The Cloud Atlas

“At what?” My stomach started to turn; I was sure Gurley had asked to see some even viler piece of evidence, like a flyblown rat.

“Their little book,” Gurley said. “A ‘unique code,’ I'm sure,” he said. “Ninety percent of these Nobel laureates think the Japanese language is a unique code.”

The major reappeared. He gave me a suspicious look, but Gurley reassured him with a quick nod of his head. The major produced the book. He didn't allow Gurley to touch it, but he flipped through a few pages, slowly. The major was right; Gurley was wrong: even I could tell that it was a strange code, it wasn't Japanese.

But Gurley was right about something else, something he didn't tell the major, something he didn't have to tell me. The little journal, with its distinctive paper and soft, scuffed green leather cover, was a relative-perhaps the twin-of another book, a beautiful book, one we kept in a safe, back in Anchorage.

WE MADE THE 4 P.M. flight, but were diverted to a lonely airstrip down the Kenai Peninsula due to weather. It was hours before we were airborne again, and by the time Gurley and I arrived back in Anchorage, it was close to midnight. He was spent. Adrenaline had powered him through much of the day, I realized, and excited as he was, he'd have to turn in. I was relieved; I'd imagined he'd drag me into the office for an all-night session poring over our little map book with newfound intensity.

I'd been studying his eye as well. There were no new signs of bleeding, but he looked extremely pale, and had difficulty making it off the plane.

Once on the tarmac, he just stood there and looked around. I stood with him and watched the ground crew attend to its duties.

After a minute or two, he looked at me. “Sergeant?” he asked. “Are we to stand here all night?”

“No, sir,” I said. “If you don't need me, I'll be heading off to-”

“Of course I need you, Sergeant. Do you think I'm going to drive myself downtown? Find us a damn jeep.”

“It's close to midnight, sir,” I said. “Standing orders are-unofficial traffic is restricted to-”

“A jeep, Sergeant. That is an order.”

On the pretext of speeding Gurley to medical care, I commandeered a jeep. I actually did drive toward the base hospital, but as soon as Gurley realized what I was doing, he redirected me toward the main gate. He waved off the gate sentry and then we were bouncing along the road downtown, headlights out, with only the stars and half a moon to light the way.

Without my asking or his saying, we drove straight to the Starhope. I pulled up and turned off the engine. I tried not to look up, but couldn't help it. Lily's office window was dark; I couldn't even see a sliver of light that might indicate she merely had the blackout shade pulled.

“Oh my God.” She'd materialized beside Gurley while I'd been staring up at the window. After all this time, it seemed fitting that the first time we'd see each other would be like this: a sudden apparition. I gripped the steering wheel, worried now that I'd be the one to black out, not Gurley. She gave me half a look that wasn't angry or accusatory or even wistful, just concerned. Then she turned to Gurley, and I saw what I'd missed all these weeks.

They'd fallen in love. Maybe Gurley had cared for her before- cared enough to shop for that ring-maybe she had cared for Gurley. But something had happened. I checked her hand: no ring, but there was a married familiarity to their movements (or so it appeared to this wise teen).

I watched, in awe, aghast, as she put a hand to his cheek, while Gurley feebly attempted to stop her. I watched as he relented, sank back in his seat, and closed his eyes. And then I watched her hands move lightly around his face, his hair, his head, examining, comforting-and maybe, healing. I knew, or remembered, that magic.

I had to look away. But I kept turning back, mystified, horrified. I might as well have been watching them make love. She was too beautiful, her hands too gentle, and Gurley impossibly peaceful.

She helped him from the car. Gurley hadn't said a word since we'd left the base, and now he only grunted a bit, sucked in a rapid breath or two. It finally occurred to me that it couldn't just have been his eye; his uniform was likely concealing a dozen more injuries. I sat and watched her walk him to the entrance. Then she stopped, turned around. I looked up: yes, yes? She carefully lowered Gurley until he was seated on the stoop, and then walked back to me.

Later, I let myself think. I tried to send the words to her, invisibly from my forehead to hers: I'll come back later, okay?

But Lily said, “What happened?”

I sighed and said I didn't know; Gurley had said something about a fight last night in a bar. “You know, the Franklin bouts,” I said, but she shook her head.

She looked back at Gurley, and then back at me. “Where were you?”