Say again?
He told me this story about a famous archer who lives in Japan. The guy is known universally as one of the great masters of his art. People come from all over the world to study with him. And although he’s very old, and he’s been shooting for many years, the guy has yet to hit the bullseye.
That’s the story?
Yeah. Stanley likes telling me Zen stories. It’s a little joke we have.
Is it true?
Kagami gives Curtis an exasperated look, opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. Stares down into the valley.
Walter, Curtis says, Stanley is always going on about that mystical stuff. It’s all just part of his act. He doesn’t really believe any of it.
Kagami shrugs. Maybe when he first started it was an act, he says. Maybe there was always a grain of truth in it. Sincerity. Fantasy. Wishful thinking. Maybe he’s been doing his act for so long now that it’s become who he really is. Or, hell, kid, maybe all any of us do is just an act. Who knows?
Kagami swirls a bit of duck in its blueblack sauce, lifts it to his mouth. You ever counted cards, Curtis? he asks. Seriously?
No sir. I understand how it works, but I’ve never tried to do it myself.
Kagami chews very slowly, washes down the mouthful with water and wine. If you’re running hot, he says—and when I say hot I’m not talking about luck; I mean you got a solid true count, you’re shuffletracking, you got a weak dealer and nice deep penetration in the shoe—there comes a moment when you are in complete control of the game. You know what your cards, the dealer’s cards, even the guy down at first base playing basic strategy’s cards are going to be, as well as how they’ll be played, until the cutcard comes up. It is very difficult to describe this feeling. It’s almost like—
—and here Kagami looks up and reaches abruptly into the air above their heads, as if to pluck a word floating there, his face at once alive and very old, the sunset igniting his gold rings and wire-rimmed glasses and thin black hair, a few stars peeking out of the deep blue behind him—
—omnipotence, he says. Take it from me, kid, this feeling can do funny things to your head. It becomes very easy to fool yourself into thinking that the whole world might be a big blackjack game. If you could just recognize it, see the correspondences, learn to read the cards. Even the best players—and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying that I am one of them—hit this moment only very rarely. Stanley lives there. In that moment. All the time. And I believe that this has gradually driven him out of his mind.
Curtis isn’t sure what to say to this. He nods, looks away.
I’m not making a lot of sense, Kagami says. That’s okay. It doesn’t matter. All I’m saying, Curtis, is that you should never underestimate people’s capacity to believe weird things. I mean, let’s just take a look around.
Kagami jerks a thumb toward the Mormon temple. The folks in that building, he says, believe America was first settled by a lost tribe of Israel. Your dad thinks white people were created by an evil scientist. You never know what somebody’s going to grab onto when he starts to sink, kid. Don’t be too sure you know where Stanley’s coming from these days.
Curtis thinks about that for a moment. I figure it like this, he says. Maybe Stanley’s lost his mind. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he was part of the team that hit the Point, and maybe he wasn’t. None of that really matters to me. What matters is, he’s either running from me, or he’s not. If he’s running, then there’s no way in hell I’m ever gonna catch him. If he’s not, then I believe he’ll talk to me.
A sudden gust comes down the mountain, flapping the tablecloths and toppling an empty tray; somewhere nearby one of the ravens squawks in surprise. For the first time since he arrived, Curtis is glad he’s wearing a jacket.
Kagami is smiling: a warm smile, with no malice in it, but it could be hiding anything. Well, he says, good luck to you, kid. If I hear anything from Stanley, I’ll tell him to call you up.
I’d appreciate that.
One of the ravens hops onto the rock wall just behind Kagami’s back and preens for a moment, looking satisfied with itself. It caws, and its voice echoes in the darkening valley. Then it launches itself into the air, circling, flying back up to the ridge.
Curtis nods toward it. These guys are a nice touch, he says. How do you get them to stick around?
Stick around? Kagami laughs. Christ, we can’t get rid of ’em. They were here before we laid the foundations. That’s where our logo came from. The owner calls ’em Bill and Melinda. I can’t tell which is which.