navigable, were replaced by a labyrinthine muddle where a steady stream of obstacles forced him to take detours. The walkie-talkie lay silent on the seat beside him; he didn’t want to use it unnecessarily and was quite certain besides that the crow would not be able to help. Tom-Tom didn’t know these neighborhoods either.
Eric swore and sweated. He backed up and turned. Accelerated and jammed on the brakes. And after ten minutes he no longer had any idea where he was.
The Chauffeurs were about to fool Tom-Tom in the end.
After a great deal of back-and-forth on their way through Yok, the crow lost sight of them now and then in his fear of coming too close. He hesitated before he turned around the street corners, and at the last corner he hesitated longer than usual. Then he screwed up his courage, put the car in first and arrived just in time to see the pickup driving toward a building with a speckled-gray brick wall.
But the pickup didn’t slow down. Instead the wall opened, closing itself around the pickup again so quickly that Tom-Tom felt uncertain for a moment about what he’d actually seen.
He slammed on the brakes.
The building whose wall was a disguised garage door was not particularly large: three stories high, ten meters across, with no windows on the ground floor. Which, on the other hand, was not unusual in Yok. There was no door, either, but Tom-Tom suspected that there was one on the other side. On the façade was an unlit neon sign: “Hotel Esplanade.”
“They’ve driven down into some infernal garage,” Tom-Tom reported on the walkie-talkie. “I believe we’re here.”
“Where? Come,” asked Eric.
“Don’t really know,” said Tom-Tom, “but I’m checking.”
Eric turned onto the sidewalk and waited impatiently while the walkie-talkie crackled. Then the crow was heard again: “I’ll be damned,” said Tom-Tom. He sounded surprised. “They’re hanging out a few blocks from where we’re staying.”
“Where we’re staying? Come,” Eric repeated stupidly.
“I flipping believe you can see the Chauffeurs from Sam’s apartment,” said the crow.
TEDDY BEAR, 2
O ne evening I awakened with a jolt.
I was in the eighth grade and stood with one paw in childhood and the other in early maturity. I slept soundly at night and had good reason to do so.
My heart was pure.
Eric and I were still living in our boys’ room highest up in the house on flame-yellow Hillville Road. The staircase leading down to the hall passed by Mother and Father’s bedroom. It was old, creaking and squeaking when you walked on the steps. I thought it was the sound of footsteps on the staircase that caused me to awaken. In a fog I got up on my elbows. Then I saw.
Someone was on his way out through the window.
A figure crawling out of the room was outlined against the dark night sky outside, palely illuminated by the stars. I let out a sigh of despair. It was so loud that the figure in the window opening stopped dead in his tracks.
“It’s only me,” hissed Eric.
A few seconds passed before I realized that it was my twin brother who was in the window, and not in his bed.
“Go back to sleep,” he hissed.
He’s running away, I recall thinking.
The phrase “running away” came to me so immediately that I didn’t even make note of it. Eric and I had reached puberty’s subversive jumble of emotions. We were living in the midst of our childhood, among well-worn children’s books, model airplanes, and soccer balls. Opening the window and fleeing seemed equally cowardly and enticing to me.
The evening breeze caressed my brow, our thin curtain danced before the open window and from somewhere outside a faint aroma of grilled meat reached me.
This abyss that had opened between me and my twin brother.
I carried the heavy knowledge with me constantly that Eric was in some kind of trouble. I had even spoken with Archdeacon Odenrick, in a roundabout way, about lost souls. We had spoken about lost
Eric swore and sweated. He backed up and turned. Accelerated and jammed on the brakes. And after ten minutes he no longer had any idea where he was.
The Chauffeurs were about to fool Tom-Tom in the end.
After a great deal of back-and-forth on their way through Yok, the crow lost sight of them now and then in his fear of coming too close. He hesitated before he turned around the street corners, and at the last corner he hesitated longer than usual. Then he screwed up his courage, put the car in first and arrived just in time to see the pickup driving toward a building with a speckled-gray brick wall.
But the pickup didn’t slow down. Instead the wall opened, closing itself around the pickup again so quickly that Tom-Tom felt uncertain for a moment about what he’d actually seen.
He slammed on the brakes.
The building whose wall was a disguised garage door was not particularly large: three stories high, ten meters across, with no windows on the ground floor. Which, on the other hand, was not unusual in Yok. There was no door, either, but Tom-Tom suspected that there was one on the other side. On the façade was an unlit neon sign: “Hotel Esplanade.”
“They’ve driven down into some infernal garage,” Tom-Tom reported on the walkie-talkie. “I believe we’re here.”
“Where? Come,” asked Eric.
“Don’t really know,” said Tom-Tom, “but I’m checking.”
Eric turned onto the sidewalk and waited impatiently while the walkie-talkie crackled. Then the crow was heard again: “I’ll be damned,” said Tom-Tom. He sounded surprised. “They’re hanging out a few blocks from where we’re staying.”
“Where we’re staying? Come,” Eric repeated stupidly.
“I flipping believe you can see the Chauffeurs from Sam’s apartment,” said the crow.
TEDDY BEAR, 2
O ne evening I awakened with a jolt.
I was in the eighth grade and stood with one paw in childhood and the other in early maturity. I slept soundly at night and had good reason to do so.
My heart was pure.
Eric and I were still living in our boys’ room highest up in the house on flame-yellow Hillville Road. The staircase leading down to the hall passed by Mother and Father’s bedroom. It was old, creaking and squeaking when you walked on the steps. I thought it was the sound of footsteps on the staircase that caused me to awaken. In a fog I got up on my elbows. Then I saw.
Someone was on his way out through the window.
A figure crawling out of the room was outlined against the dark night sky outside, palely illuminated by the stars. I let out a sigh of despair. It was so loud that the figure in the window opening stopped dead in his tracks.
“It’s only me,” hissed Eric.
A few seconds passed before I realized that it was my twin brother who was in the window, and not in his bed.
“Go back to sleep,” he hissed.
He’s running away, I recall thinking.
The phrase “running away” came to me so immediately that I didn’t even make note of it. Eric and I had reached puberty’s subversive jumble of emotions. We were living in the midst of our childhood, among well-worn children’s books, model airplanes, and soccer balls. Opening the window and fleeing seemed equally cowardly and enticing to me.
The evening breeze caressed my brow, our thin curtain danced before the open window and from somewhere outside a faint aroma of grilled meat reached me.
This abyss that had opened between me and my twin brother.
I carried the heavy knowledge with me constantly that Eric was in some kind of trouble. I had even spoken with Archdeacon Odenrick, in a roundabout way, about lost souls. We had spoken about lost
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