wasn’t that why he’d called me? Because he had to pass on this amazing secret to somebody before the cancer shut his lips forever?
“I thought I could give you the entire lowdown this afternoon, but I can’t,” Al said when he had control of himself again. “I need to go home, take some of my dope, and put my feet up. I’ve never taken anything stronger than aspirin in my whole life, and that Oxy crap puts me out like a light. I’ll sleep for six hours or so and then feel better for awhile. A little stronger. Can you come by my place around nine-thirty?”
“I could if I knew where you live,” I said.
“Little cottage on Vining Street. Number nineteen. Look for the lawn gnome beside the porch. You can’t miss it. He’s waving a flag.”
“What have we got to talk about, Al? I mean . . . you
showed
me. I believe you now.” So I did . . . but for how long? Already my brief visit to 1958 had taken on the fading texture of a dream. A few hours (or a few days) and I’d probably be able to convince myself that I
had
dreamed it.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, buddy. Will you come?” He didn’t repeat
dying man’s request,
but I read it in his eyes.
“All right. Do you want a ride to your place?”
His eyes flashed at that. “I’ve got my truck, and it’s only five blocks. I can drive myself that far.”
“Sure you can,” I said, hoping I sounded more convinced than I felt. I got up and started putting my stuff back into my pockets. I encountered the wad of cash he’d given me and took it out. NowI understood the changes in the five-spot. There were probably changes in the other bills, as well.
I held it out and he shook his head. “Nah, keep it, I got plenty.”
But I put it down on the table. “If every time’s the first time, how can you keep the money you bring back? How come it isn’t erased the next time you go?”
“No clue, buddy. I told you, there’s all kinds of stuff I don’t know. There are rules, and I’ve figured out a few, but not many.” His face lit in a wan but genuinely amused smile. “You brought back your root beer, didn’t you? Still sloshing around in your belly, isn’t it?”
As a matter of fact it was.
“Well there you go. I’ll see you tonight, Jake. I’ll be rested and we’ll talk this out.”
“One more question?”
He flicked a hand at me, a go-ahead gesture. I noticed that his nails, which he always kept scrupulously clean, were yellow and cracked. Another bad sign. Not as telling as the thirty-pound weight loss, but still bad. My dad used to say you can tell a lot about a person’s health just by the state of his or her fingernails.
“The Famous Fatburger.”
“What about it?” But there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You can sell cheap because you buy cheap, isn’t that right?”
“Ground chuck from the Red & White,” he said. “Fifty-four cents a pound. I go in every week. Or I did until my latest adventure, which took me a long way from The Falls. I trade with Mr. Warren, the butcher. If I ask him for ten pounds of ground chuck, he says, ‘Coming right up.’ If I ask for twelve or fourteen, he says, ‘Going to have to give me a minute to grind you up some fresh. Having a family get-together?’”
“Always the same.”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s always the first time.”
“Correct. It’s like the story of the loaves and fishes in the Bible,when you think of it. I buy the same ground chuck week after week. I’ve fed it to hundreds or thousands of people, in spite of those stupid catburger rumors, and it always renews itself.”
“You buy the same meat, over and over.” Trying to get it through my skull.
“The same meat, at the same time, from the same butcher. Who always says the same things, unless I say something different. I’ll admit, buddy, that it’s sometimes crossed my mind to walk up to him and say, ‘How’s it going there, Mr. Warren, you old bald bastard? Been fucking any
“I thought I could give you the entire lowdown this afternoon, but I can’t,” Al said when he had control of himself again. “I need to go home, take some of my dope, and put my feet up. I’ve never taken anything stronger than aspirin in my whole life, and that Oxy crap puts me out like a light. I’ll sleep for six hours or so and then feel better for awhile. A little stronger. Can you come by my place around nine-thirty?”
“I could if I knew where you live,” I said.
“Little cottage on Vining Street. Number nineteen. Look for the lawn gnome beside the porch. You can’t miss it. He’s waving a flag.”
“What have we got to talk about, Al? I mean . . . you
showed
me. I believe you now.” So I did . . . but for how long? Already my brief visit to 1958 had taken on the fading texture of a dream. A few hours (or a few days) and I’d probably be able to convince myself that I
had
dreamed it.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, buddy. Will you come?” He didn’t repeat
dying man’s request,
but I read it in his eyes.
“All right. Do you want a ride to your place?”
His eyes flashed at that. “I’ve got my truck, and it’s only five blocks. I can drive myself that far.”
“Sure you can,” I said, hoping I sounded more convinced than I felt. I got up and started putting my stuff back into my pockets. I encountered the wad of cash he’d given me and took it out. NowI understood the changes in the five-spot. There were probably changes in the other bills, as well.
I held it out and he shook his head. “Nah, keep it, I got plenty.”
But I put it down on the table. “If every time’s the first time, how can you keep the money you bring back? How come it isn’t erased the next time you go?”
“No clue, buddy. I told you, there’s all kinds of stuff I don’t know. There are rules, and I’ve figured out a few, but not many.” His face lit in a wan but genuinely amused smile. “You brought back your root beer, didn’t you? Still sloshing around in your belly, isn’t it?”
As a matter of fact it was.
“Well there you go. I’ll see you tonight, Jake. I’ll be rested and we’ll talk this out.”
“One more question?”
He flicked a hand at me, a go-ahead gesture. I noticed that his nails, which he always kept scrupulously clean, were yellow and cracked. Another bad sign. Not as telling as the thirty-pound weight loss, but still bad. My dad used to say you can tell a lot about a person’s health just by the state of his or her fingernails.
“The Famous Fatburger.”
“What about it?” But there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You can sell cheap because you buy cheap, isn’t that right?”
“Ground chuck from the Red & White,” he said. “Fifty-four cents a pound. I go in every week. Or I did until my latest adventure, which took me a long way from The Falls. I trade with Mr. Warren, the butcher. If I ask him for ten pounds of ground chuck, he says, ‘Coming right up.’ If I ask for twelve or fourteen, he says, ‘Going to have to give me a minute to grind you up some fresh. Having a family get-together?’”
“Always the same.”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s always the first time.”
“Correct. It’s like the story of the loaves and fishes in the Bible,when you think of it. I buy the same ground chuck week after week. I’ve fed it to hundreds or thousands of people, in spite of those stupid catburger rumors, and it always renews itself.”
“You buy the same meat, over and over.” Trying to get it through my skull.
“The same meat, at the same time, from the same butcher. Who always says the same things, unless I say something different. I’ll admit, buddy, that it’s sometimes crossed my mind to walk up to him and say, ‘How’s it going there, Mr. Warren, you old bald bastard? Been fucking any
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