Tekamthi had offered his information on Hopper almost offhand, by the end of Balthazar's visit to his bunker on Culver St. He didn't seem to think it was important, or maybe he had tried making it another lesson. The whole visit had been a lesson, and Balthazar went away feeling as if he had homework. He had never been very good with that sort of thing, and he knew what Tekamthi would have said about that. Tekamthi. Would make a fine teacher.
There just wasn't time, not for Balthazar and not for Tekamthi, who had done all he could to disguise his failing health, which was understandable both for the man mentally and physically. His age had afforded him many gifts. All it asked for in return was his life, and it had begun to cash in. The end was not far away, and Balthazar felt a sort of regret, which he knew Tekamthi would criticize. One man had done what he could do. There would be no loss.
Just too little understanding, and that's what the world really lost, with each death, each loss of life, each time experience became secondhand, because secondhand was never as good as firsthand, second never as good as first, in fact. It was a will to survive, a will that was, ultimately, futile, another mark of vanity, and something Tekamthi lacked. Balthazar had it, and it was a bad thing. He clung to it.
He was kicking himself, though, for thinking Hopper would be so hard to find, when he was really waiting in plain sight. Balthazar had simply not been prepared to look, because he was expecting something else, something somehow grander, than the humble man Tekamthi told him would be waiting when at last he looked. Humble was a thing perhaps admirable, but easily underestimated, overlooked. It's what Hopper somehow counted on. He wanted to be left alone, like Tekamthi, like Colinaude, and so he was, unless he sought attention, like everyone else. Otherwise he simply didn't need it, for whatever reason. Balthazar guessed it wasn't because he didn't want it, but because he couldn't handle it, which made him something of a coward. For the first time in his life, Balthazar did not think poorly of such a trait. he was beginning to understand that the coward had his place in the world as well. He couldn't have explained it, but he knew it was true. It had dawned on him during his last visit with Fred.
On the ride to the subway station, he found himself thinking how odd it was, taking one mode of transportation to another. He didn't need the second one, but in a way he did. He wasn't going anywhere; no, he was never going anywhere. Instead, he was going to find himself, in the form of another man, which he had made a living out of. His destination had always been himself, and wherever he went, whatever he did, it was in the service of better understanding the contours of his own map. He let everything else come to him. Hopper was coming to meet him, and he planned to be a gracious host, because Hopper deserved it, he deserved Balthazar, because he had something Balthazar wanted. He had a connection to another part of him.
Gas prices had continued to decline, he noticed along the way, which was a happy development, considering the days not long ago when it had seemed they had ceased such movement, from the terrible highs they had reached. Now they were returning back to manageable levels, and Balthazar could only be content with that. Still, he didn't need filling at the moment, which came as a wistful thought, as if he should be capitalizing on the good fortune now, even though he could just as well do it later, when prices could be even lower. He would take the chance, and ride it out, and see what the future bore out.
Tekamthi had a real name for this Hopper fellow, too. Denny Hay, it seemed, and he'd been in the papers as a boy, saved by his friend Colinaude, discovered as a protégé on the piano before losing it all and being confined to an asylum for a time, at least a decade. The day he was released he came back to Traverse and began his ride. The last few details, not in the papers, but rather from Tekamthi.
So he'd known Colinaude early on. It was with excitement that Balthazar had learned this. Tekamthi had warned him against such a reaction, but Balthazar ignored him. He know bought his token and prepared to board the subway, knowing that he would soon be very close indeed to Colinaude, to perhaps his best and closest friend. He grooved to someone's gentle guitar beat down the way.
Eventually, and it seemed like forever, Balthazar found himself boarding, after waiting for others to disgorge. He was disoriented, didn't know where he should sit down, if he should stand. He didn't want to stand, but he wondered if he should. How would he find Hopper, Denny Hay?
He discovered soon enough that he'd sat down, and was content with that knowledge. He hadn't ridden the subway in a long time, hadn't needed to. Between the Impala and Boy Benjamin's perks, he had always been covered, and had never had another reason. His business didn't take him to such places. There was nothing to be found on a track to nowhere.
Except today, and it wasn't his usual business, of course. He looked around, aware of an odor penetrating the cabin. Was it indigenous to the cabin, or to someone within? Ordinary people, doing ordinary things. One woman, from the look of it, preparing for a run. Was there a marathon today? No, it would have started earlier. Right? She wouldn't stop talking, but Balthazar didn't mind.
He became aware that the man seated next to him was the most unusual individual in the cabin. His ears were abnormal, too large, and droopy. His eyes were sad, but expectant, probing, inquisitive, coy. His manner of dress, like a homeless man. Did the odor come from him?
It didn't matter. Balthazar had found Hopper. It was all too evident. A man who stood out, but by this very detail and the nature of it was guaranteed to be overlooked, because no one would want to associate with him. Why would they? Waste charity on him?
If they only knew. There was much to gain from him. Balthazar understood that immediately, not even needing to hear a single word from him. What was more, he didn't feel compelled in the slightest to breach that barrier, even though he had worked so hard to do so. It was no longer important. Balthazar felt at peace, perhaps for the first time in his life. He did not want to jeopardize that.
So he rode the subway with Hopper, for hours. In total silence, transfixed by the moment, unwilling to let go. There was nothing else, only the journey, to nowhere, to everywhere. There was such possibility. He was aware that Hopper understood, too, what was happening. he imagined what the traveler must have thought about him, what was happening, or rather what was not. Had this ever happened before? Suddenly, Balthazar realized that this was the only thing of importance to him.
He couldn't understand it, and didn't want to try. This was his new life, this moment he couldn't get out of, and didn't want to. It was tranquility, and he couldn't explain why. This man he sat next to, he had discovered something, perhaps wholly by accident, perhaps by design. Balthazar had tapped into it, had found its magic.
He recognized the tragedy of it, finally, the emptiness, the loneliness. What was gained came with a high cost. Was Hopper so content? Should Balthazar be?
It was all lost, in an instant.
"That happens," Hopper said, unexpectedly. "You looked surprised by it."
Balthazar didn't know what to say. He looked into Hopper's eyes and understood him, and still couldn't bring himself to speak. He had nothing to say, and everything.
"You must have come here for a reason," Hopper said, as if such experiences, Balthazar's accompaniment in all those hours, were perfectly ordinary.
"I-I," Balthazar managed.
"Don't trouble yourself," Hopper said.
"Colinaude," Balthazar said. "Tell me about Colinaude."
"There isn't much to tell," Hopper said.
"Tell me where I can find him," Balthazar said.
"All right," Hopper said. "You probably deserve that. Do you always get what you want?"
"I seem to," Balthazar said. "I've been wondering lately if that is such a good thing."
"Fair enough," Hopper said. "I will make it easy on you. I will have him come to you."
"You could do that?" Balthazar said.
"I need to do something," Hopper said. "If I didn't, I would be useless, wouldn't I?"
The words haunted Balthazar long after he'd left the subway behind. There was so much he couldn't understand about the encounter, which among all the ones he'd had so far, the visits with Fred and Tekamthi, wouldn't let go, couldn't. With Tekamthi, wisdom had reared its head as if Balthazar had never known such a thing. With Fred, knowledge as if he had never understood it. But with Hopper, Balthazar began to understand faith. He had never had a use for it. Why should he? Now he thought he could. In a way, he had already found faith, because he had put it in Cotton Colinaude, and now he had discovered it in his disciple, for whatever else Hopper was, however complicated the relationship, he was Colinaude's acolyte.
He had a use. That's what he'd said. Perhaps he thought that he had nothing else to offer but this beacon of light, perhaps he couldn't bear anything else. But on those slight shoulders shone something Balthazar could not forget. He knew he would need it, too, and he prayed for understanding.
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