The Waste Lands (The Dark Tower #3)(44)
Jake turned to the back of the book, somehow knowing what he would find even before he got there. Beyond the page marked ANSWERS there was nothing but a few torn fragments and the back cover. The section had been ripped out. He stood there for a moment, thinking. Then, on an impulse that didn’t really feel like an impulse at all, Jake walked back inside The Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind.
Calvin Tower looked up from the chessboard. “Change your mind about that cup of coffee, O Hyperborean Wanderer?”
“No. I wanted to ask you if you know the answer to a riddle.” “Fire away,” Tower invited, and moved a pawn. “Samson told it. The strong guy in the Bible? It goes like this—” ” ‘Out of the eater came forth meat,’ ” said Aaron Deepneau, swing-ing around again to look at Jake, ” ‘and out of the strong came forth sweetness.’ That the one?”
“Yeah, it is,” Jake said. “How’d you know—” “Oh, I’ve been around the block a time or two. Listen to this.” He threw his head back and sang in a full, melodious voice: ” ‘Samson and a lion got in attack,
And Samson climbed up on the lion’s back. Well, you’ve read about lion killin men with their paws, But Samson put his hands round the lion’s jaws! He rode that lion ’til the beast fell dead, And the bees made honey in the lion’s head.’” Aaron winked and then laughed at Jake’s surprised expression. “That answer your question, friend?”
Jake’s eyes were wide. “Wow! Good song! Where’d you hear it?” “Oh, Aaron knows them all,” Tower said. “He was hanging around Bleecker Street back before Bob Dylan knew how to blow more than open G on his Hohner. At least, if you believe him.”
“It’s an old spiritual,” Aaron said to Jake, and then to Tower: “By the way, you’re in check, fatso.”
“Not for long,” Tower said. He moved his bishop. Aaron promptly bagged it. Tower muttered something under his breath. To Jake it sounded suspiciously like f**kwad.
“So the answer is a lion,” Jake said.
Aaron shook his head. “Only half the answer. Samson’s Riddle is a double, my friend. The other half of the answer is honey. Get it?” “Yes, I think so.”
“Okay, now try this one.” Aaron closed his eyes for a moment and then recited, “What can run but never walks,
Has a mouth but never talks,
Has a bed but never sleeps,
Has a head but never weeps?”
“Smartass,” Tower growled at Aaron.
Jake thought it over, then shook his head. He could have worried it longer—he found this business of riddles both fascinating and charm-ing—but he had a strong feeling that he ought to be moving on from here, that he had other business on Second Avenue this morning.
“I give up.”
“No, you don’t,” Aaron said. “That’s what you do with modern rid-dles. But a real riddle isn’t just a joke, kiddo—it’s a puzzle. Turn it over in your head. If you still can’t get it, make it an excuse to come back another day. If you need another excuse, fatso here does make a pretty good cup of joe.” “Okay,” Jake said. “Thanks. I will.”
But as he left, a certainty stole over him: he would never enter The Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind again.
JAKE WALKED SLOWLY DOWN Second Avenue, holding his new purchases in his left hand. At first he tried to think about the riddle—what did have a bed but never slept?—but little by little the question was driven from his mind by an increasing sense of anticipation. His senses seemed more acute than ever before in his life; he saw billions of coruscating sparks in the pavement, smelled a thousand mixed aromas in every breath he took, and seemed to hear other sounds, secret sounds, within each of the sounds he heard. He wondered if this was the way dogs felt before thunderstorms or earthquakes, and felt almost sure that it was. Yet the sensation that the impending event was not bad but good, that it would balance out the terrible thing which had happened to him three weeks ago, continued to grow.
And now, as he drew close to the place where the course would be set, that knowing-in-advance fell upon him once again. A bum is going to ask me for a handout, and I’ll give him the change Mr, Tower gave me. And there’s a record store. The door’s open to let in the fresh air and
I’ll hear a Stones song playing when I pass. And I’m going to see my own reflection in a bunch of mirrors.
Traffic on Second Avenue was still light. Taxis honked and wove their way amid the slower-moving cars and trucks. Spring sunshine twin-kled off their windshields and bright yellow hides. While he was waiting for a light to change, Jake saw the bum on the far corner of Second and Fifty-second. He was sitting against the brick wall of a small restaurant, and as Jake approached him, he saw that the name of the restaurant was Chew Chew Mama’s. Choo-choo, Jake thought. And that’s the truth. “Godda-quarder?” the bum asked tiredly, and Jake dropped his change from the bookstore into the bum’s lap without even looking around. Now he could hear the Rolling Stones, right on schedule:
“I see a red door and I want to paint it black, No colours anymore, I want them to turn black …” As he passed, he saw—also without surprise—that the name of the store was Tower of Power Records.
Towers were selling cheap today, it seemed. Jake walked on, the street-signs floating past in a kind of dream-daze. Between Forty-ninth and Forty-eighth he passed a store called Reflections of You. He turned his head and caught sight of a dozen Jakes in the mirrors, as he had known he would—a dozen boys who were small for their age, a do/en boys dressed in neat school clothes: blue blazers, white shirts, dark red ties, gray dress pants. Piper School didn’t have an official uniform, but this was as close to the unofficial one as you could get.