57.
At the Oslo airport, the phone connection is poor. “I’m coming back,” Vikar says.
Her voice crackles over the thousands of miles. “Sometimes I think I’m losing it, Vik,” he hears her answer.
“I’m coming back.”
“I have these dreams,” she says.
56.
Am I just another who’s abandoned her? Am I another of God’s child-killers? At Heathrow he almost dozes through the announcement of his connecting flight; someone jostles him in time for him to jump from his chair and board the plane at the last moment. After that he doesn’t sleep, and has lost track of how long it’s been since he did.
55.
Vikar says to the curator, “Do you see this?”
The curator looks into the viewer, then picks up the celluloid itself and holds it to the light to view with a naked eye. “What is it?”
In Los Angeles, Vikar has taken a cab directly to the UCLA film school. “What do you believe it is?”
“Uh.” The curator shrugs. “A cave of some kind? A big rock? Hard to tell. Is that writing of some sort?”
“Does it look like someone is lying on top of the rock?”
“Maybe.” The curator shrugs again. “Sure, I guess so.”
“What do you believe this is?” Vikar pulls off his cap and opens the baggie and takes out another frame of film.
The curator puts it in the viewer. “Same thing.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Well,” now the curator moves from frame to frame on the viewer, “maybe one is a little closer than the other.” He looks at Vikar. “I don’t get it.”
“They’re from two different movies,” says Vikar. “One is from a silent movie and one is from, uh … another kind of movie. A more recent movie.”
“Are you sure?” The curator says, “Is this what you were looking for in the Dreyer?”
Vikar doesn’t answer.
“You mean you found it in the Dreyer after all.”
Vikar says, “The real Dreyer.”
“The real Dreyer?” the curator says. “What are you talking about?” But Vikar already has turned, walking away. “Wait a minute,” says the curator. “Mr. Jerome?” Vikar doesn’t stop. “You mean you found the real Joan of Arc?” Vikar continues down the hall. “You found in a week what no one has found in half a century?” Vikar doesn’t stop; the curator calls, holding up the two frames, “Don’t you want these back?”
“I believe,” Vikar answers, not turning, “there are more where those came from.”
54.
From a phone booth outside the film school, he calls the house again. No one answers. The cab that’s waited for him at UCLA takes him first to Rhino Records on Westwood and then to Vinyl Fetish on Melrose, among the thriftshops and warehouses, on the chance he might find her. He calls again from a phone booth at the corner of Melrose and Gardner.
53.
On the way home, Vikar has the cab stop at a small market on Sunset to pick up some groceries. When he gets to the house, Zazi still isn’t there. He goes downstairs to her bedroom on the second level, knocks on the door, and opens it when there’s no answer.
On the walls are posters of Marianne Faithfull, Lora Logic, the Stooges, the New York Dolls, Bowie, Exene Cervenka, Patti Smith, the Doors, Siouxsie and the Banshees. Vikar notes with passing interest that Siouxsie reminds him of Maria from Cannes, with straighter hair. There’s a mockup of an EP cover, a picture of Zazi and the rest of the band on the front. RUBICONS it says across the top, then the title Tick Tock, on Slash Records.
Vikar begins searching around her bed, looking at scraps of paper, looking in the drawers of her dresser and a small table by the window. Only after all of his other searching does it occur to him to look through the spiral notebook that’s in plain sight on the window table.
52.
man these dreams, he reads, one after another, they dont seem to have anything to do w/ anything, I’m not even in them. what does that mean I’m not in my own dreams? maybe i should ask some of the guys in the band except i dont want to go into it or talk about it—
51.
woman surrounded by monks in robes in a church, theyre hassling & questioning her, i get the feeling its like, another century or something But HERES THE WEIRD PART theyre asking questions in words i cant hear or understand — whats THAT about. then they tie her to a post & burn her & i wake up. fucking horrible
50.
Then Vikar finds this entry.
49.
o. k. i cant tell ANYONE about this. last night i dreamed about, i think it was hell, i mean the real hell (if there is a real hell) everythings hot & burning & i could hear people kind of screaming/moaning, Then this satanic kind of guy, i guess the devil maybe, hes putting this weird pitchfork inside this womans various places & theres this kind of industrial sound, machines in the background. like in the other dreams none of these people seem to have anything to do w/ me, the woman isnt me, it would almost be better if it were — am i a PERV or something? this doesnt seem like any kind of fantasy i ever have, wouldnt i know that? This is somebody elses fantasy, whats it doing in MY dream
48.
Now, before Zazi returns, Vikar reads the rest of the dream journal. i write these down when i wake & by the next afternoon i dont remember anything about them at all, they’ve vanished from my memory & all i know is what I’ve written. even reading the dreams over, i don’t remember them
47.
another religious sort of dream last night, a convent? in the middle of the mountains high on a cliff, theres this one crazy nun trying to push another out of a tall tower & winds up falling off herself — down down down
46.
another steeple dream, no crazy nuns but this private-eye guy, in love w/ this girl hes following who thinks shes like this reincarnated chick, then she jumps off this old mission steeple & he thinks shes dead, then he meets another girl who reminds him of the FIRST & theres more but the main thing is the private-eye is just really VERY FUCKED UP
45.
in this bordertown this really fat horrible cop in this sleazy hotel stands over this blonde w/ pointed boobs, shes drugged or something, hes pulling gloves onto his fat fingers
44.
that Bogart guy from the flick i saw w/ Vik lives in this little cottage in love w/ this chick, hes a writer or something & flies off the handle like he could kill anyone any minute & the cops think maybe he has & the chick begins to wonder because every now & then the writer gets nuts/violent (reminds me of Vik)
43.
this beautiful dark woman in sunglasses, so beautiful shes not even real looking sitting in a rowboat on a lake watching w/o emotion this kid drowning in the water just a few feet from her, hes calling out to her to save him but she just watches
42.
on a stone bridge crossing a moat outside a castle or maybe its just a big estate, this hot blonde holding this scythe & its got blood on it, shes wearing a black cape & completely nude underneath. she’s pretty hot i must admit