Ratkay in the morning. Ms. Chen, if you speak to him before we do, please have him come down to the station and make a report. We'd like him to confirm that nothing's been stolen."
"What do you mean?" Laura demanded, glaring at the angel and now thoroughly alarmed. "You think I should call him?"
"No. Well—no." Briskly, the angel shrugged. "Might as well wait until morning. I don't think calling would matter much... one way or the other," she added, half to herself. "But if I were him, I'd see a doctor soon. And watch out for butter—"
She stopped herself with a quick jerk of her shoulders. Her eyes narrowed.
"Watch out for butter?" Laura repeated, confused. "You mean his heart? He comes from this Hungarian family; they eat about a cow a week. They spread lard on toast. I keep telling him it's slow suicide."
The angel blinked and smiled. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I think my own wires are crossed, is what it is." She yawned elaborately, avoiding Officer Pierce's suspicious gaze. She glanced meaningfully at young Donnelly. "Sure is a long night, isn't it?"
It sure is, Laura thought, as the cops slowly got ready to leave. When they were gone she swept up the smashed glass in the kitchen and covered the broken window in plastic wrap.
A long night.
But tired as she was, she couldn't sleep when she went back to bed. She lay there with her eyes stubbornly closed for almost an hour before admitting defeat. Finally with a resentful groan she heaved herself up, rummaged through her desk for a brush, ink, and three sheets of yellow charm paper like the stuff she kept at work. On them she drew three of Heavenly Master Chang's best charms. Going up to Dante's apartment, she taped the first charm, to protect the home, over the broken window. The second, a charm to prevent the entry of wild animals, she taped over his door. Finally she hid the Hundred Different Things Charm behind the headboard of his bed, where he wouldn't see it and take it down.
Feeling silly and determined all at once, she faced east, looking out the broken kitchen window at the murky maze of, tenements and street lamps, and recited in her rusty Mandarin the incantation her father had taught her to lend power to Chang Tien-shih's charms:
"The universe and yin-yang are wide, the sun comes out from the east. I use this charm to get rid of all evils. My mouth spits outs strong fire, my eyes can shine out rays like the sun. I can ask the Heavenly Soldiers to catch the devils and get all sickness out of the house. Heavenly soldiers can suppress evils and create luck. Let the Law be obeyed; let this order be executed straightaway."
Taking a sip of water from Dante's tap, she bowed to the east, clenched her teeth three times, and spat it out.
Then and only then, at ease at last and thoroughly exhausted, she clumped back downstairs and fell heavily into bed, and sleep.
N OW HE GOES ALONG THE DARK ROAD, WHENCE THEY SAY NO ONE RETURNS. —C ATULLUS
CHAPTER
FIVE
Portrait
I prefer to shoot in black and white. Usually, when you say of a man, "He sees things in black and white" you mean he is inflexible and dogmatic; he treats complex issues with brutal simplicity. In fact, you should mean just the opposite. It is color film that embalms its subjects in workaday reality. Black and white leaves room for mystery, for subtle shades of gray. Without hue, the eye becomes aware of complexities of shadow and texture; you haven't really seen the texture of grass or sand or sea until you've studied one of Anderson's black and white studies of the Atlantic off the empty New England coast.
This, now: this is a portrait of Dante, black and white, that I took of him with my old Kodak the summer we were fifteen. We had just finished building the tree-fort in the big willow on Three Hawk Island. We built it airily, in the Chinese style, with a strong rail waist-high all the way around, and the rest of the walls made of bamboo blinds. When the wind blew,
"What do you mean?" Laura demanded, glaring at the angel and now thoroughly alarmed. "You think I should call him?"
"No. Well—no." Briskly, the angel shrugged. "Might as well wait until morning. I don't think calling would matter much... one way or the other," she added, half to herself. "But if I were him, I'd see a doctor soon. And watch out for butter—"
She stopped herself with a quick jerk of her shoulders. Her eyes narrowed.
"Watch out for butter?" Laura repeated, confused. "You mean his heart? He comes from this Hungarian family; they eat about a cow a week. They spread lard on toast. I keep telling him it's slow suicide."
The angel blinked and smiled. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I think my own wires are crossed, is what it is." She yawned elaborately, avoiding Officer Pierce's suspicious gaze. She glanced meaningfully at young Donnelly. "Sure is a long night, isn't it?"
It sure is, Laura thought, as the cops slowly got ready to leave. When they were gone she swept up the smashed glass in the kitchen and covered the broken window in plastic wrap.
A long night.
But tired as she was, she couldn't sleep when she went back to bed. She lay there with her eyes stubbornly closed for almost an hour before admitting defeat. Finally with a resentful groan she heaved herself up, rummaged through her desk for a brush, ink, and three sheets of yellow charm paper like the stuff she kept at work. On them she drew three of Heavenly Master Chang's best charms. Going up to Dante's apartment, she taped the first charm, to protect the home, over the broken window. The second, a charm to prevent the entry of wild animals, she taped over his door. Finally she hid the Hundred Different Things Charm behind the headboard of his bed, where he wouldn't see it and take it down.
Feeling silly and determined all at once, she faced east, looking out the broken kitchen window at the murky maze of, tenements and street lamps, and recited in her rusty Mandarin the incantation her father had taught her to lend power to Chang Tien-shih's charms:
"The universe and yin-yang are wide, the sun comes out from the east. I use this charm to get rid of all evils. My mouth spits outs strong fire, my eyes can shine out rays like the sun. I can ask the Heavenly Soldiers to catch the devils and get all sickness out of the house. Heavenly soldiers can suppress evils and create luck. Let the Law be obeyed; let this order be executed straightaway."
Taking a sip of water from Dante's tap, she bowed to the east, clenched her teeth three times, and spat it out.
Then and only then, at ease at last and thoroughly exhausted, she clumped back downstairs and fell heavily into bed, and sleep.
N OW HE GOES ALONG THE DARK ROAD, WHENCE THEY SAY NO ONE RETURNS. —C ATULLUS
CHAPTER
FIVE
Portrait
I prefer to shoot in black and white. Usually, when you say of a man, "He sees things in black and white" you mean he is inflexible and dogmatic; he treats complex issues with brutal simplicity. In fact, you should mean just the opposite. It is color film that embalms its subjects in workaday reality. Black and white leaves room for mystery, for subtle shades of gray. Without hue, the eye becomes aware of complexities of shadow and texture; you haven't really seen the texture of grass or sand or sea until you've studied one of Anderson's black and white studies of the Atlantic off the empty New England coast.
This, now: this is a portrait of Dante, black and white, that I took of him with my old Kodak the summer we were fifteen. We had just finished building the tree-fort in the big willow on Three Hawk Island. We built it airily, in the Chinese style, with a strong rail waist-high all the way around, and the rest of the walls made of bamboo blinds. When the wind blew,
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