The Night Tourist
by Katherine Marsh
The Night Tourist
I The Accident
It was just after dusk when the accident happened. As
usual, Jack Perdu was walking through theYale University
campus with his nose buried in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
Although he was only in the ninth grade, he had an afterschool
job helping the head of the university’s Classics
department on her new English translation. It was the day
after Christmas so there were no professors around, which
meant that there was no reason for Jack to look up out of
his book. But suddenly he heard a shout.
“Hey, Jack!”
Jack stopped walking and looked up. A girl in a
puffy blue parka was running toward him across the
brick walkway between the Yale library and Elm Street.
Her hair was in braids, and she was frantically waving
at him.
“It’s Tanya,” she panted when she reached him.“I’m in
your English class.”
“Oh,” said Jack. He knew who she was, but, like most
of the kids at Hyde Leadership High School, she’d never
spoken to him before.
“I was just going to the store to return this pair of
pants my mother got me for Christmas,” she explained,
pulling a pair of brown corduroys out of a plastic bag.
“They’re pretty awful, aren’t they?”
Jack, who was wearing a pair of pants very much like
them, didn’t say anything. Tanya didn’t seem to notice.
“Anyway, I can’t remember what book we’re supposed to
read over break.When I saw you, I knew you’d know.”
“Of Mice and Men,” said Jack.
Tanya grinned. “I bet you’ve read it already.”
Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. He’d actually read it
a few years earlier.
“You live here, right?” Tanya pointed vaguely at the
stone residential colleges, which surrounded the walkway
on either side.
Jack nodded.
“And let me guess, your dad’s a professor?”
“He’s the chair of the Archeology department.”
Tanya smiled. “That’s why you’re so smart.You know
every poem in class before we even read it.”
“Not really,” he murmured, though he usually did.
“Is your mom a professor too?”
Jack shivered and pulled his cap tighter over his unruly
thatch of hair.“No,” he said.“She’s dead.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” said Tanya.
“It’s okay. It happened a long time ago. I was six.”
Tanya’s eyes widened.“What happened?”
Jack looked around her for an escape route.“A scaffold
fell on her in New York City,” he murmured. “It was a
windy day.”
“That’s horrible!”
“It happened a long time ago,” he repeated. Eight years
ago this month, he thought, but didn’t say it. He looked
down at the book in his hands.
“What are you reading? It doesn’t look like the Mice
and Men book.”
Jack held up the book so she could see the spine.
“Metamorphoses.” Tanya wrinkled her nose. “Is that a
book about insects or something?”
“It’s a book of Greek myths.”
Tanya shook her head.“You’re too smart to be in high
school, Jack. You should be a professor or something
yourself.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said. And before she had a chance
to say anything else, he flipped open the Metamorphoses
and started walking toward Elm Street. He’d heard it all
before.
As he hurried away, Jack focused on how to properly
translate the Latin word occidit. He had just started Book
Ten of the Metamorphoses, which contained his favorite
myth, the story of the musician Orpheus. After a snakebite
kills his bride, Eurydice, Orpheus descends into the
underworld to bring her back. Jack had gotten as far as
the snake attack, after which Eurydice occidit. Occidit could
mean that the snake “killed her” or “cut her down,” but it
could also mean that she “perished.” Some people might
not think there’s much of a difference between these possibilities,
but Jack did. You could perish in an accident
and no one is to blame. But when you’re killed, a killer—
in Eurydice’s case, the snake—is at fault.
Jack stepped onto the crosswalk, his feet feeling ahead
of him as his nose stayed pointed like a weather vane into
his book.“To be killed, to perish,” he murmured, weighing
the possibilities. Just as he registered the grammar and
settled on the word “perish,” exonerating the snake from
any intentional wrongdoing, he heard Tanya shout,“Jack!”
But he lifted the book closer to his face, pretending not to
hear.The next thing he knew, there was loud, heavy metal
music, and he was knocked off his feet and into the air.
Jack barely had time to register what had happened.
He caught a glimpse of the car that hit him, heard panicked
shouts, and closed his eyes as his body hit the
ground. A loud rushing sound filled his ears. Then he
blacked out.
When Jack came to, he could hear voices talking over
him, at first high-pitched like insects and then slow and
demon-like.A wave of nausea passed over him, and he felt
too tired to open his eyes. His ears began to adjust themselves
to the voices.“He’s a very lucky boy,” said one.“He
has a few bruises on his chest and legs, but no internal
injuries. He should be waking up. . . .”
“Are you sure he’s okay?”
Jack’s eyelids flickered.This voice was his father’s.
“The medics . . . when they found him . . .”
Jack could hear a loud sniffle. Even in his semiconscious
state, he wondered if his father was going to cry—
the way he did late at night after Jack went to bed. The
one time Jack had mentioned it, his father had stiffened
and told him that he had been dreaming.
“We’ll keep him here overnight for observation just to
be sure. But I can assure you, Professor Perdu.We did CAT
scans, X-rays . . . a dozen different tests. It was a shock to
his system, but he’s a strong, healthy boy.”
“Thank you,” his father said softly.
There was the sliding noise of a curtain being closed
as the doctor departed.
With great effort, Jack opened his eyes. He was lying
on a cot surrounded by a white curtain. He looked at his
father, who was blinking back tears.
“Dad?”
His father gripped Jack’s hand in his own, something
he hadn’t done in years. He had a full, gray beard, and was
much older than the fathers of Jack’s classmates. He
cleared his throat.“How do you feel?”
Jack carefully stretched his arms and legs. Nothing
hurt, but he felt stiff, like he’d just run a marathon. He
propped himself up on his elbows.“Not too bad for being
hit by a car.”
His father chuckled.The tears in his eyes, Jack noticed,
had dried. “Tough kid,” he said, letting go of his hand.
“You scared that girl, though, half to death.” Jack suddenly
remembered Tanya and lay back on the cot. He imagined
her telling the other kids at school about the accident. He
pictured them laughing as Tanya explained, “I was shouting
at him, but he wouldn’t even look up from his book.”
His father leaned over him.“Are you okay?”
Jack nodded, unable to explain.
His father frowned.“What’s your last name?”
“Perdu.”
His father looked unimpressed.
“Perdu,” Jack repeated, propping himself back up on
his elbows.“It means ‘lost’ in French, from the Latin perdo.
To destroy, to do away with, to lose.”
His father nodded.“How old are you?”
“Fourteen. I’m fine, Dad, really.”
His father continued to stare at him. “What’s your
mother’s name?”
Jack paused. His father hardly ever talked about his
mother. And Jack never mentioned her, even though he
had hundreds of questions. He wished there were someone
he could ask about her, but there was no one else in
New Haven who had known her. Neither of his parents
had siblings, and his grandparents had died long ago.
“Anastasia,” Jack answered.
He waited, but his father just nodded and then looked
away. “Get some rest,” he said. “We’ll take you home
tomorrow.”
Jack tried to stay awake in case his father wanted to
talk more, but his silence—punctuated by the beeps and
pages of the hospital—seemed only to grow louder and
more resolute. Finally, Jack gave up, and closed his eyes.
At first, when he woke up, he didn’t know if it was day or
night. The fluorescent light of the hospital hallway was
inconclusive. His father was lolled in a chair by his bed,
snoring. The white face of the clock in his room read
four a.m. A nurse in a white uniform stopped in front of
the door to his room to greet an emaciated old man in a
hospital gown. Jack closed his eyes and tried to fall back
asleep, but he couldn’t help following their conversation.
“My brother died in New York,” said the old man.
Jack thought he heard the nurse say,“We should all be
so lucky.” But that seemed like an odd thing to say.
“Oh, things aren’t perfect there, either,” said the man.
“The fountains were down the other week. And there’s
concern that someone who”—the man whispered something
Jack couldn’t hear—“could find a way—”
“Down to the ninth floor?” interrupted the nurse.
“You know that can’t happen.”
“But some people say . . .”
“That’s just an urban myth. Are you getting out
tonight?”
“You bet!” said the patient. “I was thinking of flying
around the city.”
“Maybe I’ll join you. Nobody’s dying here,” said the
nurse with a laugh.
Jack smiled with relief as he realized that the conversation
didn’t make any sense because he was dreaming.
Copyright © 2007 by Katherine Marsh. All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion Books for Children, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
How do I print part of this page, not all of it?
- Point your cursor at the start of the content you're interested in.
- Click and drag until you have highlighted the content you want. Then take your finger off the mouse button!
- The area you want to print should now be highlighted in blue.
- Click 'Print This Page' at the top or bottom of this document.
- The Print Screen should now open. Under 'Page Range' choose 'Selection'.
- Then click print.