Lily B. On The Brink Of Paris Part 9

I don't know about an energy s.h.i.+ft, but I could see right away what Bonnie meant by an inner city. It was like this separate miniature metropolis within Paris. Paved paths went off in every direction, and each one was lined with memorials and mausoleums. Some of them were simple stones, some were elaborate sculptures, and others looked like little houses. There was a strange hush over the place. Even Bud and Chaz were walking quietly ahead of us, though periodically one of them would suddenly lunge back and pantomime hurling a touch-down pa.s.s to a phantom quarterback.

"Where's the Famous People Section?" asked Janet.

"Well," I replied patiently, "I don't think there's any one section for them, Janet. I think they're probably scattered individually throughout the grounds."

Janet looked appalled.

"But there must be thousands of graves here," she said. "Where do they give out maps? How are we going to find Edith Piaf?"

"And Jim Morrison," added Bonnie, holding her hands palms downward over a small grave marker.

Tim shot us a look. "Wait. Jim Morrison? As in The Doors? Jim Morrison is buried HERE?" he cried.

I had never seen him so animated.

"Yeah, man. Definitely," said Bonnie, looking at Tim with a new level of interest. "Morrison died in Paris, dude. They buried him right here."

Tim seemed momentarily paralyzed with reverence. I was both surprised and impressed. Did other people's fathers also lecture them on fossil rock G.o.ds of the past? I would have pegged Tim as more of a Green Day fan.

"Jim Morrison? That is pretty cool. Let's find him!" Lewis said, powering up his Sidekick.

Lewis knew him too?

"Oh, yeah, we have to find him, definitely," said Tim.

"I agree, bro," Bonnie said. She peered over Lewis's shoulder. "Whaddyagot?"

"Give me a minute," said Lewis, tapping the b.u.t.tons. "The Internet has never failed me."

"Yo, dawg, what's the delay?" shouted Chaz or Bud, I'm not sure which. (I don't think I could identify one from the other in a court of law.) "We're trying to find Jim Morrison," I called back.

Bud and Chaz regarded each other.

"Is he in our cla.s.s?" one of them asked.

I took a brief moment to deliver a silent prayer that neither Bud nor Chaz would ever hold a position of authority in the U.S. government.

Lewis suddenly made a sound indicating some kind of victory (or maybe a spider had crawled into his sleeve). Charlotte and Bonnie were firmly planted at Lewis's shoulder, watching his Sidekick with apparent fascination. Tim (I no longer thought of him as the Mysterious Tim) was standing off to one side, hands thrust into his jeans pockets, as usual.

"Tim," I said, "you have to see what Lewis can do with this thing."

Tim, whose face had been completely transformed since the name Jim Morrison was mentioned, joined us. Bonnie squinched closer, allowing him to sidle in and see what Lewis had found.

And what Lewis had found was extraordinary. He had found a virtual reality map of the cemetery. One half of the screen showed a picture of where we had come in. When Lewis put the cursor on the photograph, it began to rotate, giving the viewer a 360-degree view of the cemetery from the precise spot where we were standing. On the other half of the screen was a map of the cemetery.

"See, that pulsing red dot shows where we are right now," said Lewis, pointing to the map.

We, his audience, were captivated.

"Now look back at the photograph. See how they've superimposed little red arrows on the picture? They show that we can go in any direction from here. Look at this one, to the right."

There was, in fact, a narrow cobblestone road going off to the right of where we were standing.

"Okay, now, watch the photograph," Lewis said. He clicked on the red arrow going to the right. The photograph faded out, and a new photograph appeared. Lewis made it turn 360 degrees again. "This is what we'll see if we go thirty feet in that direction. And look at the map now. See, the red dot has moved, so we know which direction we're moving in."

"How's that gonna get us to Jim Morrison, bro?" asked Bonnie.

Lewis tapped a few b.u.t.tons.

"Here's an alphabetical list of notable graves," he said. "We'll click on Morrison."

A cross icon on the map blinked off and on in response.

"That's the one," Lewis said. "Now we know how to get there."

"That is unbelievable," said Tim.

Everyone looked at him simultaneously; then everyone looked away. We didn't want Tim to feel self-conscious about speaking. It should look like he'd been doing it all along.

"Who created this?" Tim asked. "Who has that kind of time, to photograph a three-hundred-sixty-degree view from every spot in this graveyard and create a map for it? Some hardcore Morrison fan?"

"I'm going to create sites like this one day," Lewis said shyly. "When I'm out of school."

"Lewis, I feel certain you're going to become world-famous for doing stuff like this," I said with admiration.

Lewis turned the vibrant crimson color again, and he shot a quick glance in Charlotte's direction, like he was checking if she'd heard.

"But what about Edith Piaf?" cried Janet. "Can Lewis's machine find her?"

Lewis. .h.i.t a few b.u.t.tons. Another cross pulsed on the map.

"There she is," he said. "But Jim Morrison is closer. Maybe we should go there first?"

Janet opened her mouth to object, but Charlotte interrupted her.

"Lewis, I say you're IN CHARGE of this expedition," she said.

"I agree," I stated firmly.

"Sounds good to me," Tim said.

"Let's go see the Lizard King, gentlemen," Bonnie cried.

I'd been called almost every male denomination in the world by Bonnie, but never "gentlemen." Paris seemed to be having a genteel effect on her.

Lewis started walking, holding his Sidekick in front of him the way Mr. Spock carries his tricorder while exploring an unknown planet. We filed behind him, not entirely unlike Madeline and the other eleven little girls in two straight lines trailing Miss Clavel. (You see, Dear Readers, everything DOES go back to Madeline in the end.) We followed Lewis along the outer wall of the cemetery, paused when he paused, then followed him left down a little road.

There were so many monuments, large and small, they almost seemed to be on top of one another. I could make out the names on dozens of them just from where I was standing.

"Even if we get to the right spot, how are we going to find him?" Tim asked. "There's so many different headstones."

"Look," said Bonnie quietly.

On the wall of a mausoleum someone had spray-painted JIM and a little arrow pointing to the left. Tim drew in his breath in awe.

"That's vandalism!" I said, outraged.

Bonnie linked her arm through mine. "The rules aren't quite the same here, man," she said. "Don't you feel that? Can't you feel all the thousands of people who have been here to pay their respects to Jim?"

I knew that Bonnie meant "feel" like the animal psychic meant it when she investigated the moods of people's pets on Animal Planet. I was a Writer. I didn't consider myself of the Psychic Ilk. I was of the Verbal Ilk. But I did suddenly feel like crying and singing at the same time. I wished Jake were here to see this.

"I heard they have to send police here on Morrison's birthday and the anniversary of his death every year," said Tim, "because the crowds come and they don't want to leave Jim."

"I've heard that too," said Lewis.

Where did these people hear all these things? I had not come across anything like this in Star magazine.

Bud and Chaz remained back on the cobblestone path, chatting together and throwing little fake sucker punches at each other, as we picked our way through the graves in the direction the spray-paint arrow had pointed.

"This is creepy," said Janet. But she kept up with us.

"There it is, people," said Bonnie suddenly.

We stopped.

In front of us were a rectangular grave and headstone, surrounded by a low iron fence. A plaque read: JAMES DOUGLAS MORRISON 19431971 My first thought was that the place was totally covered with litter, but when I took a closer look, I realized all the objects on the grave had been placed there with care.

There were candles, wine bottles, flowers, even little framed pictures of Jim Morrison. He had a moody, beautifully angular face framed by loose brown curls. We stood around the grave, looking down in silence.

"You know, I read somewhere there used to be this cat that hung around the grave all the time," said Tim.

Boy, get this guy started and it turns out he has a lot to say.

"And everybody called the cat Jim. You'd come to the grave, and Jim would appear from behind one of the other headstones and start meowing and rubbing your leg."

"I don't like cats," said Janet. An irritating, irrelevant comment if I ever heard one.

"Where is it then?" I asked, looking around.

"Some fan took him home, in, like, the eighties, they say," replied Tim.

Bonnie suddenly began to sing softly.

This is the end Beautiful friend...

It didn't really surprise me that Bonnie had a lovely voice. It DID surprise me when first Tim, then Lewis began to sing along with her.

I made a mental note to get a Doors CD when I got home. Clearly, this was a phenomenon I needed to investigate more thoroughly.

"People, I'm getting the heebie-jeebies!" cried Janet.

I wasn't happy she'd interrupted the moment, but to be honest, I had goose b.u.mps up and down both arms too.

"We should go," said Lewis.

Bonnie was still humming, her eyes closed, one finger lightly touching the headstone. She had one of those half Buddha smiles on her face.

I looked around at our little group. And a strange little group we were. A Future Corporate Executive, a Reincarnated Medieval Queen, a Francophile, a Computer Geek, an Until Recently Silent Sibling of a Celebrity, and a Writer. I had a feeling this was the moment I would most remember when I pa.s.sed them in the hall after we were back at school.

"On to Edith Piaf, then," Lewis said, brandis.h.i.+ng his Sidekick.

Janet gave a little whoop of happiness.

"Step right this way, ladies and gentlemen," said Lewis.

And we followed him, like obedient little lambs, through the city of the dead.

Ten.

It was almost a completely perfect outing. Almost. We were heading through the gate to go back to the metro station when Charlotte realized with dismay that she'd left her camera behind.

"I know exactly where it is," Charlotte said. "I put it down right next to Oscar Wilde."

It figures Charlotte would have become distracted at Oscar Wilde's grave. I suppose it had been my fault, completely. She had tried numerous tactics to get me to walk away. But I had been so completely overcome with awe, I hadn't wanted to leave the grave at all. I kept staring at it, trying to imagine him, Wilde himself, with that Brain and those Hands that had written all that stuff of greatness, right there in the ground below me. And I couldn't help remembering the last thing Wilde supposedly said before he died. It was "Either that wallpaper goes or I do." A genius even as he took his last breath. Who was I kidding? With or without Paris, I was no Oscar Wilde, and never would be. I stood, caught in his spell. Charlotte actually had to walk away to provoke me into leaving. But she had left her camera behind.

Oops.

"You guys go ahead," I said. "I'll go back with Charlotte for the camera, and we'll meet you outside the gates."

I remembered exactly where the Big Monument was. Unfortunately, it was clear on the other side of the cemetery, which was a bit of a hike.

"A little exercise will be good for us," I said to Charlotte as we trotted briskly up the main cemetery road.

"Lily Blennerha.s.sett, you have evolved since we came to Paris," Charlotte said.

I gave her a brilliant smile but saved my breath for important things. Like breathing.

"Finding out about this cemetery, figuring out how to get us all here, that's really great. You're finally taking some responsibility for yourself."

I beamed again. I loved it when Charlotte was proud of me. But I couldn't help thinking at the same time that I'd become exactly what I'd said I would never become. A Simple Tourist.

"Doesn't it feel good? Don't you feel better about yourself?" Charlotte asked.