At this point of the story, I’m tempted to tell you what I look like and how old I am and all that stuff, all that fluff - my name, where I came from, how I think. I’m not going to do that. I don’t want you to be disappointed.
Kurt Vonnegut said that you should give the reader at least one character he can identify with. So far, dear reader, that’s either me, the girl with the yellow high tops, a dog or one of several million Chinese people on this train or the surrounding countryside. In a moment I’m going to introduce Martin. I hope you don’t like him. I don’t.
About that girl. She does come back into the story. Canary yellow is her signature colour. We all have styles and personalities. The girl in the yellow high top’s is yellow. Something yellow is her baseline or her accessory. We all need a baseline. Accessories are great too as long as they have another purpose. If you can Macgyver an accessory not a gadget then it’s a good accessory. If your accessory is a gadget, all the better. More about that later.
I’ve got a bit of a problem. How would you feel if you woke up one day in the middle of China. You don’t speak the language. You don’t know anyone. You don’t have a lot of money and no one knows where you are. You’re ill prepared, a fish out of water.
That is what is about to happen to me. Let me tell you about the keys.
You can only carry one at a time. You have to put one down before you can pick one up. That complicates things. That is going to complicate things for me as soon as I find the key I’ve come to find. But it gets worse. What if the next key I find turns me invisible, or makes me three inches tall? How would you feel if you found yourself in the middle of China, invisible?
For about a month after that fateful afternoon in the park, Chichi didn’t say anything about why dogs could talk, or why I was suppose to find a key and what I was suppose to do when I found it. Chichi didn’t say much of anything. I spent a lot of time with her, whispering to her so my family couldn’t overhear. I asked her why? I asked her what? I asked and asked and only got vague answers and put offs. “I don’t know.” “You’ll know soon enough.” “Stop bugging me. Let’s go for a walk.” And she bothered me too. “I’ll tell you a secret if you buy me a steak.” “I’m going to run away and you’ll never see me again if you don’t shut up.” It was hell. I’m negotiating with a dog. I’ve become a bad dog whisperer.
And then one day it happened. It was on one of our numerous and long walks. We seemed to be going out for walks all the time. And not quick constitutional jaunts around the block. Not token walks like before. No. Full- fledged, put on your hiking boots and go to the conservation area walks. For the dog it was dreamy. But then, I got my first key. I call it a key, but there’s more than just a key. It comes in a small container. There’s a map to the next cache and instructions about what to do and how to do it. It’s like geocaching. It’s like the amazing race. I’m relating this to common things to help describe it but it’s more than that. It’s magical too and that’s powerful.
It’s common knowledge that we only use 5% of our brain’s power. It’s also well known that we only work to about 40% of our potential. We are basically lazy is one way of looking at it. Another way of looking at it is that we are highly evolved. Tigers sleep and lay about 18 hours a day because they’ve evolved. Tigers only need six hours to hunt and eat and do all the things tigers do. People are the same. We’ve got it pretty easy because we’ve evolved and progressed and invented ways of making our lives easier. That’s how it is normally explained. It’s not true. What we believe is mostly wrong. 80% of what we believe is wrong. 80% of what we believe is false. 20% is true.
What I’m talking about is magic. I call it magic because it seems like magic. My mind could not make sense of it. I had suspended disbelief. Up to this point it was harmless. Sure I was spending a lot of time with the dog. After a month of long hikes through conservation areas, I was actually getting into pretty good shape. Finding the first key was going to take this to the next level. If you’ve suspended disbelief of my story so far, remember I lived this. It was like entering a whole new realm. Talking with Chichi was like having a secret, like have a mistress or a dirty little hobby that no one knew about.
When I find the first key, that’s like being born again. That’s like getting married and in a car wreck and winning the lottery and falling into the ocean from a cruise ship all in one day.
Here’s what happened two weeks ago. This will give you some idea of how my life has changed. I used to have a job. I used to work for the newspaper. I used to have a girlfriend. I used to have Lois.
I ring the doorbell. Through the glass I see Martin. Five o’clock in the afternoon, he has a drink in his hand. “Yes?” He is wearing a velour bathrobe. I used to wear that robe. Looks like Lois has moved on. “Hi, I was looking for Lois. I’m Humbie.” “You just missed her. I’m Martin.” “Yes, nice to meet you.” “And you’re Humble Lowden, I’ve heard a lot about you. Thought you were in Spain, or something.” He’s heard a lot about me? Lois is usually very tightlipped. We only broke up officially six months ago. “I was in Vermont. I came back early. It was raining, no good for good skiing. Thought I had better things to do than hang around a ski lodge…” I’m lying. I don’t ski. I was finding a key. I found a key. I was on the quest. But I can’t really tell people what I’m doing. I don’t even know what I’m doing. “You should have gone to Spain, I guess”, said Martin. “Next time. But I don’t think the skiing there is any good either.” “So Lois isn’t here. Maybe call her or try her at her place.” “I just came for my locker.” Everything I owned fit into a standard issue foot locker or into a large issue army surplus duffle bag. It’s complicated. But, well here goes. I have to tell you sooner or later.
After I found my first key, the magic started and my life got turned upside down. Soon I had no job, no wife and family and no place to live. All I had was the quest. Lois was a friend who helps me when I’m back in my old home town. At this point it had been six months since. In that time I had been in Europe and all over india.
My story is disjointed, I know. I’ve lost my ability to communicate effectively. I’ve lost touch with reality and good manners, but I don’t really care.
Lois and I aren’t romantically involved anymore. I need a place to stay and Lois has the combo to the keys. Martin is Martin Mauer, Toronto’s #1 realtor. One of several #1 realtors - read the small print. Martin has a team of over a dozen real estate agents, assistants and administrators and he has listings all over town. If you’ve ever bought and sold a home you know that real estate agents use lockboxes on their listings. I need a place to stay. Martin always uses the same code - 1972 - the year he was born. I need to let Lois know which listings I’ll be crashing in so she can let me know which ones have showings, inspections, closings, open houses…Lois is Martin’s administrative assistant.
Lois has pure white skin, blue eyes and raven hair. She has perfect breasts. I met her in the Toronto Public Library. I was going there all the time. Without a family or a real job, I had time to kill between appointments, pick ups, process servings. I was working for a big law firm, doing all the running around and when I wasn’t running around I was hanging around in front of traffic court meeting with suckers who were caught speeding or parking in handicap zones. My job was to get the check and get them to the right court. The lawyer would show up later, do a quick meet and greet and plead them down. But that usually happened at night.
Back to Lois. The library has branches all over town, It’s a great and cheap way to kill time. I’ve been in them all. In the middle of the day, they are the best places to hang out, read the paper, make some notes, get some quiet time, time to think.
Lois was sitting in the newspaper and magazine section reading area and I was at one of the big wooden tables reading the Globe and Mail. I noticed her in a ray of winter sunshine that was coming through the floor to ceiling windows. She doesn’t see me. She is wearing a green sweater over a white T-shirt and a pair of Levis. It’s a lime green sweater. Are you starting to see a trend here? What is it about girls wearing bright colours? Does this have anything to do with the story? No. I guess I just notice bright colours. Anyway, at the magazine rack, I grab Nature Digest or something and sit in the chair next to hers. “See that guy with the white shirt and glasses?” “Yeah.” “He's always here.” “I know. Ive seen him before too.” Just like that. Both of us playing it cool, like we’ve known each other forever. “You want to get a coffee?” “No.” “Pie?” “Of course not.” I flip through the magazine for a moment, trout, an advertisement for boat motors, a story about reintroducing wolves into Idaho and Colorado. “Have you given up?” “Oh, no.” “Never, eh?” “No, not never, but not yet. I’m pacing myself. How about if I say, Have you ever been to Poland?” “Yeah?” “And you say, Poland? No, I never have. And then I say, Well, Poland is very nice. I wish I could take you there. And then you’ll say, Why can’t you? And then I’ll say, because we haven’t even met.” I had been looking at her profile as she listened, staring across the library. She turns to look at me. “I’m Lois.” “I’m Humbie.” She offers me her hand. It is small, warm and soft and as I take it in mine she looks me over from head to toe, her eyes traveling over my body and I watch her face, the corners of her mouth turn up into a grin and then a smile. “Have you ever been to Poland?”, I grin. “Why, no, not that I remember.” “It was never in doubt.” “No, it wasn’t.” It was just like that, the two of us connecting amid magazines and winter sunshine.
That’s a fond memory. Here’s another. This might help you get an idea about what I look like and what I act like.
“Bruce Willis. That’s your mouth, when you grin.” “Bruce Willis.” “And you’re cocky like him.” “So, in the movie, he’ll play me then.” “No. Nick Nolte will play you.” “Nick Nolte. You’ve thought about this?” “Yep. A young Nick Nolte. With your hair slicked back, you remind me more of him. He’s got that tough-guy thing going, like you do, he’s rough and gruff. But underneath he’s a philosopher, like you, just doing what he has to do. Bruce Willis is more playful though and you’re like this too.” “Nick Nolte doing Bruce Willis, doing me.” “Yep. Except you’d need a harder exterior, like, like, ah…" “Steve McQueen? He’s most like me.” “He’s dead.” “Except for that.” “No anyway, darker. Darker than dead.” “Ha.” Laying in her bed in the middle of the afternoon I examine the room, looking around again, looking for some kind of flaw. Spare but nice, nice stuff, hand-me-down, garage sale furniture, an old dresser painted flat white, a wooden desk painted on the same day, same flat off white paint, lot of books, pens and pencils in a cup, a sofa, a computer, a formica and steel kitchen table with steel and vinyl chairs, only two at the table and one at the desk.” “I can’t imagine Nick Nolte riding a motorcycle.” “Why not?“ “He’s too big. He seems clumsy.” “Can you see him going into a bank and walking out with a bag full of cash? I can.” “See. You’re just like him.” The curtains are open. Lois lives on the 15th floor of a 19 floor building. Laying in bed, I look out into the cold February sky. I’ll have to get up soon, put on my suit and swing by the law office, make an appearance, turn in some paperwork and the checks from last night. “I don’t walk into banks and walk out with bags full of cash.” “No?” “No. I could but I don’t” “Same thing.” “Maybe to you.” “Maybe I can see you doing it.” “Maybe I will, but...for now how ‘bout some coffee.” It’s a statement, not a question. Ever since I stopped drinking, I drink coffee, and I drink it sweet. I put on my shirt and boxer shorts and take the seven or eight steps into the kitchen. Great thing about living in a bachelor - everything is nearby, everything is at hand. It would drive me nuts, four walls. Lois is not a coffee drinker. I plug in the kettle and look for the jar of Maxwell House I’ve installed in her cupboard. She props herself up on the pillows, bare-chested, watching me in our ritual. “Want one.” “No. But I’ll have a tea.” Twenty minutes later I’m on the sidewalk.
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