The Dark Tower

Patrick nodded.

“All right. I go. Long days and pleasantnights. May we meet in the clearing at the end of the path when all worldsend.”

Yet even then he knew this would nothappen, for the worlds would never end, not now, and for him there would be noclearing. For Roland Deschain of Gilead, last of Eld’s line, the path ended atthe Dark Tower. And that did him fine.

He rose to his feet. The boy looked up athim with wide, wondering eyes, clutching his pad. Roland turned. He drew inbreath to the bottom of his lungs and let it out in a great cry.

“NOW COMES ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER! IHAVE BEEN TRUE AND I STILL CARRY THE GUN OF MY FATHER AND YOU WILL OPEN TO MYHAND!”

Patrick watched him stride to where theroad ended, a black silhouette against that bloody burning sky. He watched asRoland walked among the roses, and sat shivering in the shadows as Roland beganto cry the names of his friends and loved ones and ka-mates; those namescarried clear in that strange air, as if they would echo forever.

“I come in the name of Steven Deschain, heof Gilead!

“I come in the name of Gabrielle Deschain,she of Gilead!

“I come in the name of Cortland Andrus, heof Gilead!

“I come in the name of Cuthbert Allgood, heof Gilead!

“I come in the name of Alain Johns, he ofGilead!

“I come in the name of Jamie DeCurry, he ofGilead!

“I come in the name of Va

“I come in the name of Hax the Cook, he ofGilead!

“I come in the name of David the hawk, heof Gilead and the sky!

“I come in the name of Susan Delgado, sheof Mejis!

“I come in the name of Sheemie Ruiz, he ofMejis!

“I come in the name of Pere Callahan, he ofJerusalem’s Lot, and the roads!

“I come in the name of Ted Brautigan, he ofAmerica!

“I come in the name of Dinky Earnshaw, heof America!

“I come in the name of Aunt Talitha, she ofRiver Crossing, and will lay her cross here, as I was bid!

“I come in the name of Stephen King, he ofMaine!

“I come in the name of Oy, the brave, he ofMid-World!

“I come in the name of Eddie Dean, he ofNew York!

“I come in the name of Susa

“I come in the name of Jake Chambers, he ofNew York, whom I call my own true son!

“I am Roland of Gilead, and I come asmyself; you will open to me.”

After that came the sound of a horn. Itsimultaneously chilled Patrick’s blood and exalted him. The echoes faded intosilence. Then, perhaps a minute later, came a great, echoing boom: the sound ofa door swinging shut forever.

And after that came silence.

Thirteen

Patrick sat where he was at the base of thepyramid, shivering, until Old Star and Old Mother rose in the sky. The song ofthe roses and the Tower hadn’t ceased, but it had grown low and sleepy, littlemore than a murmur.

At last he went back to the road, gatheredas many whole cans as he could (there was a surprising number of them,considering the force of the explosion that had demolished the cart), and founda deerskin sack that would hold them. He realized he had forgotten his penciland went back to get it.

Beside the pencil, gleaming in thestarlight, was Roland’s watch.

The boy took it with a small (and nervous)hoot of glee. He put it in his pocket. Then he went back to the road and slunghis little sack of gu

I can tell you that he walked until nearlymidnight, and that he looked at the watch before taking his rest. I can tellyou that the watch had stopped completely. I can tell you that, come noon ofthe following day, he looked at it again and saw that it had begun to run inthe correct direction once more, albeit very slowly. But of Patrick I can tellyou no more, not whether he made it back to the Federal, not whether he foundStuttering Bill that was, not whether he eventually came once more to America-side.I can tell you none of these things, say sorry. Here the darkness hides himfrom my storyteller’s eye and he must go on alone.

EPILOGUE

SUSANNAH IN NEW YORK

No one takes alarm as the little electriccart slides out of nowhere an inch at a time until it’s wholly here in CentralPark; no one sees it but us. Most of those here are looking skyward, as thefirst snowflakes of what will prove to be a great pre-Christmas snowstorm comeskirling down from a white sky. The Blizzard of ‘87, the newspapers will callit. Visitors to the park who aren’t watching the snowfall begin are watchingthe carolers, who are from public schools far uptown. They are wearing eitherdark red blazers (the boys) or dark red jumpers (the girls). This is the HarlemSchool Choir, sometimes called The Harlem Roses in the Post and itsrival tabloid, the New York Sun. They sing an old hymn in gorgeousdoo-wop harmony, snapping their fingers as they make their way through thestaves, turning it into something that sounds almost like early Spurs,Coasters, or Dark Diamonds. They are standing not too far from the environmentwhere the polar bears live their city lives, and the song they’re singing is“What Child Is This.”

One of those looking up into the snow is aman Susa

For a moment she’s unable to touch thecontrols of the little cart, which came from another world. Thoughts of Rolandand Patrick have left her mind. All she can think of is Eddie—Eddie infront of her right here and now, Eddie alive again. And if this is not theKeystone World, not quite, what of that? If Co-Op City is in Brooklyn (or evenin Queens!) and Eddie drives a Takuro Spirit instead of a Buick Electra, whatof those things? It doesn’t matter. Only one thing would, and it’s that whichkeeps her hand from rising to the throttle and trundling the cart toward him.

What if he doesn’t recognize her?

What if when he turns he sees nothing but ahomeless black lady in an electric cart whose battery will soon be as flat as asat-on hat, a black lady with no money, no clothes, no address (not in thiswhere and when, say thankee sai) and no legs? A homeless black lady with noco

Worse still, what if he turns to her andshe sees the burned-out, fucked-up, empty-eyed stare of the longtime junkie?What if, what if, and here comes the snow that will soon turn the whole worldwhite.

Stop thy grizzling and go to him,Roland tells her. You didn’t face Blaine and the taheen of Blue Heaven andthe thing under Castle Discordia just to turn tail and run now, did you? Surelyyou’ve got a moit more guts than that.

But she isn’t sure she really does untilshe sees her hand rise to the throttle. Before she can twist it, however, thegunslinger’s voice speaks to her again, this time sounding wearily amused.

Perhaps there’s something you want toget rid of first, Susa