“What difference does it make what he said? All bets are off now. You were the one who told me not to trust him in the first place, Jesse! Why are you surprised?”

“I’m not surprised. I just don’t want to die, asshole!”

“Asshole doesn’t want to die either.”

“Then what are we going to do? Can you find Strayhorn? Talk to him?”

“I think so. No. I don’t know. This may change everything. Why did he do it? What was the point?”

“Point? For God’s sake, he doesn’t have a fucking point, Wyatt. He’s Death! Death comes and kills you. Period. I told you that.”

In the background I heard a woman’s voice. Jesse’s dropped to tenderness as he told his wife not to worry, everything was okay. I waited while they spoke, then he said he’d have to call me back and abruptly hung up. I put down the phone and lay down. Closing my eyes, I fell instantly asleep.

Immediately I recognized where I was, though I’d not been in the room for almost thirty years. It was the basement of my hometown church where, at Mother’s insistence, I had spent years going to Sunday school. I was sitting at that familiar little round table along with the other kids who had been in my classes there. However, the teacher was not bad-tempered Mr. Crown or nice Miss Turton; it was Woody Woodpecker.

In that famously crazy high-pitched voice, he said to me, “ ‘I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice; for I stand in doubt of you.

‘Tell me, ye that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the law?’ ”

I said nothing, though I remembered the words exactly. Galatians 4:20 and 21. I had been made to memorize them for this class, though the teacher at that time was Miss Turton, not a cartoon bird. He gave that annoying laugh again and continued.

“ ‘I am the light that shines over everything. I am the All. From me the All came forth, and to me the All has returned.’ Finish the passage please, Wyatt Leonard.” His voice changed to a perfect imitation of Miss Turton’s.

Without a moment’s hesitation I said, “ ‘Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Pick up a stone, and you will find me there.’ ”

“Very good, Wyatt!”

“Why are you here like this?”

“I told you, ‘I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice—’ ”

“Phil, why did you kill McGann? You said it wouldn’t happen as long as I understood your answers!”

“Don’t be naïve, baby; I have a job to do. Sometimes I can put it off for a while, and that’s what I did with him. He got to live a little longer and had a lot of joy. That’s good, isn’t it? Would you rather he be hit by a truck? The man was supposed to die a long time ago, but I let him see Venice with the woman he loved. It was the best time of his life. He even died with a hard-on!” Winking at me, he pushed back from the table and ran a hand over the bright red comb on his head.

“Phil, tell me what’s going on. How does this thing really work?”

“Formal question?”

“Yes, damn it, just answer!”

“All right. It’s simple—I have a job and have to do it to everyone sooner or later. It’s my decision how. Naturally, I like some of the people; others I don’t. The ones I like, I try to do it to as easily and comfortably as possible: let them die in their sleep at eighty, or have a stroke on the tennis court so they’re dead before they know what hits them. That sort of thing. The people I don’t like, suffer. Too bad for them.

“I like you. I liked McGann because the man showed real courage. Even Jesse’s okay when he’s not being a pompous ass. He’ll be all right for a while longer.”

“You said that before, but now McGann’s dead!”

“But weren’t you all happier with that lie? Are you sure you really want the truth? I doubt it.”

“That’s all? It only comes down to that? Children fall out windows or starve in Somalia only because you don’t like them? I don’t believe it! What have they ever done? They didn’t get a chance to live! How can you do that to kids?”

“Because I do. It’s not hard.”

“And good people die in misery and pain and confusion because you don’t like them? What about all the good they do in their lives?”

“You and I have different reasons for liking and disliking people, Wyatt. And be careful of the tone of your voice; I don’t like being lectured.”

“Who are you? You look like Strayhorn just because it’s easier for me to understand, right?”

“Right! In my time I’ve been… let’s see”—crossing his arms, he tapped a finger against his beak and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling—“Humbaba, Grendel, Old Toast, Cold Storage, the Cop in the mask store… whatever you want. Whatever you understand.”

“Are you the Devil?”

“Nope. He doesn’t exist. Just Life and Death. It’s so simple, no one’s ever wanted to believe it.”

“But there’s a God! Don’t say there isn’t!”

He started to speak but stopped and smiled instead. “That’s one answer I guarantee you wouldn’t understand, so I’ll spare you a scar. Believe what you want.”

I love doing this taping, Rose. I hope it’s not boring you. I’d give so much to be able to tell you these things face to face, but since there’s no way that’s possible now, this is a pretty good second best.

So I spent the next three days taking care of Leland—or as much as he would allow it—and showing him the Vienna I love. Unlike Paris or Venice, this is not a city for lovers. It’s too sedate, too formal; it has no passion or spontaneity. None whatsoever. To me its greatness is its dignity and beauty. Like an illustrious old statesman who’s lived a long and worthwhile life, its history is its identity. Like the old gent, it sits in its perfectly tended gardens, content to live in memories for the rest of its days.

We went to museums and some touristy things, but spent most of our time taking long walks on the Ringstrasse and Prater Alice or deep in the Wienerwald. I was amazed at how much Leland knew about Vienna—a hell of a lot more than I do. At Freud’s house he got into a long discussion with one of the curators about Anna Freud and Ernest Jones. Then only a few blocks away from there he stopped and pointed to a church where Beethoven’s funeral was held. Standing in front of the building, he described the funeral so fully that I was totally engrossed. It was like being with a Beethoven scholar and social historian in one. I don’t know about you, girl, but to me one of the sexiest things in the world is a man who knows things but makes no big deal about it. Leland’s knowledge always came out as sheer enthusiasm—wow! Look at that! Guess what happened here? Can you believe we’re actually here to see it? I tagged along with my mouth open, feeling so lucky to be along for the ride.

Once in a while we’d stop because he was tired or uncomfortable, but even then it was a treat because he’d go on with stories about his life. I couldn’t get enough of them. Did you know the Chinese eat more watermelon than any other nation? They love it so much they actually have a watermelon museum? Or that Ceausescu had a limousine only for his dog? I was completely captivated and didn’t want the meals or the walks or the days to end.

And as you can guess, my feelings toward him got warmer and warmer. Even his nice plain face gradually started looking like Gary Cooper’s. I wanted him and wanted to tell him that. No ties were necessary, no commitment—just I’d like this day to go on into the night and see what you’re like there too. Because if it’s anything like now, then I’m yours, brother. But he didn’t make a move, not one, not even for a shivery second. Didn’t accidentally touch my arm or brush my hand when he was making a point in conversation. God knows I wanted him to, and started feeling that maybe I had cooties or something, because there wasn’t even the slightest anything to show interest on his part. No quick look at my chest, or bumps-into when there were plenty of good chances for them. I even tried bumping into him once when we were on an escalator, but when I moved, he moved faster. It got so frustrating that I even caught myself thinking, Hey, I’m Arlen Ford the glamorous movie star; don’t I interest you at all? Or maybe he was gay? Uh-oh. That thought loomed gloomily over me for a whole day until he made some reference to a woman he’d had an affair with a year ago. Luckily he was looking away, because my face lit up like a sparkler when I heard that, and I almost started whistling. Since he’d put the subject on the table, I breezily asked if he was involved with anyone now. He said only that he was, but it was over.