Page 125 of The End of the World As We Know It
Another sympathetic smile.
“You like his music?” Lev asked.
“Me? I love him. He’s great. But I love a lot of music.”
Lev heard that walk-down again:I love the dead…
“But listen,” the man said. Lev had a sense of what he was going to say before he said it. “You’ve arrived at a very interesting time. I’m leaving. I’m going to work my way to Nebraska. It’s all a little crazy. But I’ve been dreaming of it. Nonstop. Have you? Have you been dreaming of Nebraska?”
“What? No. Why would I be dreaming of Nebraska?”
“I don’t know.”
The man had the air of inspiration about him. Lev felt it like he felt music.
“Take the place,” he told Lev. “The door is unlocked. The whole thing is yours. No charge.” He laughed then, but Lev only squinted back. Then, “Did you want to come with me?”
“To Nebraska?”
“Yes.”
“No! I just walked all the way here from Idaho.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“I think so. And while I must say it’s amazing to see another living, breathing face, I’m going to head out now. It’s taken me weeks to find the nerve. But I’ve finally found it.”
They stood facing one another on Ashbury Street a full ten seconds before Lev said:
“I can just… live here?”
“Oh yes. But I warn you, there isn’t much left to this city. And I think there may be more in Nebraska.” Then, “I wish you well.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
The man started off down the street and Lev watched him go.Then, dead finger still in hand, he turned to face the steps leading up to the holy house.
I… love… the… dead…
He climbed the steps. A confusing swirl of emotions bombarded him. Who was that man? And why would he want to leave this place? At the same time, who cared? Lev was standing before the front door of 710 Ashbury Street.
To think of the sounds once made beyond this door…
He opened the door with the hand still holding the dead finger.
“Jerry?” he called.
But before he stepped inside, a crow landed on the railing and Lev started at the sound of its flapping wings. He thought he heard words in that flapping. He thought he heardLas Vegas.
“Go away, you!” he said. But he stared into the intelligent eyes of the bird a beat before entering the house. “Las Vegas. Not a chance!”
But therewasa chance. It was just slow in coming.
For Lev Marks would see the crow in the coming days, weeks, months. It’d often land on the windowsill and listen as Lev played guitar. Strumming in the house of the Grateful Dead. Yes, the crow would come, and Lev would strum, until the day when he would finally take the crow’s advice.
