“A poem I learned as a child,” Roland said. “It’s another connection, one that really tells us something, although I’m not sure it’s anything we need to know . . . still, one never knows when a little understanding may come in handy.” “Twelve portals connected by six Beams,” Eddie said. “We started at the Bear. We’re only going as far as the middle—to the Tower—but if we went all the way to the other end, we’d come to the Portal of the Turtle, wouldn’t we?” Roland nodded. “I’m sure we would.”
“Portal of the Turtle,” Jake said thoughtfully, rolling the words in his mouth, seeming to taste them. Then he finished by telling them again about the gorgeous voice of the choir, his realization that there were faces and stories and histories everywhere, and his growing belief that he had stumbled on something very like the core of all existence. Last of all, he told them again about finding the key and seeing the rose. In the totality of his recall, Jake began to weep, although he seemed unaware of it. “When it opened,” he said, “I saw the middle was the brightest yellow you ever saw in your life. At first I thought it was pollen and it only looked bright because everything in that lot looked bright. Even looking at the old candy-wrappers and beer-bottles was like looking at the greatest paintings you ever saw. Only then I realized it was a sun. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what it was. Only it was more than one. It was—” “It was all suns,” Roland murmured. “It was everything real.” “Yes! And it was right—but it was wrong, too. I can’t explain how it was wrong, but it was. It was like two heartbeats, one inside of the other, and the one inside had a disease. Or an infection. And then I fainted.”
“You SAW THE SAME thing at the end of your dream, Roland, didn’t you?” Susannah asked. Her voice was soft with awe. “The blade of grass you saw near the end of it … you thought that blade was purple because it was splattered with paint.” “You don’t understand,” Jake said. “It really was purple. When I was seeing it the way it really was, it was purple. Like no grass I ever saw before. The paint was just camouflage. The way the doorkeeper camouflaged itself to look like an old deserted house.”
The sun had reached the horizon. Roland asked Jake if he would now show them Charlie the Choo-Choo and then read it to them. Jake handed the book around. Both Eddie and Susannah looked at the cover for a long time. “I had this book when I was a little lad,” Eddie said at last. He spoke in the flat tones of utter surety. “Then we moved from Queens to Brooklyn—I wasn’t even four years old—and I lost it. But I remember the picture on the cover. And I felt the same way you do, Jake. I didn’t like it. I didn’t trust it.” Susannah raised her eyes to look at Eddie. “I had it, too—how could I ever forget the little girl with my name . . . although of course it was my middle name back in those days. And I felt the same way about the train. I didn’t like it and I didn’t trust it.” She tapped the front of the book with her finger before passing it on to Roland. “I thought that smile was a great big fake.” Roland gave it only a cursory glance before returning his eyes to Susannah. “Did you lose yours, too?”
“Yes.”
“And I’ll bet I know when,” Eddie said.
Susannah nodded. “I’ll bet you do. It was after that man dropped the brick on my head. I had it when we went north to my Aunt Blue’s wedding. I had it on the train. I remember, because I kept asking my dad if Charlie the Choo-Choo was pulling us. I didn’t want it to be Charlie, because we were supposed to go to Elizabeth, New Jersey, and I thought Charlie might take us anywhere. Didn’t he end up pulling folks around a toy village or something like that, Jake?” “An amusement park.”
“Yes, of course it was. There’s a picture of him hauling kids around that place at the end, isn’t there? They’re all smiling and laughing, except I always thought they looked like they were screaming to be let off.” “Yes!” Jake cried. “Yes, that’s right! That’s just right!” “I thought Charlie might take us to his place—wherever he lived— instead of to my Aunt’s wedding, and never let us go home again.” “You can’t go home again,” Eddie muttered, and ran his hands ner-vously through his hair.
“All the time we were on that train I wouldn’t let go of the book. I even remember thinking, ‘If he tries to steal us, I’ll rip out his pages until he quits.’ But of course we arrived right where we were supposed to, and on time, too. Daddy even took me up front, so I could see the engine. It was a diesel, not a steam engine, and I remember that made me happy. Then, after the wedding, that man Mort dropped the brick on me and I was in a coma for a long time. I never saw Charlie the Choo-Choo after that. Not until now.” She hesitated, then added: “This could be my copy, for all I know—or Eddie’s.” “Yeah, and probably is,” Eddie said. His face was pale and solemn . . . and then he grinned like a lad. ” ‘See the TURTLE, ain’t he keen? All things serve the f**kin Beam.’ “
Roland glanced west. “The sun’s going down. Read the story before we lose the light, Jake.”