Blown Circuit Read Online Free Page B

to his ablutions.  
    Taking my cue from the old man, I sat down on the ledge ringing the round room like a single stair. There was a stone washbasin immediately behind me and an embossed brass bowl sitting on the ledge, pretty much every seat in the house provided a good view of everywhere else. Another door led out to a second room, similar to the one I was already in, yet smaller. The second room was empty and I ignored it. I was already getting too hot in the steam. Way too hot. I reached behind me and turned on the brass faucet, filling the stone basin with water. Even the metal of the faucet was warm to the touch. I could barely see the stubbly gray guy through the mist, but I could hear the water fall from his brass bowl as he poured it over himself.
    I followed his movements, pouring the cool water from my own brass bowl over my head and down my neck. The cool water quickly relieved the heat and I soon felt myself beginning to relax. Either it was the steam, my adrenaline was finally wearing off, or I was plain exhausted, but I felt my eyelids grow heavy. I watched as the grizzled guy slowly rose in his wet cotton towel and tossed a bowlful of water on the octagonal marble block in the center of the space. The water ran off the marble in steamy, bubbling streams as he lay down on his back, his head facing toward me, his knees slightly bent as he stared up at the ceiling.
    I knew that this was my opportunity to rest. I was nearly alone and as anonymous as I was going to get. I reached into the stone basin with the shallow brass bowl and dumped another round of water over my shoulders. I’d be getting scrubbed down at some point. That’s what they did in these bathhouses. Big, strong, fat men laid you on a slab and scrubbed your skin with a rough loofa until you were as clean as you’d ever be. They let your pores open first, though, which is what they were doing now. I reached into the crinkled, red plastic bag and cracked open my bottle of water. The water felt good going down, but seeing the amulet at the bottom of the bag brought me back to the problem at hand.
    The Turkish Eye. I let the thought of it flow over me. Why had it been hidden in the lamp? I could speculate, but the truth was, I had no idea. I gave in to my fatigue, allowing my eyes to close to narrow slits, my back leaned against the marble as I sat on the low ledge. Shafts of light shot through the tiny round skylights in the cupola illuminating the clouds of dancing steam. It was like a Rorschach inkblot test for the lethargic—you could see what you wanted in the billowing steam. And I saw a feather bed. A blissful respite from the stresses of the world. The heat suffused my bones as I smiled inwardly, secretly hoping that my rendezvous would be delayed.  
    I heard a grunt, and the grizzled old man picked himself off the marble slab and shuffled slowly through the door to the smaller room. I could see the entrance to it from where I sat. It was set up the same as the room I was in, round with basins and a ledge and a cupola-shaped ceiling. The only difference was that it was about half the size. There was no need to explore it. Instead, I took a page from the old man’s book and reached into the basin behind me with my brass bowl, tossing a bowlful of water on the octagonal slab. The water sizzled as it landed, making a shallow pool atop the slab. I tossed a second bowl of water on the slab and rose. I felt limber, more limber than I had for a while, but I had to say I was happy to have the drinking water. I took another swig of it and lay down on my back on the slab.
    The marble was hot on my back, but not so hot as to cause pain. Obviously the slab was heated, probably with some kind of radiant-water system running below the tiles. I looked up to see that the light coming through the round glass holes in the cupola had changed. It was more diffused. I guessed a cloud had passed in front of the sun, but at that point I couldn’t say that I