Susannah whistled.
Eddie waited to see if Roland had more tosay. When it was clear he didn’t, Eddie leaned forward and pushed the PLAYbutton again. Ted’s voice filled the cave once more.
“Sheemie’s a teleport. Dinky himself is aprecog… among other things. Unfortunately, a good many avenues into the futureare blocked to him. If you’re wondering if young sai Earnshaw knows how allthis is going to turn out, the answer is no.
“In any case, there’s this hypodermic holein the living flesh of reality… this balcony on the flank of the Dark Tower…this Gingerbread House. A real place, as hard as that might be to believe. It’shere that we’ll store the weapons and camping gear we eventually mean to leavefor you in one of the caves on the far side of Steek-Tete, and it’s here thatI’m making this tape. When I left my room with this old-fashioned but fearsomelyefficient machine under my arm, it was 10:14 AM, BHST—Blue HeavenStandard Time. When I return, it will still be 10:14 AM. No matter how long Istay. That is only one of the terribly convenient things about GingerbreadHouse.
“You need to understand—perhapsSheemie’s old friend Roland already does—that we are three rebels in asociety dedicated to the idea of going along to get along, even if it means theend of existence… and sooner rather than later. We have a number of extremelyuseful talents, and by pooling them we’ve managed to stay one step ahead. Butif Prentiss or Finli o’ Tego—he’s Prentiss’s Security Chief—findsout what we’re trying to do, Dinky would be worm-food by nightfall. Sheemie aswell, quite likely. I’d probably be safe awhile longer, for reasons I’ll getto, but if Pimli Prentiss found out we were trying to bring a true gunslingerinto his affairs—one who may already have orchestrated the deaths of overfive dozen Greencloaks not far from here—even my life might not be safe.”A pause. “Worthless thing that it is.”
There was a longer pause. The reel that hadbeen empty was now half-full. “Listen, then,” Brautigan said, “and I’ll tellyou the story of an unfortunate and unlucky man. It may be a longer story thanyou have time to listen to; if that be the case, I’m sure at least three of youwill understand the use of the button labeled FF. As for me, I’m in a placewhere clocks are obsolete and broccoli is no doubt prohibited by law. I haveall the time in the world.”
Eddie was again struck by how weary the mansounded.
“I’d just suggest that you not fast-forwardunless you really have to. As I’ve said, there may be something here that canhelp you, although I don’t know what. I’m simply too close to it. And I’m tiredof keeping my guard up, not just when I’m awake but when I’m sleeping, too. IfI wasn’t able to slip away to Gingerbread House every now and again and sleepwith no defenses, Finli’s can-toi boys would surely have bagged the three of usa long time ago. There’s a sofa in the corner, also made out of those wonderfulnon-stick marshmallows. I can go there and lie down and have the nightmares Ineed to have in order to keep my sanity. Then I can go back to the Devar-Toi,where my job isn’t just protecting myself but protecting Sheemie and Dink, too.Making sure that when we go about our covert business, it appears to the guardsand their fucking telemetry that we were right where we belonged the wholetime: in our suites, in The Study, maybe taking in a movie at the Gem or grabbingice cream sodas at Henry Graham’s Drug Store and Fountain afterward. It alsomeans continuing to Break, and every day I can feel the Beam we’re currentlyworking on—Bear and Turtle—bending more and more.
“Get here quick, boys. That’s my wish foryou. Get here just as quick as ever you can. Because it isn’t just a questionof me slipping up, you know. Dinky’s got a terrible temper and a habit of goingoff on foul-mouthed tirades if someone pushes his hot-buttons. He could say thewrong thing in a state like that. And Sheemie does his best, but if someonewere to ask him the wrong question or catch him doing the wrong thing when I’mnot around to fix it…”
Brautigan didn’t finish that particularthought. As far as his listeners were concerned, he didn’t need to.
Three
When he begins again, it’s to tell themhe was born in Milford, Connecticut, in the year 1898. We have all heardsimilar introductory lines, enough to know that they signal—for better orworse—the onset of autobiography. Yet as they listen to that voice, thegunslingers are visited by another familiarity; this is true even of Oy. Atfirst they’re not able to put their finger on it, but in time it comes to them.The story of Ted Brautigan, a Wandering Accountant instead of a WanderingPriest, is in many ways similar to that of Pere Donald Callahan. They couldalmost be twins. And the sixth listener—the one beyond theblanket-blocked cave entrance in the windy dark—hears with growingsympathy and understanding. Why not? Booze isn’t a major player in Brautigan’sstory, as it was in the Pere’s, but it’s still a story of addiction andisolation, the story of an outsider.
Four
At the age of eighteen, TheodoreBrautigan is accepted into Harvard, where his Uncle Tim went, and UncleTim—childless himself—is more than willing to pay for Ted’s highereducation. And so far as Timothy Atwood knows, what happens is perfectlystraightforward: offer made, offer accepted, nephew shines in all the rightareas, nephew graduates and prepares to enter uncle’s furniture business aftersix months spent touring post–World War I Europe.
What Uncle Tim doesn’t know is thatbefore going to Harvard, Ted tries to enlist in what will soon be known as theAmerican Expeditionary Force. “Son,” the doctor tells him, “you’ve got one hellof a loud heart murmur, and your hearing is substandard. Now are you going totell me that you came here not knowing those things would get you a red stamp?Because, pardon me if I’m out of line, here, you look too smart for that.”
And then Ted Brautigan does somethinghe’s never done before, has sworn he never will do. He asks the Army docto pick a number, not just between one and ten but between one and athousand. To humor him (it’s rainy in Hartford, and that means things areslow in the enlistment office), the doctor thinks of the number 748. Ted givesit back to him. Plus 419…89… and 997. When Ted invites him to think of a famousperson, living or dead, and when Ted tells him Andrew Johnson, not Jackson butJohnson, the doc is finally amazed. He calls over another doc, a friend, andTed goes through the same rigmarole again… with one exception. He asks thesecond doctor to pick a number between one and a million, then tells thedoctor he was thinking of eighty-seven thousand, four hundred and sixteen. Thesecond doctor looks momentarily surprised—stunned, in fact—thencovers with a big shitlicking smile. “Sorry, son,” he says, “you were only offby a hundred and thirty thousand or so.” Ted looks at him, not smiling, notresponding to the shitlicking smile in any way at all of which he is aware, buthe’s eighteen, and still young enough to be flabbergasted by such utter andseemingly pointless mendacity. Meanwhile, Doc Number Two’s shitlicking smilehas begun to fade on its own. Doc Number Two turns to Doc Number One and says“Look at his eyes, Sam—look at what’s happening to his eyes.”
The first doctor tries to shine anophthalmoscope in Ted’s eyes and Ted brushes it impatiently aside. He hasaccess to mirrors and has seen the way his pupils sometimes expand andcontract, is aware when it’s happening even when there’s no mirror handy by akind of shuttering, stuttering effect in his vision, and it doesn’t interesthim, especially not now. What interests him now is that Doc Number Two isfucking with him and he doesn’t know why. “Write the number down this time,” heinvites. “Write it down so you can’t cheat.”