Magician

She went to serve, upset by the stranger's silence, upset by his no-color eyes and her restless groin. She was afraid of her.

They were capricious and beyond her control.

They might be the sign of change, which would in turn signal the beginning of her old age—a condition which in Mono was usually as short and bitter as a winter sunset.

She brought beer until the keg was empty, then broached another. She knew better than to ask Bosz; he would come willingly enough, like the dog he was, and would either chop off his own

fingers or spume beer all over everything.

The stranger's eyes were on her as she went about it; she could feel them.

"It's busy," he said when she returned. He had not touched his drink, merely rolled it between his palms to warm it.

"Wake," she said.

"I noticed the departed."

"They're bums," she said with sudden hatred. "All bums."

"It excites them. He's dead. They're not."

"He was their butt when he was alive. It's not right that he should be their butt now. It's . . ." She trailed off, not able to express what it was, or how it was obscene.

"Weed-eater?"

"Yes! What else did he have?"

Her tone was accusing, but he did not drop his eyes, and she felt the blood rush to her face. "I'm sorry. Are you a priest?

This must revolt you."

"I am not and it doesn't." He knocked the Vodka back neatly and did not grimace. "Once more, please.

Once more with feeling, as they say in the world next door."

She had no idea what that might mean, and was afraid to ask.

"I will have to see the color of your coin first. I'm sorry."

"No need to be."

He put a rough silver coin on the counter, thick on one edge, thin on the other, and she said as she would say later: "I don't have change for this."

He shook his head, ignoring it, and watched absently as she poured again.

"Are you only passing through?" she asked.

He did not reply for a long time, and she was about to repeat when he shook his head hurriedly. "Don't talk necessarily.

You're here with death."

She recoiled, irritated and amazed, her first thought is that he had lied about his sacredness to test her.

"You cared for him," he said flatly. "Isn't that true?"

"Who? Scott?" She laughed, affecting annoyance to cover her confusion. "I think you better—"

"You're soft-hearted and a little afraid," he went on, "and he was on the weed, looking out hell's back door.

And there he is, they've even slammed the door now, and you don't think they will open it until it's time for you to walk through, isn't it so?"

"What are you, drunk?"

"Master Norton, he said," the ebony man intoned, giving the words a sardonic little twist. "Dead as anybody. Dead as you or anybody."

"Get out of my place." She felt a trembling loathing spring up in her, but the warmth still radiated from her belly.

"It's all right," he said softly. "It's all right. Wait. Just wait."

The eyes were blue. She felt suddenly easy in her mind as if she had taken a drug.

"Dead as anybody," he said. "Do you see?"

She nodded dumbly and he laughed aloud—a fine, strong, untainted laugh that swung heads around.

He turned and faced them, suddenly the center of attention. Aunt Neya faltered and subsided, leaving a cracked high note oozing into the air.

When struck a discord and halted. They looked at the stranger uneasily. Sand rattled against the sides of the building.

The silence held and spun itself out. Her breath had clogged in her throat and she looked down and saw both hands pressed to her belly beneath the bar.

They all looked at him and he looked at

them.

Then the laugh burst forth again, strong, rich, beyond denial. But there was no urge to laugh along with him.

"I will show you a wonder!" he cried at them. But they only watched him, like obedient children taken to see a magician in whom they have grown too old to believe.

The ebony man sprang forward, and Aunt Neya drew away from him. He grinned fiercely and slapped her broad belly.

A short, unwitting cackle was forced out of her, and the ebony man threw back his head.

"It's better, isn't it?"

Aunt Neya cackled again, suddenly broke into sobs, and fled blindly through the doors. The others watched her go silently.

The storm was beginning; shadows followed each other, rising and falling on the white cyclorama of the sky.

A man near the piano with a forgotten beer in one hand made a groaning, slobbering

sound.

The ebony man stood over Scott, grinning down at him. The wind howled and shrieked and thrummed.

Something large struck the side of the building hard enough to make it shake and then bounced away.

One of the men at the bar tore himself free

and headed for some quieter locale, moving in great monster strides. Thunder racketed the sky with a sound like some good coughing.

"All right!" the ebony man grinned. "All right, let's get on to it!"

He began to spit into Scott's face, aiming carefully.

The spittle gleamed on the corpse's forehead and pearled down the shaven beak of his nose.

Under the bar, her hands worked faster.

Bosz laughed, loon-like, and hunched over. He began to cough up phlegm, huge and sticky gobs of it, and let fly.

The ebony man roared approval and pounded him on the back. Bosz grinned, one gold tooth twinkling. Some left. Others gathered in a loose ring around Scott.

His face and the few lapped rooster wrinkles of his neck and upper chest gleamed with liquid—liquid so precious in this dry country.

And suddenly the rain of spit stopped, as if on a signal. There was ragged, heavy breathing.

The ebony man suddenly lunged across the body, jackknifing over it in a smooth arc. It was pretty, like a flash of water.

He caught himself on his hands, sprang to his feet in a twist, grinning,

and went over it again. One of the watchers forgot himself, began to clap, and suddenly backed away, eyes cloudy with terror.

He slobbered a hand across his mouth and made for the door. He trembled the third time, the ebony man went across.

A sound went through the watchers—a grunt—and then they were silent.

The ebony man threw his head back and howled.

His chest moved in a quick, shallow rhythm as he sucked air.