His heart was too full. "I thank you all," he said at last. He bowed his head to them with the palm of his right fist against his brow and his eyes closed.
When he opened them again, Moses Carver was holding out his thin old arms. "Now it's time for us to go our way and you to go yours," he said. "Put your arms around me, Roland, and kiss my cheek in farewell if you would, and think of my girl as you do, for I'd say goodbye to her if I may."
Roland did as he was bid, and in another world, as she dozed aboard a train bound for Fedic, Susannah put a hand to her cheek, for it seemed to her that Daddy Mose had come to her, and put an arm around her, and bid her goodbye, good luck, good journey.
THIRTEEN
When Roland stepped out of the ele-vaydor in the lobby, he wasn't surprised to see a woman in a gray-green pullover and slacks the color of moss standing in front of the garden with a few other quietly respectful folken. An animal which was not quite a dog sat by her left shoe. Roland crossed to her and touched her elbow. Irene Tassenbaum turned to him, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Do you hear it?" she asked. "It's like the singing we heard in Lovell, only a hundred times sweeter."
"I hear it," he said. Then he bent and picked up Oy. He looked into the bumbler's bright gold-ringed eyes as the voices sang. "Friend of Jake," he said, "what message did he give?"
Oy tried, but the best he could manage was something that sounded like Dandy-o, a word Roland vaguely remembered from an old drinking song, where it rimed with Adelina says she's randy-o.
Roland put his forehead down against Oy's forehead and closed his eyes. He smelled the bumbler's warm breath. And more: a scent deep in his fur that was the hay into which Jake and Benny Slightman had taken turns jumping not so long before. In his mind, mingled with the sweet singing of those voices, he heard the voice of Jake Chambers for the last time:
Tell him Eddie says, "Watch for Dandelo. "Don't forget!
And Oy had not.
FOURTEEN
Outside, as they descended the steps of 2 Hammarskjold Plaza, a deferential voice said, "Sir? Madam?"
It was a man in a black suit and a soft black cap. He stood by the longest, blackest car Roland had ever seen. Looking at it made the gunslinger uneasy.
"Who's sent us a funeral bucka?" he asked.
Irene Tassenbaum smiled. The rose had refreshed her-excited and exhilarated her, as well-but she was still tired. And concerned to get in touch with David, who would likely be out of his mind with worry by this time.
"It's not a hearse," she said. "It's a limousine. A car for special people... or people who think they're special." Then, to the driver: "While we're riding, can you have someone in your office check some airline info for me?"
"Of course, madam. May I ask your carrier of choice and your destination?"
"My destination's Portland, Maine. My carrier of choice is Rubberband Airlines, if they're going there this afternoon."
The limousine's windows were smoked glass, the interior dim and ringed with colored lights. Oy jumped up on one of the seats and watched with interest as the city rolled past. Roland was mildly amazed to see that there was a completely stocked liquorbar on one side of the long passenger compartment. He thought of having a beer and decided that even such a mild drink would be enough to dim his own lights. Irene had no such worries. She poured herself what looked like whiskey from a small bottle and then held the glass toward him.
"May your road wind ever upward and the wind be ever at your back, me foine bucko," she said.
Roland nodded. "A good toast. Thankee-sai."
"These have been the most amazing three days of my life. I want to thankee-sai you. For choosing me." Also for laying me, she thought but did not add. She and Dave still enjoyed the occasional snuggle, but not like that of the previous night. It had never been like that. And if Roland hadn't been distracted?
Very likely she would have blown her silly self up, like a Black Cat firecracker.
Roland nodded and watched the streets of the city-a version of Lud, but still young and vital-go by. "What about your car?" he asked.
"If we want it before we come back to New York, we'll have someone drive it up to Maine. Probably David's Beemer will do us. It's one of the advantages of being wealthy-why are you looking at me that way?"
"You have a cartomobile called a Beamer?"
"It's slang," she said. "It's actually BMW. Stands for Bavarian Motor Works."
"Ah." Roland tried to look as if he understood.
"Roland, may I ask you a question?"
He twirled his hand for her to go ahead.
"When we saved the writer, did we also save the world? We did, somehow, didn't we?"
"Yes," he said.
"How does it happen that a writer who's not even very good-and I can say that, I've read four or five of his books-gets to be in charge of the world's destiny? Or of the entire universe's?"