh, the places youll go! Pop goes the weasel! True though he knew this to be, part of him wanted to open the box. Lusted to. Nor was he the only one; as he watched, Jake knelt before the safe like a worshipper at an altar. Callahan reached to stop him from lifting the bag out with an arm that seemed incredibly heavy. It doesnt matter if you do or dont, a voice whispered in his mind. It was sleepinducing, that voice, and incredibly persuasive. Nonetheless, Callahan kept reaching. He grasped Jakes collar with fingers from which all feeling seemed to have departed. No, he said. Dont. His voice sounded draggy, dispirited, depressed. When he pulled Jake to one side, the boy seemed to go as if in slow motion, or underwater. The room now seemed lit by the sick yellow light that sometimes falls over a landscape before a ruinous storm. As Callahan fell onto his own knees before the open safe (he seemed to descend through the air for at least a full minute before touching down), he heard the voice of Black Thirteen, louder than ever. It was telling him to kill the boy, to open the boys throat and give the ball a refreshing drink of his warm lifes blood. Then Callahan himself would be allowed to leap from the rooms window. All the way down to Fortysixth Street you will praise me, Black Thirteen assured him in a voice both sane and lucid. Do it, Jake sighed. Oh yes, do it, who gives a damn. Ake! Oy barked from the doorway. Ake! They both ignored him. As Callahan reached for the bag, he found himself remembering his final encounter with Barlow, the king vampirethe Type One, in Callahans own parlancewho had come to the little town of Salems Lot. Found himself remembering how hed confronted Barlow in Mark Petries house, with Marks parents lying lifeless on the floor at the vampires feet, their skulls crushed and their ohsorational brains turned to jelly. While you fall, Ill let you whisper the name of my king, Black Thirteen whispered. The Crimson King. As Callahan watched his hands grasp the bagwhatever had been there before, NOTHING BUT STRIKES AT MIDWORLD LANES was now printed on the sidehe thought of how his crucifix had first glared with some otherworldly light, driving Barlow back  and then had begun to darken again. Open it! Jake said eagerly. Open it, I want to see it! Oy was barking steadily now. Down the hall someone yelled Shut that dog up! and was likewise ignored. Callahan slipped the ghostwood box from the bagthe box that had spent such a blessedly quiet time hidden beneath the pulpit of his church in Calla Bryn Sturgis. Now he would open it. Now he would observe Black Thirteen in all its repellent glory. And then die. Gratefully. TEN Sad to see a mans faith fail, the vampire Kurt Barlow had said, and then hed plucked Don Callahans dark and useless cross from his hand. Why had he been able to do that? Becausebehold the paradox, consider the riddleFather Callahan had failed to throw the cross away himself. Because he had failed to accept that the cross was nothing but one symbol of a far greater power, one that ran like a river beneath the universe, perhaps beneath a thousand universes I need no symbol, Callahan thought; and then Is that why God let me live? Was He giving me a second chance to learn that? It was possible, he thought as his hands settled on the lid of the box. Second chances were one of Gods specialties. Folks, you got to shut your dog up. The querulous voice of a hotel maid, but very distant. Then it said Madre de Dios, whys it so dark in here? Whats that  whats that  n  n  Perhaps she was trying to say noise. If so, she never finished. Even Oy now seemed resigned to the spell of the humming, singing ball, for he gave up his protests (and his post at the door) to come trotting into the room. Callahan supposed the beast wanted to be at Jakes side when the end came. The Pere struggled to still his suicidal hands. The thing in the box raised the volume of its idiots song, and the tips of his fingers twitched in response. Then they stilled again. I have that much of a victory, Callahan thought. Nemine, Ill do it. The voice of the maid, drugged and avid. I want to see it. Dios! I want to hold it! Jakes arms seemed to weigh a ton, but he forced them to reach out and grab the maid, a middleaged Hispanic lady who couldnt have weighed more than a hundred and five pounds. As he had struggled to still his hands, so Callahan now struggled to pray. God, not my will but Thine. Not the potter but the potters clay. If I cant do anything else, help me to take it in my arms and jump out the window and destroy the godsdamned thing once and for all. But if it be Your will to help me make it still, insteadto make it go back to sleepthen send me Your strength. And help me to remember  Drugged by Black Thirteen he might have been, but Jake still hadnt lost his touch. Now he plucked the rest of the thought out of the Peres mind and spoke it aloud, only changing the word Callahan used to the one Roland had taught them. I need no sigul, Jake said. Not the potter but the potters clay, and I need no sigul! God, Callahan said. The word was as heavy as a stone, but once it was out of his mouth, the rest of them came easier. God, if Youre still there, if You still hear me, this is Callahan. Please still this thing, Lord. Please send it back to sleep. I ask it in the name of Jesus. In the name of the White, Jake said. Ite! Oy yapped. Amen, said the maid in a stoned, bemused voice. For a moment the droning idiots song from the box rose another notch, and Callahan understood it was hopeless, that not even God Almighty could stand against Black Thirteen. Then it fell silent. God be thanked, he whispered, and realized his entire body was drenched with sweat. Jake burst into tears and picked up Oy. The chambermaid also began to weep, but had no one to comfort her. As Pere Callahan slid the meshy (and oddly heavy) material of the bowling bag back around the ghostwood box, Jake turned to her and said, You need to take a nap, sai. It was the only thing he could think of, and it worked. The maid turned and walked across to the bed. She crawled up on it, pulled her skirt down over her knees, and appeared to fall unconscious. Will it stay asleep? Jake asked Callahan in a low voice. Because  Pere  that was too close for comfort. Perhaps, but Callahans mind suddenly seemed freefreer than it had been in years. Or perhaps it was his heart that had been freed. In any case, his thoughts seemed very clear as he lowered the bowling bag to the folded drycleaning bags on top of the safe. Remembering a conversation in the alley behind Home. He and Frankie Chase and Magruder, out on a smokebreak. The talk had turned to protecting your valuables in New York, especially if you had to go away for awhile, and Magruder had said the safest storage in New York  the absolute safest storage  Jake, theres also a bag of plates in the safe. Orizas? Yes. Get them. While he did, Callahan went to the maid on the bed and reached into the left skirt pocket of her uniform. He brought out a number of plastic MagCards, a few regular keys, and a brand of mints hed never heard ofAltoids. He turned her over. It was like turning a corpse. Whatre you doing? Jake whispered. He had put Oy down so he could sling the silklined reed pouch over his shoulder. It was heavy, but he found the weight comforting. Robbing her, what does it look like? the Pere replied angrily. Father Callahan of the Holy Roman Catholic Church is robbing a hotel maid. Or would, if she had any  ah! In the other pocket was the little roll of bills hed been hoping for. She had been performing turndown service when Oys barking had distracted her. This included flushing the john, pulling the shades, turning down the bed, and leaving what the maids called pillow candy. Sometimes patrons tipped for the service. This maid was carrying two tens, three fives, and four ones. Ill pay you back if our paths cross, Callahan told the unconscious maid. Otherwise, just consider it your service to God. Whiiiite, the maid said in the slurred whisper of one who talks and yet sleeps. Callahan and Jake exchanged a look. ELEVEN In the elevator going back down, Callahan held the bag containing Black Thirteen and Jake carried the one with the Rizas inside. He also carried their money. It now came to a total of fortyeight dollars. Will it be enough? It was his only question after hearing the Peres plan for disposing of the ball, a plan which would necessitate another stop. I dont know and I dont care, Callahan replied. They were speaking in the low voices of conspirators, although the elevator was empty save for them. If I can rob a sleeping chambermaid, stiffing a cab driver should be a leadpipe cinch. Yeah, Jake said. He was thinking that Roland had done more than rob a few innocent people during his quest for the Tower; hed killed a good many, as well. Lets just get this done and then find the Dixie Pig. You dont have to worry so much, you know, Callahan said. If the Tower falls, youll be among the very first to know. Jake studied him. After a moment or two of this, Callahan cracked a smile. He couldnt help it. Not that funny, sai, Jake said, and they went out into the dark of that early summers night in the year of 99. TWELVE It was quarter to nine and there was still a residue of light across the Hudson when they arrived at the first of their two stops. The taximeters tale was nine dollars and fifty cents. Callahan gave the cabbie one of the maids tens. Mon, dont hurt yosef, the driver said in a powerful Jamaican accent. I dreadful fraid you might leave yosef shote. Youre lucky to get anything at all, son, Callahan said kindly. Were seeing New York on a budget. My woman got a budget, too, said the cabbie, and then drove away. Jake, meanwhile, was looking up. Wow, he said softly. I guess I forgot how big all this is. Callahan followed his glance, then said Lets get it done. And, as they hurried inside What are you getting from Susannah? Anything? Man with a guitar, Jake said. Singing  I dont know. And I should. It was another one of those coincidences that arent coincidences, like the owner of the bookstore being named Tower or Balazars joint turning out to be The Leaning Tower. Some song  I should know. Anything else? Jake shook his head. Thats the last thing I got from her, and it was just after we got into the taxi outside the hotel. I think shes gone into the Dixie Pig and now shes out of touch. He smiled faintly at the unintentional pun. Callahan veered toward the building directory in the center of the huge lobby. Keep Oy close to you. Dont worry. It didnt take Callahan long to find what he was looking for. THIRTEEN The sign read LONGTERM STORAGE 1036 MOS. USE TOKENS TAKE KEY MANAGEMENT ACCEPTS NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR LOST PROPERTY! Below, in a framed box, was a list of rules and regulations, which they both scanned closely. From beneath their feet came the rumble of a subway train. Callahan, who hadnt been in New York for almost twenty years, had no idea what train it might be, where it might go, or how deep in the citys intestine it might run. Theyd already come down two levels by escalator, first to the shops and then to here. The subway station was deeper still. Jake shifted the bag of Orizas to his other shoulder and pointed out the last line on the framed notice. Wed get a discount if we were tenants, he said. Count! Oy cried sternly. Aye, laddie, Callahan agreed, and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. We dont need a discount. Nor did they. After walking through a metal detector (no problem with the Orizas) and past a rentacop dozing on a stool, Jake determined that one of the smallest lockersthose on the far lefthand side of the long roomwould accommodate the MIDWORLD LANES bag and the box inside. To rent the box for the maximum length of time would cost twentyseven dollars. Pere Callahan fed bills into the various slots of the tokendispensing machine carefully, prepared for a malfunction of all the wonders and horrors hed seen during their brief time back in the city (the latter including a twodollar taxi dropcharge), this was in some ways the hardest to accept. A vending machine that accepted paper currency? A lot of sophisticated technology had to lie behind this machine with its dull brown finish and its sign commanding patrons to INSERT BILLS FACE UP! The picture accompanying the command showed George Washington with the top of his head facing to the left, but the bills Callahan fed into the machine seemed to work no matter which way the head was facing. Just as long as the picture was on top. Callahan was almost relieved when the machine did malfunction once, refusing to accept an old and wrinkled dollar bill. The relatively crisp fives it gobbled up without a murmur, dispensing little showers of tokens into the tray beneath. Callahan gathered up twentyseven dollars worth of these, started back toward where Jake was waiting, and then turned around again, curious about something. He looked on the side of the amazing (amazing to him, at least, it was) currencyeating vending machine. Toward the bottom, on a series of little plaques, was the information hed been looking for. This was a ChangeMakR 2000, manufactured in Cleveland, Ohio, but a lot of companies had chipped in General Electric, DeWalt Electronics, Showrie Electric, Panasonic, and, at the bottom, smallest of all but very much there, North Central Positronics. The snake in the garden, Callahan thought. This guy Stephen King, who supposedly thought me up, may only exist in one world, but what do you bet North Central Positronics exists in all of them? Sure, because thats the Crimson Kings rig, just like Sombras his rig, and he only wants what any powermad despot in history has wanted to be everywhere, own everything, and basically control the universe. Or bring it to darkness, he murmured. Pere! Jake called impatiently. Pere! Im coming, he said, and hurried across to Jake with his hands full of shiny gold tokens. FOURTEEN The key came out of Locker 883 after Jake had inserted nine of the tokens, but he went on putting them in until all twentyseven were gone. At this point the small glass porthole under the lockernumber turned red. Maxed out, Jake said with satisfaction. They were still talking in those low mustntwakethebaby tones, and this long, cavernous room was indeed very quiet. Jake guessed it would be bedlam at eight in the morning and five in the afternoon on working days, with folks coming and going from the subway station below, some of them storing their gear in the shortterm coinop lockers. Now there was just the ghostly sound of conversation drifting down the escalator well from the few shops still open in the arcade and the rumble of another approaching train. Callahan slid the bowling bag into the narrow opening. Slid it back as far as it would go with Jake watching anxiously. Then he closed the locker and Jake turned the key. Bingo, Jake said, putting the key in his pocket. Then, with anxiety Will it sleep? I think so, Callahan said. Like it did in my church. If another Beam breaks, it might wake up and work mischief, but then, if another Beam lets go If another Beam lets go, a little mischief wont matter, Jake finished for him. Callahan nodded. The only thing is  well, you know where were going. And you know what were apt to find there. Vampires. Low men. Other servants of the Crimson King, maybe. Possibly Walter, the hooded man in black who sometimes shifted his shape and form and called himself Randall Flagg. Possibly even the Crimson King himself. Yes, Jake knew. If you have the touch, Callahan continued, we have to assume that some of them do, too. Its possible they could pick this placeand the lockernumberout of our minds. Were going to go in there and try to get her, but we have to recognize that the chances of failure are fairly high. Ive never fired a gun in my life, and youre notforgive me, Jake, but youre not exactly a battlehardened veteran. Ive got one or two under my belt, Jake said. He was thinking about his time with Gasher. And about the Wolves, of course. This is apt to be different, Callahan said. Im just saying it might be a bad idea for us to be taken alive. If it comes to that. Do you understand? Dont worry, Jake said in a tone of chilling comfort. Dont worry about that, Pere. We wont be. FIFTEEN Then they were outside again, looking for another cab. Thanks to the maids tipmoney, Jake reckoned they had just about enough remaining cash to take them to the Dixie Pig. And he had an idea that once they entered the Pig, their need for ready cashor anything elsewould cease. Heres one, Callahan said, and waved his arm in a flagging gesture. Jake, meanwhile, looked back at the building from which they had just emerged. Youre sure itll be safe there? he asked Callahan as the cab swerved toward them, honking relentlessly at a slowpoke between him and his fares. According to my old friend sai Magruder, thats the safest storage area in Manhattan, Callahan said. Fifty times safer than the coinop lockers in Penn Station and Grand Central, he said  and of course here youve got the longterm storage option. There are probably other storage places in New York, but well be gone before they openone way or the other. The cab pulled over. Callahan held the door for Jake, and Oy hopped unobtrusively in right behind him. Callahan spared one final glance at the twin towers of the World Trade Center before getting in himself. Its good to go until June of two thousand and two, unless someone breaks in and steals it. Or if the building falls down on top of it, Jake said. Callahan laughed, although Jake hadnt quite sounded as if he were joking. Never happen. And if it did  well, one glass ball under a hundred and ten stories of concrete and steel? Even a glass ball filled with deep magic? Thatd be one way to take care of the nasty thing, I guess. SIXTEEN Jake had asked the cabbie to drop them off at Lexington and Fiftyninth, just to be on the safe side, and after looking to Callahan for approval, he gave the sai all but their last two dollars. On the corner of Lex and Sixtieth, Jake pointed to a number of cigarette ends mashed into the sidewalk. This is where he was, he said. The man playing the guitar. He bent down, picked up one of the butts, and held it in his palm for a moment or two. Then he nodded, smiled cheerlessly, and readjusted the strap on his shoulder. The Orizas clanked faintly inside the rush bag. Jake had counted them in the back of the cab and hadnt been surprised to find there were exactly nineteen. No wonder she stopped, Jake said, dropping the butt and wiping his hand on his shirt. And suddenly he sang, low but perfectly on pitch I am a man  of constant sorrow  Ive seen trouble  all my days  Im bound to ride  that Northern railroad  Perhaps Ill take  the very next train. Callahan, keyed up already, felt his nerves crank yet tighter. Of course he recognized the song. Only when Susannah had sung it that night on the Pavilionthe same night Roland had won the hearts of the Calla by dancing the fiercest commala many had ever seenshed substituted maid for man. She gave him money, Jake said dreamily. And she said  He stood with his head down, biting his lip, thinking hard. Oy looked up at him raptly. Nor did Callahan interrupt. Understanding had come to him he and Jake were going to die in the Dixie Pig. They would go down fighting, but they were going to die there. And he thought dying would be all right. It was going to break Rolands heart to lose the boy  yet he would go on. As long as the Dark Tower stood, Roland would go on. Jake looked up. She said, Remember the struggle. Susannah did. Yes. She came forward. Mia let her. And the song moved Mia. She wept. Say true? True. Mia, daughter of none, mother of one. And while Mia was distracted  her eyes blind with tears  Jake looked around. Oy looked around with him, likely not searching for anything but only imitating his beloved Ake. Callahan was remembering that night on the Pavilion. The lights. The way Oy had stood on his hind legs and bowed to the folken. Susannah, singing. The lights. The dancing, Roland dancing the commala in the lights, the colored lights. Roland dancing in the white. Always Roland; and in the end, after the others had fallen, murdered away one by one in these bloody motions, Roland would remain. I can live with that, Callahan thought. And die with it. She left something but its gone! Jake said in a distressed, almostcrying voice. Someone must have found it  or maybe the guitarplayer saw her drop it and took it  this fucking city! Everyone steals everything! Ah, shit! Let it go. Jake turned his pale, tired, frightened face up to Callahans. She left us something and we need it! Dont you understand how thin our chances are? Yes. If you want to back off, Jake, now would be the time. The boy shook his head with no doubt nor the slightest hesitation, and Callahan was fiercely proud of him. Lets go, Pere, he said. SEVENTEEN On the corner of Lex and Sixtyfirst they stopped again. Jake pointed across the street. Callahan saw the green awning and nodded. It was imprinted with a cartoon porker that was grinning blissfully in spite of having been roasted a bright and smoking red. THE DIXIE PIG was written on the awnings overhang. Parked in a row in front of it were five long black limousines with their accent lights glowing a slightly blurred yellow in the dark. Callahan realized for the first time that a mist was creeping down the Avenue. Here, Jake said, and handed him the Ruger. The boy rummaged in his pockets and came up with two big handfuls of cartridges. They gleamed dully in the pervasive orange glow of the streetlamps. Put em all in your breast pocket, Pere. Easier to get at that way, all right? Callahan nodded. Ever shot a gun before? No, Callahan said. Have you ever fired one of those plates? Jakes lips parted in a grin. Benny Slightman and I snuck a bunch of the practice dishes out to the riverbank and had a match one night. He wasnt much good, but  Let me guess. You were. Jake shrugged, then nodded. He had no words to express how fine the plates had felt in his hands, how savagely right. But perhaps that was natural. Susannah had also taken quickly and naturally to throwing the Oriza. That Pere Callahan had seen for himself. All right, whats our plan? Callahan asked. Now that he had decided to go through it all the way to the end, he was more than willing to give leadership over to the boy. Jake was, after all, the gunslinger. The boy shook his head. There is none, he said, not really. I go in first. You right behind me. Once were through the door, we spread apart. Ten feet between us any time we have ten feet to give, Peredo you understand? So that no matter how many there are or how close they are, no one of them can get both of us at the same time. This was Rolands teaching, and Callahan recognized it as such. He nodded. Ill be able to follow her by touch, and Oy will be able to by scent, Jake said. Move with us. Shoot whatever asks to be shot, and without hesitation, do you understand? Aye. If you kill something that has what looks like a useful weapon, take it. If you can scoop it up on the move, that is. We have to keep moving. We have to keep taking it to them. We have to be relentless. Can you scream? Callahan considered it, then nodded. Scream at them, Jake said. Ill be doing the same. And Ill be moving. Maybe running, more likely at a good fast walk. Make sure that every time I look on my right, I see the side of your face. Youll see it, Callahan said, and thought Until one of them drops me, at least. After we bring her out of there, Jake, am I a gunslinger? Jakes grin was wolfish, all his doubts and fears put behind him. Khef, ka, and katet, he said. Look, theres the WALK light. Lets cross. EIGHTEEN The drivers seat of the first limo was empty. There was a fellow in a cap and a uniform behind the wheel of the second, but to Pere Callahan the sai looked asleep. Another man in cap and uniform was leaning against the sidewalk side of the third limo. The coal of a cigarette made a lazy arc from his side to his mouth and then back down again. He glanced their way, but with no appreciable interest. What was there to see? A man going on elderly, a boy going on teenage, and a scurrying dog. Big deal.


When they gained the other side of Sixtyfirst, Callahan saw a sign on a chrome stand in front of the restaurant CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION What exactly did you call tonights function at the Dixie Pig? Callahan wondered. A baby shower? A birthday party? What about Oy? he asked Jake in a low voice. Oy stays with me. Only four words, but they were enough to convince Callahan Jake knew what he did this was their night to die. Callahan didnt know if theyd manage to go out in a blaze of glory, but they would be going out, all three of them. The clearing at the end of the path was now hidden from their view by only a single turn; they would enter it three abreast. And little as he wanted to die while his lungs were still clear and his eyes could still see, Callahan understood that things could have been much worse. Black Thirteen had been stuffed away in another dark place where it would sleep, and if Roland did indeed remain standing when the hurlyburly was done, the battle lost and won, then he would track it down and dispose of it as he saw fit. Meanwhile Jake, listen to me a second. This is important. Jake nodded, but he looked impatient. Do you understand that you are in danger of death, and do you ask forgiveness for your sins? The boy understood he was being given last rites. Yes, he said. Are you sincerely sorry for those sins? Yes. Repent of them? Yes, Pere. Callahan sketched the sign of the cross in front of him. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Oy barked. Just once, but with excitement. And it was a bit muffled, that bark, for he had found something in the gutter and was holding it up to Jake in his mouth. The boy bent and took it. What? Callahan asked. What is it? Its what she left for us, Jake said. He sounded enormously relieved, almost hopeful again. What she dropped while Mia was distracted and crying about the song. Oh manwe might have a chance, Pere. We might just have a chance after all. He put the object in the Peres hand. Callahan was surprised by its weight, and then struck almost breathless by its beauty. He felt the same dawning of hope. It was probably stupid, but it was there, all right. He held the scrimshaw turtle up to his face and ran the pad of his index finger over the questionmarkshaped scratch on its shell. Looked into its wise and peaceful eyes. How lovely it is, he breathed. Is it the Turtle Maturin? It is, isnt it? I dont know, Jake said. Probably. She calls it the skldpadda, and it may help us, but it cant kill the harriers that are waiting for us in there. He nodded toward the Dixie Pig. Only we can do that, Pere. Will you? Oh yes, Callahan said calmly. He put the turtle, the skldpadda, into his breast pocket. Ill shoot until the bullets are gone or Im dead. If I run out of bullets before they kill me, Ill club them with the gunbutt. Good. Lets go give them some last rites. They walked past the CLOSED sign on its chrome post, Oy trotting between them, his head up and his muzzle wearing that toothy grin. They mounted the three steps to the double doors without hesitating. At the top, Jake reached into the pouch and brought out two of the plates. He tapped them together, nodded at the dull ringing sound, and then said Lets see yours. Callahan lifted the Ruger and held the barrel beside his right cheek like a duelist. Then he touched his breast pocket, which bulged and drooped with shells. Jake nodded, satisfied. Once were in, we stay together. Always together, with Oy between. On three. And once we start, we dont stop until were dead. Never stop. Right. Are you ready? Yes. Gods love on you, boy. And on you, Pere. One  two  three. Jake opened the door and together they went into dim light and the sweet tangy smell of roasting pork. STAVE Commalacomeki, Theres a time to live and one to die. With your back against the final wall Ya gotta let the bullets fly. RESPONSE Commalacome ki! Let the bullets fly! Dont ee mourn for me, my lads When it comes my day to die. 13TH STANZA HILE, MIA, HILE, MOTHER ONE Ka might have put that downtown bus where it was when Mias cab pulled up, or it might only have been coincidence. Certainly its the sort of question that provokes argument from the humblest streetpreacher (can you give me hallelujah) all the way up to the mightiest of theological philosophers (can you give me a Socratic amen). Some might consider it almost frivolous; the mighty issues that loom their shadows behind the question, however, are anything but. One downtown bus, half empty. But if it hadnt been there on the corner of Lex and Sixtyfirst, Mia likely would never have noticed the man playing the guitar. And, had she not stopped to listen to the man playing the guitar, who knows how much of what followed might have been different? TWO Awwww, man, wouldja lookadat! the cab driver exclaimed, and lifted his hand to his windshield in an exasperated gesture. A bus was parked on the corner of Lexington and Sixtyfirst, its diesel engine rumbling and its taillights flashing what Mia took to be some kind of distress code. The bus driver was standing by one of the rear wheels, looking at the dark cloud of diesel smoke pouring from the buss rear vent. Lady, said the cab driver, you mind getting off on the corner of Sixtieth? Thabe all right? Is it? Mia asked. What should I say? Sure, Susannah replied absently. Sixtieths fine. Mias question had called her back from her version of the Dogan, where shed been trying to get in touch with Eddie. Shed had no luck doing that, and was appalled at the state of the place. The cracks in the floor now ran deep, and one of the ceiling panels had crashed down, bringing the fluorescent lights and several long snarls of electrical cable with it. Some of the instrument panels had gone dark. Others were seeping tendrils of smoke. The needle on the SUSANNAHMIO dial was all the way over into the red. Below her feet, the floor was vibrating and the machinery was screaming. And saying that none of this was real, it was all only a visualization technique, kind of missed the whole point, didnt it? Shed shut down a very powerful process, and her body was paying a price. The Voice of the Dogan had warned her that what she was doing was dangerous; that it wasnt (in the words of a TV ad) nice to fool Mother Nature. Susannah had no idea which of her glands and organs were taking the biggest beating, but she knew that they were hers. Not Mias. It was time to call a halt to this madness before everything went skyhigh. First, though, shed tried to get in touch with Eddie, yelling his name repeatedly into the mike with NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS stamped on it. Nothing. Yelling Rolands name also brought no result. If they were dead, she would have known it. She was sure of that. But not to be able to get in touch with them at all  what did that mean? It mean you once mo been fucked mos righteous, honeychile, Detta told her, and cackled. This what you get fo messin wit honkies. I can get out here? Mia was asking, shy as a girl arriving at her first dance. Really? Susannah would have slapped her own brow, had she had one. God, when it was about anything but her baby, the bitch was so goddam timid! Yes, go ahead. Its only a single block, and on the avenues, the blocks are short. The driver  how much should I give the driver? Give him a ten and let him keep the change. Here, hold it out for me Susannah sensed Mias reluctance and reacted with weary anger. This was not entirely without amusement. Listen to me, sweetheart, I wash my hands of you. Okay? Give him any fucking bill you want. No, no, its all right. Humble now. Frightened. I trust you, Susannah. And she held up the remaining bills from Mats, fanned out in front of her eyes like a hand of cards. Susannah almost refused, but what was the point? She came forward, took control of the brown hands holding the money, selected a ten, and gave it to the driver. Keep the change, she said. Thanks, lady! Susannah opened the curbside door. A robot voice began to speak when she did, startling herstartling both of them. It was someone named Whoopi Goldberg, reminding her to take her bags. For SusannahMia, the question of her gunna was moot. There was only one piece of baggage which concerned them now, and of this Mia would soon be delivered. She heard guitar music. At the same time she felt her control over the hand stuffing money back into her pocket and the leg swinging out of the cab begin to ebb. Mia, taking over again now that Susannah had solved another of her little New York dilemmas. Susannah began to struggle against this usurpation (my body, goddammit, mine, at least from the waist up, and that includes the head and the brain inside it!) and then quit. What was the use? Mia was stronger. Susannah had no idea why that should be, but she knew that it was. A kind of queer Bushido fatalism had come over Susannah Dean by this point. It was the sort of calmness that cloaks the drivers of cars skidding helplessly toward bridge overpasses, the pilots of planes that heel over into their final dives, their engines dead  and gunslingers driven to their final cave or draw. Later she might fight, if fighting seemed either worthwhile or honorable. She would fight to save herself or the baby, but not Miathis was her decision. Mia had forfeited any chance of rescue she might once have deserved, in Susannahs eyes. For now there was nothing to do, except maybe to turn the LABOR FORCE dial back to 10. She thought she would be allowed that much control. Before that, though  the music. The guitar. It was a song she knew, and knew well. She had sung a version of it to the folken the night of their arrival in Calla Bryn Sturgis. After all she had been through since meeting Roland, hearing Man of Constant Sorrow on this New York streetcorner did not strike her as coincidental in the least. And it was a wonderful song, wasnt it? Perhaps the vertex of all the folk songs she had so loved as a younger woman, the ones that had seduced her, step by step, into activism and had led her finally to Oxford, Mississippi. Those days were goneshe felt ever so much older than she had thenbut this songs sad simplicity still appealed to her. The Dixie Pig was less than a block from here. Once Mia had transported them through its doors, Susannah would be in the Land of the Crimson King. She had no doubts or illusions about that. She did not expect to return from there, did not expect to see either her friends or her beloved again, and had an idea she might have to die with Mias cheated howls for company  but none of that had to interfere with her enjoyment of this song now. Was it her deathsong? If so, fine. Susannah, daughter of Dan, reckoned there could have been far worse. THREE The busker had set up shop in front of a caf called Blackstrap Molasses. His guitar case was open in front of him, its purple velvet interior (exactly the same shade as the rug in sai Kings Bridgton bedroom, can you say amen) scattered with change and bills, just so any unusually innocent passersby would know the right thing to do. He was sitting on a sturdy wooden cube which looked exactly like the one upon which the Rev. Harrigan stood to preach. There were signs that he was almost through for the night. He had put on his jacket, which bore a New York Yankees patch on the sleeve, and a hat with JOHN LENNON LIVES printed above the bill. There had apparently been a sign in front of him but now it was back in his instrument case, wordsside down. Not that Mia would have known what was writ upon it in any case, not she. He looked at her, smiled, and quit his fingerpicking. She raised one of the remaining bills and said, Ill give you this if youll play that song again. All of it, this time. The young man looked about twenty, and while there was nothing very handsome about him, with his pale, spotty complexion, the gold ring in one of his nostrils, and the cigarette jutting from the corner of his mouth, he had an engaging air. His eyes widened as he realized whose face was on the bit of currency she was holding. Lady, for fifty bucks Id play every Ralph Stanley song I know  and I know quite a few of em. Just this one will do us fine, Mia said, and tossed the bill. It fluttered into the buskers guitar case. He watched its prankish descent with disbelief. Hurry, Mia said. Susannah was quiet, but Mia sensed her listening. My time is short. Play. And so the guitarplayer sitting on the box in front of the caf began to play a song Susannah had first heard in The Hungry i, a song she had herself sung at God only knew how many hootenannies, a song shed once sung behind a motel in Oxford, Mississippi. The night before they had all been thrown in jail, that had been. By then those three young voterregistration boys had been missing almost a month, gone into the black Mississippi earth somewhere in the general vicinity of Philadelphia (they were eventually found in the town of Longdale, can you give me hallelujah, can you please say amen). That fabled White Sledgehammer had begun once more to swing in the redneck toolies, but they had sung anyway. Odetta HolmesDet, they called her in those dayshad begun this particular song and then the rest of them joined in, the boys singing man and the girls singing maid. Now, rapt within the Dogan which had become her gulag, Susannah listened as this young man, unborn in those terrible old days, sang it again. The cofferdam of her memory broke wide open and it was Mia, unprepared for the violence of these recollections, who was lifted upon the wave. FOUR In the Land of Memory, the time is always Now. In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick  but their hands never move. There is an Unfound Door (O lost) and memory is the key which opens it. FIVE Their names are Cheney, Goodman, Schwerner; these are those who fall beneath the swing of the White Sledgehammer on the 19th of June, 1964. O Discordia! SIX Theyre staying at a place called the Blue Moon Motor Hotel, on the Negro side of Oxford, Mississippi. The Blue Moon is owned by Lester Bambry, whose brother John is pastor of the First AfroAmerican Methodist Church of Oxford, can you give me hallelujah, can you say amen. It is July 19th of 1964, a month to the day after the disappearance of Cheney, Goodman, and Schwerner. Three days after they disappeared somewhere around Philadelphia there was a meeting at John Bambrys church and the local Negro activists told the three dozen or so remaining white northerners that in light of what was now happening, they were of course free to go home. And some of them have gone home, praise God, but Odetta Holmes and eighteen others stay. Yes. They stay at the Blue Moon Motor Hotel. And sometimes at night they go out back, and Delbert Anderson brings his guitar and they sing. I Shall Be Released, they sing and John Henry, they sing, gonna whop the steel on down (great Gawd, say Gawdbomb), and they sing Blowin in the Wind and they sing Hesitation Blues by the Rev. Gary Davis, all of them laughing at the amiably risqu verses a dollar is a dollar and a dime is a dime I got a houseful of chillun aint none of em mine, and they sing I Aint Marchin Anymore and they sing in the Land of Memory and the Kingdom of Ago they sing in the bloodheat of their youth, in the strength of their bodies, in the confidence of their minds they sing to deny Discordia to deny the can toi in affirmation of Gan the Maker, Gan the Eviltaker they dont know these names they know all these names the heart sings what it must sing the blood knows what the blood knows on the Path of the Beam our hearts know all the secrets and they sing sing Odetta begins and Delbert Anderson plays; she sings I am a maid of constant sorrow  Ive seen trouble all my days  I bid farewell  to old Kentucky  SEVEN So Mia was ushered through the Unfound Door and into the Land of Memory, transported to the weedy yard behind Lester Bambrys Blue Moon Motor Hotel, and so she heard (hears) EIGHT Mia hears the woman who will become Susannah as she sings her song. She hears the others join in, one by one, until they are all singing together in a choir, and overhead is the Mississippi moon, raining its radiance down on their facessome black, some whiteand upon the cold steel rails of the tracks which run behind the hotel, tracks which run south from here, which run out to Longdale, the town where on August 5th of 1964 the badly decomposed bodies of their amigos will be foundJames Cheney, twentyone; Andrew Goodman, twentyone; Michael Schwerner, twentyfour; O Discordia! And to you who favor darkness, give you joy of the red Eye that shines there. She hears them sing. All thro this Earth Im bound to ramble  Thro storm and wind, thro sleet and rain  Im bound to ride that Northern railroad  Nothing opens the eye of memory like a song, and it is Odettas memories that lift Mia and carry her as they sing together, Det and her kamates under the silvery moon. Mia sees them walking hence from here with their arms linked, singing (oh deep in my heart  I do believe  ) another song, the one they feel defines them most clearly. The faces lining the street and watching them are twisted with hate. The fists being shaken at them are callused. The mouths of the women who purse their lips to shoot the spit that will clabber their cheeks dirty their hair stain their shirts are paintless and their legs are without stockings and their shoes are nothing but runover lumps. There are men in overalls (Oshkoshbygosh, someone say hallelujah). There are teenage boys in clean white sweaters and flattop haircuts and one of them shouts at Odetta, carefully articulating each word We Will Kill! Every! Goddam! Nigger! Who Steps Foot On The Campus Of Ole Miss! And the camaraderie in spite of the fear. Because of the fear. The feeling that they are doing something incredibly important something for the ages. They will change America, and if the price is blood, why then they will pay it. Say true, say hallelujah, praise God, give up your loud amen. Then comes the white boy named Darryl, and at first he couldnt, he was limp and he couldnt, and then later on he could and Odettas secret otherthe screaming, laughing, ugly othernever came near. Darryl and Det lay together until morning, slept spoons until morning beneath the Mississippi moon. Listening to the crickets. Listening to the owls. Listening to the soft smooth hum of the Earth turning on its gimbals, turning and turning ever further into the twentieth century. They are young, their blood runs hot, and they never doubt their ability to change everything. Its fare you well, my own true lover  This is her song in the weeds behind the Blue Moon Motor Hotel; this is her song beneath the moon. Ill never see your face again  Its Odetta Holmes at the apotheosis of her life, and Mia is there! She sees it, feels it, is lost in its glorious and some would say stupid hope (ah but I say hallelujah, we all say Gawdbomb). She understands how being afraid all the time makes ones friends more precious; how it makes every bite of every meal sweet; how it stretches time until every day seems to last forever, leading on to velvet night, and they know James Cheney is dead (say true) they know Andrew Goodman is dead (say hallelujah) they know Michael Schwerneroldest of them and still just a baby at twentyfouris dead. (Give up your loudest amen!) They know that any of them is also eligible to wind up in the mud of Longdale or Philadelphia. At any time. The night after this particular hoot behind the Blue Moon, most of them, Odetta included, will be taken to jail and her time of humiliation will begin. But tonight shes with her friends, with her lover, and they are one, and Discordia has been banished. Tonight they sing swaying with their arms around each other. The girls sing maid, the boys sing man. Mia is overwhelmed by their love for one another; she is exalted by the simplicity of what they believe. At first, too stunned to laugh or to cry, she can only listen, amazed. NINE As the busker began the fourth verse, Susannah joined in, at first tentatively and thenat his encouraging smilewith a will, harmonizing above the young mans voice For breakfast we had bulldog gravy For supper we had beans and bread The miners dont have any dinner And a tick of straw they call a bed  TEN The busker quit after that verse, looking at SusannahMia with happy surprise. I thought I was the only one who knew that one, he said. Its the way the Freedom Riders used to No, Susannah said quietly. Not them. It was the voterregistration people who sang the bulldoggravy verse. The folks who came down to Oxford in the summer of 64. When those three boys were killed. Schwerner and Goodman, he said. I cant remember the name of the James Cheney, she said quietly. He had the most beautiful hair. You talk as though you knew him, he said, but you cant be much over  thirty? Susannah had an idea she looked a good deal older than thirty, especially tonight, but of course this young man had fifty dollars more in his guitar case now than had been there a single song ago, and it had perhaps affected his eyesight. My mother spent the summer of 64 in Neshoba County, Susannah said, and with two spontaneously chosen wordsmy motherdid her captor more damage than she could have imagined. Those words flayed open Mias heart. Cool on Mom! the young man exclaimed, and smiled. Then the smile faded. He fished the fifty out of the guitar case and held it up to her. Take it back. It was a pleasure just to sing with you, maam. I really couldnt, Susannah said, smiling. Remember the struggle, thatd be enough for me. And remember Jimmy, Andy, and Michael, if it does ya. I know it would do me just fine. Please, the young man persisted. He was smiling again but the smile was troubled and he might have been any of those young men from the Land of Ago, singing in the moonlight between the slumped assends of the Blue Moons shacky little units and the doublehammered heatless moonlight gleam of the railroad tracks; he could have been any in his beauty and the careless flower of his youth and how in that moment Mia loved him. Even her chap seemed secondary in that glow. She knew it was in many ways a false glow, imparted by the memories of her hostess, and yet she suspected that in other ways it might be real. She knew one thing for sure only a creature such as herself, whod had immortality and given it up, could appreciate the raw courage it took to stand against the forces of Discordia. To risk that fragile beauty by putting beliefs before personal safety. Make him happy, take it back, she told Susannah, but would not come forward and make Susannah do so. Let it be her choice. Before Susannah could reply, the alarm in the Dogan went off, flooding their shared mind with noise and red light. Susannah turned in that direction, but Mia grabbed her shoulder in a grip like a claw before she could go. Whats happening? Whats gone wrong? Let me loose! Susannah twisted free. And before Mia could grab her again, she was gone. ELEVEN Susannahs Dogan pulsed and flared with red paniclight. A Klaxon hammered an audio tattoo from the overhead speakers. All but two of the TV screensone still showing the busker on the corner of Lex and Sixtieth, the other the sleeping babyhad shorted out. The cracked floor was humming under Susannahs feet and throwing up dust. One of the control panels had gone dark, and another was in flames. This looked bad. As if to confirm her assessment, the Blainelike Voice of the Dogan began to speak again. WARNING! it cried. SYSTEM OVERLOAD! WITHOUT POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA, TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN 40 SECONDS! Susannah couldnt remember any Section Alpha from her previous visits to the Dogan, but wasnt surprised to now see a sign labeled just that. One of the panels near it suddenly erupted in a gaudy shower of orange sparks, setting the seat of a chair on fire. More ceiling panels fell, trailing snarls of wiring. WITHOUT POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA, TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN 30 SECONDS! What about the EMOTIONAL TEMP dial? Leave it alone, she muttered to herself. Okay, CHAP? What about that one? After a moments thought, Susannah flipped the toggle from ASLEEP to AWAKE and those disconcerting blue eyes opened at once, staring into Susannahs with what looked like fierce curiosity. Rolands child, she thought with a strange and painful mixture of emotions. And mine. As for Mia? Girl, you nothing but a kamai. Im sorry for you. Kamai, yes. Not just a fool, but kas foola fool of destiny. WITHOUT POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA, TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN 25 SECONDS! So waking the baby hadnt done any good, at least not in terms of preventing a complete system crash. Time for Plan B. She reached out for the absurd LABOR FORCE controlknob, the one that looked so much like the ovendial on her mothers stove. Turning the dial back to 2 had been difficult, and had hurt like a bastard. Turning it the other way was easier, and there was no pain at all. What she felt was an easing somewhere deep in her head, as if some network of muscles which had been flexed for hours was now letting go with a little cry of relief. The blaring pulse of the Klaxon ceased. Susannah turned LABOR FORCE to 8, paused there, then shrugged. What the hell, it was time to go for broke, get this over with. She turned the dial all the way to 10. The moment it was there, a great glossy pain hardened her stomach and then rolled lower, gripping her pelvis. She had to tighten her lips against a scream. POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED, said the voice, and then it dropped into a John Wayne drawl that Susannah knew all too well. THANKS A WHOLE HEAP, LIL COWGIRL. She had to tighten her lips against another screamnot pain this time but outright terror. It was all very well to remind herself Blaine the Mono was dead and this voice was coming from some nasty practical joker in her own subconscious, but that didnt stop the fear. LABOR  HAS COMMENCED, said the amplified voice, dropping the John Wayne imitation. LABOR  HAS COMMENCED. Then, in a horrible (and nasal) Bob Dylan drawl that set her teeth on edge, the voice sang HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU  BABE!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY  TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY  DEAR MORDRED  HAPPY BIRTHDAY  TO YOU! Susannah visualized a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall behind her, and when she turned it was, of course, right there (she had not imagined the little sign reading ONLY YOU AND SOMBRA CAN HELP PREVENT CONSOLE FIRES, howeverthat, along with a drawing of Shardik o the Beam in a Smokey the Bear hat, was some other jokers treat). As she hurried across the cracked and uneven floor to get the extinguisher, skirting the fallen ceiling panels, another pain ripped into her, lighting her belly and thighs on fire, making her want to double over and bear down on the outrageous stone in her womb. Not going to take long, she thought in a voice that was part Susannah and part Detta. No maam. This chap comin in on the express train! But then the pain let up slightly. She snatched the extinguisher off the wall when it did, trained the slim black horn on the flaming control panel, and pressed the trigger. Foam billowed out, coating the flames. There was a baleful hissing sound and a smell like burning hair. THE FIRE  IS OUT, the Voice of the Dogan proclaimed. THE FIRE  IS OUT. And then changing, quick as a flash, to a plummy British Lord HawHaw accent I SAY, JOLLY GOOD SHOW, SEWZANNAH, ABSOLUTELY BRILLLLIANT! She lurched across the minefield of the Dogans floor again, seized the microphone, and pressed the transmit toggle. Above her, on one of the TV screens still operating, she could see that Mia was on the move again, crossing Sixtieth. Then Susannah saw the green awning with the cartoon pig, and her heart sank. Not Sixtieth, but Sixtyfirst. The hijacking mommybitch had reached her destination. Eddie! she shouted into the microphone. Eddie or Roland! And what the hell, she might as well make it a clean sweep. Jake! Pere Callahan! Weve reached the Dixie Pig and were going to have this damn baby! Come for us if you can, but be careful! She looked up at the screen again. Mia was now on the Dixie Pig side of the street, peering at the green awning. Hesitating. Could she read the words DIXIE PIG? Probably not, but she could surely understand the cartoon. The smiling, smoking pig. And she wouldnt hesitate long in any case, now that her labor had started. Eddie, I have to go. I love you, sugar! Whatever else happens, you remember that! Never forget it! I love you! This is  Her eye fell on the semicircular readout on the panel behind the mike. The needle had fallen out of the red. She thought it would stay in the yellow until the labor was over, then subside into the green. Unless something went wrong, that was. She realized she was still gripping the mike. This is SusannahMio, signing off. God be with you, boys. God and ka. She put the microphone down and closed her eyes. TWELVE Susannah sensed the difference in Mia immediately. Although shed reached the Dixie Pig and her labor had most emphatically commenced, Mias mind was for once elsewhere. It had turned to Odetta Holmes, in fact, and to what Michael Schwerner had called the Mississippi Summer Project. (What the Oxford rednecks had called him was The Jewboy.) The emotional atmosphere to which Susannah returned was fraught, like still air before a violent September storm. Susannah! Susannah, daughter of Dan! Yes, Mia. I agreed to mortality. So you said. And certainly Mia had looked mortal in Fedic. Mortal and terribly pregnant. Yet Ive missed most of what makes the shorttime life worthwhile. Havent I? The grief in that voice was awful; the surprise was even worse. And theres no time for you to tell me. Not now. Go somewhere else, Susannah said, with no hope at all. Hail a cab, go to a hospital. Well have it together, Mia. Maybe we can even raise it toge If I have it anywhere but here, it will die and well die with it. She spoke with utter certainty. And I will have it. Ive been cheated of all but my chap, and I will have it. But  Susannah  before we go in  you spoke of your mother. I lied. It was me in Oxford. Lying was easier than trying to explain time travel and parallel worlds. Show me the truth. Show me your mother. Show me, I beg! There was no time to debate this request pro and con; it was either do it or refuse on the spur of the moment. Susannah decided to do it. Look, she said. THIRTEEN In the Land of Memory, the time is always Now. There is an Unfound Door (O lost) and when Susannah found it and opened it, Mia saw a woman with her dark hair pulled back from her face and startling gray eyes. There is a cameo brooch at the womans throat. Shes sitting at the kitchen table, this woman, in an eternal shaft of sun. In this memory it is always ten minutes past two on an afternoon in October of 1946, the Big War is over, Irene Daye is on the radio, and the smell is always gingerbread. Odetta, come and sit with me, says the woman at the table, she who is mother. Have something sweet. You look good, girl. And she smiles. O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again! FOURTEEN Prosaic enough, you would say, so you would. A young girl comes home from school with her bookbag in one hand and her gymbag in the other, wearing her white blouse and her pleated St. Anns tartan skirt and the kneesocks with the bows on the side (orange and black, the school colors). Her mother, sitting at the kitchen table, looks up and offers her daughter a piece of the gingerbread that just came out of the oven. It is only one moment in an unmarked million, a single atom of event in a lifetime of them. But it stole Mias breath (you look good, girl) and showed her in a concrete way she had previously not understood how rich motherhood could be  if, that was, it was allowed to run its course uninterrupted.