Wizard of the Pigeons. Megan Lindholm

have any place to put you.” Can you beat that?’ The old man gave a weary cough. ‘Eldest boy’s in Germany, you know. Stationed there fourteen months now, and only three letters. Phoned us three weeks ago, though. And when his mother asked him why he didn’t write to us, he says, “Oh, Mom, you know how it is. You know I love you, even if I don’t find time to write.” After he hangs up, she says to me, “Yes, I know he loves us, but I wish I could feel him love us.” It’s for her I mind. Not so much for me. Kids were always a damn nuisance anyway, but it hurts her when they don’t call or write.’

      The bus pulled into Wizard’s stop. He kept his seat with his jaw set against the grumbling of his stomach. As soon as the bus lurched forward again, the old man resumed.

      ‘I guess I wasn’t around that much when they were growing up. I guess I didn’t put as much into them as she did; maybe I didn’t give them as much as I should have. So perhaps it’s only fitting that they aren’t around when I’m feeling my years. But what about Mother? She gave them her years, and now they leave her alone. Can you beat that?’

       Just as the old man’s voice trailed out, the Knowing came to Wizard. He always wondered how the talkers knew to come to him, how they sensed that he had something to tell them. Even Cassie had no answer to that question. ‘Every stick has two ends,’ she had mumbled when he had asked her. ‘Mumbo-jumbo!’ he had replied derisively. But now he had something for the old man, and it must be delivered. He took his eyes from the window, to stare at the seat back with the old man. He whispered as huskily as a priest giving absolution in a confessional.

      ‘Buy the turkey and the trimmings. Tell her that with or without kids at the table, you wouldn’t miss her holiday cooking. Your eldest son got some leave time, and he’ll be flying in from Germany. But he wants to surprise her. So keep it to yourself, but be ready to go to the airport on Thanksgiving morning. Don’t spill the beans, now.’

      He never looked at Wizard. At the next stop the old man rose and made his slow way to the door in the side of the bus. Wizard watched him go and wished him well. At the next stop he hopped off himself and went looking for the right sort of restaurant.

      It took him a moment to get his bearings, and then he recalled a little place he had used before. He mussed his hair slightly, took his newspaper from his shopping bag and tucked it under his arm, and clutched the plastic bag by its handle. His stomach made him hurry the block and a half to the remembered location.

      With a flash of light and a roar of wind, he appeared in the door of the restaurant. A secretary hurrying through her half-hour lunch break paused with her burger halfway to her lips. Framed by a rectangle of bright blue October, the man in the door blazed blue and white and gold. A strange little squirt of extra blood shot through her heart at the sight of him. Wasn’t he the illustration of the wandering prince from some half-forgotten book in her childhood? Sunlight rested on his hair like a mother’s fond benediction. He was too vital and sparkling for her to break her stare away.

      Then the tinted glass door on its pneumatic closer eased shut behind him, revealing to her the cheat. Bereft of wind and sun at his back, the man who had seemed to fill the doorway was only slightly taller than average. The gold highlights on his hair faded to a brown tousle; even this boyishness was denied by a sprinkling of grey throughout it. His lined and weathered face contradicted his youthful stance and easy walk. Just some smalltime logger from Aberdeen who had wandered into Seattle for a day of shopping. His longsleeved wool shirt was a subdued blue plaid; thermal underwear peeked out the open collar. Dark brown corduroy slacks sheathed his long legs. The blue spark of fascination in his eyes was only something she had imagined. When the secretary realized her gaze was being returned with interest, she stared past him, scowling slightly, and returned to her hamburger. Wizard shrugged and strolled to the end of the line at the counter.

      Once in line, he took the folded Seattle Times from under his arm and stuffed it into the top of his plastic shopping bag. He scanned the restaurant expectantly. The place was an elegantly disguised cafeteria. The tables had donned red-checked cloths and boasted small guttering candles in little red hobnail holders. Their dimmed gleam was augmented by the shining fluorescent light over the stainless steel salad bar. The girl clearing tables wore a lacy little apron and a dainty starched cap. But the fine masquerade was betrayed by the metal dispenser for paper napkins on the condiment bar, and the swing-front plastic trash containers that crouched discreetly beneath potted plants. Wizard was not deceived. He caught the glance of a small girl seated at a corner table with her brother and parents. His face lit when he spotted her. With a broad grin and a wink, he reduced her to giggles.

      ‘Ready to order, sir,’ the cashier informed him. Her square plastic name tag introduced her as Nina Cashier Trainee.

      ‘Coffee.’ He tried a melting smile on her, but she was too nervous to thaw. He jingled the change in his pocket as her finger wiped his order into her machine.

      ‘You want that to go,’ she told him.

      ‘No, I’ll drink it here.’ He refocused the smile on her. ‘It’s pretty nippy outside.’

      She mustered an uncertain authority. ‘You can’t sit in a booth with just coffee and be alone.’ She gabbled the words as her pen jabbed up at a sign posted high above anyone’s eye level. In stout black letters it proclaimed LONE PATRONS OR PERSONS ORDERING LESS THAN $1.50 EACH ARE NOT PERMITTED TO SIT IN BOOTHS BETWEEN 11:00 AND 2:00 PM, DUE TO LIMITED TABLE SPACE. THE MANAGEMENT REGRETS THIS NECESSARY MEASURE IN OUR EFFORTS TO KEEP OUR PRICES LOW. So did Wizard. The sign had not been there last month.

      ‘But I’m not alone, Miss Nina.’ His use of her name unbalanced her. ‘I’m joining some friends. Looks like I’m a bit late.’ He winked at the little girl in the corner booth, and she squirmed delightedly. ‘Isn’t the kid a doll? Her mom looked just like that when we were kids.’

       Nina hastily surrendered, barely glancing at the child. ‘A real cutie. Fifty-seven cents, please. Help yourself to refills from our bottomless pot.’

      ‘I always do.’ He pushed mixed coins onto the counter to equal exactly fifty-seven cents. ‘I used to be a regular here, but the service got so bad I quit coming in. With people like you working here, maybe I’ll become a regular again.’

      For an instant a real person peered out of her eyes at him. He received a flash of gratitude. He smiled at her and let the tension out of her bunched shoulders. She served him steaming coffee in a heavy white mug. He let her forget him completely as she turned to her next customer.

      Wizard took his mug to the condiment counter. He helped himself to three packets of cream substitute and six packets of sugar, a plastic spoon, and four napkins. He sauntered casually over to the corner booth where the small girl and her brother pushed their food about on their plates as their parents lingered over coffee. He halted just short of intruding on them and allowed himself a few silent moments to make character adjustments. ‘Turning the facets of your personality until an appropriate one is face up’ was how Cassie described it when she had taught him how. Prepared, he took the one more pace that put him within their space, and waited for the husband to look up. He did so quickly, his brown eyes narrowing. The muscles in his thick neck bunched as the man hiked his shoulder warningly, and set down his coffee mug to have his fists free. Very territorial, Wizard decided. He smiled ingratiatingly, cocking his head like a friendly pup.

      ‘Hi!’ he ventured in an uncertain voice. He cleared his throat and shifted his feet awkwardly. A country twang invaded his voice. ‘I, uh, I hate to intrude, but I wonder if I could share your table. I’m waiting for my lady friend.’

      ‘Then wait at an empty table,’ the man growled. His wife looked both apprehensive and intrigued.

      ‘Uh, I would, but, well, look, it’s like this. The first time I ever took her out, we wound up here, sitting at this table until three in the morning. Since then, we’ve always sat here whenever we come in. And well, today is kind of special. I think I’m going to, you know, ask her. I got the ring and the whole bit.’ He patted his breast pocket with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. His soft voice was awed at his own boldness.

      The