After a while, when he recounted the names of the places, he could no longer recall the name of the town in his first trip back, or Mary’s last name, or the given name of her mother. He remembered Cedric the hostler. And then not even him. The names of the madam and the poisoned whore faded from him, the names of the sewer hunter and the hanged man slipped from him, the faces of Spurgeon and Airy grew blurred. Kiritopa remained tall and Edgar Evans sat strong in the boat.
And then, not even them.
Goodbye, Swedish, a man kept saying with a smile, walking away, holding a baby in one arm, a baby wearing Julian’s precious red beret. I’ll see you, Swedish.
I’ll see you, Wild.
He was okay. He remembered the important things. But what Julian really wanted was for the river to come to an end. His body was sore, hurting, empty, misbegotten, blackened, burdened, hollowed out.
When will it end?
When will it end.
As his boat floated, his exhausted eyes blinking open and closed, he held the crystal slivers up to the cave, perhaps to bounce off something, to give him a little light. He was so tired of the darkness. While his pleading hand was stretched out, there was a flare, and in the brief reflection, he saw the river up ahead. He was headed into a junction. Julian stood at attention peering into the darkness, holding the tiny slivers up, again, again, please! trying to catch a glimpse of the tributaries.
And there they were.
To the right, in a spacious cave, the river flowed straight and swift. He saw it clearly. There was current and welcome movement. He thought he almost saw, almost! the crystal sliver reflect off something in the distance. Was light filtering in through a crack somewhere? Squeezing his hand shut, he stared intensely into the darkness. Look how fast the river was moving. He had no oars, but he could paddle with his hands to catch the current. He could be at the breach in a few minutes. He would climb out. He would find her. This would all be over. Maybe Cherry Lane, maybe Book Soup, maybe the crest of the Santa Monica Mountains. He still remembered her so well. Mia, Mia.
To the left flowed the same winding, barely rippling, unhurried river he had been on for an eternity, disappearing around the bend between the steep ragged cliffs.
Julian didn’t want to be on the river another second. It had already been too long without her. It was time to see her face. Julian reached into the water with his strong left hand and started paddling, turning the boat into the current.
Oh, no—her crystal! Gasping, he jerked his hand out of the water and stared desperately into his empty palm. He had forgotten that he had clenched his fingers around the shards, and when he opened his hand to paddle, they had fallen out. They were gone, all gone. How could he have been so careless. He just forgot.
Nothing to do about it now. He had to get into the current. He didn’t need the crystal anymore. He knew what she looked like in Los Angeles. Cherry Lane, Normandie, Book Soup. He’d find her.
At first he paddled frantically, and then slower and slower.
Soon he stopped altogether.
His mind kept catching on something it didn’t want to catch on.
The river was at a junction.
That meant there was a choice to make.
Both ways might lead him to her.
But what if only one did?
The short, straight way was better. Because he still remembered! He wanted so desperately not to forget. He thought he wanted that most of all. But what did Devi tell him, what were the terrible words Devi had spoken that Julian barely heard then and wished to God he wasn’t remembering now?
In seven short weeks, in forty-nine days, seven times seven, she will be gone from you again. You know how this story ends, Julian. It’s a loop with a noose.
In seven short weeks she will be gone from you again.
Can you bear it?
Which way the river? Which way her life?
He had tried it already every which way. Every approach, every angle. He tried to warn her, to stay away, to be slow, to be fast, he tried friendship and romance, reserve and abandon, to look far ahead, and to live day by day.
And now another unfathomable choice was rising up in front of him.