"This is a very weird way of reassuring me," he said.
"Sorry, I wandered. I studied economics at school – what's so funny?" I asked, when he laughed.
"I just pictured you as the English Major type. Maybe History."
"Well, my parents were paying for college, they wanted a businessman. Then around the time I realized it wasn't for me, my mother died and I didn't want to stress my dad out, and the pay would be good. Still not the point," I added. "The point is that I had this internship during school at a big office building. Filing. Dad thought it'd get me a foot in the door. There was a huge room full of files and cabinets, and a bunch of us spent most of the day reading and sorting them."
"That really doesn't sound like you, Christopher."
"It isn't. Not anymore. Anyway, I was working with this one woman – I think she was fond of me. We talked a lot, as we filed, because it wasn't really a job two intelligent people need all their brainpower for."
"What did you talk about?"
"This and that, I suppose. She was religious, she knew I wasn't – I didn't tell her, someone else probably did. One day she asked me if I believed in God."
"What did you say?"
"I remember it because it seemed like such a good answer at the time," I said, smiling ruefully. "I told her that I'd never really needed to believe in God."
"What?"
"I said I'd depended on myself instead, and if I could get by without His help I didn't see why I should ask for it."
"Oh, Christopher," he sighed. "Even I know better than that."
"I know! How arrogant could I be? I managed to dismiss her entire faith and imply that she needed an emotional crutch all at once. I feel like an asshole about it now. What I mean, though, is that it's still kind of true, but these days I just think everyone has a crutch. Some people believe in God, some believe in magic, some believe in science...we all have something to get us through the day."
"What do you believe in?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Books, I suppose."
"That's good news for me. You trust books."
"I trust books to always be what they are," I qualified cautiously. "I don't always believe what they say, but I believe in their power to speak. The nice thing about books is that the same book will always show you the same words. It's up to you to figure out what they mean."
"A constant," Lucas suggested.
"Within reason. Until the ideas or the words become unintelligible with time."
Lucas fell silent and we continued on with the comfortable crunch of the snow in our ears. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke again.
"The book you helped me find," he began hesitantly, "It has information in it. Things people have forgotten or don't believe in anymore. It...definitely speaks to me."
"Oh, like myths and stuff?" I said. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."
"More than that. I believe in it. I think there aren't just myths. They aren't just myths. They're...processes. Ways of changing things. Like in the Metamorphoses you gave me."
"Well, I have to admit I thought you'd be a little too sensible for that kind of thing, but it's no business if mine if you believe in them," I said.
"More than believe. I've tried some. They work."
"Oh, Lucas, come on now."
"I have. When my circuits flipped and I blew out the pilot light and my phone died, remember? That was because I was trying something – it went wrong, but it still happened, Christopher. I know, because there's that burn mark in the ceiling. And – other things. I'm going to try again when I can. That's why I need to tell you, because if it – " he swallowed, hesitating.
"The telephones go out all the time around these parts," I said. "And I'm sure the wiring in that cottage wasn't really very professionally done. The kinds of things you're talking about don't really work, you know that."
"I think they do."
"Lucas, they're as good a way to be religious as any, but you can't expect me to think magic spells actually produce results. Not the kind of thing you can hold in your hand."
He looked resolutely forward. "But they do. I know they do. I told you – these are things we've forgotten, that's why we don't believe."
"Now you're worrying me."
"I'm sorry, Christopher. I don't mean to do that, I really don't. It's just that it's true, and I want to tell you. I'm working now on something really big – the biggest thing. I think I can do it," he added.
"You're alone too much out here," I said.
"I haven't been – the boy's always around for tutoring and the Friendly were here, they came to see me every day. They believe," he added. "I said I was learning things that hadn't existed in a long time, and they believed me."
"They're country folk – they come from a different way of seeing the world."
"You mean they're primitive, and don't know any better," he replied.
"That's not what I said, Lucas."
"No," he answered bitterly, the single time I've ever seen him truly bitter. "It certainly was not what you said."
"Listen, really, it's not healthy for you. Come stay in the village for a little while. You can sleep at my place or I'll pay for a few days at the hotel – if you're out among normal people for a week or two you'll see what kind of madness you're talking."
"I'm not crazy," he said. "I grew up in Chicago too, I can be just as cynical and sensible as you can. But this is real, Christopher, it exists and I've got to try it."
"What are you talking about, anyway?" I demanded. "What's real? What do you think you're going to do?"
"I think...if it works...there are ways of changing. Being something new – an animal, maybe, like a totem or something. Anyway, I'm sure it works, it's just a question of making it work."
I stopped, standing still against the wind, my shoes covered in mud and snow. The world felt more real, in an odd way, standing there listening to what I thought – knew – to be ridiculous superstition.