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Authors: Nicholas Christopher
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sorry.”
He shook his head. “And I found out that the airman I pulled out was already dead.”
“I know. The crew that brought you in said it was a miracle you survived, Captain.”
“I used up a few of my nine lives, I know that. Won’t you sit down? And please don’t call me Captain.”
I hesitated. “I have to get back in a few minutes.”
“Then sit for a few minutes.”
There was a metal chair, which I drew closer to the bed.
“Not enough time to tell me your life story?” he said lightly.
I smiled, as I hadn’t smiled in months. The tendons of my jaw and the web of muscles around my eyes seemed to relax all at once.
“Another time, then,” he smiled back, his eyes softening, answeringhis own question, as he would often do. “Tell me, where did you get that?” He indicated my pendant.
“Savannah.”
“Can you tell me about it?” he said, studying the pendant.
I told him about the volcano, Captain Cook’s crewman, and the woman who had lived to be 105, and I described the little store in Savannah.
He listened carefully, then said, “It’s probably iron-based, from the earth’s mantle, which shares its composition with the stars. You know, the only pure iron on earth was brought by meteorites. Cook was one of those explorers who navigated by the stars, and when he needed food, he bartered the South Sea islanders iron—in the form of nails and fishhooks—that traced its origins to those same stars.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said, fascinated by his words.
“Would you please get me the X ray you took of my back before surgery? I’d like to show you something.”
All his X rays were hanging at the foot of the bed beside his chart. While I sifted through them, he lifted a book from the bedside table and opened it to a page marked with a strip of gauze.
“I borrowed this from the map room,” he said.
My heart quickened when I saw that it was a star atlas with a Navy insignia—twin anchors composed of stars—on the indigo cover.
“This is a photograph of the outer rim of the Andromeda galaxy taken with an X-ray telescope,” he went on. “Time-delayed to capture the movements of the stars. Now, hold my X ray next to it.”
The shrapnel and stars looked the same: clusters of short white streaks against the blackness.
“Iron,” he said softly, “here, inside my body, and there, in another galaxy, as far away from us as we can imagine.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I said, leaning closer to him.
“I think you know why,” he said, tilting his head and turning his eyes back on mine. “I knew I would be telling you from the moment you walked in here.”
I felt the blood rushing in my head, but he was right: I wasn’t surprised. And we were both aware that whatever forces and impulses had drawn me to him in the first place were just as surely at work in him.
He reached out and took my pendant gently between his thumband index finger. “This stone,” he said, examining it closely, “with all its stars—I’ve never seen one like it anywhere.”
“May I ask you something?” I held up the frontal X ray of his torso and pointed to the shadow of his stomach cavity. “Down here—surely this has nothing to do with the war.”
He smiled, and for an instant I was sure this was what he had really been waiting to talk about. “The key? No, I put that there myself. Swallowed it a long time ago, for safekeeping, and never told anyone. It never came out and it’s never bothered me,” he added.
“For safekeeping?”
He lowered his voice. “It opens something very important.” He touched his stomach. “I’ll keep it down here until I need it.”
“You know when that will be?”
He shook his head. “I’ll know when the time comes.”
Hearing myself paged on the P.A., I stood up and put the X ray back with the others.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I said.
“I was counting on it.” His eyes brightened. “Merry Christmas, Mala.”
For the
He shook his head. “And I found out that the airman I pulled out was already dead.”
“I know. The crew that brought you in said it was a miracle you survived, Captain.”
“I used up a few of my nine lives, I know that. Won’t you sit down? And please don’t call me Captain.”
I hesitated. “I have to get back in a few minutes.”
“Then sit for a few minutes.”
There was a metal chair, which I drew closer to the bed.
“Not enough time to tell me your life story?” he said lightly.
I smiled, as I hadn’t smiled in months. The tendons of my jaw and the web of muscles around my eyes seemed to relax all at once.
“Another time, then,” he smiled back, his eyes softening, answeringhis own question, as he would often do. “Tell me, where did you get that?” He indicated my pendant.
“Savannah.”
“Can you tell me about it?” he said, studying the pendant.
I told him about the volcano, Captain Cook’s crewman, and the woman who had lived to be 105, and I described the little store in Savannah.
He listened carefully, then said, “It’s probably iron-based, from the earth’s mantle, which shares its composition with the stars. You know, the only pure iron on earth was brought by meteorites. Cook was one of those explorers who navigated by the stars, and when he needed food, he bartered the South Sea islanders iron—in the form of nails and fishhooks—that traced its origins to those same stars.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said, fascinated by his words.
“Would you please get me the X ray you took of my back before surgery? I’d like to show you something.”
All his X rays were hanging at the foot of the bed beside his chart. While I sifted through them, he lifted a book from the bedside table and opened it to a page marked with a strip of gauze.
“I borrowed this from the map room,” he said.
My heart quickened when I saw that it was a star atlas with a Navy insignia—twin anchors composed of stars—on the indigo cover.
“This is a photograph of the outer rim of the Andromeda galaxy taken with an X-ray telescope,” he went on. “Time-delayed to capture the movements of the stars. Now, hold my X ray next to it.”
The shrapnel and stars looked the same: clusters of short white streaks against the blackness.
“Iron,” he said softly, “here, inside my body, and there, in another galaxy, as far away from us as we can imagine.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I said, leaning closer to him.
“I think you know why,” he said, tilting his head and turning his eyes back on mine. “I knew I would be telling you from the moment you walked in here.”
I felt the blood rushing in my head, but he was right: I wasn’t surprised. And we were both aware that whatever forces and impulses had drawn me to him in the first place were just as surely at work in him.
He reached out and took my pendant gently between his thumband index finger. “This stone,” he said, examining it closely, “with all its stars—I’ve never seen one like it anywhere.”
“May I ask you something?” I held up the frontal X ray of his torso and pointed to the shadow of his stomach cavity. “Down here—surely this has nothing to do with the war.”
He smiled, and for an instant I was sure this was what he had really been waiting to talk about. “The key? No, I put that there myself. Swallowed it a long time ago, for safekeeping, and never told anyone. It never came out and it’s never bothered me,” he added.
“For safekeeping?”
He lowered his voice. “It opens something very important.” He touched his stomach. “I’ll keep it down here until I need it.”
“You know when that will be?”
He shook his head. “I’ll know when the time comes.”
Hearing myself paged on the P.A., I stood up and put the X ray back with the others.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I said.
“I was counting on it.” His eyes brightened. “Merry Christmas, Mala.”
For the
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