How well Parsifal remembers those evenings when, after a long absence, he would hear the sounds of his father’s arrivaclass="underline" first Parsifal heard the sounds of snapping twigs and muttered curses, then his father’s familiar tread along the path that led to their house, then the knock on their door, and when Parsifal pushed it open, there was Conrad, carrying whatever surprises he’d brought with him.
“Hello, young man,” Conrad said, and shook his son’s hand (he used to joke that too much intimacy spoiled a child). Next, after carefully hanging his jacket on a coat hanger Parsifal had made from branches, Conrad washed his face and hands and waited for Pearl to bring supper to the stump that served as the family’s rustic table. His father, Parsifal remembers, liked to pass the time until dinner was served squashing insects with his thumb.
Then the family ate, and afterward Conrad stood behind Pearl as she washed the dishes, rubbing her back and shoulders in silent communication to show how much he had missed her. When Pearl finished the dishes, Conrad returned to his chair at the stump and Pearl took out the comb she kept in the breadbox, running it through Conrad’s hair again and again, alternately covering and uncovering the bald spot he was just beginning to exhibit, but which he usually kept covered with a baseball cap.
After that the two of them would send Parsifal out on some errand, and when he returned an hour or two later, Conrad was in bed fast asleep, alongside Parsifal’s mother, of course.
On three-day weekends, or weekends when Conrad was able to spend more time with his family, he and Parsifal often took long walks, during which Conrad explained the principles of hedge funds, or discussed the pros and cons of high executive compensation. Sometimes Conrad interrupted these lessons to tell Parsifal that he had no idea how lucky he was to escape the pettiness and competition of what most people might have called “a normal education.”
“They are nothing more than frightened apes, Parsifal,” Conrad told him, “students and teachers alike.” Then he rubbed Parsifal’s head in an affectionate manner, and the two of them returned for supper. In no time, his father left once again for the city.
Frightened, murderous apes.
Parsifal ate another energy bar and stared at the flattened Airstream. It was morning, but whatever amiable oldsters had been trapped inside would never see it, the only compensation perhaps — their spending spree having been halted by the power of the air — that their children and grandchildren would now be able to attend the universities of their choice. For the first time Parsifal noticed lying next to the trailer a small shovel, like a foxhole tool, that must have been strapped to the trailer’s side. He walked over and picked it up. It had not been damaged at all.
What should Parsifal do next? The advantage of trying out the blindfold was that at least it had been a plan. Now he had nowhere to point himself toward in search of the cup, no clue as to what to do next. Parsifal sat there, feeling the powerful energy of Misty’s bar surge through him. Off in the distance he was fairly sure that he could just make out the sounds of “Rainy Day Women.” He rose, and the voices stopped. In their place he could hear that same humming/flapping sound he had heard earlier, but the morning fog made it impossible to see exactly from where it originated. Parsifal strained to listen.
On the one hand, humming and flapping, and on the other, the words of the rock and roll classic.
He tied the shovel to his backpack, then heaved the pack onto his shoulders.
M + C + BD + P — (C + BD) = M + P
Parsifal walked in what he guessed was the direction of the voices but found nothing, so he kept walking. At least, he thought, it was a direction. A light rain began to fall, which turned to a medium rain, then to an actual downpour. The good thing about the rain wasn’t just that it helped things grow, but that for one reason or another, very few objects ever fell out of the sky while it was raining. He’d heard a dozen discussions on radio talk shows about why this should be the case, but out of all of them he’d never heard a completely convincing answer.
At last it was time to quit for the day. Parsifal looked around for a place that would be dry (they weren’t as hard to find in the forest as many people might think), and almost immediately spotted a cave just a few yards away, its entrance marked by a few wet, insubstantial bushes. It wasn’t tall enough for a man to stand up in it — though maybe a child could — but the low arch of its opening provided sufficient room for anyone to stretch out in relative comfort. Parsifal crouched inside beneath the gentle dome of its entrance. It went back only a few yards, but it was dry, with a clean, sandy floor. There was even a pile of dry twigs off to one side that he could use to start a fire. He backed out and quickly gathered several larger wet logs for later in the evening (it was the afternoon by then) and for the night. He carried them inside.
Parsifal started his fire near the entrance so the smoke would blow outside, took off his socks, pulled on a fresh pair, and propped the worn ones up near the fire with a stick. Despite his clean socks, he realized that he was cold and far more weary than he’d guessed. He rolled out his sleeping bag and crawled inside of it.
A nap would feel good, he thought, and if by any chance I sleep through the night, so much the better.
Parsifal lay his head down and struck something really hard. He shook his head. He must have been tired, because he had just ignored one of the very first rules of woodcraft: always check the ground where you are about to sleep to be sure there are no hidden rocks or roots. He raised himself up and felt beneath where his head had been. His hand touched something smooth, like metal. Parsifal dug around a little more — it wasn’t buried very deep — and pulled it out. It was metal.
It was an old, ornate brass doorknob, without a hole to insert a key, but with a pattern of leaves forming an oval around its flat surface. Parsifal couldn’t imagine what a doorknob would be doing there without a door unless some creature, a porcupine or beaver, had dragged the whole door there, to what must have been its den, and then eaten the wood, leaving behind the knob like a bone. But on second thought, the door would have been far too heavy for a porcupine, even a strong one, to pull along behind it. The doorknob looked familiar. It looked familiar because, he saw, it was the doorknob to his old house, once so important to him, lost, found, hidden, and now found again, and though it was far too late to bring back Pearl or to allow Conrad to return to his family once again, it was undeniably his.
It must be a sign, Parsifal thought, and put it in his pocket.
Three white anchors on a field of green.
XI
the next morning was sunny, and Parsifal was greeted almost immediately upon waking by the spectacle of about a thousand polyethylene cutting boards flip-flopping their way like bright white playing cards down from a cloudless sky. Not to say they couldn’t be deadly if one caught a person with its edge, but protected by the entrance of the cave he was able to simply eat an energy bar and enjoy the sight of them. Parsifal considered picking up a small one that had a handle (they came in assorted sizes), to take back with him, but he didn’t want to lose the focus of his search, and besides, he already was carrying the shovel. Another time, he told himself. The cutting boards were indestructible. They would be there for him if he ever returned.