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11. THE FIFTH HOUR
Arthur felt the wad of bills in his pocket, and had a sense of both security and opportunity. A warm wind escaped from inside the huge shopping mall and ruffled his white hair. It was mid-day, and the sky had just that whitish load of snow-clouds that brooded over the rooftops. The sky had a white, almost mother-of-pearl glow to it. Very pretty, Arthur thought as he strode forward on strong legs, a man who had taken good care of his physical well-being, never smoked, didn't drink much, and walked a lot. He felt elated for some reason he couldn't quite fathom as he entered the thronged hall that echoed with voices. Many shoppers milled about, while many others hurried on some last-minute errand before the holidays.
The mall was filled with aromas of food and coffee, and each store had its unique bouquet of scents-leather, stereos, clothing, all combining in the ambience of shopping. Arthur enjoyed the racket all around him, but didn't stop until he came to a modern imitation diner. There, he spotted a woman and a little girl sitting at a table. He waved to them through the window, and they waved back. The woman was pretty, he thought, though he couldn't think of her name, and the little girl was about eight and very cute. He pushed the heavy glass door open and entered. The décor was sort of kitsch 1950s, with chrome and stainless steel wrapped around Formica counters. The seats were plush, rouge, and plastic. The music was fairly loud, but once you slid into a booth, it became a mute background noise.
He slid into the booth next to the little girl. "Hi," he said. It took him a moment to remember her name: "Mary."
"Hi, Daddy" she said, putting an arm around his waist. He hugged her to him and leaned over to kiss the woman. She was about 35, attractive, and radiating warmth toward him. "Hi, honey," she said. Her lips came close, but only just grazed his own, so faintly that he wasn't sure they had made contact. And yet he could taste her waxy lipstick.
"Gretchen." He rubbed his eyes with both hands. "Say, this is a bit of a surprise, actually." He couldn't quite believe this, although he wasn't sure why he shouldn't. Run with it, he thought, it probably gets even more weird than this.
"Why? Because we're ghosts?" she said with that sharp, quicksilver laugh he remembered so well. It could be biting when she was being sarcastic (how could he have forgotten that?) or fun when she was in a good mood.
"If you're ghosts," he said, "then what am I?"
Mary looked up from under her wool cap, with her blonde hair hanging down straight. How odd-every detail was right, even a flea bite or something on her neck, and the little birthmark shaped like a micro-butterfly on her wrist. In fact, when he leaned close to give her ear a playful nibble, he could smell on her breath the strawberry milkshake and grilled cheese with pickle. "Daddy, you're sort of a ghost of yourself, huh?"
He shook his head. "There's a lot of weird stuff going on today. I bought a clock, and I'm supposed to be starting a new life. So why am I here in the middle of my old life?"
Gretchen sipped on her strawberry shake with two straws and shrugged while her eyes blinked as in 'don't-know.'
"You're just checking out your old life," Mary said, "to see if it's worth carrying on to the bitter end." As she spoke, she was twisting her two straws into a cartoon rabbit outline. Her feet didn't touch the floor yet, and she was that typical skinny little rail of a girl with stick legs, hyper-active and always in motion.
"How do you know that?" he asked. He looked at Gretchen . "Where does she get this stuff?"
Gretchen shrugged. "Just smart for her age, I guess."
Arthur felt a tear running down one cheek. He saw his reflection in the stainless steel milkshake mixer cup. He saw an elderly man with jowls and white hair. He was old enough to be this woman's father, and the little girl's grandfather.
Gretchen gave him her standard, perky look that signaled she was always ready to deal with any situation. Her courage and directness had always amazed him, caused her to love and admire her more. Her honesty had always been total, and its lash at times had humbled him. "You're okay," she said, "you know it's okay by me. Get the most out of life."
"I wish you'd been able to stick around," he said.
"Me too." She gave that light shrug again. "If it's any comfort to you, Artie, I'm happy here."
"How can that be?"
"You'll find out in time."
"Gretchen ," he said urgently, taking her hands. They felt warm enough, and it was clear she was alive here, wherever this was. "Gretchen , honey, the only thing I don't understand is-Mary. You're here, but Mary grew up. Mary is a grown woman who has not spoken to me in several years. If you're a ghost, then how can Mary be sitting here, unless she is a ghost too? That's impossible."
Gretchen patted his hand. "You'll be okay, Artie. You'll make the right decision about this. But let me ask you, darling. Did you make the right decision when you kept putting Mary down and bad-mouthing the love of her life? I know Tim Woodpond isn't your idea of a successful man. In fact, he has had to work two jobs to make ends meet. They have two little children now, did you know that?"
He shook his head. "Honestly, Mir, I'm lost without you. I make such dumb decisions. What does this Woodpond do for a living nowadays?"
"He is going to night school and working on his college degree to make something of himself, while he works full-time all week as a cook in a little restaurant. He earns very little money, but he has a second job now on weekends, collecting parking fees at a lot downtown. You know what, honey?"
Arthur felt as though a light were going on. "As much as I love Mary, I think Tim loves her more. Why didn't I see that, Gretchen ? Why didn't I see how important that is? All I saw was this pimply, skinny boy who kept coming around, and Mary would climb out the window to run away and go see movies with him. The more I was against it, the more she was for it." Seeing Gretchen 's knowing gaze, her silent show of sarcasm, her coldly twinkling and dramatic blue eyes, he said: "I guess I just answered my own question, huh?"
Gretchen nodded slowly.
"Daddy," Mary said, "will you walk to the park with me so I can go on the swing?"
How many times had he told her he didn't have time?
Gretchen suddenly looked at her wristwatch. At the same time, Arthur could hear a Big Ben ringing in a clock shop nearby. It was a phony little dee-dah-dee sort of midi sound, but it told him that another hour had rung through. As the chime struck six, he watched both Gretchen and Mary fading. He tried to reach out and grab his little daughter. "Stop! You haven't answered my question. If she's not dead, how can she be in this ghost world with you?" But Gretchen and Mary were walking away. They ignored him as if he didn't exist. Gretchen turned and held out her hand for little Mary, who ran to catch up. Mary held out her hand to her mother, while in her other hand she clutched the rabbit she'd made of straws.
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