Time Travelers Strictly Cash Read Free Page A

are two basic ways people react facially to mortal agony. The first kind smiles a lot, slightly apologetically, thanks everyone elaborately for small favors, extravagantly praises the hospital md its every employee.
    The face is animated, trying to ensure that the last impression it leaves before going under the knife is of a helluva nice person whom it would be a shame to lose. The second kind is absolutely blank-faced, so utterly wrapped up in wondering whether he’s dying that he has no attention left for working the switches and levers of the face-or so certain of death that the perpetual dialogue people conduct with their faces has ceased to interest him. It’s not the total deaniination of a corpse’s face, butit’s not far from it.
    Her face was of the second type. I suppose it could have been cancer or some such, but somehow I knew her pain was not physical. I was just as sure that it might be fatal. I was so shocked I violated the prime rule of Callahan’s Place without even thinking :about it. “Good God, lady,” I blurted, “What’s the matter?”
    Her head turned toward me with such elaborate care that I knew her car keys must be in the coffee can behind the bar. Her eyes took awhile focusing on me, but when they did, there was no one looking out of them. She enunciated her words.
    “Is it to me to whom you are referring?”
    She was not especially pretty, not particularly well dressed, her hair cut wrong for her face and in need of brushing. She was a normal person, in other words, save that her face was uninhabited, and somehow I could not take my eyes off her. It was not the pain I wanted to take my eyes from that it was something else.
    It was necessary to get her attention. “Nothing, nothing, just wanted to tell you your hair’s on fire.”
    She nodded. “Think nothing of it.” She turned back to her screwdriver and started to take a sip and sprayed it all over the counter. She shrieked on the inhale, dropped the glass, and flung her hands at her hair.
    Conversation stopped all over the house.
    She whirled on me, ready to achieve total fury at the slightest sign of a smile, and I debated gvng her that release but decided she could not afford the energy it would cost her.
    “I’m truly, truly sorry,” I said at once, “but a minute ago you weren’t here and now you are, and that’s the way I wanted it.”
    Callahan was there, his big knuckly hand resting light as lint on my shoulder. His expression was mournful. “Prying, Jake? You?”
    “That’s up to her, Mike,” I said, holding her eyes.
    “What you talkin’ about?” she asked.
    “Lady,”! said, “there’s so much pain on your face! just have to ask you, How come? If you don’t want to tell me, then I’m prying.” She blinked. “And if you are?”
    “The little guy with a face like a foot who has by now tiptoed up behind me will brush his blackjack across my occiput, and I’ll wake up tomorrow with the same kind of head you’re gonna-have. Right, Eddie?”
    “Dat’s right, Jake, “the piano man’s voice came from just behind me.
    She shook her head dizzily, then looked around at friendly, attentive faces. “What the hell kind of place is this?”
    Usually we prefer to let newcomers figure that out for themselves, but I couldn’t wait that long. “This is Callahan’s. Most joints the barkeep listens to your troubles, but we happen to love this one so much that we all share his load. This is the place you found because you needed to.” I gave it everything I had.
    She looked around again, searching faces. I saw her look for the prurience of the accident spectator and not find it; then I saw her look again for compassion and find it. She turned back to me and looked me over carefully. I tried to look gentle, trustworthy, understanding, wise, and strong. I wanted to be more than I was for her. “He’s not prying, Eddie,” she said at last. “Sure, I’ll tell you people. You’re not going to believe it anyway.