today, however, the televisions were all mute. The screens flickered on, selling diets and cars and life everlasting. Norma didn't see them, of course. She'd been blind since birth. Not that she ever spoke like someone who was sightless.
"Look at you," she said as soon as Harry opened the door. "Are you catching something?"
"No, I'm fine. I just didn't get very much sleep."
"More tattoos?" Norma said.
"Just one," Harry admitted.
"Let me see."
"Norma."
"Let me see," Non-na said, reaching out from the wellcushioned comfort of her armchair.
Harry tossed his jacket on top of one of the televisions, and went over to Norma, who was sitting by the open window. The sounds of voices and traffic drifted up from below.
"Why don't you turn on the air-conditioning?" Harry said as he rolled up his shirt sleeve. "You're just breathing fumes."
"I like to hear the world going by," Norma said. "It's reassuring. Now, let's see the damage." She took hold of Harry's wrist and drew him a little closer, running her fingers up his arm to the place close to his elbow where he'd been most recently marked. "You still go to that old fake Voight?" Norma said, pulling away the bandage the tattooist had applied and running her fingers over the tender skin. Harry winced.
"It's nice work," Norma conceded. "though Christ knows what good you think it's going to do you."
This was an old debate between them. Harry had gathered the better part of a dozen tattoos over the last halfdecade, all but two of which had been the handiwork of Otis Voight, who specialized in what he called protective ink: talismans and sigils etched into his clients' skin to keep the bad at bay. "I owe my life to some of these," Harry said.
"You owe your life to your wits and your bloodymindedness, Harry; no more nor less. Show me a tattoo that can stop a bullet-"
"I can't."
"Right. And a demon's a dainn sight worse than a bullet."
"Bullets don't have psyches," Harry countered.
"Oh, and demons do?" said Norma. "No, Harry. They're pieces of shit, that's all they are. Little slivers of heartless filth." She bared her fine teeth in a grimace. "Oh God," she said, "but I'd love to be out there with you."
"It's not much fun," Harry said. "Believe me."
"Anything's better than this," she said, slamming her hands down on the arms of the chair. The glasses on the table beside her clicked against the rum and brandy bottles. "Sometimes I think this is a punishment, Harry. Sitting here day after day hearing people coming through with their tales of woe. Sobbin' about this, sobbin' about that. Regrettin' this, regrettin' that. I want to yell to 'em sometimes, It's too damn late! You should've thought about regrettin' while you could still do something about it. Ah! What's the use? I'm stuck talking to the snotty dead while you have all the fun. You don't know you're born, boy. You really don't."
Harry wandered over to the window and looked down seven floors to Seventy-fifth. "One of these nights," he said.
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to come fetch you and we're going to ride around for a few hours. Check out a few of the bad places, the really bad places, and see how quickly you change your mind." "You're on," Norma said. "In the meanwhile, to what do I owe the honor? You didn't come here to show me Voight's handiwork."
"No.
"And you didn't come bearing rum."
"I'm sorry."
She waved his apology away. "Don't be silly. I'm happy you're here. But why?"
"I need some advice. I'm going to a party Tuesday night."
"Go on, ask a blind woman what you should wear," Norma replied, much amused. "Who's throwing the party?" "The Order of the Zyem Carasophia." Norma's smile vanished. "That's not funny, Harry." "It's not meant to be," Harry replied. "They're having some kind of ceremony, and I have to be there."
"Why?"
"Because if anyone knows where the lad'Il attempt another breach it's them."
"There's a good reason why nobody ever talks about them, Harry."
"Because everybody buys the rumors. The fact is, nobody knows who the hell they are."
"Or what," Norma said.
"So you believe the stories?"
"About them being exiles?" Norma shrugged. "Seems to me, we're all exiles."
"Now don't get metaphysical on me." "It's not metaphysics, it's the truth. All life began in the dream-sea, Harry. And we've all been trying to get back there ever since."
"Why don't I find that very comforting?"
"Because you're afraid of what it means," Norma said, lightly. "You're afraid you'd have to throw away all the rules you live by, and then you'd go crazy." "And you wouldn't?"
"Oh no, I'd probably join you," Norma replied. "The issue isn't my sanity or yours, Harry. It's what's true or not. And I think you, me, and the Zyem have a lot in common."
"What have I got to fear?" Harry said.
"They're probably as afraid of you as you are of them, and that means they'd prefer to have your head on a plate where they can see it. Or eat it."
"Ha fucking ha."
"You asked," Norma replied.
Harry turned his attention from the street to the television screens. Three dozen silent dramas were in progress before him, the cameras' eyes picking up every little triumph and agony, whether real or rehearsed.
"Do you ever think we're being watched?" Harry said, after a few moments of staring at the screens.
"I am, all the damn time," Norma replied.
"I don't mean by ghosts," Harry replied.
"What then?"
"Oh, I don't know@od?"
"No.
"You sound very sure."
"I am. Sitting here right now. Ask me tomorrow I might have a different answer. I doubt it, but you never know."
"You talk about demons-"
"So?"
"That means the Devil's in the mix somewhere."
"And if the Devil's on the planet God must be too?" She shook her head.
"We've had this argument before, Harry. It's one of those useless subjects."
"I know."
"I don't know what your demons are@'
"They're not mine, for a start."
"You see, we're disagreeing already. I think they're very much yours."
"You mean what happened to Hess was me?" Harry said, his timbre darkening.
"You know that's not what I mean." "What then?"
"The demons find you, because you need them. So did Hess. You need them for the world to make sense to you. Some people believe in-I don't know, what do people believe in? Politicians, movie stars... " she sighed, exasperated. "Why are you fretting about it anyway?"
"Time of year. Time of life. I don't know." He paused. "That's not true. I do know." "Going' to tell me?"
"I've got this constant feeling of dread."
"About the Order?"
11
"No. "What then?"
"I still believe in Hell. It's me I don't believe in any longer."
"What the heck are you talkin' 'bout?" Norma said. She extended her arm in Harry's direction. "Come here," she said. "Harry? You hear me?" Harry extended his arm, and Norma unerringly seized hold of his wrist.
"I want you to listen to me," she said. "An' I don't want you shushing me or tellin' me you don't want to hear, 'cause sometimes things don't get said that should be said and I'm going' to say em now. Understand me?" She didn't wait for Harry to agree to her conditions, but went on, tugging on Harry's arm to bring him still closer to her chair. "You're a good man, Harry, an' that's rare. I mean really rare. I think something moves in you that doesn't move in most men, which is why you're always being tested this way. I don't know what it is testin' you@r me come to that-but I know we got no choice. Understand me? We got no choice but to just get on with things, day by day, and make our way as best we can."