The Girl in the Glass

CHANGE

Once we were in the house, Schell drew me aside and said, "You let Isabel have your room, and I'll give mine to Morgan. I'll sleep in the living room, and you can take the couch in the Bugatorium. When the girl gets situated, come and see me."

I nodded and took Isabel down the hall to my room.

"Are you tired?" I asked her. From the look on her face I could tell she was exhausted.

"Yes, but I don't know if I'll be able to sleep," she said. "Everything is too strange."

"You'll be safe here," I said, pushing open the door to my room. "No one knows where you are."

She swept the strands of hair that had come loose from her braid out of her eyes and nodded. I realized that she had nothing to wear to bed, so I went to my closet and took out one of my undershirts and my first pair of swami trousers, which I'd recently outgrown. She thanked me and laid the clothes on the end of the bed. As I turned to go, she put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me back. We kissed, briefly.

"Come see me later," she said.

"If I can," I said.

"Promise," she said.

I nodded and closed the door behind me as I left.

Antony, Morgan, and Schell were in the Bugatorium, sitting around the coffee table. In the lighted room, it was easy to now see the bruises on the big man's neck and a welt on his left cheek. Schell must have been feeling badly for him, since Antony, in addition to drinking whiskey from a beer glass filled to the brim, was also smoking a cigarette. He had his jacket off and his shirt open halfway.

Schell was holding a glass of wine, and Morgan had a teacup on a saucer in front of her. They'd been discussing something when I came in, and as soon as they saw me enter, the conversation died. The butterflies were in a turmoil that night, swirling and swarming, a frantic storm of movement that was a metaphor for what was going on behind my eyes. Schell waved me over.

"Diego, take a seat," he said.

I did, opposite him.

"We have to talk about Isabel. I'm afraid she's in quite a bad situation. I started to mention it in the car, but I wasn't exactly sure how to proceed, and I thought I'd run it by you first to see if there was something you could add or that I was missing. The main thing is, the police are going to want to know what happened to her."

My mind wasn't working too well, what with everything we'd been through. "Should we take her to them tomorrow?" I asked.

"I wouldn't," said Antony.

"If we take her in, that implicates us, which isn't good for any of us, because if they start digging, they're going to find that we were all working for Barnes," said Schell. "Honestly, if I thought it would help her, I might be persuaded to do that. But if she shows up, she's going to be a suspect. Now, I don't think the D.A. could possibly make a case that she did to those men what happened to them."

"She's not strong enough," said Antony.

"She's an illegal, though. And it wouldn't surprise me, if they can't come up with an answer that they might try to pin the rap for all three of tonight's murders on her. Possible or not, given the right circumstances, it might not matter whether she's strong enough."

I shook my head, barely able to take it all in.

"Even if they treat her as just a witness, when they're done with her, they'll deport her for sure. If she wants to stay, she's got to go underground for a while and leave the area. You see? No good solutions."

"What can I do?" I asked him.

"Well, you can start by explaining this all to her. After that, I guess it's up to her what she wants to do. I hate to say it, but I think her best bet is to go back to Mexico for a while, on her own. Does she have family there?"

"Her mother's dead," I said. "Her father's been sent back, but she doesn't know where."

"That's a bum deal," said Antony.

"I'll talk to her," I said. "Not tonight, though. She's too upset."

"Okay," said Schell. "She can stay here as long as she likes."

"Thanks," I said.

Morgan Shaw reached over and put her hand on my forearm. "Things will work out," she said, and I cringed, hoping she wasn't going to sing again.

Antony reached for a second cigarette, but Schell held up his hand and said, "My sympathies have been exhausted."

Antony laughed and put the pack away. He tilted his head back and drained off the sizable portion left in his glass. "Okay, Boss," he said, looking a little bleary but nearly back to his usual self. "I'm going to bed. I have to rest up. If I get another chance at that fucking…you know, that thing, I know exactly what I'm going to do."

"Run?" asked Schell.

"Oh, don't say that," said Morgan. "Henry was very brave."

Antony shook his head. "I'm getting old, Tommy."

"Yeah, I know. We all are. It beats the alternative, though. Just ask Parks," said Schell.

"Have you ever been beaten in a fight before?" I asked.

"Who says I was beaten?" he asked, laughing. He stood up, weaving slightly. "Once when I was younger, I was in a bar in San Francisco. I was shooting my mouth off, being a real jerk. Anyway, I got in a fight and this little Chinese guy, no bigger than Miss Shaw, kicked the crap out of me. That was the last time until tonight."

"That's a good record," I said.

"No," he said. "Next time I meet this thing, I'm going to give him my secret punch. It'll stop his heart and he'll shit blood."

"In that order?" asked Schell.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The Stunner," Antony said.

"You're a stunner," said Schell. "Go get some rest. I'm glad you're in one piece."

Antony smiled and bowed to us. As he moved toward the door, his bulk caused a disturbance in the atmosphere that rippled throughout the room, its current made evident by the motion of the insects.

Once the door was closed, I got up from my seat and went to the couch where Antony had been sitting and lay down, propping my head on the end pillow next to a perching, closed pipevine. I exhaled, and the specimen beat its wings and was gone.

"Will we disturb you if we sit for a few more minutes?" asked Morgan. "I'm still too wide awake to turn in."

"No," I said. "I'm almost asleep." I closed my eyes. There was silence for a little while, and then she and Schell continued speaking in whispers about the events of the night.

I dozed off for a little while, no more than a few minutes it seemed. They were still talking, but in even more hushed tones now. When I opened my eyes a sliver, wanting to see but not wanting to interrupt them, I noticed that someone had turned off the lights. Morgan Shaw, glowing like a full moon in the autumn sky, lifted a wineglass from off the table, and I realized that at some point when I was out she'd switched over from tea. I lay there with my eyes closed, breathing as shallowly as possible so I wouldn't give myself away.

"You have a very nice voice," Schell said, "but I never expected a song at quite that moment."

"You mean, in the car?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I sing to calm myself."

"I liked both your voice and that song," said Schell.

"'Wrap your troubles in dreams,'" she said. "It's a nice idea, but somehow they have a way of unwrapping themselves and escaping."

"I've noticed," said Schell.

"So I have my songs, and you, Thomas Schell, have butterflies. I'd never have suspected it. Why?"

"It's a hobby," he said. "Keeps me off the street at night."

"Collecting stamps is a hobby," she said. "This is something much more."

"I'm fascinated by a good trick when I see it," he said "Sleight of hand with a deck, a magician's illusion, a con's scheme. The butterfly has the best trick in the world. They wrap their naked selves in a blanket, taking nothing with them, you can check if you'd like. They work alone and never leave that cocoon while they perform their magic. Time passes and as it does they transform themselves with only what they have, which as I've said is nothing but themselves. And when they break out, they have become something entirely different. A flying enchantment."

"And what have you learned from them?" she asked.

"Simplicity and subtlety make for the best con. A distraction should lead the mark's attention upward, either toward the sky or to some better vision of himself. Color signals danger. Try to appear to have as many eyes as possible."

"Very good," she said.

"Almost," said Schell. "There's one thing I haven't gotten yet, though, and it keeps me studying them. It's the one thing that's the heart of their art, and it still escapes me."

"What's that?" asked Morgan.

"Change," he said. "They change, but I can never move beyond myself."

"That's the bitch," she said. "It'll make you want to sing to yourself."

I dozed again, and when I next woke, it was still dark, and they had left the Bugatorium. As quietly as possible, I got off the couch and moved across the room to the door. Down the hall I went on my toes, being careful not to bang into anything and give myself away. When I reached the kitchen, the light was still on, and I prayed Antony wasn't up, as he was sometimes, called from sleep by the need for a smoke. Luckily his seat was empty. Finally, I reached the door to my room, opened it slowly, and when there was just enough room, slipped into the darkness, closing it behind me.

"Who's there?" Isabel whispered.

"It's me," I said.

"I knew you would come back," she said.

"Haven't you slept at all?"

"A little, but the dreams keep waking me." I could make out her silhouette sitting up in the bed. She threw back the edge of the covers and patted the spot next to her, as she had on the boulder when we met by the sound. I climbed into bed, and she put the cover up over my shoulder. Then we settled back, our arms around each other. I felt her pressing against me. My hand moved down her side to rest upon her hip. We lay like that for a long time, and though I meant to kiss her, instead I fell into a deep sleep.