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Suddenly he made the decision to continue, and I was relieved.
f'I made my life rich enough," he said, "that I stopped caringabout changing the world if ever I really thought of it; I made a life,you see, you know, a world unto itself. But she really has opened hersoul in a sophisticated way to ... to something. My soul's dead.""Apparently not," I said. The thought that he would vanish, hadto, sooner or later, was becoming intolerable to me, and far morefrightening than his initial presence had ever been.
''Let's get back to the basics. I'm getting anxious. . . ." he said.
"Why?""Don't freak on me, just listen. There is money put aside for Dorathat has no connection to me. The government can't touch it, be-sides, they never got an indictment against me let alone a conviction,you saw to that. The information's in the flat. Black leather folders.
File cabinet. Mixed right in with sales slips for all sorts of paintingsand statues. And you have to save all that somewhere for Dora. Mylife's work, my inheritance. It's in your hands for her. You can do it,can't you? Look, there's no hurry, you've done away with me in arather clever way,""I know. And you're asking me now to function as a guardianangel, to see that Dora receives this inheritance untainted. . . .""Yes, my friend, that's precisely what I'm begging you to do. Andyou can do it! And don't forget about my Wynken! If she won't takethose books, you keep those books!"He touched my chest with his hand. I felt it, the little knock uponthe door of the heart.
He continued. "When my name drops put of the papers,assuming it ever makes it from the FBI files to the wire service, ypu get themoney to Dora. Money can still create Dora's church. Dora ismagnetic, Dora can do it all by herself, if she has the money! You followme? She can do it the way Francis did it or Paul or Jesus. If it wasn'tfor her theology, she would have become the charismatic celebritylong ago. She has all the assets. She thinks too much. Her theology iswhat sets her apart."He took a breath. He was talking very rapidly, and I wasbeginning to shiver. I could hear his fear like a low emanation from him.
Fear of what?
"Here," he said. "Let me quote something to you. She told methis last night. We've been reading a book by Bryan Appleyard, acolumnist for the papers in England, you've heard of him? He wrotesome tome called Understanding the Present. I have the copy she gaveme. And in it he said things that Dora believed ... such as that we are'spiritually impoverished.' ""Agreed.""But it was something else, something about our dilemma, thatyou can invent theologies, but for them to work they have to comefrom some deeper place inside a person... I know what she called it...
Appleyard's words ... 'a totality of human experience.' " He stopped.
He was distracted.
I was desperate to reassure him that I understood this. "Yes, she'slooking for this, courting it, she's opening herself for it."I suddenly realized that I was holding on to him as tightly as hewas holding on to me.
He was staring off.
I was filled with a sadness so awful that I couldn't speak. I'd killedthis man! Why had I done it? I mean, I knew he'd been interestingand evil, but Christ, how could I have . . . but then what if he stayedwith me the way he was! What if he could become my friend exactlythe way he was.
Oh, this was too childish and selfish and avaricious! We weretalking about Dora, about theology. Of course I understood Appleyard'spoint. Understanding the Present. I pictured the book. I'd go back forit. I filed it in my preternatural memory. Read at once,He hadn't moved or spoken.
"Look, what are you scared of?" I asked. "Don't fade on me!" Iclung to him, very raw, and small, and almost crying, thinking that Ihad killed him, taken his life, and now all I wanted to do was hold onto his spirit.
He gave no response. He looked afraid.
I wasn't the ossified monster I thought I was. I wasn't in danger ofbeing inured to human suffering. I was a damned jibberingempath!
"Roger? Look at me. Go on talking."He only murmured something about maybe Dora would findwhat he had never found.
"What?" I demanded.
"Theophany," he whispered.
Oh, that lovely word. David's word. I'd only heard it myself a fewhours ago. And now it slipped from his lips.
"Look, I think they're coming for me," he said suddenly. His eyesgrew wide. He didn't look afraid now so much as puzzled. He waslistening to something. I could hear it too. "Remember my death,"he said suddenly, as if he'd just thought of it most distinctly. "Tellher how I died. Convince her my death has cleansed the money! Youunderstand. That's the angle! I paid with my death. The money is nolonger unclean. The books of Wynken, all of it, it's no longerunclean. Pretty it up. I ransomed it all with my blood. You know, Le-stat, use your clever tongue. Tell her!"Those footsteps.
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