Page 35 of Outside the Veil
“No, I mean it creates pictures.”
“That little thing? Does it have tiny hands to draw?”
“Stand still and I’ll show you.”
Finn stopped his agitated pacing and stood with his feet planted, arms crossed over his chest.
He already looks better. I swear he’s filled out some…
Diego took the shot and then turned the screen to Finn. “You see? Like in the magazines you like so much. I don’t know exactly how it works but it’s like taking an impression of a moment in time.”
“A footprint of light,” Finn concluded, tilting his head this way and that to see the picture. “Was I truly scowling so?”
“I’m afraid you were.”
“This is all quite fascinating, but there’s more to it, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes. I love hearing your stories. I’d like to compile some. Put a book together of your life for everyone to read, illustrated with your likeness. Probably not with actual photos. They’d want an illustrator, I’d think, but with you as the model.”
Finn’s forehead wrinkled. “You think that’s wise?”
“I won’t do anything without your consent. But if you’re worried about exposure, I don’t think there’ll be a problem. Fiction is honest lying, you said. And I got all bent out of shape, but you’re right. People want to suspend their disbelief while they read but with the understanding that it’s not true. If I present it as fiction, no one would ever dream it’s true.”
“Your deviousness astounds me,” Finn said in feigned shock, then he grinned. “I like that in a companion. But truly, why would you want to do this?”
“To save my writing career. That sounds really mercenary, doesn’t it?” Diego sank into the nearest chair, the realization of what he asked hitting hard. “I’m sorry. It’s a horrible thing to use you like that. I can’t believe I even thought about it.”
Finn perched hipshot on the table and put a hand under Diego’s chin to lift his head. “It’s a wickedly marvelous idea. And if I can be your inspiration, I am more than pleased. Diego, look at me. Your channels are all snarled. Perhaps if you do this, the flotsam and debris will be swept away and let the streams flow again.”
“Thank you. I have been in a nasty slump lately. But you have to understand. This came to me as something that would be a commercial success. Money, you understand? The something different that Miriam keeps prodding me to do.”
“Just so. Even better. If I can help put food on your table, I will tell you a thousand stories.”
Diego explained the tape recorder and once Finn had heard his own voice, there was no talking him out of it. Tape recorder, camera, Diego and all had to be dragged out for long walks in the woods so Finn could think better. Pictures of Finn were better outdoors as well, the dappled sunlight giving him a fallen angel mystique.
By the end of the week, Finn’s ribs had disappeared under a sleek layer of lean muscle, his body returning to the sculpted perfection Diego had caught hints of in the city. He had to admit, the change of scenery proved beneficial for them both. Despite nasty surprises like running face first into cobwebs and often getting his socks wet, he ate more, slept better, and began to come home from their walks refreshed rather than exhausted.
Normally, Diego would have agonized over how to begin, but with Finn’s deep voice as his constant companion while he typed, the book seemed to compile itself.
Preface—
I first met the pooka on the Brooklyn Bridge. Though desperately ill from pollution and iron poisoning, and half crazed with starvation, he still managed to find the courtesyto introduce himself and the humor to grant me a smile. His courage won me over and my trust has won his.
With the pooka’s full consent, this book contains selected transcripts of taped conversations with him in which I’ve asked questions about his life and his adventures. As far as I can ascertain, this is the first serious foray any human has made into pooka research. Since they are, by nature, solitary and suspicious of strangers, this is not altogether shocking. However, our pooka, whom I will refer to as Thistle to protect his privacy, would like to set the record straight.
This then, is his life, in his own words.
Chapter 1—Beginnings
Why don’t we go back to the start? Do you know anything about your birth? Your parents?
“Pookas have no parents. Unless you count the Earth herself as our mother, for surely we must have sprung from somewhere. We simply are. One day I was not. The next day, I was.”
Do you have childhoods? Or are you fully grown when you spring forth, or parthenogenesize, or however you come into being?
“Oh, I think I take your meaning. I don’t recall ever being a smaller version of myself. And I have never met a pooka cub. Difficult to say. Perhaps I still am a child and will grow into something else.”
Diego inserted a picture here of Finn sitting shirtless at the kitchen table, his long hair pulled over one shoulder. He captioned it—Thistle empties the saltshaker out on the table and draws in the salt with his fingers while he talks.
