Wizard of the Pigeons. Megan Lindholm
his hair slightly, took his newspaper from his shopping bag and tucked it under his arm, and clutched the plastic bag by its handle. His stomach made him hurry the block and a half to the remembered location.
With a flash of light and a roar of wind, he appeared in the door of the restaurant. A secretary hurrying through her half-hour lunch break paused with her burger halfway to her lips. Framed by a rectangle of bright blue October, the man in the door blazed blue and white and gold. A strange little squirt of extra blood shot through her heart at the sight of him. Wasn’t he the illustration of the wandering prince from some half-forgotten book in her childhood? Sunlight rested on his hair like a mother’s fond benediction. He was too vital and sparkling for her to break her stare away.
Then the tinted glass door on its pneumatic closer eased shut behind him, revealing to her the cheat. Bereft of wind and sun at his back, the man who had seemed to fill the doorway was only slightly taller than average. The gold highlights on his hair faded to a brown tousle; even this boyishness was denied by a sprinkling of grey throughout it. His lined and weathered face contradicted his youthful stance and easy walk. Just some smalltime logger from Aberdeen who had wandered into Seattle for a day of shopping. His longsleeved wool shirt was a subdued blue plaid; thermal underwear peeked out the open collar. Dark brown corduroy slacks sheathed his long legs. The blue spark of fascination in his eyes was only something she had imagined. When the secretary realized her gaze was being returned with interest, she stared past him, scowling slightly, and returned to her hamburger. Wizard shrugged and strolled to the end of the line at the counter.
Once in line, he took the folded Seattle Times from under his arm and stuffed it into the top of his plastic shopping bag. He scanned the restaurant expectantly. The place was an elegantly disguised cafeteria. The tables had donned red-checked cloths and boasted small guttering candles in little red hobnail holders. Their dimmed gleam was augmented by the shining fluorescent light over the stainless steel salad bar. The girl clearing tables wore a lacy little apron and a dainty starched cap. But the fine masquerade was betrayed by the metal dispenser for paper napkins on the condiment bar, and the swing-front plastic trash containers that crouched discreetly beneath potted plants. Wizard was not deceived. He caught the glance of a small girl seated at a corner table with her brother and parents. His face lit when he spotted her. With a broad grin and a wink, he reduced her to giggles.
‘Ready to order, sir,’ the cashier informed him. Her square plastic name tag introduced her as Nina Cashier Trainee.
‘Coffee.’ He tried a melting smile on her, but she was too nervous to thaw. He jingled the change in his pocket as her finger wiped his order into her machine.
‘You want that to go,’ she told him.
‘No, I’ll drink it here.’ He refocused the smile on her. ‘It’s pretty nippy outside.’
She mustered an uncertain authority. ‘You can’t sit in a booth with just coffee and be alone.’ She gabbled the words as her pen jabbed up at a sign posted high above anyone’s eye level. In stout black letters it proclaimed LONE PATRONS OR PERSONS ORDERING LESS THAN $1.50 EACH ARE NOT PERMITTED TO SIT IN BOOTHS BETWEEN 11:00 AND 2:00 PM, DUE TO LIMITED TABLE SPACE. THE MANAGEMENT REGRETS THIS NECESSARY MEASURE IN OUR EFFORTS TO KEEP OUR PRICES LOW. So did Wizard. The sign had not been there last month.
‘But I’m not alone, Miss Nina.’ His use of her name unbalanced her. ‘I’m joining some friends. Looks like I’m a bit late.’ He winked at the little girl in the corner booth, and she squirmed delightedly. ‘Isn’t the kid a doll? Her mom looked just like that when we were kids.’
Nina hastily surrendered, barely glancing at the child. ‘A real cutie. Fifty-seven cents, please. Help yourself to refills from our bottomless pot.’
‘I always do.’ He pushed mixed coins onto the counter to equal exactly fifty-seven cents. ‘I used to be a regular here, but the service got so bad I quit coming in. With people like you working here, maybe I’ll become a regular again.’
For an instant a real person peered out of her eyes at him. He received a flash of gratitude. He smiled at her and let the tension out of her bunched shoulders. She served him steaming coffee in a heavy white mug. He let her forget him completely as she turned to her next customer.
Wizard took his mug to the condiment counter. He helped himself to three packets of cream substitute and six packets of sugar, a plastic spoon, and four napkins. He sauntered casually over to the corner booth where the small girl and her brother pushed their food about on their plates as their parents lingered over coffee. He halted just short of intruding on them and allowed himself a few silent moments to make character adjustments. ‘Turning the facets of your personality until an appropriate one is face up’ was how Cassie described it when she had taught him how. Prepared, he took the one more pace that put him within their space, and waited for the husband to look up. He did so quickly, his brown eyes narrowing. The muscles in his thick neck bunched as the man hiked his shoulder warningly, and set down his coffee mug to have his fists free. Very territorial, Wizard decided. He smiled ingratiatingly, cocking his head like a friendly pup.
‘Hi!’ he ventured in an uncertain voice. He cleared his throat and shifted his feet awkwardly. A country twang invaded his voice. ‘I, uh, I hate to intrude, but I wonder if I could share your table. I’m waiting for my lady friend.’
‘Then wait at an empty table,’ the man growled. His wife looked both apprehensive and intrigued.
‘Uh, I would, but, well, look, it’s like this. The first time I ever took her out, we wound up here, sitting at this table until three in the morning. Since then, we’ve always sat here whenever we come in. And well, today is kind of special. I think I’m going to, you know, ask her. I got the ring and the whole bit.’ He patted his breast pocket with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. His soft voice was awed at his own boldness.
The seated man was not moved. ‘Buzz off,’ he growled, but his wife reached quickly to cover his hand with hers.
‘Come on, Ted, show a little sense of romance. What harm can it do? We’re nearly finished anyway.’
‘Well…’ She squeezed his hand warmly as she smiled at him. Ted’s hackles went down. ‘I guess it’s okay.’ Ted gave a snort of harsh laughter. ‘But maybe I’d be doing you a bigger favour if I refused. Look how they get, once you marry ’em. Changing my mind before I can even decide. Yeah, sit!’ Ted pointed commandingly at the end of the booth bench, and Wizard dropped into it obediently. He leaned his shopping bag carefully against the seat, and smiled with a shy tolerance at Ted’s rough joking.
‘Well, you know how it is, sir. I’ve been thinking it’s about time I took the step. I’m not a spring chicken anymore. I want to do this thing while I still got the time to get me some pretty babies like yours and be a daddy to them.’ He spoke with a farm boy’s eloquence.
‘Hell, ain’t never too old for that, long as you find a woman young enough!’ Ted laughed knowingly.
‘Yessir,’ Wizard agreed, but he blushed and looked aside as he did so. Ted took pity on him. Poor sucker couldn’t keep his eyes off the door, let alone make conversation. ‘Eat up, kids. I want to be on the road before the traffic hits, and your mom still has three more places she wants to spend my money.’
‘Oh, Ted!’ the woman protested, giving their visitor a sideways glance to assure him that women were not as bad as Ted painted them. The stranger smiled back at her with his eyes, his mouth scarcely moving. Then his eyes darted back to the door.
Ted pushed his plate away. Leaning back into the booth seat, he lit a cigarette. ‘Finish your lunch, kids,’ he repeated insistently, a trace of annoyance coming into his voice. ‘Clean up those plates.’
The boy looked down at his hamburger in despair. It had been neatly cut into two halves for him. He had managed to eat most of one piece. ‘I’m full, Dad,’ he said softly, as if fearful of being heard. His sister pushed her salad plate aside boldly. ‘Can’t we have dessert before we go?’ she pleaded loudly.
‘No!’ snapped Ted. ‘And