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fyn gula
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helin felt like shit, but she tried to remain cheerful before the old man because she knew him to be kind, compared to the old woman who was nylem's conspirator. look around you, for every evil person there is one who would be willing to die for you.
helin had that sense that something terrible was happening to her, inchoative, yet already out of her control. she was merely a stick in the stream, a leaf in the wind tumbling to who knew where. definately away from where she knew she had to be.
copello needed her. he knew it. she knew it. yet, deception is temptation in a halloween mask. cinderella over the top of a fucking hideous monster.
the old man fumbled purposefully about in the box of found papers. he seemed to be intent on finding something, searching like a bloodhound on a scent.
and then he shouted. he clapped his feebled hands twice and the sound was startling and actually irritating to helin who now had a headache that was a needle in her skull.
"what the fuck?" she said. and she surprised herself by her own swearing, but somehow it momentarily eased her pain.
"oh, i'm sorry." the old man said, "i didn't mean to hurt you." he was genuinely apolgetic. "but i have found something that is very important to your search for the marox pass." he said
"marox pass" in a reverent whisper as if helin may be surprised to discover he was on her side.
"what is it?" she asked. her voice was hoarse from her suffering, but the revelation of his camamraderie and the hope of what he found was potentially helpful eased her discomfort further.
she rubbed her face in her hands as if pain was a thin guise that can be removed with determined effort.
"i'm going to get you something to make you feel better," the old man said, smoothing back her sweaty blonde dreads.
her forehead was feverish. "look at this while i'm gone. it is just what we need to stop the old woman from ruining everything."
he handed her a manila envelope that had one star on the front, similar to the one that micheal stipe had made famous.
it was absent from writing, except for one word on the back that was cut from a magazine and pasted in the bottom corner. the word you wonder? sorry. maybe i'll tell you later.
"open it," the old man said. he was as excited as one giving a much anticipated gift on the morning of christmas day in norman rockwell america. he was smiling so big that helin could see all of his teeth. she marvled how perfect they were for his age and when she asked him about them later he said he always brushed them at least three times a day, maybe more. even when he was driving. he loved to spit the suds out the window of his train.
she was clumsy with the string for her weakness had no respect. the old man took it from her. he was careful with it for it was old. he slid out the contents, still smiling, but mouth closed.
"it's one of my best finds," he said, and in his voice was a pride one usually hears when a parent speaks lovingly of a pleasing young child. helin was stunned when she realized what it was.
perhaps you are wondering what it is?
this i will tell you.
it was a booklet held together with brass fasteners that the old man had found back in 1957 left behind on the leather seat in the waiting room of a bus station in naples.
there was a picture of the emerald city in the distance and in the foreground dorothy was being lifted out of the field of poppies by the lion. its title was in italian. translated it read:
"who are you in the wizard of oz?"
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