I caught his shoulder in a hard grip. “Goldie, I have some valproate … enough to start you on a course-”
Lips pressed tightly together, he shook his head. “That’s not what this is, Doc. Valproate won’t help.”
“What, then?”
He looked me fully in the eye, and might have told me, when the old man came into the bar. Goldie’s revelation was lost in the moment, for here was Tone’s oracle-a living, breathing man. A blind man, appropriately.
We made introductions and he seated himself in a pool of lamplight between Tone and Enid, turning his face to Cal. “Bet you’re full of questions. Young people are, as I recall.
They think old folks like me are full of answers. Or just plain full of it.”
Cal said, “What can you tell me about Primal?”
“No patience, either. Want all their answers this minute.” He shook his head. “Primal. Well, I can tell you it’s not what it seems.”
Beside me, Goldie stirred, a strange mixture of pain and fascination in his face. He slid from his stool and moved toward the old man with the languid motion of a sleepwalker.
“You said you’d seen it,” Cal persisted.
“Papa Sky is real big on metaphors,” said Jelly. “He means to say he saw it in a vision.”
“Now, don’t you ever scoff at a blind man’s visions, Mr. Jelly,” said Papa Sky. “I see things a whole lot clearer sometimes than folks with two good eyes.”
“What did you see?” asked Cal.
“Chaos. With a kernel of will. A tiny, tiny kernel of will. The first shall be last and the last first,” he added cryptically. “The least shall be greatest and the greatest least.”
Cal traded a glance with Enid, disappointment written on his face. He erased it with a sigh.
“Papa Sky’s big on riddles, too,” said Tone. He turned to the old man. “If you could answer these folks straight up, Papa, it’d be best.”
“Sometimes a straight answer ain’t the best answer,” Papa Sky observed.
“Our friend Calvin is on a quest. His sister’s been taken by the Storm and he means to get her back.” Tone grimaced. “And save the world while he’s at it. But first he’s gotta pry Enid free of Primal.”
Papa Sky’s head swiveled toward Cal. “Imagine that. That’s a pretty tall order, boy.”
Cal twitched. “So everybody keeps telling me. But that’s it. That’s the quest. Crazy or not. We have to try.”
Papa Sky nodded as if in time to the music that drifted down on us from upstairs. “Oh my, yes. We have to try. Lord, if I’d’ve gave up every time I was so inclined, I’d’ve never made it all the way out here from New York.”
“New York?” echoed Enid. “That’s where they’re from.” He made a sweeping gesture that took us all in.
“Are they, now? Ain’t that a fluke?”
“What the hell possessed you to come to Chicago?” Enid asked.
“I come with a friend. He needed me. Turned out, I needed him, too. Never would’ve made it but for him. Would’ve died right there in Manhattan. He got me here an’ I got him here. So, I know what loyalty is and I can see that you do, too.” He leaned forward toward Cal. “Your sister’s name’s Tina, ain’t it?”
Cal was visibly stunned. I suspect he wondered, as did I, whether our new friend was a sage or a madman. “How … how did you know?”
Papa Sky laughed. “Well, maybe I overheard you talking about her. Or maybe that kind of knowing is what God give me to make up for these bunged-up old eyes. Or maybe-” He broke off and smiled. “What’s your plan, Mr. Cal?”
Cal told him, then added, “Before we can do anything about Tina, or the Storm, or anything else, we have to get into the Black Tower-the Chicago Media Building-and deal with Primal.”
Papa Sky scratched his bearded jaw. “Well, I have to say, that ain’t gonna be as easy as you make it sound. But, now the thing is, I might just know somebody who can help you out. I can’t promise, but I can ask.”
“Somebody… this friend you mentioned?” Cal asked. “The one who brought you here?”
Papa Sky nodded, then pulled himself to his feet. “Don’t you folks go runnin’ off and doin’ anything crazy now. You wait for Papa Sky to check things out.”
Cal glanced from Enid to Colleen to me, seeking accord. “I … I suppose we could wait a little,” he said, “but-”
The old man pointed an arthritic finger at Cal’s nose. “Don’t you do nothing crazy, Mr. Cal. Let’s see what my friend has to say.”
Colleen cleared her throat. “About what, exactly?” she asked. Her voice was frayed, her head propped on her hand.
I considered ordering her to rest, then discarded the idea as fruitless.
“Well, my friend is a queer sort of fellow. He got a lofty point of view, you might say. Gives him insights.”
“Could you bring him here so we can meet him-talk to him?” Cal asked.
Papa Sky smiled crookedly. “Oh my, no. He don’t go out. Well, not where folks’ll see him, anyway.”
“Shy guy?” asked Colleen, rubbing her eyes.
“A tormented soul,” answered Papa Sky thoughtfully. “A massively tormented soul.” He held out his hand. “Toney-boy, can you help me get where I’m going? You can come back to your new friends after, if you like. But I need a guide dog.”
Tone looked at Enid, hesitating. Clearly, it was leaving his old friend that gave him pause.
Papa coaxed, “I’ll let you play my axe.”
Tone’s eyes lit up with obvious pleasure. “Serious?” “Serious as can be.” He held out his arm and Tone took it. Before they could move, Goldie stepped in front of them.
“You said it’s not what it seems. What does it seem like to
you?”
Papa Sky paused and cocked his head to one side. “And you are?”
“Goldie. My name is Goldie. Which is neither here nor there. What does Primal seem like that it’s not?”
“It seems to be one thing when it’s another.”
Goldie rolled his head around on his shoulders as if every muscle in his neck had spasmed at once. “No, no, no. No games, please. Not now.”
Cal came to his feet and moved to lay a hand on Goldie’s arm.
Goldie shrugged the hand away. “Tell me, old man, tell me what you hear when it speaks to you.”
Cal flushed. “I’m sorry, Papa-”
“Oh, it never speaks to me. Not directly, anyway. But I hear it. Sometimes it sounds sweet and mild and wistful-like. And sometimes it blows like a storm.” A slow smile spread across Papa Sky’s face. “A man of many voices, is our Primal.”
“It’s not a man,” murmured Goldie, and Calvin shot him a troubled glance.
Papa, still smiling, shook his head. Then he and Tone moved around Goldie to disappear the way he had come in. A long silence eddied in his wake.
“Maybe we should follow him,” said Colleen.
Cal shook his head. “His friend could be imaginary, for all we know. I’d rather concentrate on the problem at hand: how we’re going to get into that building, find Primal, and confront it … whatever it is.”
“Them,” whispered Goldie.
Cal grabbed Goldie by both arms and turned him around so that they stood face-to-face. “Jesus Christ, Goldie, what is it?”
Goldie looked like a man with a message he did not wish to deliver. “When Primal reached for me and Magritte, when it called to us …” He hesitated.
“You said it was one voice in front of many,” prompted Cal.
“The many …” He shook his head. “Shit. They’re flares, Cal. A flare… collective. Resistance is futile. Oh, God.” He raked unsteady fingers through his long hair. “I don’t mean to sound flippant. But when it speaks, I hear flare voices.”
Cal’s face went completely still. “What do you mean you hear flare voices? How can you tell that’s what they are?”
“I can. I didn’t want to believe that I could, but I can, maybe because Magritte can.”
Cal glanced at the flare, reading confirmation in her eyes. “Why didn’t you say something before?” he asked Goldie.