III
“My enemy is still here,” said the Jaff.
Tommy-Ray had led him along a path unknown to any but the children of the Grove, which took them round the back of the Hill to a giddy vantage point. It was too rocky for a trysting place and too unstable to be built upon, but it gave those who troubled to climb so high an unsurpassed view over Laureltree and Windbluff.
There they stood, Tommy-Ray and his father, taking in the sights. There were no stars overhead; and barely any lights burning in the houses below. Clouds dulled the sky; sleep, the town. Untroubled by witnesses, father and son stood and talked.
“Who is your enemy?” Tommy-Ray said. “Tell me and I’ll tear his throat out for you.”
“I doubt he’d allow that.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” Tommy-Ray said. “I’m not dumb, you know. I know when you’re treating me like a kid. I’m not a kid.”
“You’ll have to prove that to me.”
“I will. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Are you trying to frighten me?”
“No. Merely prepare you.”
“For what? Your enemy? Just tell me what he’s like.”
“His name is Fletcher. He and I were partners, before you were born. But he cheated me. Or at least he tried to.”
“What was your business?”
“Ah!” The Jaff laughed, a sound Tommy-Ray had heard many times now, and liked more each time he heard it. The man had a sense of humor, even if Tommy-Ray—as now— didn’t quite get the gag. “Our business?” said the Jaff. “It was, in essence, the getting of power. More specifically, one particular power. It’s called the Art, and with it I will be able to step into the dreams of America.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not all the dreams. Just the important ones. You see, Tommy-Ray, I’m an explorer.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Only what’s left to explore outside in the world? Not much. A few pockets of desert; a rain-forest—”
“Space,” Tommy-Ray suggested, glancing up.
“More desert, and a lot of nothing between,” the Jaff said. “No, the real mystery—the only mystery—is inside our heads. And I’m going to get to it.”
“You don’t mean like a shrink, do you? You mean being there, somehow.”
“That’s right.”
“And the Art is the way in?”
“Right again.”
“But you said it’s just dreams. We all dream. You can get in there any time you like, just by falling asleep.”
“Most dreams are just juggling acts. Folks picking up their memories and trying to put them in some kind of order. But there’s another kind of dream, Tommy-Ray. It’s a dream of what it means to be born, and fall in love, and die. A dream that explains what being is for. I know this is confusing…”
“Go on. I like to hear anyhow.”
“There’s a sea of mind. It’s called Quiddity,” the Jaff said. “And floating in that sea is an island which appears in the dreams of every one of us at least twice in our lives: at the beginning and at the end. It was first discovered by the Greeks. Plato wrote of it in a code. He called it Atlantis…” He faltered, distracted from the telling by the substance of his tale.
“You want this place very much, don’t you?” Tommy-Ray said.
“Very much,” said the Jaff. “I want to swim in that sea when I choose, and go to the shore where the great stories are told.”
“Rad.”
“Huh?”
“It sounds awesome.”
The Jaff laughed. “You’re reassuringly crass, son. We’re going to get on fine, I can tell. You can be my agent in the field, right?”
“Sure,” said Tommy-Ray with a grin. Then: “What’s that?”
“I can’t show my face to just anybody,” the Jaff said. “Nor do I much like the daylight. It’s very…unmysterious. But you can get out and about for me.”
“You’re staying then? I thought maybe we’d go off someplace.”
“We will, later. But first, my enemy must be killed. He’s weak. He won’t try to leave the Grove until he has some protection. He’ll look for his own child, I’d guess.”
“Katz?”
“That’s right.”
“So I should kill Katz.”
“That sounds like a useful thing to do, if the opportunity presents itself.”