Cry Out as We May

Copyrighted in 2003 by Ditrikh Lipats. All right reserved. No portion of the text can be used or reproduced for any purposes without written permission of the author.

 


Cry Out as We May





*   *   *

     “May I help you Sir?” The security guard’s voice sounded stern, not inviting at all. It was a new guy; he looked at me from behind and from above, as a cop on the road would.  I punched the code on the keypad again, but the gate didn’t budge. The guard had blocked it. 
    I stepped on the clutch and changed gears. Exhaling a cloud of smoke my old car backed up a little. Now I could see his face. Under the uniform cap and obscured by gleaming shades it was impenetrable.
   “Yes, you may.” I said with a smile. “The code doesn’t work for some reason. Would you mind opening the gate for me please?”
   “What property are you heading to?”
   “The Grand’s.”
   “May I see your ID please?”
   I sighed, and reached for my wallet. This was annoying but after all my Toyota could hardly be compared to the slick cars that usually passed through the gate. The name Joseph Grand on my Drivers License should have opened the gate, but it didn’t. Instead the guard said,
   “I’m sorry Sir, but I have to call them first.”
   While he was dialing the number to speak with my Mom, I watched the mailman’s van approaching the exit gate on the other side. Do people around here receive the same type of junk mail everyone else does? I wondered.
    “Here is your Drivers License, Mr. Grand.” The guard said. “Please accept my apology, I just do my job. Have a good day Sir.”
    “Oh, no problem at all.” I answered with a smile as I waited for the gate to be opened.
      I drove to the right, to the very end of the cul-de-sac, where my Mom’s house stood under several huge shady maple trees and parked my car in the driveway. Sure enough, there was mail in the mailbox.  There was no junk mail, just a couple of bills and a letter with an “Express Mail” sticker on it.
    “Hi Mom.” I said, seeing her at the door.
    My mother was dressed for cleaning. In her bright apron, with a duster of yellow feathers in her hand, and a red band across her forehead she looked like a fighter. Actually, she was in a fight. The house was big, to keep it clean wasn’t an easy task and she didn’t trust it to anyone.
    “Here is your mail, Mom.” I said. kissing her on the cheek.
    She stepped aside letting me in while looking through the envelopes.
    “Gary is not up yet, I guess?”
    “You guess right.” She murmured looking at the “Express Mail” letter.  There was something strange in her voice. Her face went pale.
    “Who is it from?” I asked.
    She didn’t answer, just waved with her hand to the armchair where she wanted me to sit. She hadn’t waved with her hand like that since my father died. Without a word I did what she wanted me to.
    For a while Mom just looked at the return address. Then, she opened the envelope and pulled out a letter. I could tell it was short, just a few lines and a signature.  Mom read it once then read it again. Her face took on an expression I had never seen before.
   “What is it? Bad news?” I asked, making an attempt to stand up, but she stopped me with another wave of her hand. This time, it was the gesture of a sick women, who believes that those who want to help would cause even more pain.  I froze in an awkward pose. 
   “Who is it from, Mom?” I almost cried, and she startled.
   “It’s all right,” she said, “It’s from Uncle Jack.”
   “You mean the Uncle Jack? From Australia?”
   “Yes, from him.” Mom said folding the letter and inserting it back into the envelope.
   “What does he write?”   
    “He is just coming to visit us for a few days. That’s it. I tell you, everything is all right. Don’t worry.”
   “What do you mean “coming to visit,” just out of the blue? Did you invite him?”
   “I didn’t, but it doesn’t matter.”
   “Then why has he never visited us before?” I stood up from the armchair and paced around the room.  Mom remained seated. I could tell she was thinking the same thing.
   “Is he flying in? When?”
   “Tonight.” She said using her normal tone, but I could see that she was puzzled.
   “Why didn’t he just call you? The letter could have been overlooked.  You could be out of town, after all.” I said with irritation.
   “Well, that’s true, but… that’s how it is. He just sent the letter.”
   “From Australia?”
   “No. He is in New York City.” Mom stood up.
   “Do you want me to go with you to meet him?” I asked.
   “No, I’ll do it myself.” She answered, dusting the top of a cabinet that was already clean. “And please keep quiet about it. He writes he doesn’t want a single soul to know about his arrival.”
    “But they will learn about it anyway.” I chuckled.
    “They,” she emphasized though hushing her voice, “should be the last people in the world you discuss this with. Do you understand?” She said firmly.
    “I do.” I said.
    “Have you come to see Gary?” She inquired, and before I could answer she said. “Come another time. I have to talk to him first. Wait,” she stopped in the middle of a thought. “I want you to do something for me. Go to your car, I’ll be right out.”
   “All right.” I said.  When my Mom talked like that even Dad would obey her as if he were a boy. It was better not to argue.
   Mom opened the front door for me and watched me get into my car. There I sat looking at the house. Somewhere in the upper bedroom Gary was sleeping peacefully with his wife, his mother-in-law snored in another room.  Margaret, Gary’s wife, and Susan, her mother, were they who I wasn’t suppose to speak about Uncle Jack with.  Gary and Margaret came from Washington, not only to be with Mom on the tenth anniversary of our father’s death, but for money. It just couldn’t be that my brother hadn’t told his wife the story of Uncle Jack.  On top of all that, Susan, Gary’s mother-in-law, was the last person in the word to who my Mom would like to introduce Uncle Jack.
    Mom walked out the door and approached my car.
    “Here’s what I want you to do.” She said. “This is a check for Reverend Willard. He is leaving tomorrow, as you know. This is for his trip. I don’t want anyone to know about it. Tonight after eight, I want you to go to the church and leave the envelope on his desk.”
    “Why after eight? Can I do it earlier?” I asked.
    “You are not listening to me.” Mom said in a schoolteacher’s tone. “I told you. I don’t want anyone to know about it. Not the secretary, or the custodian. Here are the keys. This one is for the back door and this for Reverend Willard’s office. Will you do this for me, or should I ask Gary?”
    “I will.” I said. “Sure I will.”
    “Look, here is the security code.” She turned the envelope over showing me the number written with pencil on the other side.
    “I’ll do it all right, don’t worry.” I stretched my hand for the envelope, but Mom held it back.”
    She looked attentively into my eyes.
    “I won’t. I’ll do it, I promise.”
    “All right,” she gave me the envelope. “I planned to do it myself, but at this time I’ll be meeting Uncle Jack.”
    “Mom,” I asked, “why is he coming?”
    “Oh, just to visit. Forget about it.” She answered and walked away.

*   *   *

    Forget about it! How could I?  Mom just brushed me aside; as usual she didn’t trust me with serious matters.  “Go take the envelope to the minister.” She just didn’t want me around. I felt insulted by that. After all, it was me who found the envelope. Had she checked the mail herself I would probably have never known how it all started. But it was I who saw how startling the letter was, it was I who was at hand to help her, and she sent me off with some stupid check. Couldn’t we talk about it for just a little bit?
      I’m almost forty and Mom still treats me like a child. A sick child. What my brother would say openly she carries hidden in her mind. My abnormality is something that we never discuss though we always consider. 
    I’ll never forget that morning. We kids were playing hide and seek and I hid myself in the lilac bushes right under the window of the room where my Mom was talking to a stranger. The gardener had trimmed the lilac a few weeks ago and now it was blooming with violet flowers that formed a thick smelly canopy pierced by the sun. Mom and the stranger were talking next to the window in a couple of yards from me, and I could hear each word. The smell of blooming lilac, the sunshine in the purple flowers, my bare knees on the cold wet dirt, mosquitoes buzzing around…  In my mind, I still see, hear and feel all of that. I saw my cousin passing by searching for me. He jumped across the creek and went farther under the trees.  It was my chance to get out and run, but something stopped me. I froze for a moment and heard it again. It was my name pronounced clearly.
   Yes, I was not mistaken. It came from the window above the lilac bush. The stranger whom my Mom made me spend some time with that morning said ‘Joseph.’ I froze, listening. 
     “No,” said the stranger. “I don’t recommend it. It is not time yet. Let me tell you what, once you have introduced your boy to a therapist, he’ll be trapped with psychiatrists the rest of his natural life. You are an excellent client for the industry. You are able to pay the bills.  It is very possible that Joseph will change, give him a couple of years and I’m almost sure that it’ll pass.”
    “The counselor in school said that we have to take Joseph to a therapist as soon as possible.” Mom said.
     “I’m not surprised.” The man answered. “Counselors at private schools are often working for psychiatrists. They are paid well for providing clients to fill the beds in hospitals and rehab centers.”
     They talked more, but I stopped listening.  Those two words: the therapist and the counselor scared me to death.
     The therapists were people my Grandma always hated. Once I heard her say that her therapist wanted to put her in an asylum. To me, a therapist was the last person in the world to get close to.
     That’s what I leaned about myself back then.
     About five minutes had passed before I realized that I had no idea where I was driving. I had the whole day ahead of me, but I couldn’t even think of going back home and returning to my book as I had planned earlier.  The visit of Uncle Jack was much more exciting than any story I could read. I felt that something important was about to happen. I had to do something, to act, to talk about it.  Yes, to talk.
    At the streetlight I turned right on 21st street, drove for half a mile, and parked my car next to the architect office where Lisa worked.
    Thank God I saw her doing something on her computer.  I stopped at the front, waiting for someone to great me.  It was Scott, the Architect himself.
    “Hi Joe.” He said smiling. “Have you come to fill out an application?”
    Seeing that he was in a good mood, I said,
    “No, she doesn't want me to work with her any more.”
    “And she is right.” Scott smirked.
    “Well.” I tried. “Actually, I wanted to take her to lunch, but it’s not yet her break, I guess.”
    “Lisa!” Scott called. “Do you want to have an early lunch with the young man?  Or do you want him to come back on time?”
     “I wouldn’t mind going now, may I?” Lisa asked, still looking at the screen.
     “You may. Today you may. Don’t forget to clock out.” Scott said and added, addressing me. “I need her back in an hour.  No later or no more early lunches. Okay?”
      “Thanks.” I said watching Lisa brush her hair in the mirror. She really is a great girl especially when she moves. I never tire looking at her.
      “Do you really want to buy me lunch?” Lisa asked when I opened the passenger door for her. “Did you get a new job?’”
      “No I didn’t.” I said, closed the door after her and walked to my seat.
      “Then what makes you so cool?”  She smiled.
      “We need to talk.”
      “What about.”
      “My Uncle is coming to visit us. Uncle Jack, from Australia.”
      “So what?” She snorted.
      She asked the right question. What I said sounded silly. So what? I thought to myself driving away.
      “You have never told me you have an Uncle. Is he your Mom’s brother, or your Dad’s?”
      “Actually, neither one of them. He is my Mom’s distant relative, maybe not a relative at all. We just call him Uncle Jack.”
      “Is he what, a circus director? Why are you so jumpy?”
      “N-no. He is a very rich man from Australia.  I’ve told you.”
      “So what’s the buzz?  Isn’t everyone in your family a millionaire? Except you of course.”
      “He is a different kind of millionaire. But, you are right, it is not that important.”
      “Then what is important?”
      “There is a story behind him. It’s a family matter, and a pretty dark one.”
      “Wow! I’m intrigued. Tell me the story, but first take the next right. Yes, here. See the Chinese place in the shopping center. I’ll buy you lunch myself today, Mr. Unemployed.”
      I never mind Lisa’s jokes. When we met, she always was a bit pricky for the first few minutes. It is a sort of defense.  What else, other than a sharp tongue can protect a lonely woman of twenty-seven-years-old, especially if she is good looking.  When we worked in nearby cubicles, I saw how her cold jokes baffled men she didn’t like. I never tried to impress her, even though I liked her very much. We worked on the same part of a big project and talked much about it. That’s how it all started. Lisa is from England and it makes her a bit different. I would say charmingly different.
      “Two buffets please.” She said, placing a twenty-dollar bill in front of the Asian girl at the cash register. At the same moment I put my credit card right next to the bill, but the girl paid no attention to it. She grabbed the bill, dropped it into the cash register, and counted the change.
     I didn’t argue. I was preparing to tell Lisa the story and I tried to concentrate on it.
     “Stop it.” Lisa said. “Don’t take that much rice. You won’t have enough room for other things on your plate.”
     I wasn’t hungry at all. Nevertheless, I followed Lisa from dish to dish picking up the same meal she was filling her plate with.
     “Try these.” Lisa said, placing a few pickled mushrooms on my plate. “They are very good.”
     Lisa was right. The mushrooms were great. I didn’t notice how I had eaten almost all the Chinese stuff from my plate, before I told the story. I put my fork on the plate and closed my eyes wondering how to start.
     “How old is he?” Lisa asked taking a sip from her glass.
     “Around seventy-five, I guess.”
     “And he’s lived in Australia all his life?”
     “No, he moved there after it happened, in 47 or 48, I don’t know for sure.”
     "What happened?"
     “He killed my Mom’s sister. Accidentally they say.”
     “Oh, my! You have never told me your Mom had a sister.”
     “Yes, her name was Mary. She was Mom's twin. She and Uncle Jack were in love.”
     “Go ahead.”
     “I don’t know much about it. I heard Jack lived in another town and used to come visit them almost every weekend.  He worked at some garage, or something like that, it’s not important.  Once they took a rifle and went to the woods for shooting practice.  In an hour he ran back in tears yelling that he had killed the girl.  Since he didn’t tell how it happened, just cried all the time, they locked him up in jail. A few days later it was proved that the shot was accidental.”
     “Well, now I understand why your Grandma was a bit… strange. If it had happened to me I’d be like that too.”
     “Soon Jack left for Australia, and as it turned out settled there for good.”
     “How did he become rich?” Lisa asked.
     “Oh, that story was told and retold many times in my family.  He had almost nothing to start with, just a few bucks he brought from America. Some farmer gave him a job, and eventually he married his daughter. The farmer died in an accident and Uncle Jack inherited the farm. He started some construction, a barn or whatever, and ran into a vein of silver. My Mom and Grandma heard nothing about him, but about ten years after that Uncle Jack called my Grandma from New York City and invited her for dinner. Grandma was surprised – Uncle Jack said that he was staying in one of the best hotels – she was really intrigued. So she went and found that he had become immensely rich. He presented her some Australian Newspapers and Magazines where he was featured as one of the most prominent businessmen, invited her to take a look at his huge suite in the hotel’s penthouse, and paid for a Limo that took her back home.  Grandma returned even more confused than she was before. Something shifted in her head and since then she started to talk about Uncle Jack as if he were her own son.  She wrote him letters and he always responded. They met every time he visited the States. Once he invited her and my mom to spent a few days together and they went to Lake Michigan together. Grandma just loved the trip. After that Jack stopped coming and stopped answering Grandma’s letters. Little by little he was forgotten he just faded into oblivion.  No one heard from him in years, until, it was somewhere in Eighties, I think, my Dad saw his photo on the cover of Money magazine.  There was a big article inside about the philanthropy of Mr. Volgeen, the Australian millionaire who contributed much to different International Funds. There were a few photos, taken in his mansion. I believe Mom still keeps the issue.
    “You said his last name is Volgeen. Is he Russian?”
    “His parents immigrated from Russia after the Revolution with my Grandma’s folks.”
    “Well… so what bothers you?”
    “Many things. What does he need first of all? Grandma passed away many years ago, he has to be aware of that. Why, instead of letting my Mom know up front, does he come all of the sudden exactly when we are all gathered together on the tenth anniversary of our father’s death?  Why doesn’t he want anyone to know about his visit?”
    “To me, it’s all not that queer. I’m sure everything you have said has its reason. There is nothing to worry about.”
    “Maybe. But I don’t know. I don’t feel good about it. Oh, how I would like to learn more about this Uncle Jack I’ve never seen! Listen,” I looked imploringly in Lisa’s eyes, “You can help me with that, if you want to, of course.”
    “How?”
    “You told me that your brother’s company is affiliated with a few Australian businesses. Could you, please, call him in London, maybe he can make some inquiries?”
    “Well, I can if you want me to, but I don’t feel good about that. It’s your family’s affair.”   
    “Oh, Lisa, how I want you to become a part of my family!”
    “Thanks!” She snorted. “I’m not ready yet. All right, all right. I’ll call him.”
    “Why don’t you call him right away?”
    “Right away, I have to return to work. I’ll call him in an hour, when everyone will be gone for lunch.”
    I took Lisa back to her office. Though I told her the story, I still needed to speak more about it, to call London, to act in some way.  Maybe it all was none of my business, but I just couldn’t take it like that. My heartbeat was fast, my forehead covered in sweat, I tried to look normal, but Lisa noticed my agitation.
    “Wait a minute.” She said when she got out of my car. She walked to her red Mazda, opened it, and took a parcel from the back seat.
    It was a book, a heavy book wrapped in paper.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Something I bought for your Birthday.”
    “But my Birthday is in May.”
    “That’s why you may have it now. It’s too long to wait.”
    And she walked away.
     Paintings in the Hermitage. I read on the dust jacket. With trembling hands I opened the book and in the portrait section I found what I’d been searching for many years. The portrait of Prince A.K. Gordunov. For a long moment I sat still looking into the eyes of the young man in the picture. Then, I shut the book and drove to my gingerbread house.

*   *   *

     I was in Russia in eighty-nine.  I visited Leningrad, Moscow and a few smaller cities. It was one of those missionary trips when tourists visit churches, give away Bibles, and listen to their minister preaching to aborigines.  My Mom was to go, but she got the flu and I went instead.
     When I recall the winter trip I always shiver. Not from the cold, it was warm enough in the hotels where we stayed; even the weather was mild on those days. I remember people, crowds of people in shopping malls, people on streets, people on a city bus who didn’t smile back at us, foreigners, when our bus stopped side by side with them.
     I remember people in churches: in Protestant churches, where we could talk to the believers, in Orthodox churches where we were advised not to communicate.  No…  it’s painful to recall their faces. It was as if I had visited another planet, where by some reason something went wrong, and from then on the inhabitants were doomed to pay for mistakes they didn’t make and crimes they didn’t commit. The most eerie was to see that the people were no different from us. Though they spoke in a different tongue, they looked like us, Americans. I felt an unexplainable guilt when being among them. Those days I often mused on what would happen if my Grandma’s parents hadn’t left Russia after the revolution. I probably would never have been born, and what if I would have? I would have probably been one of the passengers on the city bus that was full of those unsmiling people. In Russia I felt that my distant brothers and sisters were still living somewhere in the enormous towns. I felt I could recognize them on the night streets of Leningrad. I saw them under the falling snow; I met them at gorgeous cathedral-like metro stations in Moscow, in a small church, in the remote countryside, where I saw people praying so passionately.
    Especially hard, the feeling of relation with Russians struck me when I saw the portrait in the Hermitage.
     We had spent most of the day in the huge magnificent museum. I already felt pretty tired when I heard some school kids giggling. We were told to avoid contact with kids who tried to sell different memorabilia to foreigners. Those kids, however, had no business in mind. They just stood around smiling, talking to me in Russian. At last, one of them said in broken English: “This you. On picture.” I looked where they all were pointing and saw a portrait of a young man staring at me from the wall.
     It was like looking into the mirror at the fun house. I saw myself, dressed differently, with longer hair brushed to the back, and a tiny old-fashioned mustache. I startled, provoking even more laughter from the kids.  It was I, but, at the same time, not I. The nose and the chin were slightly different. I never wore a mustache, but the broad forehead, the brows and the eyes under them were, certainly, mine. The young man looked at me from the portrait as if trying to say something with his eyes. It seemed that more than a century ago, the artist and the model got together for the sake of making the impression that would deprive me of peace in my soul. I felt that the young man in the portrait wanted to tell me something very important, as if he’d been waiting for the occasion for more than a century.
    The guide of our group noticed that something unusual was going on around me and hurried to take me away from the kids. While she was talking to them in Russian, I read the brass plate on the bottom of the frame.  Prince Gordunov was the name of the young man in the portrait. I lifted my eyes, and again the young man looked at me from the canvas in a penetrating, disturbing way. I even saw reproach in his calm steady gaze.
    “Don’t pay attention to them.” The guide said. “We have to hurry, we are running out of time.”
    I wanted to ask her about the portrait, but suddenly I realized that I didn’t want anyone to notice the resemblance. ‘Prince Gordunov, Prince Gordunov,’ I was repeating his name, trying to memorize it.
    We didn’t have time to shop at the souvenir kiosk where I though to buy a book with the portrait. The next day, we took a train to Moscow where I also didn’t have a chance to shop for the book about the Hermitage collection.
    I tried to find it when I was back home but there were no books about Hermitage in the local stores.  They ordered a few for me, but when the books arrived I didn’t find in them what I was looking for.  The portrait, obviously, was’t too significant to be printed among the other masterpieces.
    The thought, that in the portrait I saw one of my ancestors grew still stronger in my mind. At the time, my Grandma lived in a high security nursing facility with unbreakable windows.  Whom else could I ask about the Gordunovs?
    I didn’t ask Mom's permission. I just called the nursing home to arrange a visit.
    It was in late April, or early May, I don’t remember for certain. The maple trees were in full bloom and the birds were singing in the bushes around the bench on which we sat.
   “You were in Russia…” Grandma said absently when I told her about the trip. It wasn’t clear if she was saying it to herself to confirm what I said, or if she was asking a question.  I hadn’t seen Grandma for almost a year and I found that she had changed over time. Her hair had become thinner, it was white with a bit of yellow, she had lost weight, and the wrinkles on her face had smoothed out, even her blue eyes had become larger. It was all her age, but the change made her look younger.
   I felt she hadn’t been listening to me and I stopped in the middle of the sentence.
   “Grandma,” I took her hand in mine. It was small and soft like the hand of a girl. “Have you ever heard the name Gordunov?”
    I waited for an answer, but she didn’t respond. She silently looked somewhere in front of herself.  Then she sighed. I wanted to repeat my question, but she said,
    “Gordunov was a farmer from Nebraska. Why do you ask? Did he die?”
    “No, Grandma, Prince Gordunov, a Russian noble. Do you know something about the family?”
    “Many Russian nobles became farmers.  Those who survived.” Here she stopped and I saw that she was getting pale. Even her hand, which I still held in mine, became colder.
    “Are you all right, Grandma? Do you want me to call the nurse?” I asked.
    “No, I just remembered something I haven’t thought about for years…”
    “What?”
    “The officers in the water, a long time ago, in Russia. I saw them.”
    “Who did you see?”
    “The officers in the water. In the light blue water.”
    At first I couldn’t understand. Then little by little a horrible picture formed in my mind.
    It was in Crimea where many noble families found their last refuge from the Red Army. Back then, in nineteen-nineteen, Grandma was just ten-years-old.  They lived not far from Odessa, anxiously catching news about the situation on the fronts. While adults were spending their days in never-ending worry, the kids enjoyed the summer, the long sandy beaches and warm gentle water of the Black Sea.
   They would spend whole days on the beach. Their muscles grew strong; sun tanned their skin almost black, from pale inhabitants of the Northern Capital the kids turned into the slender flexible children of the sea.
   Once they noticed something floating among the waves. It was pretty far from shore; something glittered in the sun like dolphins' backs, though differently. Anxious to explore what it was, the kids rushed into the water.  It took them about ten minutes to reach the site.
     Swollen blue faces, waving hair, sun playing on the gold ornaments of the shoulder strap. Hands tied behind the backs. Rocks attached to the feet.  Barely touching the surface, connected with a rope, the corpses of drowned Czar’s officers slowly drifted along the sea shore to Romania as if preparing the way for many others who were destined to end their lives in Turkey, France, Brazil, all over the world, far from Mother-Russia.
    “One of them was Gordunov.” Grandma said calmly as if talking about a visitor at her Sunday school class.
    I realized that I came with my questions too late. By then Grandma dwelt in the peculiar state of mind with which God blesses some elderly people to finish their life in a bliss of confused memory.
    That was the last time I saw her. Soon after, Grandma passed away.  I never learned how Prince Gordunov was related to her family.
    Eventually, I forgot about the portrait. I probably would have never got back to it if Lisa hadn’t taken me to the exhibition of the French Impressionists which was showing for a few weeks in our local Art museum. Despite my degree, Lisa understands Art much better than I do. I thought she wouldn’t miss the chance to pass one of her jokes, but I told her about the portrait I saw in Leningrad anyway.  She didn’t make fun of it, just shrugged her shoulders as if saying, why not?
    And now she presented me the book. 
    At home I set a fire in the fireplace, sat in Grandma’s recliner and opened the heavy book. Prince Gordunov looked at me with the same steady stare. Though there was no reproach in his glance, I still felt uneasy. His eyes were calm. It was as if he, at last, had told me something important. But what was it?

*   *   *

    It was dark when I woke up.  Blinking my eyes I tried to understand if it was late evening or early morning. I turned the light on. The clock on the fireplace showed seven thirty, which also could fit morning as well as night. The red dot next to P.M. on the kitchen digital clock clarified that it still was the same day. 
   The remnant of coffee in the glass pot of my coffee maker was cold. I recalled that in the morning I used the last filter and cursed silently. The very idea of rinsing the used filter under the running water made me shiver. I tried it once and after that I couldn’t drink coffee for a few days.
   At the nearby Albertson’s store they made good coffee, so I decided to go there to have a cup and to shop for the filters and other stuff I was in need of. I put my jacket on and fumbled for the keys in my pocket. I found two sets of keys.
    It took me awhile to recall that the other keys were my Mom’s.  She gave them to me to go to the church to put… Here I checked the inner pocket and found the envelope.  Yes, I promised to put it on the minister’s desk so he could find it there in the morning before his departure. 
    In a few minutes I was in my car driving to the church. Our church is the most beautiful in town. It is a Gothic cathedral, the most prominent building in the historical area.. I could understand why Mom didn’t want anyone to know about my nocturnal visit to the minister’s office. My parents did for the church more than any other family. Actually, the church was in good shape thanks to them.
     I remember my father when he was silently praying after taking communion.  His face was stern, his eyelids were tightly pressed. Stealing a glance at him would provide me with comfort and assurance that everything would be all right with us, with our family, our church, with the entire world. My father was talking to God, and God heard him, because after the silent prayer, my father’s eyes shone with joy.
    I loved my father, but his death was a relief for everybody. It was painful to see a robust energetic man consumed by illness. He was fading before our eyes. Just in a few weeks his black hair became totally gray, then the hair thinned and a permanent paleness settled on his face. I suddenly saw how big his head was. The tiny wrinkles that just recently appeared only when he laughed, remained on his face forever, and we all, trying to cheer him up, lied to him saying that today he looked better, and he lied to us too playing the same game. Despite the drugs and daily shots, the pain had never let him go. We all could  see it in his eyes, could hear it in his groans, which he tried to hold up when being with us, and would let go when he thought that no one was around. He knew he was dying and we all knew it too.
    Nevertheless, when I learned that father had died, I felt lost. The vision of his stern face with tightly closed eyes never left me those days.  I wasn’t sure that in my own prayers I would ever be able to get so close to God.  I suddenly felt lost among quantities of other people of different beliefs and races whom God sees as a vast crowd of creatures, whose vague chaotic prayers scarcely reach him.
    Other than the church van, no cars were seen in the parking lot.  I drove to the parallel street behind the building, stopped at the curb, and walked to the back of the church.
     It is always a bit eerie to find yourself alone in a huge building. I remember I read some story about a person who would come to a theater late in the night. He was a theater director, or playwright, something like that. So, when no one was in the building, he would sneak into the show hall to sit in one of the boxes. It was more than a hundred years ago, no electricity just candles.  There was not a single light in the whole building. He would sit silently in the box, peering into the pitch darkness of the huge hall, which not long ago was full of light, music, and spectators.  The man sat, listening to the silence, feeling the presence of the stage where the play was on just a few hours ago. The darkness of the deserted hall was coal black, and the silence was total. I remember nothing more of the story, just this impression.
    Trying not to make noise I opened the door and punched the code on the pad. The red light changed to green.
    The minister’s office was on the second floor. All I had to do was pass the side door of the sanctuary, go upstairs, and then to the office at the end of the corridor.
    The ‘Exit’ sign inside provided enough light to see part of the hallway and the staircase, on the top of which another dim light was constantly on.
     Trying not to think about the emptiness of the building, I locked the door and walked to the staircase.  I had already touched the handrail when a sudden thought stopped me on the way. The thought was crazy but it didn’t leave.
    I walked to the sanctuary’s door and touched the handle. Yes, I wanted to sit for a while in the empty hall, on my father’s chair.
    I opened the door to the sanctuary a crack and startled hearing a sudden noise. I froze, holding the door ajar, and the sound repeated. An unpleasant wave ran through under my hair. Somebody was in the sanctuary. I heard coughing, and then a piano chord. The chord repeated, this time stronger, than more chords followed and finally music, loud and chaotic, started in a full force.
    I opened the door wider and looked inside.
    First, I saw the rows of empty seats running into the darkness. The music still wasn’t recognizable, just powerful sounds taken from all the range of the keyboard. They thundered in a weird harmony.
    In the bright beam of the spotlight I saw Roman, a very talented musician who recently appeared in our church. He was from Lithuania, or some other Baltic country, and he played piano like no one else ever did in our town. Actually, as he once said himself, he was a gypsy. Maybe because of that he wore a ling thick and curly hair and bushy beard which rarely had been trimmed. Roman was slim, his eyes were large and coal black. His face as if chiseled of a dark sand rock always was a bit nervous when he talked to someone and calm when he was left alone.  Now, sitting at the grand piano, Roman had nothing but black swimming shorts on. That stopped me at the door. It was cold, but he didn’t even feel it playing with tremendous vigor. His hands flew over the keys, muscles moved under his skin, the dust disturbed from the top of the piano swam in the bright beam of light, and the music, presently even more energetic sounded louder and louder. 
    Fascinated, I stood at the door hesitating to leave. Roman certainly expected no one to be here, but I couldn’t move from my place. The musician’s fingers beat the keys even more violently, the music came to the point of the highest density of sounds. Then Roman suddenly stopped, and the dead stillness was filled only with my heartbeat.
    “Would you mind closing the door, please?” Roman said, and I immediately did what he asked.
    Still, not turning around he touched the keys again, first indecisively as if vexation caused by my intrusion came to his hands, then with force as if trying to regain what he started.  This time he played something very familiar, I would say painfully familiar. The music I had heard many times not caring about the title.  Since Roman didn’t ask me to leave, just to close the door, I sat on the nearby chair.  Not wishing it to crack under my weight, I sat on the very edge of it. The musician played, paying no attention to me, and I decided to move closer. I sat about twenty feet from him, watching his profile and hands running over the keyboard.
    The music got to its end and another one had started. I knew the composer.
     “This is Rachmaninoff.” I couldn’t help exclaiming when Roman was through with the piece.
    He, at last, looked at me.
    “Right.” He said. “What about this?” He started to play again.
    “Mozart! That is Mozart!” I cried out, and he laughed.
    “What music do you love?” He asked still playing.
    “Oh, I love Tchaikovsky.” I said.
    “What exactly?”
    “This theme, from Swam Lake. It goes like – here, I hummed the tune and Roman picked it up with his piano.
    I was in heaven. Listening to a live piano is always most impressive, it couldn’t even be compared with radio or CD no matter what quality of sound your stereo can provide. If the musician is good, the sound of a real piano penetrates to your very heart. But if the musician is genius, if he plays like God, and plays only for you in the empty sanctuary in the middle of the night, plays your favorite piece, you’d be impressed with the music a million times more.
     Soon after playing a few pieces for me Roman stopped noticing his listener. He was all in a sweat like a gymnast in the middle of his routine.  He played by memory, one musical piece after another. I wasn’t even familiar with most of them but they all sounded great.
     Like that an hour or even more passed. At last Roman stopped and rubbed his hands. I sat quietly. The musician paused and started to play something tranquil. The sounds were coming from under his hands as if carefully measured. The melody was kind of tragic like a nocturne, but at the same time there was something encouraging in it. The music went on and on as if telling something that can not be delivered in words. It was a perfect harmony.
     The final deep chord sounded and I shivered.
      “What was it?” I asked.
      Roman startled as if he didn’t expect that I still was around, looked at me briefly, and said.
      “Just one of my own compositions. I call it Cry Out as we May.”
      “Strange title... I’ve heard or read it somewhere, don’t remember...” I said.
      Roman looked at me briefly and closed the lid over the keys.
      “Excuse me, I’m tired. I have to go.” He said.
      I wanted to talk more about the melody and its strange name, but Roman picked up his sweater from the floor and stood up. I felt that he was mad at me as if I’ve said something impolite. Confused I said my good bye and left the sanctuary.
    “Cry out as we may...” I’ve certainly met it before. I thought driving home.
       
*   *   *

      “Hey Joe,” I heard when I got back home. It was Larry my neighbor. He was smoking on his front porch in the darkness.
      “Hi Larry, what’s up?” I said back.
      “Listen, did you expect someone to come to your place tonight?”
      “No.” I answered in surprise. “Why?”
      “A couple of guys stopped by not long ago. I was sitting on the porch smoking, they didn’t see me. They rang your bell then knocked on the door. Then they got some keys and tried to open it up. Here I said you must be out and they looked at me. The small one said you left them the key, but it didn’t work. I didn’t like it, I said they’d better come back later when you were here.”
      “A small one?”
      “Yeah, one was tall with a pony tail the other one short and skinny with an earring, shaved like a billiard ball. I didn’t see any more. The small one spoke funny with an accent.”
      “I know no one like that. With an accent? What did they say.”
      “Nothing. Just left, that’s it.”
      “Thanks Larry. It all sounds strange. Should I call the police?” I asked.
      “They probably wont buy it, though who knows, maybe they are after some guys of that type. You can call me if they show up. I’ll be at home.”
      “Thank you, Larry.” I said trying to catch the lock with my key. I missed it twice before I got the door opened.
      I locked it after myself and walked through the rooms checking the windows. In the broom closet I found a security bar and installed it at the back door.
     Who could it be? I had no idea. I had to let the police know, but what would I say?
     In the kitchen I picked up the receiver but instead of the dial tone I heard somebody’s breathing.
   “Hello?” I asked.
    “Hi Joe, this is Aunt Stella. How are you?”
    “Thanks Aunt Stella, I’m fine.” I tried to sound normal
    Aunt Stella was my Dad’s cousin’s wife. Her real name was Doris, but she liked to be called Stella. She went to our church and was my Mom’s very close friend, at least pretended to be. I don’t remember Mom having close friends at all, but Aunt Stella always was around and she loved to introduce herself as Mom’s friend and relative. Thanks to her, Mom was always aware of all the church gossip, which Aunt Stella always knew first.  She drove a pretty old, though still shiny Mercedes and lived in a small house, not far from the Riverwalk with her husband who was much older than her. Unlike her husband, who used to spend his days at home, Aunt Stella couldn’t remain at one place for more than a few minutes. She was of petite size, wore bright dresses and a fluffy blond wig, which often confused men who seeing her rear expected to find a lovely girl at her front. She loved to browse flea markets, garage sales, and craft shows where she talked to people, and considered buying different trifles though rarely buying anything for real. She had a pointed nose, pink make up on her thin cheeks, and small sharp eyes. Aunt Stella knew everything about everybody. She had known me since my childhood and felt all right asking me lots of questions. Her hidden passion was alcohol, and sometimes, after a shot of brandy she called me just to talk. This time I was even glad to hear her voice.
    “I’m trying to get in touch with your Mom, but she is not at home. I talked to Gary, but he has no idea where she is. Her cell phone is not answering and I need to talk to her.” Aunt Stella said.
    “She is probably still at the Airport, or on the way home.” I said, realizing that she certainly sounded sober this time.   
    “At the Airport? Why?”
    I recalled that Mom didn’t want me to tell anyone about Uncle Jack’s arrival, so I said,
    “I don’t really know, maybe I’m wrong, she just mentioned something like that in the morning.”
    “What did she mention?”
    “I’m not sure, maybe it wasn’t an Airport at all, I don’t know.” I mumbled.
    “Hmm,” She said. “All right, get well, I’ll call her again tomorrow.” And she hung up.
    The red light was flashing on my answering machine. It was Lisa asking me to call.
    She answered on the third ring; her voice was sleepy.
    “Lisa, listen,” I said, some guys were trying to break into my house.
    Lisa laughed and asked me what else I’d invent to spend the night with her.
    “I’m serious,” I said, “My neighbor saw two guys at my door. They said I gave them a key and I didn’t.”
    “So what?” She yawned.
    “Should I call to police?”
    “A real man certainly would.” She said snorting.
    “You asked me to call back.” I said to change the topic.
    “I talked to my brother. He said your Uncle Jack is quite notorious in Australia. He doesn’t know much about him, but he wanted me to call him back in the morning. Will you pay the bill?”
     “Of course, I will. What did he say?”
     “How will you pay, again with your credit card?”
     “I’ll find the money, don’t worry. What did he say?”
     “He said that your uncle is kind of eccentric.  Is everyone in your family a little bit strange?”
      “Everyone is except my Mom.  Tell me more, please.” 
      “Actually, there is not much I can tell. Your uncle, Jack Volgeen avoids appear on public. His name popped up once a few years ago when some politicians were accused in bribery, but since the man is known as a philanthropist, no one could prove anything. His donations have stopped since then. For more than tree years nothing was heard of him. He lives with a few servants.  That’s all I’ve learned.”
    “Then why is he coming?”
    “Are you asking me? Why don’t you talk to him tomorrow?”
    “Oh, I will.”
    “Great.  Have you found the portrait in the book?”
    “Yes, of course! Wasn’t I right. This Prince looks like me, doesn’t he?”
    “No.  You look like him some way, but the similarity is still remote.”
    “What do you mean “still remote?” Could it somehow get closer?”
    “I hope it will one day.”
    “Lisa, please stop puzzling me. Listen, may I see you? May I come, right now?”
    “No, it won’t work. I’m tired and I want to sleep. Unlike someone, I have to get up at six thirty to be at work on time.  Bye Joseph. See you some other time.”
    “Bye Lisa,” I said. “I love you.”
    There was no reply. She’d already hung up.
    Though I pretended I didn’t understand what Lisa meant, I knew what it was. Prince Gordunov wouldn’t bother police with such a trifle. He would meet the robbers on his own, a sword in his hand. His chivalry wouldn’t allow him to ask his dame of heart whether he should call for help.
    I took a sleeping pill and went to my bachelor bed.


  *   *   *

    It was late morning when I woke up. I stretched my hand for the phone. Mom’s number was busy.  In the kitchen I started to load the coffee maker, but recalled that I still was out of filters. I thought that Mom’s coffee is always much better and went to dress myself.
    I tried to call again but Mom’s line was still busy. Mom calls phone-talking a waste of time. I hung up and thought that with the arrival of Uncle Jack much could change at Mom’s place.  If he had come at some other time when Mom was alone everything would be different, but now when Gary came from Washington with his wife and his mother-in-law, it was hard to predict how it all would end up. I wasn’t sure that today Mom would be glad to see me, so it was good that the phone was busy, at least I wasn’t asked to come over some other time.
    The same guard touched the peak of his cap saluting me from his booth.  This time he opened the gate even before I aligned my side window with the keypad. I drove to the end of the cul-de-sac and saw that the last overhead door of the three-car garage was up.  Mom used the third box for guest’s cars only, never for her own.  Uncle Jack arrived by plane, Gary’s Corvette was in the driveway. My brother never bothered to put it under the roof. Who could it be? I thought pulling closer.
     Inside the garage I saw the familiar rear of a Lincoln Town Car that belonged to Reverend Willard, our Minister.  That was strange. Very strange. The Minister had to be gone to Brazil this morning to visit with his brother. Did something change, and if it did, what was he doing here?  I remember only one occasion when Reverend Willard came to visit my Mom. It was exactly ten years ago on the day that my Dad passed away.  Had anyone died? Who?
    While thinking like that, I was sitting in my car with my foot on the brake, staring at the car in garage.
    I heard a light click and the overhead door started to slide down.
    Mom was waiting for me at the front door. She was in a blue dress, her hair neatly arranged as if she was awaiting guests. Actually, there were guests in the house. That’s why I came, but I didn’t expect Reverend Willard to be Mom’s guest this morning.
    “Has someone died?” I asked getting out of the car, but Mom didn’t answer. She came closer, opened my jacket, and snatched out the envelope from my inner pocket.
    Oh, how could I forget about it, oh no…
    “I’m sorry Mom.” I said. “I’m really sorry. That’s why Reverend Willard is here? He couldn’t leave without the money?”
     “What nonsense! Not at all.”
     “Then why…” I started, but she turned around and walked to the door. I walked after her thinking, what could I use for an excuse. Nothing was coming to my mind. 
     When we were about to enter, I heard the noise of tires and turned around. Aunt Stella’s Mercedes pulled into the driveway and stopped behind Gary’s car.
     “Oh, my God!” I heard Mom murmur. “Go talk to Gary. He is upstairs.” Mom said to me. “Go!” She repeated.
     I waved to Aunt Stella with my hand and hurried inside.
     Gary wasn’t upstairs. He was standing in the middle of the living room looking outside where Mom and Aunt Stella stood talking.
     “Hi, what’s up.” He said. “What’s this old chicken come here for?”
     Gary was able to give Aunt Stella even stronger definition. Arrogance was his life style. Still feeling upset because of the damn envelope I said,
     “I don’t know.”
     “Hey, what’s wrong with you? Are you in trouble?”  He asked as though I was a schoolboy.
     “I am.” I said.
     “What is it this time?”
     I said nothing.
     “Mom has been dressed up since early morning.” Gary said thoughtfully. “The priest dressed like a funeral director came with his suitcase, as if to settle here. What is it all about?”
     “I don’t care.” I said.
     “Find out, Joe. I’ll tell the women, you will provide the explanations. They will eat you alive if you don’t.
       Before I protested Gary walked upstairs.
       What a fool I was? How could I forget to leave the stupid envelope in the church?
      I’d better leave, I thought. I stood from the armchair and walked to the back door.  Soon they would come inside and I could get to my car to drive away. What an idiot!
     In the worst mood, I walked around the house and stopped behind the bushes waiting till my way out would be cleared.
     I heard Aunt Stella say.
     “You can imagine how surprised I was when I saw him driving alone. I followed him to the gate, and then I just sat in my car not daring to drive after, until, you know… I thought something terrible happened. I thought I could be a hand.”
    “I tell you Doris, everything is all right. Our mutual friend arrived yesterday very unexpectedly and Reverend Willard decided to postpone his trip. Nothing else. Please, excuse me, I’m very busy, it would be best if you left right now. Come back tonight. We still plan on having the dinner.”
    “Of course I’ll come. I have to call my barber, maybe he has some cancellations today. How should I look.”
    “Just casually.  And please, don’t talk to anyone about it.”
    “Of course, I wouldn’t. Thanks Katherine.”
    Mom stood in the driveway until Aunt Stella’s Mercedes got to the security gate. Then she turned around and walked, passing the front door to the bushes behind which I was standing. She was walking to the guesthouse and I was right on her way. Last thing in the world I wished was to be found eavesdropping, so I retreated behind the corner, quickly walked along the rear wall and sneaked through a slightly opened kitchen door.
     At the island stove with a bunch of frying pans and kettles suspended from the rack above I saw a cook whom Mom used to invite to fix big meals.  The man was frying something in the boiling oil and didn’t hear me walk in.  Another man was standing at the small side stove stirring something in a white sauce pan. He looked at me, gave me a nod full of dignity and, as it seemed, instantly forgot about me. The man was dressed in black slacks and a smoking jacket with a collar of shiny black silk. His hair and sideburns were neatly trimmed, he was shaved to the blue on his skin, there was a white butterfly tie on his white shirt.
     Something buzzed and the man touched his watch stopping the noise. He put his spoon aside, placed the sauce pan on the tray, covered it with a lid and a clean waffle towel.
    Holding the tray on one hand above his shoulder he nodded courteously and walked out of the door through which I walked in.
   I wanted to ask the cook who the man was, but I didn’t remember the cook’s name. He flipped something in his frying pan and the oil burbled even louder.
   Unnoticed I crossed the kitchen and went upstairs along the smaller staircase to the poolroom, where I hoped to sit for a while alone.
   “Joseph,” I heard as soon as I reached the upper floor.  It was Gary’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Wortley, as she would introduce herself, or Susan, as she wanted my Mom, Gary and me to call her. I looked around hoping to see Gary, or Margaret, his wife, who would spare me from the woman, but no one else was in the room. “Joseph, have you seen him?” Susan asked in a loud whisper.
   “Who?” I asked dragging myself up the last steps.
   “The servant. Oh, I can tell, this servant is of an excellent school. I used to have one like him. You just look how he moves. Come over here, come. Look.”
   I approached the window to see the man with the tray, he was entering the door of the guesthouse.
   “Who is he, tell me.”
   “A servant.” I said.
   “Oh, Joseph, you know who I mean.  The man who arrived yesterday, the one whom Katherine placed in the guest house.”
   “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask my Mom.”
   “I did. She said it is a friend of hers. I didn’t see him yet and I can’t stand waiting. She was preparing the guesthouse for him all day yesterday. She didn’t do it for us.”
   “There were enough rooms here, I guess.” I said trying to find an excuse to leave.
   “Yes, it must be a very special friend of hers. I’ve never seen your mother so concerned. How old is he?”
   “Mom? She is seventy two, I think.”
   “No, not your Mom, I said he, this friend of hers.”
   “How do I know?” I obviously didn’t sound polite, but Susan decided not to mind it.
   “Please, go find out all you can. I have a feeling that this man is an extremely important person. I won’t forget it Joseph.” She pulled me to her and looked at me as if I was her lover. It made me look pale and she let me go.
   “I’d better be going.” I said
   “Wait, she whispered. Do me a favor. Could you go buy me some perfume? I’m out of it. I’ll write it down for you. Wait a minute.”
    She rushed down to her bedroom, and, not giving me a chance to escape, returned in a second with her purse.
    “Here is the money,” she said fishing out a few bank notes. “That’s what I need.” She wrote something on a piece of paper. “Go to Colleen’s, they must have it. Don’t tell anyone and, please, bring it back before tonight. Save me, my friend.” She finished pleadingly.
    “But this is a lot of money.” I protested. “Perfume wouldn’t cost that much.”
    “The one I want you to buy is expensive. This is the most exquisite scent. It used to be my deadly weapon. Please, go!” And she waved with her hand the way that, apparently, was another weapon in her arsenal.
    Oh, my God! I thought. Why hadn’t I refused? Her deadly weapon! She wants to conquer Uncle Jack with help of Joseph-the-Loony, her faithful man at arms.
    I hated myself.
    I stuffed the money and the note into my pocket and went downstairs.  I didn’t want Mom to see me leaving so I walked to the front door. True, it would have been better if I hadn’t come here at all. 
    I was already at the door when I heard Gary’s voice from upstairs,
    “Hey Joe, let me show you something. It’s in my car.”
    He rushed down and just pushed me out the door.  “Keep walking,” he whispered leading me under the elbow to his Corvette. “Get in,” he said in a normal tone and opened the passenger door for me.
    “Listen,” Gary dropped himself in the driver’s seat. “I want you to do something for me. It is very important. Go to the Paradise, they are open at two, and ask for Sabrina. Give this to her. He gave me a folded piece of paper, which I automatically took from him.
    “What Paradise?” I asked.
    “The gentlemen’s club on seventy first. Come on, you know the place.”
    “I’ve seen it, but I have never been inside.”
    “That’s even better. Now you have an excuse. Oh brother, had you started going to places like that a long time ago you would be a married man with a few children by now.”
    “But I don’t want to…”
    “If you don’t want to get married, you don’t have to. Just give this note to the girl and leave. Don’t look at her for long or she will really make you want to marry her. Tell her it is from me. That’s it. Here, it will be in your pocket.”
    Gary opened my jacket and inserted the note into the same pocket where I put his mother’s-in-law money.
    “Why won’t you do it yourself?” I tried to protest.
    “Are you nuts? Don’t you understand? Margaret never takes her eyes off me. She even checks my cell phone records. And keep your mouth shut about that.”
    “But…”
    But Gary was already getting out of the car.  Determined to return him the note, I got out too, but saw Mom coming to us from the guesthouse.
    “Just showed him how the music sounds in my car.” Gary said to Mom on the way to the front door.
    “Ma,” I began when she approached me, “I’m sorry...”
    “Just forget about it.” She said.
    “I felt so bad when you found it on me.” I said with relief. “You know Mom, I was in the church last night, but I found Roman, the pianist practicing in the sanctuary. Mom, if you would only hear, how he played! I forgot everything when listening to him.”
    “I understand.” She said. “What are your plans for the day?”
    I wanted to answer that I’ve got to buy perfume for Susan, and to deliver a note for Gary, but it all was so stupid and shameful that I answered.
    “Nothing special.”
    “Don’t forget about the dinner tonight. It has been ten years since father died.”
    “May I bring Lisa?” I asked.
    Mom considered it for a moment and said,
    “You may, if you want to. But please, don’t tell her anything about Uncle Jack. He is just a relative, no more than that. All right?”
     “All right.” I said lowering my eyes.
     “Also, don’t tell anyone that Reverend Willard had cancelled his trip to stay with us. Do you understand? Don’t tell anyone that Reverend Willard is in town.”
    “But what is he doing here, what happened?” I asked.
    “Nothing happened. Uncle Jack and Mr. Willard were friends in high school.”
    “Is Reverend Willard from New Jersey too? I thought he is from somewhere else”
    Mom gave me a stare and said,
    “Okay Joseph, they just need to talk. This is very important. Please, be quiet about it.”
    “Mom, I’m sorry. I lied to you. I have already told Lisa about Uncle Jack.” I said looking at my feet.
    Mom was silent for a moment, then she said.
    “It’s good that you’ve told me.”
    “Mom, may I ask the pianist to come and play for us?”
    “The pianist?” I saw that first she was ready to answer no, but she thought for a moment and said. “You may ask him to play for us. Tell him I’ll pay any reasonable charge.”
    I almost jumped with joy.
    “Thank you Mom,” I exclaimed, kissing her on her cheeks. “I’ll tell him that it is a very private gathering.  I’ll go find him right away.”
   “Be sure that he is dressed properly.”
   “I’ll take care of everything.” I said, opening the door of my car.
   As soon as I passed the gate, I pressed on the gas so hard that my tires squealed over the asphalt.  At the stop sign I slowed down a bit and rushed along the evergreen wall.  At the next curve I saw a car blocking my way. I pressed on the brakes and swerved to the left. With the shrill of tires I stopped scarcely missing Aunt Stella’s Mercedes.
    “Joseph!” She exclaimed getting out of the car. “You almost killed me. What makes you drive so crazy?”
    Aunt Stella was pale, I could see I scared her to death.  I got out of the car.
   “I’m sorry, Aunt Stella, I mumbled with my hands trembling. I didn’t expect anyone to block the road.”
    “I just stopped for a few seconds to make a phone call, I was ready to drive on and here you are, rushing like hell!” Aunt Stella was coming to herself. “Tell me what’s happened. Where are you going?”
    That was not a bad question at all.  When passing the gate, I was driving to the YWCA apartments to find Roman, but when I saw the rear of her Mercedes, I was certainly rushing to Lisa’s office.
     “I’m very busy. I have a few very important things to do.”
     “Oh, yeah? I understand, such a hectic day isn’t it?  I too have a lot of things to do before tonight. What business do you have, maybe I can help?”
     I had an idea to transfer Susan’s assignment to Aunt Stella, she certainly had a better understanding of perfumes, but I recalled that Aunt Stella had to visit her barber and she said she had another things to do.
    “N-no. There is nothing important, just… I’ll do it myself, no problem. Thank you, anyway.”
    “Oh, my heart; it is still beating so fast.” Aunt Stella put her hand on her chest.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, “really sorry about that.”
    “Never mind, it’ll pass. Listen Joseph, I actually wanted you to do me a favor, just a mere trifle, would you?”
    “Sure.” I said being happy to talk about something else.
    “You know, I forgot to ask your Mom would it be okay to bring Tracy to the dinner tonight, and frankly, I don’t want to disturb your Mom any more.”
    “You can bring her over alright, Tracy is your daughter, why should you ask? I didn’t know she was in town.”
     “She is. And thanks for treating her that kindly. But, you know, with these special guests… I’m not sure I can do it without asking first. Maybe you can invite Tracy? You were big friends in the past after all.”
     “Yes, we were…” I said, “but you know… I haven’t seen her for so many years. I’m not sure, well… I don’t feel comfortable enough just to call her, you know…”
     “Oh, don’t worry about that. It is just a reason to take her to the dinner. She won’t come without being expected.  You don’t even have to call. I’ll tell her that it was you who invited her, may I?”
    “Sure you may!” I said with relief; Aunt Stella could burden me with much larger tasks.
    “Then, see you tonight. Thanks!” She said returning to her car. I, at last, was free to go.
 
*   *   *

      I could talk to Lisa any time.  So, I turned to the expressway and in a few minutes took the exit to Downtown.  I saw a car taking up the parking space and stopped at the meter not far from the entrance to the YMCA building.  In a minute I was walking through the double glass doors to the elevators. On my right there was a big room with tables and chairs scattered about stained linoleum. On the left there was an office obscured with curtains behind the clerk window. I knocked on the window, but received no answer. Some fellows speaking Spanish passed by me walking out, I addressed them, but they paid no attention. I knocked on the window again, this time louder, and heard somebody’s voice,
    “They ain’t here, Pal. D’you need a room?”
    A black man about fifty-years-old dressed in an undershirt and greasy jeans looked at me from the corridor.
    “No, thanks. I’m looking for a man.” I said.
    “What man you looking for?”
    “His name is Roman, he is a musician. Do you know where he lives, in what apartment?”
    “Do I know Rod…” The man said with a strange expression on his face. “Sure I do. What d’you need him for?”
    “I have business…” I started and saw that the man wouldn’t buy it. “Okay,” I said to cut the talk short. “I want him to play at a party.”
    “At a party…” The man repeated after me as if considering how much to charge for the music. He looked me all over again and said reluctantly. “Okay pal, follow me. I’ll take you to Rod’s”
    The way he pronounced the name was strange, but maybe around here Roman was nicknamed Rod? We took the elevator and went to the sixth floor. The man didn’t talk to me any more. I followed him along the corridor to the very end. He knocked on a door. There was no answer. He knocked again and again – there was no answer. My heart sank.
    “Looks like he is not in.” I said in disappointment.
    “He is. Probably got too much dope yesterday.” Answered my guide and he started to hit the door with his open palm as hard as he could. “Open this damn door, open up, Rod!” He cried, pressed on the handle of the door and it flung open – it wasn’t even locked.
    I was taken aback with the smell. The apartment we entered looked miserable. There were pieces of clothes and old pizza boxes on the dirty floor, a large poster with a naked girl sitting on a motorcycle was fixed on the window to shade the light, a few other posters of the same kind hung on the walls. Empty beer bottles and paper plates stained with ketchup covered the table. Two electric guitars stood against a huge stage amplifier, another guitar lay on the floor next to a shabby sofa on which a man was sound asleep.  I immediately realized that it wasn’t the pianist, but I hadn’t had a chance to say that.
    “Wake up, Rod! Wake up, I tell you!  Oh shit! Wake up, this dude wants us to play, he hired us for tonight.”
    “Wait, it’s not him.” I said.
    “What d’you mean not him? You said you need Rod. This is Rod, damn him. He’ll be all right, don’t worry. Wake up I said.”
    “I’m sorry, it is not whom I was looking for,” I said on the way out.
    “You what? You want to cancel?” My guide, being not able to wake up the man on the sofa, turned his anger at me. I saw how he clenched his fists. “It will cost you, Pal. You said you want him to play, here he is. I tell you he will play. I’ll make him. If you change your mind you’ll have to pay a cancellation fee, that’s how it is.”
    Oh no, I thought feeling dizzy with the stench.  What a fool I am.
    I excused myself, turned around and walked to the elevator, but the man grabbed my sleeve.
    “You’ll pay me!” He yelled spitting saliva into my face, his eyes sparkling,. “You promised to pay and you will!”
    “Okay,” I said wishing to get out of the place as soon as possible. “How much do you want?”
    “Cancellation is twenty bucks.” The man blurted out still holding his grip on my jacket.
    I had Susan’s money in my inner pocket, but I was smart enough not to flash all that in front of the robber.  Than I recalled that I had a twenty-dollar bill in my wallet, so I took it out and handed it to the man.
   “Wait, I’ll write you a receipt,” he said, released me and walked back to his friend’s apartment.
    I didn’t wait for the receipt.  Fortunately, the elevator’s doors opened as soon as I pressed the button.  In a minute I was in my car driving away from the place.
    I was so upset that I didn’t even care where I drove. Should I go to the police to tell them what happened?  How would it help? With the twenty bucks the man is certainly gone from the building for the rest of the day.
    What an idiot, I kept cursing myself driving away. What a fool!
    It is something in my eyes? In my life, I’ve never met a therapist who wouldn’t recognize my peculiarities at first glance. The street scamps are even better psychologists.  Why else, scanning quantities of people coming their way, would they choose me to ask for a dollar, to sell me something, or even worse, just to mug me?
    There is probably a whole country of people like me in the United States. People with disturbed souls, emotional people, people with keen perception. People with so called Anxiety Disorders, with different forms of Schizophrenia, with Paranoia, Narcissism.
     In the Abnormal Psychology book I read, one professor stated that if you will combine all Americans with Schizophrenia together, you will get the number equal to the population of both Kansas and some other state. 
    A sudden idea to unite all these unique people together came to my mind.  What a beautiful country we all could make! Yes, we would ask the Congress to let us all settle in some low populated state, Utah, or some other one like that, and there, at last, we would never need to hide our eyes from therapists and street punks. We would elect our own Government of the best of us, we would have our own scientists, brilliant teachers, skillful workers, sportsmen, we would never allow any therapist even to approach our boarders and how they all would squirm around loosing their money on empty asylum beds. Instead of the therapists we would have philosophers-consultants. I would take the responsibility to organize the network of such consultants on myself. I would advise people what to read, in what way to think, how to be happy with our unique, acute perception of the world with which the Almighty Creator has blessed us.
     Oh, I loved the idea! I even started to compose a letter to the President in my mind.  First, I had to ask him to become his nominee for the office of inspector of mental institutions to find the most gifted freaks, to bring them the good news that their life is not yet totally ruined, that they still have the chance.  Together we would help millions of unfortunate people to believe in themselves, to start from scratch.  We would provide them with a new philosophy, we would put it in verses, and we would make our state’s anthem of it. 
    I even started to hum some exuberant tune, but suddenly another melody came to my mind. It was Cry Out as We May, the thoughtful music written by Roman. The destiny song. It sounded in my head so clearly that I trembled all over and pulled into a small parking lot at the River Park.
   The music sounded as some warning. Following its sounds I’ve realized that all my exuberance was worthless. The kingdom of loonies will never happen, cry out as we may we will never be heard. We all are destined to carry our abnormalities each on his own.
   Feeling sad and distressed I  got out of the car and walked to the trees at the water’s edge. There was no pass way there, so I pried through the bushes. Paying no attention to the thorns on my way, stumbling on the roots I walked out to the stripe of sand at the very edge of the water. The sky was gray, the wind was gusty, the water was crumpled with waves. A few gulls flew over to me expecting to be fed but I had nothing to offer.
    Cry out as we may… Where have I heard it?

*   *   *

     My neighbor's truck stood with its hood open at the curb. Larry, his head deep in the engine, worked on his old vehicle.
     "Do you need help, Larry?" I asked approaching.
     Larry got out and straightened his back with a light groan.
     "They were here again." He said wiping his hands with a rug.
     "Who?" 
     "The guys from yesterday. I saw them taking off when I got back home.  Your door looks all right I checked on that. Did you call to police yesterday?"
    "I didn't. I didn't have much to say."
    "That's true. You better check inside, maybe they were in?"
    Together, we walked to my door. It didn't look different. Everything inside looked normal as well. We walked through the rooms, I even opened the closet doors but found nothing unusual. Everything looked untouched.
    "Who are they?" I asked.
    "You tell me. Yesterday they said you gave them the key."
    "I'd better call the police." I said.
    "Call them." Larry said. “If they need to talk to me, I’ll be at home by six.”
    And he left.
    I walked through the rooms again.
    In the kitchen I took the phone from the wall to dial 911, but stopped. Whoever they were, let them go to hell. To hell with the police too. I'll call them closer to six, when Larry gets back.
     In the church directory  I found the Worship and Drama Minister. He was the only one who could help me with Roman’s phone number. I listened to the long rings, then the answering machine started with a greeting. I hung up.
     I called to the church, but no one answered there either.
     Another answering machine voice at the YMCA apartments.
     I thought about calling Lisa to invite her to eat somewhere, but her lunch time had passed and she didn’t want me to call her at work between one and three.  The idea of eating on my own at some fast food place didn’t look attractive.  When I visit those places by myself, I always notice that the hamburger is rare, the lettuce in my salad is brownish, and the coffee is bad. No, I would rather starve then eat there alone.
     I had to talk to Lisa anyway. It was just a little bit more than two hours until she was off. I decided to meet her at the office and then go somewhere together. After all I wasn’t that hungry.
    Until that time, I had to go to Colleen’s to buy the damn perfume for Susan and to visit the gentlemen’s club on Seventy First to deliver Gary’s note to Sa… What was the name of the girl? Sa… Se… So… I couldn’t recall it, something starting with S.  I could call Gary to ask for the name, but Margaret, his wife, could be nearby. How nasty it all was!         
    I could find the name in the note, but I didn’t feel right even to peep inside.  To hell with them all, I thought. There’s not that many women’s names start with S., anyway.  They will surely get whom I need to see.
    To get the perfume was an easy task. Mom had taken  me recently to Colleen’s to buy me a decent suit. Sales clerks in Colleen’s speak like the people in New York stores, but the prices there, oh my God!
    I haven’t been to a strip bar since I was a student. We celebrated something with my cronies and to swing by to a strip bar was a spontaneous idea. Looking at the dancers didn’t add enjoyment to the day, on contrary, I became sad as if I saw something grievous, such as hungry children on the street of some Third World country. I never went there again.
    It still was about two o’clock. They doubtfully dance that early I thought and rushed outside to my car.
    It took longer than I thought to reach the place. To shorten the run I took the express way, but was caught in a traffic jam. When I finally was able to exit, I found myself on an even longer route through town. It was already after three o’clock when I stopped in the parking lot with the “Paradise customers only” sign.  A big sign lifted high above the street read: “Everything your Mom wanted you to stay away from and even more!”  Another poster fixed on the rails next to the entrance promised dancing on tables and discounts on Budweiser Beer every Tuesday.
   It was Tuesday; a few cars were already parked here and there, but it still was too early for a big crowd.
   Trying not to think of what would meet me inside, I got out of the car and walked to the doors.
   After the bright day, all I could see in the dimly lit hall was a poster with a naked girl.  On my left, behind the counter, there were more photos like that.  There was no one behind the counter, and because of the music that thundered through the open door, I was sure, no one heard me enter.  I could only guess what the rules of the place were.
    The loud music inside had suddenly changed, I heard a voice. A girl started to sing, asking to take her to places where she had never been before, to the depth of the ocean, to the sky, to a sunny lagoon, with crystal water and palms around. I also heard some applause and voices of approval – something was going on inside.
    Through the open door I saw a girl with long hair dancing on the upraised floor that flashed with many colors.  An almost transparent short dress and white stockings covered her slender legs to her mid thighs. The white garments gleamed with electric blue. The girl danced around the pole of steel. She noticed me, turned around, and suddenly bent down exposing her round bottom. Like that, she greeted a new guest.
    I heard laughter around and more clapping of hands.  Feeling the attention of a few men who sat here and there at small tables I lowered my eyes, and saw that my white socks were gleaming with the same electric blue above my shoes. That was stupid.
    To hell with the place, I thought, and flashing with my damn socks walked to the bartender on the other side of the dance floor.
   “Hi! How may I help you.” The bartender recognized a different type of a visitor in me and his look couldn’t be called inviting.  Trying to ignore the dancing girl’s reflection in the mirror behind the bartender, I said,
    “I need to see a dancer here.”
    “What dancer?” He asked still studying me closely.
    “I have a note for her.”
    “Who is it from?”
    “From my brother, his name is Gary.” I said and cursed myself. There was no need to tell who Gary was.
    “Gary who?”
    “Gary Grand.”
    “Never heard of him. What’s the dancer’s name?”
    “It starts with an S.”
    “S for Sara?”
    “No, not Sara. It’s…”
    “Let me see the note.”
    “No, it is confidential, I was told to deliver it to her in person.” I said taking the note from my pocket. Seeing the note in my hands, the bartender said, “All right,” and picked up the phone. There is only one girl here whose name starts with an S. It is Sabina.”
    “Yes, that’s the name!” I exclaimed with relief.
    The bartender murmured a few words in the receiver and said to me,
    “She’ll be here in awhile. Would you like some Brandy? I have an excellent one, imported from France.”
    I wanted to answer no, I don’t drink alcohol, but I didn't want to look even more ridiculous.
   “Okay, just a bit will be fine.” I said thinking that, after all, I can leave it untouched."
   “Would you buy some for me too?” I heard behind me and turned around.
   Another girl dressed in a short leather skirt and with no bra stood there smiling at me.
   “Well… if you wish.” I uttered stunned by such an exposure.
    The bartender said,
    “The drink for her will be alcohol free. It will cost you twenty-two ninety-nine. Would you still like to buy it?”
    “Yes,” I said taking my eyes off the girl.
    “Twenty-eight fifty will be your total.”
     I didn’t have that much in my wallet, so I fished out Susan’s money from my inside pocket and gave two twenties to the bartender.  Seeing the pack of cash in my hand he looked at me differently. The girl’s eyes glowed and she brushed with her naked breasts against my elbow.
     “What’s your name?” The girl asked, sipping from her glass.
     “Joe.” I said, taking a look around  – the music stopped and the dancer was coming down from the stage holding her transparent dress in her hand. I saw bills stuck under the stripe of her g-string.
     “I haven’t seen you here before, Joe.” The girl said. “I’m Candy.  Would you like to see my show. It’ll be on in a while."
    I had mixed feelings about that, but the girl expected me to say yes.
    “Here Sabina comes.” The bartender said.
    Sabina was walking to me reflecting the green yellow and blue lights with specs in her dress. She was a bit older than the other girl, but very attractive. I thought that she was much more of a beauty than Margaret, Gary’s wife, and frowned to myself.
   She looked straight at me, touched my hand slightly and said, as if we were good friends for a long time,
    “Hi Sweetie, they say you have something for me.”
    “Yes,” I said startled. “A note from Gary.”
    “Gary who?”
    “Gary Grand.”
    “Ah… It’s been a long time…” She frowned. “Let me see it.”
   I reached for the note and handed it to her.
    “Hey Joe,” Candy said. “I have to go and change for the show. Don’t leave. Okay?” She gulped down the rest of her drink and left.
    “Well,” Sabina said, “tell him I’m surprised but that’s a good way to reconcile. I like the hotel, and the perfume too. And pass him this.” She leaned to me and gave me a kiss on my cheek. “See you. Sweetie.” She turned around and walked away leaving me in dismay.
    What perfume, I thought. I fumbled in my pocket searching for the other note, but didn’t find it. What an idiot. I gave her both notes.
     Let them all go to hell. I took my glass with brandy and sipped on it. It was creamy and smelly. I sipped again and then drank it all.
    A loud voice from a speaker somewhere under the ceiling announced the next show, I heard clapping of hands, but didn’t even look to see who was coming to the stage.
    The clock on the dashboard read 3:35. I had just about forty minutes to swing by Colleen’s to buy the perfume and to meet Lisa at her office.  Pulling to the street I saw another car taking off the parking slot behind me. I wouldn’t pay attention to it, but the driver behind me didn’t stop at the stop sign. He followed me when I made a left turn, which was quite risky. I heard squeak of tires angry honks addressed to him. For a while the stranger followed me at a close distance and I started to regret flashing money in the strip bar. Then the car pulled sidewise, we drove like that to the streetlight, but I could hardly see the driver’s face behind the tinted glass. At last he turned to the right and I drove on straight. I sighed with relief. One bad luck for the day was enough.

*   *   *

    The brandy started reaching my head; choosing side streets whenever it was possible, I eventually reached Lincoln Plaza where Colleen’s and a few other expensive stores occupied a picturesque corner of the park, that actually, was a subdivision of old and expensive mansions. 
    Cursing Susan, I left my old shabby car among shiny Cadillacs and Lexuses,, crossed the street, and walked into the store.  I thought I would see the perfume department right away, but nothing like that came into my view. 
    Looking around, I moved along the glass shelves with China and Crystal pieces, then hit the department with ladies hats, where a sales lady waved at me. “Hello, how are you doing, haven’t seen you for a while.”  It was the first time I had seen her, but she, obviously knew my Mom very well – Mom loved to buy hats here. There is a whole walk-in closet as big as a room full of hats in her house.  Thank God the sales lady was busy with some other customer.  I turned to the right and found myself next to the men’s department. The very same clerk who sold us the suite was coming to me smiling widely.
    “I’m very glad to see you again,” he said in a velvet voice, “how can I help you? I have excellent shirts, if you are interested.”
    “Thank you. Not today.” I said, and thinking that the man could be a help, I asked.
    “Would you mind showing me to the perfume department, please.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t mind doing it at all. It is on the second floor. This way please.” 
     There were no customers next to the counter with the cosmetics. I expected to see a bunch of flacons with price tags on them, but looking at the quantity of bottles of different sizes and colors I felt lost.
    “Are you looking something in particular?” The sales girl asked.
    “Well, I actually need to buy some perfume. But… I forgot what it was. What perfume do you have for the price of two hundred or so?
    “Oh, we have a couple of those brands. This is Joy by Jean Patou, very rare and costly.” She reached for a box on the shelf. The box contained a small bottle. “It has an exquisite blend of jasmine and rose, and it is especially good with a mystique blue color – we even keep a set of accessories that underline the fragrance very well.” She showed me a hat, a light scarf and gloves all of blue, arranged on a special stand.  In the background of the stand I saw a photo of a girl in the very same hat and scarf. The girl in the photo had Lisa’s eyes. 
    “Is that what you had in mind?”  She asked.
    “What? Ah, yeah…” I said turning to her. “I’m not sure. What else do you have at that price.”
    “We also have the Boudoir Perfume from the collection of the most influential British designer, Vivienne Westwood. It has a sensuous kind of innocent scent, which for best result should be softly stroked across the curve of a lady’s shoulder or the nape of the neck.”
    “Innocent, you said?” I interrupted. “That’s what I need.”
    “Let me give you a sample to smell.” She said, looking through the envelopes in her drawer. 
    “No, thanks, don't worry about that. I’ll just take it.”
    “I understand,” the girl said intimately. “That’ll be a very pleasant surprise. It looks like something important is coming up in your life.”
    “Well, yes.” I murmured, thinking what could she be imagining.
    “That’s very nice. I thought the same when I served Mrs. Grand yesterday.” The girl said.
   That was a surprise, I didn’t expect her to know who I was, but, obviously, the sales girls knew much about their customers.
   She noticed my frown and hurried to regain her previous tone.
   “It has mandarin and bergamong on the top notes and tobacco flowers, coriander, orris and, I think red roses in the middle ones. And look at the bottle, how opulent it is.”
    I recalled that Susan used to smoke, so the presence of tobacco flowers in the scent confirmed my choice.
    “Yes, that’s what I need.” I said, and once again looked at the girl in the photo, she certainly reminded me of Lisa.
    “Great choice. You have very good taste. It is two hundred twenty three dollars plus tax.” The sales girl smiled. “Will you pay with your credit card?” The girl asked
     “Cash.” I said scooping Susan’s money out of my pocket. Some thought lingered in my mind. I looked at the girl in the photo again.
     “I’m sorry, there is only two hundred twenty dollars,” I heard, and answered,
     “I’ll give you my credit card to make up the rest of it.” My voice sounded as if someone else was talking for me. Looking at the model in the photo, I suddenly felt how insulting, how unfair it was to buy the scent for that old fool Susan.
     “You know what?” I said taking my wallet out of my pocket. “I’ll take both of those. I mean, the other one, the Joy too.”
     To hell with the money, I thought, may I do something good today? If I want Lisa to have it, why not?
     “And all those accessories, the hat and all the other things too,” I said.
      In my car I decided to get organized.  First of all, I wanted to have everything ready for Lisa.  Her new hat, scarf and gloves were packed in a few neat boxes with the name of the company (I don’t remember what it was) on it.  Two boxes of the expensive scent I had bought lay in a separate bag.  I took them out and sniffed the boxes. They smelled like glue and paper. Boudoir, I read and chuckled. The title was symbolic. It was right to the point. All Susan’s life was reflected in it.
     Tobacco flowers, I thought, do they really smell of tobacco smoke?   I opened the box  (inside it looked like an expensive coffin) and took the bottle out. It didn’t smell of anything, even at the neck. I touched the crystal cut lid trying to twist it. It budged a bit.  I pulled the lid up, but it stuck, so I shook the bottle assuming that the scent would emit some gas to help me open it and I pulled the lid again. It popped out and drops of the scent fell on my pants. What a fool! I felt like I was in a flower store.  “My secret deadly weapon.”   I recalled Susan’s words and winded my side window down.
    The realization that I was in the aura of the old courtesan disgusted me. 
    I recalled that at home, under my sink, I still had a good spray with which my Grandma used to kill the cat’s smell, but I didn’t have time to swing home. Leaving my side window open I started the engine and froze.
   The same car, it was a black Buick, which followed me when I left the strip bar was parked right behind me. I could see it in my rear view mirror. The driver sat motionless at his sit watching me openly. The sun was behind him and I couldn’t see his face. I recalled the guys spotted at my place and shivered.
    I turned the key in the ignition, backed up and drove away. The car behind me didn’t move. I slowed down at the stop sign and turned right. The Buick remained motionless. I couldn’t be mistaken, it was the same car, but what it all meant. It couldn’t be just a coincidence, someone tried to intimidate me but with what purpose? 
    There were two ways the bad guy could find my car. They either had one of those satellite devices that trace a beacon attached to a car, or someone else was following me constantly. The first way was too sophisticated, the second way was easy to check. I drove for a while throughout the town changing lanes, making unexpected left turns, driving long and straight side streets, but saw nothing suspicious behind me. Maybe the appearance of the black Buick at Lincoln Plaza was accidental? Hadn’t Larry seen the strange guys at my door I would believe in that, but it all taken together left no doubts:  someone was playing tricks with me.    

*   *   *

    I turned in to Lisa’s office on time, she was walking out of the building.  I parked my car next to hers, and got out. She looked at me as if seeing a phantom.
   “What you’ve been doing all day long?” She asked.
   “Nothing special.”
   “Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Your face is scratched. And your jacket is torn. Look at this hole under your sleeve.”
   “Oh, never mind.” I said, putting my hand into the hole. True, it was big. “I probably torn it when prying through the bushes.”
   “Through what bushes?” She scowled her brows.
   “At the river walk. I had an idea to create a new state of people with all kinds of mental disorders, but…”
   “Why do you have lipstick on your cheek? And why do you smell so nasty?”
   “Oh, hell, that’s from the Paradise club, I had to be there to…”
   “And I feel you have been drinking.” Said Lisa, turning around fumbled in her purse for the car key.
   “Lisa, no! That’s not important. I’ve been at the Paradise club not for myself, I mean not at my will.”
   “That sounds intriguing but I don’t care.” She got into her car and started the engine.
   “Lisa, wait.” I cried.
   “It is harmful for you to be unemployed. Go get a job or it all will end up very bad.”
   “Lisa, no!” I yelled.
   “Calm down.” She said quietly. “Don’t make a scene next to my office, please.”
    I saw her boss coming out of the doors smiling at us and I said in a low voice,
    “I came over to invite you to have supper with us tonight. Actually, it is my Mom who wants you to come.”
    “Your Mom, or you?”
    “Oh my Goodness Lisa, of course it is I. Please Lisa, wait, I’ve bought something for you.” I pulled on the passenger door of my car but it was locked. “Wait!” I repeated, and being not sure that Lisa wouldn’t drive away, I rushed to the other side of my car and took the bags I prepared for her.”
    “What is it?”
    “Just some scent and a few accessories I’ve bought for you at Colleen’s.”
    “Don’t you think it might be insulting buying things for a girl when inviting her to go out? You don’t believe that I can take care of myself properly?“
     “No Lisa, I just saw the stuff in Colleen’s and I thought it would be a nice gift for you. I didn’t want to insult you. Please take it.”
     “You thought… “ She smiled and I couldn’t get if it was sympathy or scorn in her smile. “Why have you been shopping at Colleen’s looking like that?” She asked.
    “I didn’t know how I looked.”
    “Well, you should know. I tell you, you look terrible. Go home and clean yourself up.”
     “Lisa, please, take it.” I lifted the bags to her.
    “Okay, it will be interesting to find out what you have bought for me.”
     “Lisa, will you come with me to the supper?”
     “If your Mom is inviting me, I can’t deny it. At what time?”
     “Seven thirty.” I answered with joy.
     “Alright. Pick me up after seven.”
     “Lisa, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, let’s go to McDonalds.”
     “Are you really crazy?  Just think, who invites a girl for a good supper and feeds her with fries and a burger first?” She backed up her car and said, “See you after seven.” 
    In a few yards she stopped.
    “Hey, Joseph,” Lisa said. “I forgot to tell you. I spoke with my brother again this morning. He made some inquiries about your Uncle Jack.”
    “Great, what did he learn?”
    “Not much. He was told that Mr. Volgeen is still living quietly at his remote country house, which he never leaves. Since the man who is visiting your Mom can not be an impostor, the man must have a very special reason to come.”
    “What reason?” I asked Lisa laughed saying,
    “How do I know.”
    She drove away.
 
*   *   *

    Lisa’s car soon disappeared among the others, but I still stood in the parking lot thinking over her words “He must have a very special reason to come.”  What on earth could bring Uncle Jack to Mom’s? What made the old hermit travel to the other side of the world?  If Mom knew, she would never share it with me because Gary, Margaret, or Susan would pull it out of me pretty quick.
   If only Uncle Jack would have come a week earlier, or a week after, everything would be different, but with the other guests in her house, Mom had to stay on alert. Especially with Susan, who has chased millionaires all her life. Gary and Margaret also couldn’t be called the best company for the occasion. They came for money and Uncle Jack is a notorious philanthropist. It was bitter to admit, but hadn’t they not been in need, they would never come to keep Mom’s company on the tenth universally of our father death.
    Dad told Gary and me that without Mom, Grand’s Gas and Oil would never survive. He felt he would die soon and he wanted us to follow Mom’s advice like he did. I always did what Mom wanted me to, though she didn’t expect much of me. Whatever I did seemed to satisfy her, but Gary… Oh, he often gave Mom a hard time.  All because of the money Dad had left for us. In his will our father stated that we couldn’t use the money left for us for fifteen years. It was invested in different funds and for the time it had to grow substantially. He stated some conditions at which the money could be withdrawn before the time, such as Stock Market crash, emergencies, which lead to financial difficulties of the family, death of one of us, brothers… All the decisions had to be made by our Mom. When our attorney read the will, he explained that at the end of the fifteen-year term the amount which was left for us would have grow up to fifty million dollars.  That’s what Dad had in mind to secure our future. Upon his death we received fifteen thousand dollars each.
    That was all right with me, but not with Gary. He wanted his portion without delay. He said that he counted on that money, that he had his own plans how to manage it, but Mom didn’t even want to listen. She found that Gary had already made a few expensive purchases including a brand new Corvette and she became furious.  She declared that if Gary didn’t calm down, she would execute her right to revise the will, which plunged Gary in even deeper disappointment. Finally, Mom agreed to pay off his new car and his enormous credit card debt on condition that he would pay it back when the fifteen-year term was up.
     Mom loves Gary as much as she does me, but in a different way. Gary and she are pretty much alike. They both are persistent in reaching goals, both inventive, both act surely without delay. Their attitude to life however is quite different. Mom is always concerned about decency of what she is doing; Gary, on the contrary, doesn’t care of what people say. The goals for Gary always justified the means. At the same time my brother wasn’t a vicious man. I’d even say he had his own virtues.
     Years ago, Gary had been living with another girl. Her name was Lora. No one in our family likes to recall the story. It happened when Lora was a senior in college.  They lived together for about a year in a small apartment not far from the University in D.C.  She was a cute lively blond with a never-vanishing smile and glistering eyes. Though she could hardly be called a real beauty (she was a bit on the heavy side), her friendliness would always make her very attractive.  Mom was very fond of her.  Mom wanted Gary to marry Lora and to settle with her in our town. She even found for Lora a good position at a company where she could make a good career.  Mom also invited Lora’s parents to visit her for a while. They appeared simple people, who dedicated their life to their daughter saving for her education, Mom did everything to make them feel comfortable in her house, but, all the same, in the beginning they felt embarrassed.  I learned that Lora’s father loved chess, and we played a lot.  Everything went just excellent, I even envied my brother because Lora really was a great girl, I wished I could met a girl like her some day, but it happened that they never married. I don’t know all the details and, frankly, I don’t want to know.  Lora was pregnant when she found out Gary was dating another woman. Maybe they could have lived through that, but something else had happened between them. To me Lora was too good to be Gary’s wife. She left him never to come back. Gary had a very serious talk with Mom during which he became furious and said something that made Mom slap his face.  I asked him what she did it for and he answered that he told Mom the baby Lora was pregnant with was not his.  I didn’t believe it. Sometimes my brother wanted the entire world to hate him. I left him alone.
     Mom spoke with Lora over the phone, but it didn’t help. She offered her child support, but Lora refused to accept it. Then Mom bought some insurance plan for her and her child and put some money in a college fund, hoping that Lora would accept it when the time would come.
     When our father was dying, Gary left everything he had in Washington and spent those weeks with us. It seemed he was affected by Dad’s illness more than anyone else.  I often saw tears in his eyes. We all pretended that everything was going on all right. Dad himself tried to smile when we were around. The house was quiet those days. Gary was usually sitting at his computer doing some work for his company, and once I saw tears streaming down his cheeks when Dad groaned letting his pain go.  I never was as close to my brother as  those days.
     Since Gary’s break up with Lora, I don’t remember Mom ever approving of what he did. They always were on the verge of a quarrel. At the same  time, it was clear that, despite the mutual dislike, they both could hardly live without seeing each other at least once a year. Mom couldn’t forgive Margaret, who was older than Gary, for the disruption of Gary’s romance with Lora, and she could hardly stand Susan, Gary’s mother-in-law.  I think Gary was right saying that the main reason for Mom’s dislike of his wife, was mere jealousy.  Mom has always dominated in our family, and she didn’t like that Gary lived under constant influence of some other women. Gentle Lora would fit the role of her daughter-in-law much better than Margaret.
     Susan loved to boast that one of her ancestor was Charles, a king of England. I heard Mom once saying that at least half of England claims the same.  Sometimes I think that, since she was against the marriage from the very beginning, Gary married Margaret to annoy her. I never saw even the least manifestation of real feeling between my brother and his wife. Nevertheless, it happened that they became excellent business partners and that made the base of their family happiness.
     They didn’t have kids. I never asked why, that wasn’t my business, but I remember Susan once saying conversing with my Mom, “I’ve told Margaret, “Promise, my daughter, promise me never to have children.” Oh what a beautiful, what an exquisite woman I was before Margaret was born. There was not a man who wasn’t stunned seeing me.” Hearing such revelations, Mom looked at her in disbelief, but Susan seemed to be nonchalant about anything when talking about herself and her daughter.  “My daughter always had the best money could buy.  Despite everything, I never let her feel a need.  I wanted her to grow up into a society woman, which she really is.” 
    Herself, Susan permanently was in some kind of need and those hints of hers were very transparent, but Mom had never responded to them the way Susan expected her.  Susan wanted everyone to believe the legend about her husband, an infantry officer killed in the Vietnam War, but Mom wasn’t that stupid.  When Gary told her about Margaret, whom he met at some donation dinner where he paid eight hundred dollars for his plate, Mom didn’t pay much attention. She was however astonished when Gary declared his engagement to Margaret.
      When Mom learned that Margaret was three years older than my brother, Mom hired a private detective to find out as much as possible on the family. The report she received in a few weeks was really surprising.  Susan had never been married. She, true, was a descendant of some English aristocratic family, but being not able to maintain the image she had to move to the United States, where, thanks to her appearance and manners she succeeded finding influential friends. One of them became the father of Margaret.  The man had a family, he never thought to divorce his wife in favor of Susan, he had grown children and he didn’t want any scandal. He provided Susan and Margaret with very generous support, which allowed them to live the way Susan wanted to. Margaret’s father was a jealous man, he kept an eye on Susan visiting with her now and then. Susan was smart enough, she forgot about other men, but she was completely reckless managing her money, and to the time when her benefactor passed away, she acquired an enormous debt.  Since neither Susan nor Margaret were mentioned in the man’s will, Susan went to the man’s wife who suspected that her husband had some other family he had been taking care of.  The details of the meeting remained unknown, but Susan and Margaret were forced to move out from the house the man had bought for them and settle in an average apartment, which they occupied at the time when Gary decided to marry Margaret.
    Mom was furious. She said that the swindlers found another fool to scam, but Gary said that Margaret had told him all of that herself, that unlike Susan, she was a very serious woman and he really loved her.  Gary asked Mom not to interfere. “At last I have found the woman I was dreaming of, and please, don’t ever mention that you know what she is really ashamed of.  After all, Margaret makes enough money to be excused from the habits of her mother.”  That was true.  Margaret managed a fashionable store in D.C. where she once started as a sales clerk, and the accusations that she married Gary because of his money were groundless. 
     I loved to visit with them. They both were full of energy and ideas. It seemed there was not a problem that they didn’t have a few ways to solve. After the wedding, which (since they both didn’t want anyone to focus on the difference in their age) was conducted in a very modest way, they started one of the first sales companies on the Internet. They rented a large warehouse in Virginia, hired a sales man and a web site designer, and began to sell different household items at very low prices. To anyone who they consulted, the enterprise seemed to be very risky, but during the second year sales exceeded ten million and they received an offer to sell the company. Gary met the offer with merry laughter, “Who would sell a business when it is booming?” He asked, but Margaret said, “Sell.”  At that time Internet sales became more popular, many competitors appeared on the market, Margaret didn’t feel good with that. Another idea was growing in her mind. So a few weeks later, Gary and Margaret walked away with a very good check. It was a triumph for Gary, at last he proved to Mom that his marriage was prolific.  It was the first time in our family’s history that a big amount of money was managed without Mom’s involvement.  I can’t say it made her feel happy. 
    Happy was Susan. I should say really happy.  Those few years after the death of her benefactor seemed to be an end to her. Having nothing but debts, that dragged after her like stray dogs, she could relay only on her daughter, who turned out to be much different then the woman Susan tried to make.  I’ve never seen even a trace of romantic air in Margaret; in her aggressiveness and readiness to carry responsibilities my brother’s wife was more of a man than a woman.
    I couldn’t say Mom could live with that. When Gary praised the abilities of his wife, Mom pretended to remain indifferent, but it was clear that she was vexed by that.  Gary, however, he would continue to talk as if nothing was wrong. I was on Gary’s side because Margaret, true, was an excellent businesswoman, and, at the same time, I didn’t want Gary to inflict pain on Mom. I’m sure he did it on purpose as if paying her back. In her unwillingness to yield her son to the authority of his wife, Mom was wrong. But nothing could be done about it.
      I know my Mom. If she doesn’t like someone she would never hesitate to terminate the acquaintance. Hadn’t she had a special reason to be tolerant, she would certainly have banned Susan from her house. Mom could barely endure the revelations Susan never hesitated to pass out.  Not even once did it occurred to Susan that her attitude to life might be totally different from my Mom’s. To my Mom, Susan was no more than a parasite that for years enjoyed the best luck stealing well-established man from his family. I was very surprised when I heard Susan talking to my Mom.
     “Oh, that safari was unforgettable.” She was saying when I accidentally approached them. Seeing me there, she continued. “Can you imagine my dear, he bought me a license to kill an elephant, but that rifle, it was so heavy, and it smelled like a hardware store. I tried to aim it, not at the elephant of course, just to practice, but I couldn’t even hold the gun steady. I wasn’t sure I could hit the elephant. Something happened in New York and my precious friend had to leave. I spent another week in Africa.  Oh, it was a gorgeous hotel, you should have seen those elephant hunters…”
    Listening to Susan, I felt like a child who was embarrassed with kissing on the TV and sat still under the wandering glances of his parents. It was impolite to leave, so I stood smiling nicely, feeling my cheeks get red.
    Mom never supported talking of this kind. She never hesitated interrupting Aunt Stella when she was saying something Mom didn’t like to hear. Nevertheless, when listening to Susan, Mom seemed to be nonchalant and even now and than,  showed some interest.  I suspected that she would let Susan talk, expecting her to spill out what Gary and Margaret didn’t like her to know.  I didn’t feel comfortable with the thought. I couldn’t believe that Mom could be like that. I tried to convince myself that she spent her time listening to Susan just out of politeness. After all, Susan was Mom’s in-law, but I couldn’t help thinking that Mom was plotting something against Susan and Margaret, waiting patiently for the time to come.
    When a week ago Gary called to let Mom know that they all were coming together, she immediately felt that something was going wrong.
    “Gary again is going to ask for money.” She said to me over the phone.
    “What happened?” I inquired expecting details.
    “I don’t know what happened. Please, when he comes, stick around. I might be needing you.”
    Day before yesterday Gary came with his wife and Mother-in-law.  He needed money.  At last Mom’s time had come. Gary was moody, Mom looked decisive, it seemed they had to come to some agreement, but the arrival of Uncle Jack messed up all the cards.

*   *   *

     Driving home, I thought about the strangers that were messing around my house and the black Buick that I had seen twice for the day. I constantly glanced in the rear view mirror but saw nothing suspicious behind. Could I see the car twice by coincidence? Could the strangers have a wrong address? There was not a single reason for someone to chase me, it all was nonsense, but the sensation of danger didn’t leave.
     There were no unfamiliar cars at my house.  The front door looked all right. I walked through the yard to check the patio door at the back. It also was locked. This is silly, I thought. What am I afraid of? There is no value in my belongings. There are much better houses to rob in this town.
      Nobody waited for me inside. Trying to forget about the strangers I took the book with paintings from the Hermitage and sat in my recliner.
     The book was thick and heavy. It contained hundreds of paintings. I recognized some of them, and found that I must have overlooked or just didn’t pay attention to many others. No wonder, on a trip, especially to such a mysterious country as Russia, all the impressions mount one upon another.  I remember we were told that the huge Hermitage palace, which is not less gorgeous than the famous Versailles, was built by the order of Katherine the Great as a guesthouse for Voltaire, who had never used the invitation.  Some of us were surprised seeing genuine works of Leonardo, El Greko and some other famous painters in the dark northern capital.  I wasn’t surprised, I felt proud of my ancestry, about which I told anyone in our tour group.  Yes, I felt proud and sad.  I was sad because of what happened to Russia, which could have become the greatest country in the world, if…   
    I recalled the special light that descended on the town at the time when we exited the Winter Palace, as Russians call the Hermitage. The light was violet. Somewhere behind the huge ornate building the sun was going down and all the air became violet, almost purple. The huge square with a pillar of granite decorated with some statue on the top submerged into the semi transparent luminous fog. All around could be easily taken for a dream if it hadn’t been so cold. The bus was waiting, but I stopped on the way to it to take a look around. Something made me think that the moment would be imprinted on my mind so well that I would remember it forever.
    Recalling the violet sky, the kids that were giggling next to me, the portrait of Prince Gordunov, and the blue eyes of my Grandma, I fell asleep.
    A loud telephone ring woke me up.  It was pitch dark in the room, the curtains were closed. Still half-asleep, I fumbled for the receiver on the floor. It rang again and I grabbed it.
    It was Lisa. She said,
    “Do you know what time it is?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, I fell asleep. I’ll be at your place right away.”
    “No, you won’t. It is seven thirty five. We can’t be that late to your mother’s. I’ll drive myself. See you there.” She said, and before I could say a word she hung up.
    I jumped up from my chair, took my jacket, and froze on the way. Behind the recliner, which still was rocking slightly, my Grandmother stood. She was dressed in white garments, I could see the folds of its fabric, but her face was obscured by pail city light that was coming from the patio door behind her. Grandma stood motionless and looked at me. Not seeing her eyes I could feel the stare.
    “Grandma?” I said and reached for the switch on the wall.
    In the bright electric light the recliner was still rocking, but there was no one behind it. I turned the light off, but saw only the patio door. The phantom of my beloved grandmother was gone.

*   *   *

      Lisa’s car was parked at the curb of the cul-de-sac right behind Aunt Stella’s Mercedes. A blue Ford, which I had never seen before stood on the other side of the driveway. Wondering, who else could have been invited to the party, I walked to the doors and I found them unlocked.
     In the living room, which was lit with bright light, I saw Reverend Willard sitting in an arm chair. He was dressed in a black suite, his hair neatly brushed. He nodded to me courteously and I understood that he would not welcome any questions about his trip to Brazil.  Margaret, whom he was talking to, smiled at me and said “Hi Joe.”  A bit farther, next to the fireplace, Mom and Lisa were sitting on a coach conversing about something. I went to them but was stopped on the way by a melodic voice.
    “Hi, Joseph.” Some blond in a black dress with a glass of drink in her hand was coming my way. For a moment, I thought that it was Sabina from the Paradise Club.
    “Don’t you recognize me?” The blond said. “I’m Tracy. Mom passed me your invitation. It was very nice of you, really.”
    “Well, my pleasure,” I mumbled looking at Lisa who watched me with curiosity.   
    Tracy caught Lisa’s glance and said “Talk to you later.” At that very moment, somebody pulled my sleeve from behind.  It was Susan. In a playful voice she sang addressing my Mom, “Would you excuse us for a moment, we have some small business to take care of.”
     Mom nodded indifferently; Lisa almost snorted. That was terrible. To hell with it all, I thought and said, “Oh, yeah, I forgot, I it is in my car.”  I said it pretty loud and Susan almost killed me with her angry glance.
    Feeling everyone’s eyes on my back I went outside. Something had to happen today, I felt it. I grabbed the bag with Susan’s deadly weapon from behind the passenger seat and walked back.
  Susan was making signs to me from a hall that lead to the kitchen. Holding the plastic bag in front of me I crossed the living room. The bag was dirty on one side – my car needed cleaning – trying to brush the dust off with my hand on the way.
     Susan gleamed at me with her eyes, grabbed the bag from my hand, and without saying a word went upstairs.
     I turned around and saw Mom standing right behind me.
     “I have to tell you something. Follow me,” she said, and went to the den.
     “Wait here,” she said stopping at the door and letting me in. In a few seconds she was back with Gary talking to him, 
     “Take him upstairs, give him some of your clothes, and your razor. He needs a shave. In five minutes he must look all right. Do you both understand?”
     “Don’t worry, Ma, he’ll be okay.” Gary answered, and when Mom was gone, asked me,
     “Hey, brother, I see you passed my note?”
     I involuntarily rubbed my face where Sabina had kissed me. He stood, looking at me as if expecting to hear a report.
      “Gary,” I said calmly, “You are not going anywhere tonight.”
      “What do you mean?”
      “You’ll spend this night at home, with Margaret, that’s what I mean. This night, tomorrow night, and all the following nights as well. You will never meet Sabina again.”         
     “Wait a minute, Sabina, you said? Who did you give my note to, idiot?” Gary asked growing pale.
     “I gave it to Sabina, and…”
     “What? You gave it to Sabina?” He interrupted.
     “The girl you sent me to see. A tall blond.  She said that it would be a good way to reconcile, but I don’t want you…” I went on calmly, but Gary didn’t listen. He groaned and sat on the edge of the chair holding his head with both hands.
    “What an idiot!” He said quietly to himself and looked at me. “You are right, I’m not going out tonight. I will have to leave for Washington tomorrow. You can’t even imagine what you did to me, brother.” He paused, and said abruptly, “Let’s go!” He stood up and went to the door.
    “Where?” I asked.
    “To my room, jerk, we have to make you up for the supper.” And not looking at me any more he went upstairs.

*   *   *

    A mocking glance, from a man who sat in the corner met me as soon as I returned to the living room. The elderly man was sitting in a high back armchair, next to the window. He looked me all over and smiled as if seeing an old friend. To a stare like this, I couldn’t just nod politely, so I stepped towards the man and he raised from his chair. He was tall, with gray fading hair.  Though he was pretty thin, it was obvious that he still was in good shape.
     “Let me introduce you to each other.” I heard Mom’s voice right next to us. “This is Joseph, my son; this is Mr. Volgeen.”
     “Uncle Jack?” I asked, and Mr. Volgeen laughed, saying,
     “You may call me Jack. That’ll be all right.”
     He spoke with a strange accent; he was smiling and I thought, he must have seen my awkward entry and my weird look, but I didn’t mind at all.  I just hadn’t notice him sitting in the armchair then.
     I felt like I had to say something, but “Are you really from Australia?” was all I could talk of. I found the question stupid. So I stood silently in front of Uncle Jack. He kept looking at me with curiosity smiling kindly, expecting me to speak first.
     “Would you excuse us for a moment, I have to talk to Joseph.” Mom hurried to take me away before I opened my mouth.
     She led me to the dining room. Everything was arranged by Uncle Jack’s servant and it looked very different. Mom asked me quietly,
     “Did you invite the pianist for tonight?”
     “I couldn’t find him. I can try again.” I made a move towards the phone, but Mom stopped me.
     “Don’t.” She said. “I changed my mind. We don’t need him tonight.”
     “But why?”
     Mom didn’t answer, she turned around to the servant who bowed to her respectfully.
     “Fine. Looks like everything is ready,” Mom said, and went to the guests.
     Somebody touched my shoulder. I turned around and saw Lisa standing very close to me.  I was ready to apologize for leaving her without attention, but she touched my lips with her forefinger, and asked,
    “What’s going on with you?”
    “Well, nothing. Why do you ask?”
    “You look weird. Relax, everything is alright.”
    “I’m fine, Lisa. I’m just very hungry.” I said, feeling dizzy with Lisa’s look. “How beautiful you are tonight!” I said.
    “Only tonight?” She smiled.
    “No, you always are, but there is something special tonight… very special. I’m not sure what, but…”
    “That’s just the scent, your present, it makes you crazy, I like it too. Thanks. This time you made the right choice.”
    I drew the air in with my nose, thinking that I was right buying the Joy for Lisa and the Boudoir for Susan, not vice versa.
    “Lisa, to see a ghost, is it a good sign?”
    “What ghost?” Lisa frowned.
     “I saw Grandma in my house just an hour ago. She was looking at me. Is it a good sign?”
     “Not at all. You’re crazy.”
     She wanted to say something else but at that moment Mom called us to the dining room where all the guests were taking their seats around the table.
     Mom wanted us to sit right in front of Uncle Jack, who was tucking a linen napkin under his collar.  Mom sat in between him and Reverend Willard; the seat on the other side of Uncle Jack was empty, then Margaret and Gary were sitting on my left, and Aunt Stella and Tracy enclosed the circle at Lisa’s right.
   There was a kind of hesitation, we all waited for the last person to come, and as soon as it occurred to me that it was Susan, she herself made her appearance walking with a swift pace. With lightness not expected at her age, she flew along the seats and rested next to Uncle Jack. I held my breath when the smell of the Boudoir Susan emitted reached me. Susan’s happy look made me sigh with relief. I guessed about her secret weapon right.
   Mom asked Reverend Willard to say the blessing, and after the short prayer dedicated to the memory of my deceased father appetizers and cold drinks were served.
   I didn’t follow the conversation, the spicy soup that arrived in small bowls was so good that I was done with it in a few seconds. The silent waiter brought another bowl of smelly and delicious soup and I started on it paying no attention to Aunt Stella’s stories with which she, as it often happened, entertained the guests.
   “Slow down.” Lisa said next to me and I lifted my eyes from the bowl. There was not much left in it anyway. Uncle Jack was looking straight at me.
    “What?” I said involuntarily. In the pause that followed the laughter on the end of Aunt Stella’s story, it sounded very loud.
    “Nothing.” Uncle Jack said. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have been looking at you like that. You just reminded me of something I thought I had forgotten forever.”
    “What in particular?” I asked stretching my hand for the glass of ice water.
    “Something from my childhood. Pay no attention, I’m sorry.”
    “Why, tell us what it was, if you don’t mind,” Susan asked, sparkling with diamonds in her ears.
    “Nothing special. The Depression. Soup Kitchen, people eating around it under the cold wind. It’s not worthy to talk about.”
    “Why?” I asked with a challenge, and ignoring Mom’s warning glance continued, “I am depressed, and even though I’m not hungry, I’m unemployed just as those people were.”
    I knew that it sounded inappropriate for the moment, but there was something in Uncle Jack that made me feel agitated.
    “You, Joseph, don’t know what you are talking about.” Mom said with slight irritation. “Your idling is eccentricity. It can’t be compared with the situation family men found themselves in during the Depression. Let’s talk about something  else.”
    Mom was right, it was better to have the topic changed, but something inside me snapped. I didn’t like to be shut down like that. My unemployment wasn’t just an eccentricity. I looked down at the utensils next to my plate feeling like a hot wave was rising inside me, then Uncle Jack prevented what was about to happen.
    “What was your last job?” He asked.
    “I worked as a graphic designer for a local company.” I said.
    “So, what happened? Did you just quit?” Uncle Jack asked.
     I saw that Mom didn’t like the question, but all the others looked at me expecting an answer. I chuckled at the thought that if Susan or Aunt Stella had asked me the same question, no interest would be shown, but it was Mr.Volgeen, the mysterious Australian Millionaire, the center of poorly hidden attention. I suddenly felt anger at the man.
    “Well,” I said, “actually, they just employed me as a graphic designer, but it turned out later, that… No, really, that’s not much of a story, it’s pretty dull.”
     “Tell us. Was it a well paid position?” Uncle Jack asked, cutting a piece of meat with the knife on his plate.
     “Okay,” I said, “but I’ve told you all, there is not much of a story here. It was just an average ad in the newspaper, nothing fancy. I faxed my resume and they called me up for an interview. Frankly, I was quite surprised, because my resume didn’t show much professional experience. Before that I worked as a drafter, but they liked my claim to be proficient in different graphic applications.
    “You claimed that, or were you proficient?” Susan asked.
    “I knew the job well enough.” I answered. “I didn’t complete my Master in Arts, but I always wanted to be a graphic designer. At home, on my computer I have most of the programs they work with and I brought my graphics for the interview. The company itself was nothing fancy: just a few warehouses in an industrial area, to the east of town.  They  purchased new equipment and were hiring a few more sales people so they could get more orders.  Consequently, an assistant was needed in the graphic design department.  The department, as I understood, consisted of only one other person. I liked the guy; he also found me a good fellow to work with. As it turned out later, they didn’t care much about my professionalism, they were looking for a guy who wouldn’t mind doing lots of other things, including lifting work in the production area.”
    “Do you all still want me to continue?” I interrupted myself expecting all the guests to look at Uncle Jack, which they did. All of them, except Lisa, who was looking at me with quiet laughter, and Reverend Willard, who was sitting with his food untouched, looking thoughtfully at the glass of water in his hand.
    “Please, go ahead.” Uncle Jack said.
    “Okay. A few days later they came up with an offer to start working for them for eight bucks per hour, I accepted it. Don’t criticize me, Gary,” I addressed my brother, who could hardly conceal his smirk, “The money was not an issue. I had been looking for an interesting job and nice people and, as it seemed, I had found it.”
     “Were they mean to you?” Aunt Stella asked, allowing the servant to put some more salad onto her plate. She asked it as if talking to a child. I didn’t like the tone, which threatened to make my story sound ridicules. Uncle Jack however, still was listening to me without a smile.
    “They were not.” I said. “Jay, whom I had to work with, and his boss Ron were great guys. Everything went all right during the first few weeks. The new equipment had just been installed: a huge printer for commercial signs and some other things the company paid a lot of money for.  It all was situated in a new production area that, being brand new, was strikingly different from the rest of the premises, which not only weren’t equipped with air conditioning, but also didn’t have enough restrooms for the employees.          
   ”What the hell!” I exclaimed, hitting the table with my fist. “Don’t pretend that you all want to hear what happened then. I want to eat.”
     In the silence which followed, I took my fork and started eating. I looked at my plate, but in my mind I could see all the guests stealing glances at Uncle Jack, who, I noticed, sipped on his drink.
      “I’m sorry Joseph. I shouldn’t have been that insistent. You may tell me your story some other time.” Uncle Jack said.
      I stopped chewing and looked at him. His eyes were green, they studied me. Not looking at Uncle Jack any more I got busy with the meat on my plate.
     While eating, I tried not to think about Mom. Of course, she was mad at me.  I didn’t care.
     “I had to quit the job because of my Mom.” I said swallowing the last piece.
     “What do you mean?” Uncle Jack asked.
     “The president of the company didn’t know who my parents were. She had never paid any attention to me, to her I was no more than a technician.  Than she discovered that I belonged to one of the richest families in town.”
      “How did it happen?” Susan asked, and I heard somebody sigh with relief.
      “I met her once at the opening of the Christmas Art Festival. If Mom hadn’t given me a ticket I would never have been there. I didn’t expect the president to be there, but she was, she was with some other members of her family who worked for the company.  I was so glad to see the president that I walked straight to her with an offer to introduce her to my Mom. She looked at me as if she had never seen me before. Mom was busy at the moment talking to someone on the other end of the hall so my approach ended up quite awkward. I totally forgot about it, till the end of the evening when Mom called me over and introduced me to my president herself.”
     I didn’t try to make it funny, but all the guests broke out in hilarious laughter. Reverend Willard even wiped his eyes with a corner of his napkin.
    “Oh, I can imagine how she felt!” Exclaimed Aunt Stella. “So, what was your Mom’s fault? What made you quit?”
    “It was not any fault of hers, I’m sorry, Ma.” I said looking at Mom who, as it seemed, didn’t mind what I had said at all. “I quit because I didn’t want Jay’s, my boss’s, position. But, no, not like that…  Well, to make it short, I didn’t like the company.”
      “What was wrong with it?” It was obvious that Uncle Jack didn’t want to change the topic.
     Stricken with a sudden thought I held my answer. Uncle Jack was sipping on his glass, looking at me with his green eyes. Mom didn’t look at me at all. Others were waiting.
    “Excuse me,” I said, stood up, and went to the bathroom. There, I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. How could I be so stupid? What a fool I was? And Mom, how could she do that to me?
      Somebody tapped on the door. I heard Lisa’s voice.
     “Joseph are you all right?”
     I turned the knob, opened the door, and let her in.
     “What’s going on?” She whispered.
     “Let’s get out of here.” I said. “Go to your car, I’ll be out in a minute.”
     “Why, where do you want to go?”
     “As far as we can. To Australia. No it would be stupid to go to Australia.”
     “What are you talking about?”
     “Sh-h-h,” I said touching her lips with my finger. “That is not Uncle Jack.”
     “What? Are you nuts?”
     “Yes, that’s what I am. That’s why the man is here.” I whispered. “He is a therapist. They want me in an asylum, maybe in the same institution my Grandma died at.”
     “You are really crazy. What makes you think so.”
     “He talks to me like a therapist. Oh, I know their tricks. My mother arranged it all. The letter, the visit. All…”
     “Why would she do this to you?”
     “Mom doesn’t think I can keep living on my own. She wants me in.”
     “Nonsense. I can’t believe it. Listen, you said you have the Money magazine with his photo on the cover. Where would it be?”
     “I saw it in the magazine rack in the den,” I said. “I’ll go find it.”
     “No, I will. Get back to the others and talk to them as usual. I’ll take a look myself.”
      
*   *   *

      
    “Why don’t we have our dessert in the armchairs? It’ll be more comfortable.” Mom, was saying when I got back.
     Wait, I thought, I’ll find out the truth about you stranger. 
    While everyone was standing up I winked at Lisa and whispered. “I’ll keep Mom busy.”  Lisa didn’t respond; she left with the others for the sitting room.
    “Mom,” I said, “May I talk to you for a second?”
    She shrugged her shoulders.
    “Mom,” I said when we were alone. “I didn’t want to upset anyone. I’m sorry.”
    That’s all right.” She said absentmindedly, as though she was thinking about something else. That was strange. If the party was arranged with the purpose of introducing me to the therapist, Mom should have been interested with the mess around me, but her thoughts, certainly, were occupied with something else.
    Being confused, I tried to find something else to talk about, but nothing was coming to my mind. It was a good moment for Mom to leave, but she didn’t. She stood touching the back of a chair with her hand, looking at the wall with a painting on it. I followed her glance and saw that Mom was staring not at the painting, but at a blank wall.
    “Mom, who is this man? Are you sure that it is Uncle Jack?” I asked.
    “Yes. Who else might it be?” She answered sighing deeply. “I beg you, quit that tone of yours. It is annoying. Do you promise?”
      “I do.” I said. “Maybe you would rather that I didn’t talk today at all?”
      “No, you may talk. Just do not talk about things related to someone.”
    
    
*   *   *

     Entering the sitting room I involuntarily looked for Uncle Jack first. He was sitting on the sofa with Susan next to him. Susan was talking to the others that sat in armchairs around. I heard the word “Australia” which, for some reason made the others laugh merrily.
    There was a couple more armchairs at the back of the room, so I strolled over and sat in the one from which I could see Uncle Jack clearly. His eyes were soft, a tiny smile played on his lips, he seemed to be absorbed with Susan’s story. One could see that Susan was happy to be the center of attention.
    “So, you can imagine how surprised I was the next morning when I learned that the shores along which our ship was cruising the day before were really Australian.” Susan finished accepting a cup of coffee that was served. More laughter followed, and Susan cast a happy glance around.   
    Along with the coffee, the waiter brought a tray with dessert. I picked something that looked like a cheesecake for myself and asked Lisa, who had just took the armchair at my right, what she would like to have.
     “Doesn’t matter.” She said, and I took another cake like mine for her.
     “Did you find it?” I asked quietly.
    “What? Ah… Yes, I did.” She said and shivered as if she was cold.
     “Come on, Lisa, tell me, is it him?”
     “Looks like.”
     “Lisa, what’s going on with you?” I asked seeing a change in her. “You look strange.”
     “Nothing, I just have a headache. Listen, let’s talk about it later.”
     “What do you mean, later?” My whisper became insistent; Aunt Stella glanced in our direction.  “So you think he’s not a therapist?” I asked in a barely heard tone.
     “Stop it.” Lisa answered. “I told you, we’ll talk later.” And she asked leaning closer to me, “You better tell me who this blond that you have invited is?”
     “It’s Tracy.” I answered in surprise. “I haven’t seen her for years, and actually, I didn’t even think to invite her, it was Aunt Stella who…”
    “S-h-h-h,” Lisa interrupted me. “If she is here because of you, you shouldn’t leave her on her own.” Saying this, Lisa stood up and walked closer to the others. Susan had just started with another stupid story.
    What the hell, I thought. Why should I take care of Tracy, when… I was mad at Lisa, how could she leave me like that when I needed her support?  Had she joined the plot against me?  The idea was wild, but at the moment I even believed it. Hadn’t Lisa said that it was harmful for me to be unemployed, to spend the days on my own? The time since I quit my job was the best in my life, I finally started to understand what was going on within myself, who I was.
    Lisa took a seat next to my Mom and whispering something to her. Mom thought for a moment then she whispered back to Lisa. Something was going on between them, I was sure.      
     Let them all go to hell, I thought.
     “Oh, it was so hot and musty at the place, it was a real hell.” Susan continued her story, cramping her face.  She rolled her eyes and waved at herself with her hand.
    Using the pause, I asked.
    “Do you know what real Hell is?” My voice cracked, and everyone looked at me.
    “Can you tell us about Hell?”  Uncle Jack asked, staring at me as if he was waiting for my question.
    “Just what I read about it. Another persons’ opinion.” I said feeling uneasy and asked with challenge, “Do you believe in Hell?”
    “I do.” Uncle Jack answered. An awkward pause followed. Everyone looked at him with alert expectation.
    “What Hell do you believe in?” I asked with enthusiasm. “Is it something similar to the one described in the Divine Comedy, or is it more of the Hell according to James Joyce?” 
    I jumped up from my chair and started pacing to and fro about the room. I felt triumphant: no other topic could serve better to my task. If the man was not whom he pretended to be, contemplation on Hell would uncover the truth. The real Jack Volgeen read much in his seclusion; he had to be able to talk about the books I had mentioned. I saw Mom’s warning stare, but I didn’t pay attention to it.  Lightness filled my body; I was ready for a fight.
     “That’s a good question.” Uncle Jack said with a smile. “I’m not sure that everyone here is familiar with the famous descriptions of Hell: neither Joyce nor Dante are popular nowadays, so I’ll dare to explain the difference.  Both, Dante and James Joyce, had extraordinary imagination, both were impressed by sermons about Hell that are common in the Catholic tradition. Both writers, no doubt, had their own revelations, visions I’d say, of Hell.  At the same time, the types of Hell they created were totally different in conception.
     “Whose Hell do you like the most.” I asked being stunned with what I heard.
     My question produced a movement among the guests. They all were attentive.
      “Hell is not a matter of likeness,” Uncle Jack answered correcting my retort. “Hell by Dante is a bounded area. In some editions of the book you can even find a kind of  scheme, a virtual map of it. The locality provides the reader with a sensation of limits in methods and exercising of eternal sufferings. After certain consideration the Hell of Dante could even be interpreted as a sort of home, which by itself diminishes fear and aversion to the place. Hell by Joyce, on the contrary, is an abyss of space and time, it is a never-ending Universe of pain, grief, and torment. Some sufferings described in the book, at times, could be mistrusted, some could even be ridiculed, but the whole picture is so immense and impressive that I can’t imagine a mortal who wouldn’t be deeply touched reading through the pages.”
    Here, Mr.Volgeen made a pause, looking downward, as if thinking about something. I too needed the pause. The short analysis of the two conceptions of Hell given in such a way knocked down my silly bravado. I felt admiration for the man, I wanted to talk to him more and more, I felt as if I’d found a long forgotten friend, who I had been separated from for ages. 
    “All the same,” Uncle Jack said with sudden force in his voice, “Hell is a very personal matter.  Everyone has enough imagination to visualize his own Hell, and the visions can’t be retold without corruption. It is impossible to express the main feeling of Hell – the cold fear of it, which everyone carries in his soul. In this case, the famous expression: “A thought outspoken is the lie,” is totally just. As it is impossible to give a definition that would satisfy everyone, just as the concepts of Love, God, and Paradise, the sensation of Hell is even more ambiguous.”
     “It is much easier to imagine Hell than Paradise!” I almost cried.
     “Right,” Uncle Jack agreed. “Torments are always graphic. It is easier to imagine torture than bliss. Hell is one of the most disturbing words it never leaves us in peace, unless it is spoken in vain which happens pretty often. If you meditate on the word, if you roll it over your tongue, it’ll prick your soul with a vague ominous fear. The word Paradise would never produce that effect, just because it is not threatening. Eternal Felicity, unlike Eternal Torture, doesn’t require explanation.”
     “Because we are not used to it. We can’t even imagine real Paradise because nothing resembles it on Earth.” I cried with joy. I just loved Uncle Jack, for bringing the topic into my Mom’s drawing room. I wanted to tell Gary: “Listen, brother, listen to the man,” but I held it. I stopped pacing about the room and returned to my seat.
     “Well,” Uncle Jack said, “Our own life, no matter how happy and successful it is, true, is closer to Hell than to Paradise. Factually, since Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden, our earthly life is an anteroom of Hell.  For many of us Hell starts here, on Earth. Torments of Hell could be traced in our consciousness that never stops tormenting us with the sense of guilt for one wrongdoing or another. Blessed are those sinners, who can feel the reproach of God. They still have a chance to repent. Though, here I’m invading a realm of our authority – Reverend Willard. Our minister, I think can give us a much better opinion on that, if he is willing to do so, of course.”
    Uncle Jack looked at Reverend Willard.

*   *   *

      For a long moment my minister sat motionless. All my attention was focused on what he was about to say, but suddenly, I heard a woman’s voice, saying with firmness,
      “There is no Hell, as there is no Paradise.”
      It was Tracy. Everyone turned to her.  Tracy’s face was rigid, her eyes glistened with steel.  “This life is the only time we have. I know. After the car accident two years ago, I was in a coma for two days. I was dead; they advised my Mom to start funeral arrangements. I remember nothing, no tunnel with the light at the end, no mysterious guide, no angels, just blank, ignorant emptiness.”
      “It was your own experience.” Reverend Willard said softly. I saw that he was more willing to reply to Tracy’s remark, then to Uncle Jack’s. “If I’m not mistaken, with these tunnels and guides, you are referring to the book Life after Life, aren’t you?”
      Tracy didn’t answer, she just waved with her hand tiredly, as if saying, “Give me a break.”
      “I wouldn’t recommend to a Christian to take the book seriously.” The minister continued. “Promising life after life, the book is giving the reader the wrong sensation of comfort. It was Christ who suffered for our sins. It was God who gave his only beloved son for the sake of salvation of those who believe in him. The book promises relief after death to everyone, it tries to reconcile all the religions, actually, since eternity is granted to everyone, it declares all spiritual efforts worthless.”
      I smiled a bit listening to him.  It was my own words, which Reverend Willard had heard me say in Sunday School that he was using.
      Answering Tracy helped Reverend Willard to collect his thoughts. He turned to Uncle Jack and, answering him, started courteously.
       “I’m not sure it would be correct from my side to add my own thoughts to what you have said. Allow me to express my admiration on your ability to talk on such a difficult matter without preparation. One has to have a great knowledge answering questions like that. Especially when they are asked by our Joseph, who is known by his unpredictability of interests.”
       The last words brought smiles to faces. Even Mom looking at me with love. I shrugged my shoulders returning her glance as if saying, “You wanted me to talk about something abstract, so I did.”
       “All you have said should be taken as a sermon, and I totally agree with you that Hell is a very unique and powerful word.  Even those who deny God do not feel comfortable with the word, because most of us, humans, at least once in a lifetime realize that the time to pay will come. As you have said, blessed are those who have the fear, because, it is in the Bible, the fear of God is the beginning of knowledge.  Hell is real, even for you Tracy, no matter if you have seen it or not during the ordeal you came through. Death leaves no room for ignorance, and blessed are those who made peace with God.”
     These last words Reverend Willard pronounced with such a strange sadness, that even Tracy didn’t dare to argue. The face of my minister had darkened for a moment and, involuntarily, I thought that he himself carries an unpaid sin in his soul. It made me feel uneasy, and to break the awkwardness of the moment I exclaimed,
     “Reverend Willard, why don’t you make a sermon for our church on what we just heard. It all is so impressive, it would be so refreshing for everyone.” This “refreshing” made the guests laugh, but I didn’t care. I said,
    “I don’t remember a sermon about Hell ever pronounced in our church. Though we are not Catholics, we deserve it too.”
     The laugher around sounded even louder. Aunt Stella waved with her hand choking in convulsions. Reverend Willard took out his handkerchief to dry his eyes.
     “You are right Joseph, it could be a good sermon,” he said, “but, as you have noticed, it would break certain traditions of our church.”
     “Can’t we break traditions for the sake of salvation?” I asked with vigor.
     “Yes, why can’t we?” Lisa supported me and everyone looked at her.
     “Because traditions of the church are established through generations. We have to be very careful with them. All the denominational churches are experiencing decline, and our denomination is in the worst situation.  We live in a difficult time, it is still the time of prosperity, which softens peoples’ hearts.  Most of the members of our congregation are retired people, they expect the church to provide them with good emotions.”
     “Chicken soup for the soul!” Lisa said with scorn.
     “Bravo Lisa!” I exclaimed, but she didn’t even look at me. 
     “It might seem to you like that,” Reverend Willard answered, “but it is not right. I see you in church once in a while with Joe, I’d like you to join our congregation. It’ll help you to understand us better. Your membership would be a good contribution to our church.”
      “Allow me to ask you, Mr. Willard, how much do you make a year?” Lisa said with a strange tone in her voice.  Not expecting him to answer she went on, “I make twenty four thousand before taxes. I’m single, and I pay all the bills on my own. I’m not sure that with your income and with your life style you can understand my needs. True, I have visited your church many times, but I don’t feel comfortable when there. Your church is for riches, at least it pretends to be like that.”
     Lisa’s frank answer sounded almost threatening. To break the tension which it produced I said merrily.
    “Oh, I love to go to church with Lisa. Last Sunday, we were standing in the hall and lots of men were coming around to shake our hands. I said, “Look Lisa, everyone likes you so much, all the men are glad to see you today.” “That’s because we were standing next to the Men’s room.” Lisa said and…
    The new blast of hilarious laughter didn’t allow me to finish. Lisa, however, barely smiled, as if she was mad at something. 
     Gary just snorted.
     I stood up and approached him.
    “I understand your scorn, brother. You are not touched by what has been said here a least. I wish you long and happy years, and also, I wish your death to approach you slowly, like winter, inevitably and grimly, leaving you time to make peace with God.”
    No one dared to interrupt me. The guests sat silent as if expecting something else to happen.
    “Well said.” It was Uncle Jack. “Happy is a man who dies like that.  A perfect death resembles longing for sleep. Life of a lucky man resembles a long and tiresome day, full of events and cares. When the Sun is rolling down and the Moon takes over the sky, matters of the day are fading, calm settles in the soul and longing for profound slumber, for oblivion, for non-existence drives everything away. Eyelids are closing and only a sudden thought about something that has to be done awakens the man for the last effort. As when drifting into sleep, a person gets up to lock the door, or turn the light off, the man who anticipates his death might come back to life to finish what is unaccomplished to die with easy heart.”
     In the silence that followed snoring started. Leaning her head against the back of the sofa, with her mouth open, Susan was sleeping deeply. Like a child.
     That was funny, and restrained laughter started in the room, but Uncle Jack crossed his lips with his finger.
     “Let’s not disturb her. I too, by the way, need some rest. Thank you very much Katherine,” he said to my Mom, “it was a wonderful night. I would like to stay longer, but that jetlag… Please, allow me to dismiss myself.” He got up and walked towards me. Looking at me from above, he said with a smile. “Thank you for the interesting conversation. Would you mind visiting me tomorrow morning. I’d like to talk to you tête-à-tête.”
    Feeling awkward under his glance, I stood up and said,
    “Sure, I’ll come.”
    Uncle Jack bowed slightly to me and did the same to the others. He excused himself once again and walked away.

*   *   *

*   *   *

      That strange invitation made me scratch my head. It was as unexpected as Uncle Jack’s early departure.  I caught Mom’s glance and was ready to say “What?” but she took her eyes off me. Aunt Stella stood up saying that it’s a good time to have a cigarette and she and Tracy went to the smoking room. The armchair next to Lisa freed and I made a move to take it, but she stood up and without looking at me went out after Aunt Stella and Tracy. Lisa smoked once in a while; I didn’t like seeing that. I needed a breath of fresh air, so I walked through the front door out of the house under the stars that flickered dimly deep in the sky.
    What happened, why was Lisa Mad at me? I couldn’t tell. She went to take a look at the photo and didn’t talk to me any more.  I didn’t like it at all. I needed her help, and instead… 
    The cold air made me shiver.  I strolled up and down along the driveway thinking about whether I should go find Lisa and talk to her or should I wait? Uncle Jack wasn’t a therapist. No therapist in the world would speak about Hell and Death like that, they all would keep asking instead of speaking.
    Another blow of the wind made me shiver even more and I hurried inside.
    Except Susan still sleeping in the corner of the sofa, and Uncle Jack’s servant who was busy filling a tray with empty coffee cups, there was no one in the sitting room. Not a soul was seen in the living room either. The smoking parlor was on the other side of the house. I walked there but was stopped on the way by Gary’s voice,
   “Hey, Joe!” He was standing upstairs leaning against the wooden rail looking down at me.
    “Yes, brother.” I answered wondering why Gary stared at me so strangely.
    “Could we talk?” He asked.
    “Of course!” I exclaimed with joy.  In a second I was upstairs walking after him into his room, looking at him with joy – at last my brother was touched. Gary opened the door and let me in.
    “Hi Joe,” Margaret greeted me.  She was sitting in an armchair looking through some papers bound in a black folder.
    “Hi,” I said feeling that I was mistaken. Gary would never talk to me frankly in somebody else’s presence. 
    “Here he is. You may try.” Gary said to Margaret quite indifferently.
    “Come over Joseph, take a seat, we need to talk.” She pointed at the armchair next to her and called for Gary, who remained on the other side of the room, “You too, come closer.”
     Looking at me Gary approached and stood behind Margaret. His stare was stern; I would say even hostile.
    “What?” I said. “Why do you look at me like that?”
    “Just can’t believe it. What you did was the last think I expected from you. That was smart, very smart!” Gary said.
    “What was smart? What did I do?” I asked defensively.
    “Don’t play an idiot. You’ve got it down well. I will never believe you didn’t set it all up.”
     “Brother, please stop it.” I said feeling that the talk we were about to start would be totally different from the one I hoped for. “Just tell me what do you want?”
     “You know what. Everyone is here for the same reason.”
     “What reason?”
     “The money, blockhead. Everyone is here because of the money.”
     “What money?” I asked tiredly.
     “Cash!” Gary almost cried angrily. “What made the man so notorious? It is his money, cash, which he is throwing away, the stupid philantropist. Don't tell me you didn't think about that. Everyone is here because of the money, even your stupid minister. Thank you for giving him a hard time, by the way. Hadn’t Jack Volgeen arrived in secret half of the town would attack him for the same reason.”
     “Oh no, brother, you are wrong. He came over here just…”
     “Just to tell our Mom hello.” Gary interrupted me mockingly. “Just to ask her forgiveness for the death of her sister whom he brutally shot years ago. What then was the point of all the clowning? What made him talk about something not accomplished? “To lock the door, to turn the light off,” Gary imitated Uncle Jack’s voice. “To correct wrongdoings.” He is here to throw away some cash, the last bone, and he wants us to cut each other’s throats fighting each other for it. That’s how he wants to pay off for all the hatred that came from our family. It is his last enjoyment, can’t you understand, dummy?”
     “No, Gary, he is not like that. And who in our family needs money, after all. We all are in a good shape.”
     “You are, true, in good shape.” Gary looked at me nodding his head scornfully. “In the very best shape possible.”
     “Excuse, me, I’d better go.” I made a move to stand up, but Margaret touched my hand.
     “Wait, Joe, don’t get mad at Gary. He is very nervous these days. He has a reason to be like that, believe me. We invited you here to talk not to quarrel.”
     I just sighed sadly, it all was just annoying.
     “We need your help.” Margaret said.
     “His help!” Gary chuckled throwing his hands up. “As if he ever helped me. This saint will help you the way you will never forget. Nothing good will come out of it. Enough. Let him go! Go!” He blurted to me. “Or I’ll just force you out.”
     But now I didn’t want to leave. To conceal my own anger I asked quietly,
     “Why are you driving me away, Gary? I have never refused helping you, and I’m here to help you now. What do you want me to do this time? Tell me, I’ll do what I can.”
     “You can do much, I know, sometimes even more than you’re asked to. Okay, if you wish, I’ll tell you.” He stopped pacing about the room and sat right in front of me.
     “We, Margaret and I, are thinking of buying a share in some business, here, in town. We came over to talk to Mom, to ask to borrow some cash, but she doesn’t have that much available. Now this uncle fell down from the Heavens, or emerged from Hell, whatever… It doesn’t matter. To make it short, we need one hundred grand to make the down payment. We need it in three days, or we’ll loose the share.”
    “What business do you want to participate in?” I asked.
    “It is not your business, what business it is, you better mind your own business, brother. Can’t you understand that I can’t tell? Listen, I’d like to offer you a part of the profit, but you are a weird guy, it never comes to your mind to make more than you can spend, does it?”
    “Well, it is not like that. I’d be glad to participate in something good, but… What is it, tell me.”
    “I told you, I can’t tell.” Gary repeated.
    “Then I can’t help. I’m sorry, I got to go.”
    “Oh, this time you may help all right. There is nothing to mess up this time. What I want you to do is simple. Listen. Tomorrow you will speak with Jack, right? Turn the talking to the money we need. You can do it, I know. Ask him to help us with the cash. Tell him we’ll pay it back, no problem.”
    “But Gary,” I hesitated for a moment, “what Uncle Jack has invited me for is different, I don’t think it would be convenient to approach him with that.”
     “Bullshit! That’s exactly what he expects us all to ask him for.”
     “I’m not sure. You know…” A sudden thought crossed my mind. “I… have some money I can help you with.  I’ve got my statement from my last job I mean my 401k plan. There is about twenty four thousand dollars in my account. Of course, they would charge me some tax for the early withdrawal, but that’ll be at least something.”
    “Ha-ha-ha!” Gary laughed loudly. “Who needs your lousy savings. You don’t need it yourself. The sum is just ridiculous in comparison with the money Dad had left for you. Are you crazy? Go get yourself a new car. 401k! Isn’t it funny? No, you are a total idiot! Let’s cut it, Margaret, it won’t work. Let him go!”
    “Wait, Gary,” Margaret said. “Joe, don’t listen to Gary. He is very nervous because of the situation we are in. We have another way to get the share in the business, but then we will have to pay an enormous interest. And the people we are negotiating with are not nice at all. You are the only chance we have. Please, understand. I promise, if you do it for us, I will keep your share of the business untouched, and then, who knows, maybe some day you too will find yourself in need of some cash, it’ll always be reserved for you, I promise.”
    “I, really, don’t know what to say, I didn’t mean to go and make requests of this type, I just wanted to talk to Uncle Jack about, well…”
    “Then when you talk think of your brother. He needs help. Alright?” Gary said.
    “All right.” I said being not convinced that I would ever do what he asked.
    “Go now. Margaret and I need to talk.”
    I stood up and walked away feeling very uneasy.  Gary was very rude. I didn’t want to think that he had chosen the tone to make me act in his favor proving that I’m still a faithful brother, but the thought didn’t leave. Gary wasn’t right, God was my witness, he wasn’t right at all.
   In the worst mood possible I went downstairs. It was quiet around which seemed to be pretty strange. Wondering where Lisa could be, I walked to the smoking room, but found only Aunt Stella with her cigarette on a couch next to the lamp.
   “What’s going on, where is everybody? Lisa, Tracy?” I asked.
   “Tracy is gone.” Aunt Stella said and pulled on her cigarette as if she wanted to finish it in one blow. She let out a cloud of smoke, and started on another pull, keeping her head up. I realized that she held it like that to hold her tears.
   “Why? What happened?”
   “She said she doesn’t want to mess with this shit.”
   “What shit, excuse me.”
   “Ah, don’t mind it, Joseph, she is just beside herself with her pain.” Aunt Stella wanted to shake the ash off her cigarette but she missed the tray and the ash fell on her skirt. Shaking if off she forgot about her tears and they dropped down staining the skirt with wet spots. My heart clenched in pity.”
    “Pain, you mean, because of the accident she had mentioned?” I asked and Aunt Stella nodded wiping her eyes with a napkin. “Was it so bad? I’m sorry, I can hardly remember what happened.”
    “Just a flat tire on the expressway. She lost control, flew to the other side, and hit a truck. I often ask God why did it happen to my only daughter?”
    “We have to be grateful that she is alive.” I said comforting her.
    “She is.” Aunt Stella said with a sigh crushing her cigarette in the ashtray. “But she is not well at all.”
    “To me she looks all right. I’d say perfect.”
    “You should know what it costs her to look like that. She must be perfect. She works with customers sixty hours a week and she hates to be on pills.”
    “It’ll pass some day, I hope.”
    “I did hope too, but it’s getting worse with the years. I talked to her doctor, he said she needs a change. He recommended a good therapist, but she doesn’t even want to listen.”
    “No!” I exclaimed with passion. “Do not take her to any therapists. It will be a mistake, they will ruin her life. Instead, let her go somewhere for a month or two. We all need a good rest once in a while.”
    “Yes, rest, she needs a good rest, you are right. She is not like that, I mean, she never breaks like today. She is just tired, very tired. Imagine, no matter how she feels, she always must smile at work. It would drive me nuts. Yes she needs a rest, a good rest.”
    “Let her go to the ocean,” I said with enthusiasm, “I’ve heard there are beautiful places in North California. Pine trees and sandy beaches; in a month or two she will feel much better.”
    “Oh, Joseph, Joseph, bless your heart! I would rather that she goes to Europe, to Riviera. She, at last, could meet someone who…, but a trip like this costs a lot, where would she get the money?”
    “Money is not a problem,” I said decisively. “I have about twenty four grand in my 401k, I don’t need it. Some day I’ll get the money Dad left for me. Let Tracy have it, I want her to. That’ll be the right way to spend it.”
    “Joseph, my dear,” Aunt Stella could hardly talk, tears ran down her cheeks again. She pulled me to herself and kissed me on my forehead. “Thank you, you are so kind, I wish I had a son like you. I wish Tracy would accept your gift, but she never will. She has too much pride, and the money... You saved it for your own retirement. No she would never take it from you.”
   “But why should we tell her where the money came from?”
   “She will learn it sooner of later, you don’t want her feel sour about your gift, do you?”
   “Well, what can we do then?” I stood up and started to walk about the room.
   “There is a way.” Aunt Stella said after a pause. “Tracy, really, needs a good rest, the sooner, the better. About twenty thousand dollars should be enough, but the money must come from another source.”
   “What source, you mean I have to transfer it to some different account?” I stopped walking.
   “No, it shouldn’t be your money.” Aunt Stella’s face became rigid, as though she concentrated on something. “You are giving all you have saved, this is too much of a sacrifice, it won’t work.  Had Tracy borrowed a dollar from you, she would do it lightheartedly, because she would take a small part, not a whole lot. It must be a source, where the twenty thousand would look like a dime in your pocket.”
   “But no bank would loan it without interest, and I wanted it to be a gift, not a loan.” I said starting to understand where Aunt Stella was driving at. I didn’t want her to, but she continued. “Would it be Mr. Volgeen’s money, she’d take it with no problem, she has her own philosophy on that.”
    “So, you want me to talk to Uncle Jack about Tracy?” I asked with stiffness in my tongue.
    “Why wouldn’t you. That’s the best way you can help. Of course, if you really want to help her. This is the only source Tracy would consider.” Seeing doubts in my face, she continued with restrained rage. “Joseph, it is all right, totally all right, Mr.Volgeen is used to helping people, he used to pass out much larger gifts, the twenty thousand is a mere trifle, petty cash for him. To give is a pleasure for him, because the money God blessed him with is immense, enormous. Happy is the man who has that much, because he can help others. Your uncle just can’t wait helping others, please, believe me, Joseph.”
    Aunt Stella was talking in a loud whisper. Still sitting on the sofa she stretched to me with all her body trying to persuade me. 
    “How strange it all is.” I said sadly. “Tell me, Aunt Stella, did you all, really, come here hoping for money?”
    “Not at all, it’s the anniversary of your Dad’s death, have you forgotten about that?” Aunt Stella said with indignation, but immediately got back to the sobbing tone,  “I didn’t even think that he might be a help until he said those words.”
    “What words?”
    “About something unaccomplished it was, and something else of the kind. Joseph he came here to help, I tell you. He must help, we don’t ask much.”
    “I didn’t even pay attention to the words, how did you all catch them that fast?”
    “Who is all? Did somebody else talk to you about that?” Aunt Stella’s eyes narrowed.
    “No one did,” I waved with my hand, “It just seemed to me. Do you know where Lisa might be? I can’t find her.”
    “I saw Lisa with your Mom. Wait Joseph, will you talk to Mr. Volgeen? Remember it was your idea to help Tracy, not mine. You have to finish what you have started. Will you?”
    “I will,” I said. “She’ll get the money, I promise.”
    “Bless your heart, Joseph. Please, don’t tell anyone about that, your Mom shouldn’t know that we talked. All right?”
    “All right.” I said and walked to Mom’s study expecting Lisa to be there.


*   *   *
   I knocked on the door and walked in. Mom and Reverend Willard were sitting at Mom’s desk facing one another, talking. They both looked at me questioningly.
   “Excuse, me” I said, “I thought Lisa was here?”
   “She is not here, we are busy.” Mom’s voice was stern.
   “I’m sorry,” I said, closing the door. Lisa had to be somewhere in the house. I decided to walk through all the rooms starting with the first floor. In the sitting room I tried to be very quiet, but Susan had already blinked.
   “Joseph, where is everybody?” She asked me yawning.
   “In different places, the party is over.” I said walking away.
   “Wait, what do you mean over. Wait, Joseph, come, sit down here. Did I what, go to sleep? Oh, how could I?”
   I just shrugged my shoulders.
   “Joseph, listen,” Susan looked around to be sure we were alone. “Don’t you think he liked how I looked?”
   “Who?”
   “The man, oh, what’s his name, I forgot.”
   “You mean Mr. Volgeen?”
   “Yes, that’s what it was, Volgeen, is he Czech?”
   “He is Russian,” I said, looking at the chandelier’s crystals above us, thinking how long was she going to talk to me.
    “I used to know one Czech. Rich and well bread, a real gentlemen, there are no people like him any more. When I saw Mr. Volgeen I immediately recalled the romance I had with the man. Oh, what time was it!”
    “Before World War II?”
    “Yes… What do you mean before World War Two? It is rude to assume a woman’s age.”
    “I’m sorry, I just asked to be sure when it was.”
    “Never mind, listen, would you do me a favor? You won’t refuse doing it for me, will you? Promise.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “Just a small thing. First promise you’ll do it for me.”
    “I can’t promise, not knowing what you are asking.” I said firmly, and it sounded louder than she wanted it to.
    “Okay, okay,” She whispered looking around. “What a naughty boy. I’m not asking for anything bad. All I want you to do is to let the man know that I have visited Czechoslovakia many times, and I love the country. South America is my favorite place in the world, and I’m so eager to talk about it. That’s all I wanted you to do. Now will you promise?”
   “Now I can. Czechoslovakia, which is in the middle of South America, is a favorite place of yours. I can remember that.”
   “Good. Go, find him now, I’ll be in my room. I have to make myself presentable.”
   I didn’t make her ask me twice. I just ran away and almost collided with my Mom.
   “Stop it,” she said, “you are not a boy any more to run about the house.” She pulled at my sweater to make it sit right on my shoulders, asked me to turn around, and pulled it down at the back.
   “Reverend Willard wants to talk to you. Please, be nice and polite. Follow me,” she said and walked to her office.
   Reverend Willard was sitting in the leather armchair. His hair was neatly brushed. He greeted me with a smile and offered me a seat in another armchair.
   I sat down.
   Mom walked to her desk and sat there observing us both. For a moment there was nothing but silence in the room. I looked at my minister expecting him to start talking, and so he did.
  “I have invited you Joseph, to express my respect for what you have done today. We all, Christians, must be like that. Had members of our church spoken up so openly, much would be different in the congregation. I have to admit that today I saw you in a new light. I really like what you have been saying. You were right even when you confronted all of us at the table. Yes, it is in the Bible, in the twenty-second chapter of Proverbs, “The borrower is a slave to the lender.” You, apparently, didn’t pay attention to the verse in the Scripture, but you carry the Bible principles in your soul, you were blessed with them at your birth. You are a man of high moral, and I’m very glad to admit it. Though your actions are pretty impulsive, you are going in the right direction, and I like it. I’m not surprised that people sympathize with you. You are a candid man with a pure heart, it makes you open to everyone.  Much can come out of you, as I said.”
    Reverend Willard made a short pause and continued.
    “There is also a negative side in your frankness. There are things that should be kept within, there are secrets that are not supposed to be known to everyone. I’m not sure that you are capable of keeping such a secret if somebody asks you straight about it.”
    “Why do you think so?” I asked feeling offended. “I’m not a simpleton. If it is not my secret, be sure, I’ll keep it alright.”
    Reverend Willard looked at my Mom as if asking her to confirm what I said. Mom glanced at me without a smile, as if warning me that this talk was very important.
    “Well, if you can keep other people’s secrets, I think I can trust you.”
    “Trust me with what?” I asked.
    Another pause followed, they both stared at me directly as if deciding what to do.
    “Tell me, what this is all about?” I said.
    I have a very serious request for you, Joseph.” Reverend Willard said thoughtfully. “Hadn’t I found myself in a position that leaves me no other choice, I would never talk to you about this. Not only me, our entire congregation will suffer, if you won’t be able to help me to correct a mistake I have made.  It is not necessary to explain to you how harmful a scandal, in which the minister himself is involved, could be for a congregation.”
   “The minister?” I asked in disbelief, looking at Mom. “What happened?” I asked her, but her face remained motionless.
   “Can we tell him, do you think?” Reverend Willard asked my Mom.
   “Yes, we can.” She answered not taking her eyes off me. “You can trust Joseph.”
    “Okay.” Reverend Willard said with relief. “Do you know Joseph about the crack in the wall of our church building. It is coming from the foundation up on the dome. We have tried to repair it each year, but the plaster doesn’t last long because the soil is shifting each spring.”
   “Yes, everyone knows about that. The crack has been there for years. You talked about that when you visited our Sunday school class with the financial report. I remember we keep some money in an emergency fund to repair it.”
    “Right. According to the estimate, the repair would take one and a half million dollars to complete. The project engineer explained to me how to keep an eye on the crack. A week ago, I found that the parts of the wall on the sides of the crack have shifted to the critical point. We need to close the church and start the repair work.”
    “You mean there won’t be a service next Sunday? It’s not much of a secret to keep.”
    “No. The secret is that we are not able to pay for the work. The money is no longer available.”
    “What do you mean, I remember it was a special reserve kept for the occasion.”
    “It was. But, unfortunately, all the reserve is gone. I spent the money on my own needs.” Reverend Willard said somberly.
    “Maybe you can reimburse them somehow?” I suggested.
    “No, it is not possible to reimburse the money in such a short time. I could sell my farm in Colorado, but, as you know, real estate is not much of a liquid asset. It takes time. As you know, I was on the way to my brother in Brazil. I wanted to ask for his help, recently he sold his business.”
    “That was a great idea,” I exclaimed. “Of course you have to go. We do not need a scandal in our church. If the building requires the repair, we must do it. It is one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the country, the face of our town. It must be saved. You know, I have some savings, about…” Here, I stopped, realizing how miserable my twenty-four thousand dollars were in comparison with the huge amount of money that was required.
    “Mom,” I turned to her. “We can help, can’t we?”
    “No.” Mom nodded with her head negatively. “We can’t. Not at this time. I didn’t tell you, but with this resent downfall in the stock market, I can hardly collect a third of the amount without attracting attention.”
    “Then withdraw the money from what Dad has left for Gary and me.”
    “No, that also can’t be done that fast. Even if we decide to do so, the money is invested on condition that require a waiting period on funds withdrawal.”
    Again the room was filled with grave silence.
    “You want me to ask for Uncle Jack’s help.” I said looking at my feet.
    “What?” Mom asked in surprise? “How do you know?”
    I smirked.
    “Who else asked you about that? Tell me.” Mom demanded.
    “I can keep another person’s secrets.” I said slowly with reluctance. “No one did. You better tell me what happened to the money?” I looked directly at Reverend Willard. “To talk to Uncle Jack I have to know all.”
    Saying this, I felt bad. Really bad. I knew that I wouldn’t ask Uncle Jack for help, I didn’t plan to, and I didn’t want to talk to him about money at all. Saying this, I wanted Reverend Willard to tell me the truth, no more than that. I was curious how could he spend one and a half million dollars.
    Again Reverend Willard looked at my Mom. There was fear in his eyes, I mean it, and there was a plea.
    “Why do you keep looking at my Mom, as if asking her permission to talk to me? I’m a grown man, you want me to help, so I will, I just need to know the truth.” I said to my minister. “Are you Mom, somehow involved in the story?
     “I’m not.” Mom said. “Reverend Willard is my guest, he is talking to my son, that’s why he looks at me occasionally.”
    “N-no.” I said. “I feel that there is more than that to it. You both just don’t want me to know. You are asking for my help, and before I approach Uncle Jack with it, I must be sure that I know all. Otherwise, I refuse doing what you want me to.”
    I finished it all in such a firm tone that my Mom lowered her eyes. Reverend Willard stood up and went to the window. There was nothing to be seen outside, just a few lights in the darkness. He stood there motionless for a while then his shoulders shook. I heard sobs. It was hard to believe. Reverend Willard, whose face had always expressed nothing but prudence, who was the embodiment of pride and prosperity of our congregation, turned to me red with tears and said struggling with his sobs, “I beg you, Joseph, do it for me without explanations. I implore you, please!” Tears streamed down his cheek abundantly. He turned away from me, but couldn’t stop crying; his grief found it’s way out.
   “No.” I said firmly. “I need to know how you spent the money.”
   Mom too was wiping her tears, she looked down as Reverend Willard vainly tried to find help; Mom herself needed to be helped. I felt pity for them, I was on the verge of yielding, to agree to do all they wanted me to without any questions, but I restrained the urge. It was cruel to drive people I loved through such an ordeal, but something made me be firm. Collecting myself, I waited for the truth to be said.
    “I… have lost the money in gambling.” Reverend Willard said at last. “Don’t ask me for details, Joseph. Now you know.”
    I stood up from my chair and walked towards my minister. With my eyes full of tears, I embraced Reverend Willard. The man, who always used to be so distant, suddenly became very close to me. He was no longer my minister, he was my brother, a man in need.
   “I’ll help you, I promise. No matter what it will cost, I’ll find the money for you. Believe me. I will.”
   Reverend Willard leaned on me even more, but I forced him from me, turned around and rushed out of the room.
   Lisa, Lisa, I thought in delirium, how I need you, where are you, my chum?
   I walked out the front door, to the fresh air, to the stars shimmering coldly in the dark sky. I took a deep breath and looked around.  For some time I stared at Aunt Stella’s Mercedes, trying to comprehend what was wrong with it. There was nothing wrong with it. It stood there alone. The space behind it was empty. Lisa’s car was gone.

*   *   *

     Not believing my eyes, I walked to the spot, as if hoping that my vision was playing tricks on me. There I stood, on the asphalt, shifting my weight from one leg to another until the question "Why?” formed in my head. Why? What happened? What made Lisa leave without saying a word to me? Was she mad at me? What did I do?”
    One after another questions flooded my mind plunging me in despair. I felt abandoned, lost. I could hardly think, what should I do next?
    “Joseph!” I heard Mom’s voice. She was walking to me with a coat thrown over her shoulders. “What’s going on with you?” Mom asked looking into my face.
    “Lisa is gone.” I said.
    “She’ll show up,’ Mom said, “don’t worry about that. I want to talk to you.”
    “Talk.” I said indifferently.
    “I just wanted to warn you that what Reverend Willard has said is very private. Everyone can make a mistake. Do you understand?”
    “Yes. I do.”
    “No, you don’t. Stop thinking about Lisa, please. It is very important. No one should know about this.”
    “Why did he tell it to me then? He could say he lost the money on the Stock Market, or something like that.”
    “Well… He surely didn’t plan to tell you the truth. I don’t know what happen, too much pressure. Just… a moment of weakness, I think. I wish you’d forget about it.”
    “I won’t. I promised to help.”
    “Are you sure you’ll be able to help?  I don’t want Uncle Jack to know…” Mom started and stopped under my mocking glance.
    “Why don’t you do it yourself?” I asked. “Uncle Jack is an old friend of yours, wouldn’t it be more convenient if you asked him for the money?  Or do you think that he came over here to pay back for the all the hatred, to throw us a bone, to see how we cut each others throats fighting for it?”
    “What nonsense!” Mom exclaimed frowning. “Who told you that, Doris? Answer me!”
    “Gary.” I told the truth to protect Aunt Stella from big trouble.
    “Did he want you to talk to Uncle Jack too?”
    I shrugged my shoulders, thinking that Mom didn’t even need my answer.
    “He wants to borrow the money to buy a share in some business.” I said.
    “Never mind Gary.” Mom said after a dead pause, “I’ll take care of him myself.  Go take a good rest now. Come back at nine tomorrow.”
    “Mom, is it always like that?” I asked.
    “What?”
    “The money. I’ve always thought you didn’t have a problem with it. And now that Uncle Jack’s here… What would happen if he hadn’t come? What would you do?”
    “It’s hard to say.” Mom said. “Enough for today. I’m tired too. Go.”
    The car keys were in my pocket. I gave Mom a hug and walked to my Toyota. The guard in the electrified booth barely looked at me opening the gate. I thought about asking him when Lisa’s car passed by, but they scarcely ever looked at those who exited the gates.  I had an idea to drive to Lisa’s place, but it was already too late to come without being invited. I decided to call her from home.
    Why did she leave? I kept asking myself, feeling like a schoolboy who, being not able to comprehend what he had done wrong, is guessing what kind of punishment would he get.  That was stupid. I expected the night to bring a big change into my life, to clarify something important, even to be triumphant in some way, but it brought even more disorder to my soul. In comparison with the new problems I got this night, all my old troubles meant nothing. Now, I doubted whether I ever had a real problem at all.  My health was all right, I didn’t crave for money to buy a share in a business, I hadn’t lost one and a half million dollars in roulette, or whatever it was. I even had my savings untouched. That was funny, for years I hardly ever paid attention to the money in my retirement plan, and now it had grown to twenty four thousand dollars. Wasn’t I happier than all of them? Why hadn’t they envied me then? Why didn’t I feel satisfied with that myself?
    And, on top of it all I promised to help my Minister find the money. One and a half million dollars. Was I really nuts? Now I had a problem too. A real one. What a night!
      One and a half million dollars… I thought while driving home. What such an amount could be spent on?  Mom paid somewhere around seven hundred fifty thousand for her house. She paid half of it in cash and took a fifteen years mortgage to pay off the rest. Gary bragged that he paid fifty-five grand for his last Corvette. My regular lunch at McDonalds costs about four bucks. So, the money my dear Reverend Willard yielded to the gambling industry would make two large highly secured real estate pieces, one can buy about thirty, no it would be, oh boy, a little less than three hundred cool cars like Gary’s, and lunches at McDonalds... Here my head went giddy.
    The more I thought about the number, which was so easy to pronounce, the more it swelled in my head.  Was Aunt Stella right saying that the twenty thousand that Tracy needed to fix her health is the same for Uncle Jack as a buck for myself?
  Uncle Jack… He became an uncle to us all only thanks to Grandma’s whim. He was nothing but the cause of death of my closest aunt. Did he really have my Mom’s sister killed? What was her name? Mary?  She was Mom’s twin sister. My Mom is an exact replica of a woman who no longer exists. Has the man come to take a look at a double of a woman he once loved? Though this was too romantic I wished it be the real reason of his sudden appearance.
    Lisa’s unexplainable departure, Reverend Willard’s lapse, Gary’s disdain and his unwillingness to listen to me, Uncle Jack’s role in our family, all of it made me feel gloomy and depressed.  Soon, I turned onto my street. Not counting a few sporadic lights on the porches, it was totally dark at this time. I stopped in my narrow driveway and parked. 
    My house seemed to me shabby and small. What would those strange guys look for in my place?
    There was no one around. The neighborhood was quiet. I got out of the car and stood next to it for a while, listening. Nothing was heard. I got my key ready and opened the door.
    The red light was blinking on my answering machine. “Hello, you have one message,” said the mechanical voice as soon as I touched the button, and the baritone of the piano player said,
    “Hi Joseph, I got your message, thanks for the invitation. I’ll be at home tonight, you may call me again.”
    I certainly had to call him.  I needed to hear his music, a breath of fresh air. I recalled the impression of it and groaned with anguish. Would it be possible again to be as happy as when I was listening to the music in the cathedral! The damn crack… We were told that to repair it special equipment must be used. The foundation must be carefully supported and the whole cathedral carefully lined up. Tons of concrete poured, lots of money spent. An event of National Significance, Reverend Willard called it proudly. How could he have wasted the money?
    Thinking about that, I dialed Lisa’s number and listened to the long tones on her side for a whole minute. She apparently saw my name on her caller ID and decided not to take my call. She couldn’t be somewhere else. I dialed her cell phone number, but as I expected the result was the same.
    “I love you Lisa! Call me back, please!” I left her the message and hung up.
    It’s happened before. Lisa is very sensitive to words and I can’t say that I always think before speaking, but this time, I knew it, I didn’t say anything bad. She was vexed with Reverend Willard’s invitation to join the church, that’s true, but she sounded pretty aggressive when answering. That meant that she had already been mad at something before that.
    My Lisa, how I need you, how I need to talk to you! I thought in despair. 
   In the living room I turned on the floor lamp and the light above the painting on the wall. The Paintings of the Hermitage book still lay on the floor next to the recliner.  I recalled yesterday’s moment of revelation. What was it about? Or had something already happened?  I didn’t see any changes in myself. I didn’t feel anything approaching any more. I sat in the recliner and thought that in a day or two Uncle Jack would return to Australia, Gary with Mom’s help will get the business, Tracy will smile to her clients despite her terrible headaches, she will never go to the Riviera to have a rest and meet someone. I will have to confess that I wasn’t able to help Reverend Willard find the money. He probably will be dismissed, without a scandal, of course: the elders will collect the money to hide the story, and life, little by little will get back to normal. Joseph the Loony will continue to live in his gingerbread house, reading books for fun, pretending that he is looking for a job, annoying Lisa with requests to marry him until, some day, she’ll fall in love with a real man and will be gone forever. The years will mount one on another adding more and more gray hair to my head, then the day of my richness will come and I’ll move to some other place to live the rest of my boring worthless life. Then I’ll die leaving no children, no achievements, and no memories of myself. Should I order an exquisite portrait, to be remembered by? Who would need a portrait of a jerk? It would be a better idea to donate my skeleton to some medical school. Students will shake my bony hand for fun when unseen by teachers, and, at that very moment, I will stand in front of the Almighty having nothing to say, lacking even a skeleton. “What did you do with the talents I have provided you with,” the Almighty will ask. “What talents?” I’ll answer, trembling with fear. And instead of answers the abyss of Hell will open beneath me and I’ll be consumed by the dark eternal fire like the lazy slave who didn’t multiply what he was given.
     At the thought, I jumped out of the recliner and started to pace around the room. “God doesn’t make trash,” I murmured. “God doesn’t make trash!” I exclaimed out loud and went to the kitchen to the coffee maker. To hell with the filters; if I’m not able to solve such a small problem what good can come out of me?
    I poured some water into a small pan, threw a measure of coffee powder into it, and put the pan on the stove.
    I should have talents! I must have them! I thought, stirring the coffee in the pan with a spoon. I must, I just must, to fulfill my life!
    The coffee suddenly boiled up under my hand and just before it ran over the edges I managed to take it off the burner. The fact that I didn’t mess my stove added to my decisiveness and I felt that, true, I’d find what I should dedicate the second part of my life to. Still, being alone in the dark gloomy wood of Dante’s life journey, I felt a presence of nearby openings. Like Tom Sawyer in the cave, I caught a glimpse of light in the dark tunnel, and I moved there full of hope with thrill in my soul.
      Alas! For years I tried to camouflage my peculiarities, to make people think that I was normal, to become one of them. When I settled in Grandma’s house I tried to make my neighbors think that I was one of them, one of the hard working middle class denizens of the area. Why? Because lacking qualities of a businessman, I felt more comfortable among simple people. I hate thinking about the day to day profit like Gary and Margaret do.  I’d rather do routine work that would provide for my everyday needs, and leave me time for leisure. My gingerbread house is my sanctuary. Here, at home, I have spent the happiest hours of my life, I was more than happy I was in heaven when Lisa stayed with me for a night or two. She refused to settle with me for longer. Never having her own house, her own property, she used to move from one apartment to another easily, driven by a sudden change of mood, never regretting leaving a place she once called home. She, apparently, didn’t even consider her dwellings much of a home, as if she had known that her real home was waiting for her ahead. I tried my best to make her comfortable at my place, but she never admired it as I did. Once, when I showed her pretty flowers that broke out in the old flowerbed in front of my house, she glanced around and asked with a strange smile, “Do you really like it here?” I said yes, I do. I like the neighborhood, the people who live around. They are not readers, but we talk about cars, football games, fishing. Once I even went with Larry to Beaver’s Lake, in Missouri. On the way, he told me about his family, his childhood in Iowa where they lived on a farm. To me, it all was fascinating, but Lisa wasn’t hooked on the story. She became thoughtful and soon she left, excusing herself with something she had forgotten to do.  I remember I felt upset, even insulted, but the next day Lisa met me as if nothing happened, she was even more gentle and lovely than before, which puzzled me completely. Then I forgot about it.
    Only now, I understood what it was.  Oh, what a fool! How could I? It became so clear to me, so distinct now!  Not knowing what I did, I was dragging Lisa back to the life she tried to escape from. She herself descends from a middle class family. She left England for the United States in search of changes. She crossed the Ocean leaving everything she was attached to. What for?  To find herself next to a sentimental idiot who is brought to tears by the view of silly violets?  Could she be happy with a creature of this kind? Lisa would snicker when hearing stories about the big bucks people make. Money was not her goal, but what could the adventures romantic girl think of a man who has voluntarily denied his natural right to be rich? The one who, shunning responsibilities required by wealth, is hiding himself among people who are destined to live on fixed income, investing its significant portions into retirement plans? She would feel nothing but contempt. Why couldn’t I understand it before? Yes, Gary was right, I’m a total idiot.
     Stricken with the realization, I didn’t jump to my feet. I sat drinking coffee, feeling that I was very close to something very important, letting my thoughts flow undisturbed. Yes, that all was a bluff. Running from the life I was born for, I tranquilized myself with the thought that one doesn’t need much to live life. Prudence and decency are great virtues, but did I have the right to reject God's blessing? No, I never belonged to the category of people I live among. I’m just playing their games, being aware that my fortune is inevitably approaching. That makes a big difference. Would my neighbor Larry offer his savings to Tracy for her trip?  Would he give the money to Gary to buy a business of unknown nature? No, he wouldn’t do that. Unlike me, Larry treats his savings dearly, he probably studies the statements of his retirement plan meticulously, considering transferring his modest funds he takes risks and soars with joy when gaining a few hundred dollars.  Had he known that I didn’t pay attention to my 401k statements for years, he would laugh at me. Then his laugh would sour and he’d never take me fishing with him again. Yes, I deserve to be ridiculed, even hated. My generosity was nothing but a pose. Giving the money away, I knew that I’d be alright. That was no more than an impulse, which would ruin a middle class man.
    Suddenly, I felt so ashamed with myself that I hid my face in my hands and moaned. Who am I? What am I doing on the earth? Gary is right: I’m nothing but a looser.  Mom is right never taking my life style seriously. They are all right. My neat gingerbread house, my drafting positions, my old car, it all makes a gloomy forest in which I find myself on the midway of my life’s journey. It is no more than a myth I have chosen to believe in. My true way lies elsewhere. I have to get on the move, to find the way out.
    Feeling hot, I walked out to the patio.  The night so calm just a while ago became stormy. The light clouds were gone and the stars shone brightly in the dark sky. The gusty wind whistled in the naked trees rocking my garden swing. It looked like some invisible ghost was having fun. I even heard laughter in the wind. The cold wind penetrated under my light sweater, and I shivered but didn’t leave. Looking at the stars, I whispered: “Oh, my Father in Heaven, you have known me before the rocks of the world, you brought me to the world for some reason, for some purpose, you created me the way you found best, you blessed me with everything a person needs. I was born in the best country in the world, I was brought up by a pious father who taught me to love you, I have no needs whatsoever. Forgive my blindness, show me the way, teach me how to serve you, how to multiply what you have provided me with!”
     The last words I said spontaneously and stopped my prayer. The “multiply” seemed to be very familiar.  A man of noble birth when going on a journey called up his servants to entrust them his property… He wanted them not to keep it, but to multiply… the parable about talents.  I have always thought that the parable is about the artistic abilities that people sometimes so loath to develop in themselves. I always comforted myself with the thought that neither of those talents were trusted to me, but the parable, I remember it clearly, doesn’t say anything about the abilities, it is about property, about measures of silver, liquid assets that wisely invested could bring much good. God has provided me with a good share of his property, and what did I do with it? What did I plan to do with the money my Dad had left for me? To move somewhere closer to the ocean? Was that all? The wicked lazy servant, who dug his talent into the ground, you too will be thrown into the outer darkness to weep, I thought sadly. The gift of fifty million dollars or so, which I will receive in about ten years, must not be wasted.
     The sum seemed to me so immense that despite the cold wind hot sweat broke through my skin.  My minister has lost one and a half million gambling and even my Mom is not capable of collecting the amount which is much smaller then the money I, eventually, will come in possession of.  What will I do with the legacy? How will I multiply what my Master has trusted me with?  What good could be done with the money? Should I pay the debts of careless ministers? It probably won’t be enough to help them all. It also won’t be enough to provide all the sick in the world with recreation time, as it won’t be enough to help all the businessmen of Gary’s type with their emergencies. The money, the precious talent of mine has to work in a certain, unique way. It doesn’t matter that the money will not become available soon, the very fact of the wealth is forming a character of the man who possesses it.
     The conclusion calmed me down. I shivered under the wind once again and retreated inside the house. I needed some time to collect my thoughts, to make the decision, at least to prepare myself for it. Why haven’t I ever thought about the money before? I asked myself and startled because someone said clearly in my head. “Because you have never felt yourself in need.” It was pronounced with my own voice, though differently, as if I was hearing my own voice in headphones. Why should I feel poor now? I asked the next question fearing and, at the same time, waiting to hear the distinct voice again, but the answer came in an usual way, another thought, “Because you promised to bring Reverend Willard one and a half million dollars, and you don’t have it.” The answer was natural and I didn’t pay much attention to it. I still was wondering about the audio sensation I experienced just seconds ago. It never happened to me before. Was I really going crazy with that all? I suddenly felt lonely and scared. I didn’t want to believe that I started to  hallucinate. God save me from real madness!
     From the firewood rack I picked up a few split pieces and put them into the fireplace broke the first match and lit the fire with the second. The blue propane flame licked the dark core igniting the small particles with bright yellow sparkles.  On the cable box I found the classical music channel and the sounds of a violin accompanied with a piano filled up my room.  Sitting on the edge of the recliner holding my shoulders with both hands, still shivering from the cold, I looked into the fire. The violin stopped playing and different music, familiar like the sensation of pain started. I stood up, found my remote control and turned the TV on. It was the Revolutionary Etude by Frederic Chopin. Goose bumps ran through my skin and tiny needles pierced my fingers from inside. The splashes of sound resonated with my very soul. With my hand trembling I made the music louder and the disturbing harmony of the piano filled up my whole being. So I stood there listening to the end. When it was over I turned the sound off and returned to the fire.
    Now I knew what to do. The decision came to me in such a simple and essential way, for a long moment I sat motionless, affected with the comprehension.
    They think I do not need money?  I do. More than all of them taken together. Oh, my God, why hadn’t it occurred to me before?
    I stretched my hand to the revolving CD rack and turned it around searching for Chopin’s music. The right CD wasn’t there. I recalled that I had left it in Lisa’s car. Doesn’t matter. I’ll listen to the music tonight again anyway, I decided.  The clock on the cable box read fifteen minutes after midnight. Australia is on the other side of the world. It must be around noon there. Uncle Jack has invited me to visit him in the morning. It wouldn’t be impolite to show up by early afternoon by Australian time.
    In the closet I found my jacket, turned the lights off, and rushed outside.

*   *   *

    The wind welcomed me with a mighty gust. Dry leaves flew along the street and the treetops roared and creaked. In the sky low ragged clouds pale with city lights flew rapidly to the west. Stars, still bright, flickered in the black depth. The stormy weather added to the Revolutionary Etude that still thundered in my mind.
     The town looked deserted. Streetlights changing colors were rocking under the wind, a few large drops of rain smashed against my windshield; the rain too was struggling with the wind. I made a left turn and soon swerved onto the side street, my car bounced on the small hills throwing beams of the headlights towards the evergreen fences.
     At the gate, I lowered my side window and dialed the code. The guard in the booth saluted me with a brief touch to the pick of his cap. I waved back. Driving slowly I reached Mom’s cul-de-sac and stopped. Not making a noise I got out, and closed the door.  Like a thief, I walked hiding in the shade of the trees. It suddenly occurred to me that the simple consideration of the time difference would not only come to my mind.  Wouldn’t it be funny to meet Gary, Aunt Stella, and Reverend Willard, accompanied by Mom, at Uncle Jack’s door at this late gloomy hour? As if expecting to see them all hiding in the bushes I looked around but saw no one. Mom’s front door was dimly lit with two lamps flickering with gas flames by its sides, the windows of the second floor were dark.  Passing the garage, I turned the corner and stopped, observing the black shiluette of the guesthouse on the other side of the swimming pool. There wasn’t a sign of life there either.
    For a while I stood still, thinking what I should do next. I couldn’t ring the doorbell because it would sound inside the main house – the first owner of the place designed it like that and the wiring hadn’t been changed. I also didn’t remember whether there were motion sensors at the door that would light the yard. My Mom’s bedroom windows looked out at the guesthouse and I wanted her to sleep well.  The guesthouse had another door at the back, so I moved around the swimming pool wondering what would come out of my exploit. I had no doubts. What I decided on ought to be done. There wasn’t a way back.
    The doorknob was as cold and firm as a stone. It didn’t twist even a bit. I lifted my hand to knock, but stopped. The window next to it caught my attention. Carefully, I removed the net screen and pulled the frame up.
    It budged a bit and stuck. I pulled harder. It slid up and hit the top. I froze listening. Still there wasn’t a sound inside the house, just wind attacking the trees. I stared into the black square of the opening and poked my head in. The anteroom was empty. Behind the door on the opposite side there was a passage to the stairway that led to bedrooms upstairs. The servant quarter was on the first floor, next to the laundry. I could easily avoid meeting with Uncle Jack’s man who would turn the lights on attracting attention to the place.
     Carefully, I climbed inside and straightened up, trying to accustom my sight to the darkness. Suddenly, a bright light hit my eyes and right in front of me I saw the barrel of a handgun pointed at my head. Uncle Jack’s servant stood at the door as firm as a statue aiming between my eyes.
     “Exsc-cuse me,” I stuttered paralyzed by the gun.
     With a brief movement of his other hand, the servant reached for his pocket, pulled out a card, and shoved it under my nose.
     “How may I help you?” I read.
     “I need to see Uncle… Mr. Volgeen,” I asked.
     Another accurate movement of the hand followed and another card appeared in front of me. The gun in the other hand didn’t even twitch.
     “Do you have an appointment?” I read.
     “Yes,” I said. “He invited me to visit him in the morning. I thought it is already morning in Australia…”
     The last words I pronounced in a dying tone realizing how silly they sounded. But the servant’s eyes showed no emotion. Still holding his gun up he pulled up another card and I read,
    “Please wait here.”
    He stepped back, slid the gun under his coat, turned around, and left.
    I took a deep breath.
    A whole two minutes had passed before I heard the stairway cracking under somebody’s steps. I stood in the middle of the room not daring to move. Had the man had fewer nerves I would lay under the window with a hole in my head. That surely didn’t fit my plans. 
   The door opened, and Uncle Jack dressed in a silk dressing gown walked in. A velvet shirt unbuttoned at the neck appeared from under his collar.  Uncle Jack’s face was pale with marble lines of wrinkles. Though it was obvious that he had been awakened by my early visit, his eyes were smiling. Looking at my face attentively, as if studying it, Mr. Volgeen approached and stretched his hand for me to shake.
     “Why did you come in such a strange manner, Joseph?” He asked.
     “I have very important business with you and I don’t want anyone to be aware of my visit.” I said with relief seeing that the man was not angry. On the contrary, I would say I saw a sparkle of interest in his eyes.
     “Okay, we can sit and talk. Bernard,” he addressed his servant, “ Would you mind closing the shades and curtains in the game room.”
     “Wait.” I exclaimed, and to smoothen the startling effect it produced I repeated calmly. “Wait. Actually, we don’t have much time for talking. I came over here to invite you to visit some place. If you would like me to take you there, of course.” I finished humbly sensing how extravagant my request was. 
     “Some place? At this time? Ha-ha.” Uncle Jack suddenly laughed and I felt totally demolished. What a fool I was coming here!
    “Where would you like me to follow you, my friend?” Uncle Jack asked.
    I was ready to say, “Never mind,” and jump back through the window that still was open, but something in Uncle Jack’s voice stopped me. I dared to look at him and saw no ridicule, but sympathy in his eyes.
    “I just wanted to introduce you to our church.” I mumbled.
    “To your church? Can’t it wait until morning?” Uncle Jack still looked at me intensely catching every change in my face and voice.
    “No. It can’t. I’d like you to go with me now.” I said decidedly, looking straight into his eyes.
    “Hm… That sounds intriguing. Give me some time to get ready. I won’t be long. Go take a seat somewhere.” Uncle Jack said, and walked away, followed by Bernard.
    I closed the window, went to the game room and not turning the light on sat in an armchair next to the pool table. From a box of Kleanex I pulled a napkin and wiped my hands that were wet with perspiration.
   A few minutes passed before I heard the steps on the stairway and in the feeble light that penetrated from the back anteroom I saw Uncle Jack dressed in blue jeans and a wool jacket.
   “Okay, we may go.” He said pulling the zipper up on his jacket.
   I looked up the stairs but Uncle Jack said,
   “Bernard stays here. I have no need for him.” He walked to the back door, opened it, and off we went.
   After the warm and quiet game room, the stormy night seemed to be even colder. Sporadic sleety raindrops were falling from the clouds that still rushed above the very tops of the trees. With a jest of my hand I invited Uncle Jack to follow me and, around the swimming pool, under the very walls of the main house we went to my car. I opened the passenger door and let my guest in. The next gust of the wind made such a noise in the trees that I could hardly hear the engine start.  Slowly, I drove along the circular street and turned the headlights on only at the “Exit” sign.  The guard opened the gate and, holding my breath I drove away.
    “We need to pick up one more person.” I said, looking briefly at Uncle Jack.  Expecting him to be surprised that I was ready to provide an explanation, but he passenger just smirked.
    “This Bernard of yours. He sacred me to death with his gun. I bet he shoots well.”
    “You can count on it.” Uncle Jack said, adjusting his seat belt. “With his gun he can hit the ace of diamonds right in the middle from ten steps.”
    “Even if it is covered with a pillow.” I added and Uncle Jack laughed shortly.
    “The Master and Margarita was a great book, wasn’t it?” He said.
    “Yes. Fascinating and repulsive at the same time.” I agreed.
    “That’s the peculiarity of Russian life. Hell on Earth. Russians believe that, at the Second Coming, Christ will descend from the heavens in Moscow, in respect of their sufferings, but Satan himself had visited them instead.  The book captured the event all right.”
    “But the Master and Margarita is only a book, a fantasy.” I said defensively, but Uncle Jack didn’t answer. He just looked at me briefly.
    I had much to say, but for the time being I decided to save my energy for what I was doing. In a few minutes we crossed the bridge and entered Downtown. I passed our church and pulled to the curb right in front of the YMCA building.
    “Would you please wait for a few minutes here?” I asked, and Uncle Jack answered with a chuckle,
    “Do I have a choice?”
    It wasn’t a good idea to leave the multimillionaire Jack Volgeen unprotected in the middle of the empty street at the worst possible time. I even regretted that we left his bodyguard at home.
   I got out of the car and looked right and left along the street hoping to see a police car monitoring the area, but there wasn’t any. Somewhere, the wind had overturned a trashcan and plastic bags and other rubbish flew along the street.
   I opened the door and said,
   “Here is the key. You better take my seat and if something goes wrong, don’t hesitate to drive away.”
   “Thanks.” Uncle Jack answered, looking at me with a smirk. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
   I dropped the key on my seat, locked the car, and rushed to the building.

*   *   *

   I rushed to the doors and slowed down. Worrying about the safety of Mr. Volgeen I forgot about the danger which I was exposing myself to.  In this very building I was robbed in the middle of the day. Could I expect anything good to come my way in the middle of the night at this place?
      In comparison to what I was about to do, the fear seemed so funny that I brushed it away. I clenched my fists, thinking that I’d rather kill somebody than allow my plans to be interrupted.  The front door slid open in front of me; the second remained closed.
     The red light was blinking on the pass card scanner next to it. The security system was activated and I saw no one in the lobby. I looked around for the bell button but didn’t find one. With nothing left to do I knocked on the door. First I knocked with my knuckles, then the palm of my hand, then, to produce the best effect possible, began hitting on the door with my fist. That was noisy enough and in a minute an Asian fellow stuck is head out from the door of the large room on the right.
     “Hey, get this damn door open!” I yelled to him.
     The fellow vanished for a moment and then appeared with some other guy, hairy and bulky. They both stared at me from the distance saying nothing.
     “Open the door, I said.” I roared at them loosing my temper, but they didn’t move. “Okay, look.” I lifted both my hands into the air. “See, no gun, no nothing. Open the damn door!”
      Slowly they approached. I saw another two lads emerging out of the room. One had playing cards in his hand.
     “What do you need?” The bulky guy asked.
     “I need to see Roman, the pianist, from room 806 now!”
     “Are you from New York?” He asked and that made me laugh.
     “Sure I am, stupid. Open the door, I said.”
     “You may call him on the phone. Just dial the room number.” The fellow pointed with his finger somewhere to the left of me. And true, there was a telephone on the wall.  I grabbed the receiver and dialed 806.
     Roman picked up on the fourth ring. His voice sounded sleepy. I woke him up.
     “Hi,” I said, “this is Joe. I tried to make it through the door, but it’s locked.”
     “What door?” Roman’s voice cleared. “You mean you are here, downstairs?”
     “Yes,” I said looking angrily at the loafers. “Some stupid idiots do not want to let me in.”
     “Wait. You better be nice to them. I’ll be right down.”
     I hung up and started to pace to and fro between the doors like a beast in a cage. The company of four watched me through the glass.
     “What?” I asked them rudely, and kicked the aluminum frame of the door with my foot. They startled and looked at one another. At that moment, the elevator’s doors opened and Roman walked out.
     “This is my friend.” I heard him saying. Other then jeans and sandals he had just a light shirt on. Roman touched the button on his side, and the doors opened. I took my jacket off, put it onto his shoulders and said.
     “Let’s go, this is an emergency.”
     Saying nothing he obeyed me and we walked out in the damp wind.
     Uncle Jack was still sitting in the passenger seat. Seeing us he stretched his hand and unlocked my door. I opened the rear door and let Roman in. Starting the car, I said.
    “Roman, meet Mr. Volgeen. Uncle Jack, this is my friend Roman, a superfluous piano player. We’ll go to the cathedral now where I hope Roman will play for us.”
    “We can’t.” He said sadly. “I’m sorry, Joe.”
    “Why?” I glanced at him in the rear view mirror. 
    “Reverend Willard called me this morning asking me not to play in the sanctuary until he is back from Brazil.”
    “Did he explain why?” I asked.
    “No, but he wanted me to return the key to the secretary, which I already did.”
    I could guess why that happened, but despite it, I became very angry with my Minister.
    “Tell me, Roman, what will you do if the church is closed for a month or two.”
    “Don’t know. It’s hard to find a good instrument.”
    “Never mind the Reverend.” I said. “I have a key. Let the music play!” I said and stopped the car at the rear door of the church.
    
*   *   *

     It was warm and dry inside.  The long passageway and the stairs were dimly lit with the Exit sign gleaming in red. I disarmed the security system, and the buzzing stopped. For a moment we all stood in silence listening to the howling of the wind outside. Uncle Jack and Roman looked at me as if asking what should we do next.  I chuckled to myself. That was strange and funny at the same time. I, Joe the Loony, was the leader of a nocturnal expedition. My followers were a notorious Australian celebrity, whose disappearance could become breaking news all over the world any moment, and an unknown musician, whose talent deserved to be celebrated and praised all over the world much more than any wealth ever acquired.
    I turned the light on and said,
    “My friends, I have to apologize for the disturbance. Believe me, there is no any other way to bring you two together.” It sounded pretty pathetic, but it was alright for the time and place. Adding more firmness to my voice I continued addressing Uncle Jack. “Mr. Volgeen, my friend Roman is a pianist of incredible talent. I want you to listen to his music tonight because the cathedral will probably be closed for a long time. Roman,” I turned to the musician; he was feeling confused and uneasy. “Mr. Volgeen, is not only a relative of mine. He is a man who understands Art as not too many people of the world do. In him, and me, you will find perfect listeners.”
      At this point Uncle Jack laughed and said more for Roman than for me,
      “We have to excuse Joe, he is just nervous. Let’s make it all simpler. I believe Roman, that you are a wonderful musician, and since we are all here, would you be kind enough to play a few pieces for us. Whatever music you chose, it would be a joy for us to listen.”
     “Yes, that’s true, I feel very nervous.” I said with relief. Uncle Jack helped me a lot.
     “Well, I don’t mind playing at all.” Roman said.
     “Could you play us the Revolutionary Etude by Chopin.”  I asked, and Uncle Jack looked at me in surprise. Roman didn’t answer, just shrugged his shoulders, as if saying, “What could be easier?”
     “Let us give some time to Maestro to prepare himself. Why don’t you Joseph show me around for the time being.”
    “Of course. My pleasure.”
    Stepping over the soft carpet we walked to the front of the church from where I decided to start the tour.
    “Feels like it’s a pretty old building.” Uncle Jack said.
    “More than a hundred years old. It used to be the tallest one in town before the time when those skyscrapers were built.” I said.
    “Why should it be closed?”
    “There is a crack in the wall in the sanctuary, I’ll show you later. You see, this part of the church was built on later, somewhere in the fifties. Then a few years after the eastern wall of the old building began to crack.”
    Omitting some details I told Uncle Jack what was well known.
    “I grew up in the church.” I said. “At times I feel annoyed with what is going on here, but the church itself, it is different. I think I read it somewhere. Churches they are like domes descended from the heavens. They are heavens themselves, heavens that welcome all the good and repel all the bad forces. No matter what’s going on in the church, it is still Holy Ground and…”
    “So the crack in the wall grew? That’s why they are considering closing the building?” Uncle Jack interrupted.
    “Yes.” I said. “But it hasn’t been officially announced. Not yet.”
    “Can you show me the crack?”
    “Well, it’s in the sanctuary. The bottom part of it is hidden under the oak panels and there is plaster and paint over above it. I’ll show you later.”
    “Did your Grandmother go to this church too?”
    “No. It was my Dad’s church. His parents were one of the three families that financed the restoration and the expansion of the building. They donated a lot of money and were really proud of it. Mom joined the church when she married my father.” I said with a sigh.
    “Are you missing your father?” Uncle Jack looked at me with compassion.
    “Yes. Especially when… It doesn’t matter.” I muttered.
    “Go ahead, tell me.” Uncle Jack stopped walking and looked at me.
    I suddenly recalled my father, in this very hall, leading me to the Sunday school class. The church was full of people, they all smiled seeing us. Some men and women would ask me something and I would lower my eyes to my scratched knees and press myself to my father’s leg.  It was spring and the fresh wind lingered in the corridors. I remember my arms and legs were all covered with goose bumps.
   Uncle Jack still looked at me, waiting.
   “Everything seemed to be easier, when father was alive.”
   “In what way?”
   “He was the one who would say “no” and I would obey. At times I didn’t like it at all, but it turned out that he saved me from my own foolishness. Do you remember your father?”
   “I do.” Uncle Jack answered and added. “My own father was very different, he couldn’t be compared to anyone you might know. A man of his type doesn’t exist any more.”
   “What do you mean?” I asked.
   “A Russian noble man, an officer, who lost everything he possessed – the Motherland, he was raised to defend, estates that had belonged to his ancestors for a few hundred years…  He could never recover from the loss. He died when I was sixteen. Just got pneumonia and denied any medical treatment. It was a very hard time for our family. During the war with the Nazis, the money, which our family had lived on for years was exhausted. My father lost the rest of his family funds in some unlucky enterprise and went bankrupt. My mother was never able to understand him.  She left my father for another man. Soon after that my father died at just forty eight years old.”
    “That’s a very tragic story.” I said.
    “What’s really tragic is not the story itself. Tragic is the fact that the Russia, my father belonged to and longed for the rest of his life, ceased to exist. No matter what happened to the people of his generation, they all remained devoted children of their Motherland. The loss of the country was a tremendous blow for them. Even more than that, they all were destined to observe the total destruction of what they valued in Russia. In a way it could be compared to bandits capturing your father and torturing him in front your eyes. You watch, holding back desperate tears, not being able to help. A nightmare.”
     “Are you missing Russia too?” I asked.
     “I never knew the country my father grew up in. How can I miss it? The Russia of present is no more than ruins of the past, the product of an inhuman experiment. It doesn’t evoke any feelings in my soul.”
    I wanted to tell him that the Russia I saw didn’t provide me with such an impression, but Uncle Jack said.
    “Looks like its time for a concert. Which way shall we go?”
    “Here please,” I pointed to the left and went after Uncle Jack thinking over his words about the grim destiny of banished Russian noblemen.
    “What was the family name your father belonged to?” I asked Uncle Jack when we made it through the main hall and approached the doors.
    “Gordunov.” Uncle Jack answered.
    Automatically, being not yet able to comprehend what he said in full, I opened the door for the man and we walked into the sanctuary.

*   *   *
 
   The music Roman played didn’t sound familiar. It was fast and complex, obviously one of his own pieces. Roman attacked the instrument so violently that it seemed the grand piano trembled under his hands. The disturbing waves of sound bouncing off the walls thundered to the extent of a roar. The power of the music seemed to be even more destructive to the building than the wind outside.
    Still, not believing what I heard, I walked down the isle after Uncle Jack.  He stopped and rested himself in the fifth or the sixth row.  Not willing to approach the man, I sat in the next row to his left.
    Listening to the music that had suddenly calmed down but was still full of energy, I looked at Uncle Jack trying to adapt myself to what he had said. The sudden thought that I was seeing myself in an age progression came to my mind; I trembled all over. Uncle Jack’s hair was gray and thin. He certainly had an appearance of a man of quality. His countenance at the moment was indistinct. It was unclear if he was absorbed with the music, or had he been thinking about something remote, not related to this place and time.  My mind just swirled with thoughts about the man. I visualized him young, walking away to the woods with my mom’s sister, a rifle in his hand; fleeing to Australia; returning to make peace with my Grandma years after. I imagined the man, my Grandma and my Mom at Lake Michigan where they spent three days all together the year before I was born. Was it the site where I had been started?
     The thought was so shocking that I covered my face with my hands and moaned with pain. The sound of the piano grew at that moment and Mr. Volgeen didn’t hear the groan. I took my hands off and looked at the man with hatred. If I had somethhing heavy in my hand, I would hit the Australian guest over his noble head. No, he couldn’t be my father. It just couldn’t happen! But if I was right with my guess, if it did happen there, at lake Michigan, how could he, with all his moral principles, with all the chivalry that he carried in his blood, seduce a woman that already belonged to another man, to my father, who she dedicated herself?  Who was my father: this stranger, who appeared out of the blue bringing disturbances and confusion to the life of my family, or the man who brought me up, my real father, whose memory will remain sacred in me forever?
   I looked at the seat where my father used to sit during the services. I recalled his stern face with eyes tightened after receiving communion and, I looked at Uncle Jack again.
    The music died abruptly in the final accord.
    Roman sat for a moment motionless then looked at us and started a new piece.
    It was one of my favorites, Adagio Cantabile by Beethoven. The measured thoughtful sounds didn’t correspond with the state of mind I was in. I was in frenzy. I made myself look at the man. I could see his profile clearly. Yes – the straight nose, thin lips, the line of the high forehead interrupted with a few wrinkles – all of those features unmistakably were of my own and… of Prince Gordunov from the portrait I saw in the Hermitage.
    I hid my face in my hands again. Could only the Australian guest be blamed for the sin?  What about my mother? She was at Lake Michigan accompanying Grandmother for just three days. Not much for starting a romance considering the fact that she had a passionate, beloved husband waiting for her at home. And the closeness of her mother on top of it all. It could have only happen in a thievish way that didn’t allow real feelings to grow, adultery had to have been committed in haste, a secretive, nasty way.  I’m a product of sin. I’m a bastard. What news!
   Stricken with the realization, I laughed bitterly. I could not remain sitting, especially so close to the man. I left my seat and walked to the back of the cathedral followed by the sounds of the piano that started a new sonata. The music was more of a story, an accompaniment to a silent movie. I used to notice that before in Beethoven’s music. Now, I played the part of a miserable tramp, and Roman provided the sound effects.
   Everything was ridiculous, I was ridiculous, even the world in which I came to in such a base way was ridiculous, God himself seemed to be ridiculous at the moment. How could the Almighty, allow that? Was this the way he had chosen for me before the rocks of heaven were created? Maybe it was God’s will to make the lovers drunk so they could produce a loony? Oh, how I hated it all. I wished the cathedral would fall on my head.
   “Thank you, Mom.” I murmured. “It was very nice of you. I’ll ask you for details tomorrow.  After all, I have a right to know.”
   The last words I couldn’t hold. I cried them out angrily hitting the back of the seat in front of me with my fist. The music didn’t stop, Roman didn’t pay attention, but I saw Uncle Jack standing up from his chair and approach me. At that moment I had a wild look, and for a second, the man stopped a few steps away observing me. Then, he came closer and sat next to me still listening to the music.
   “What’s going on with you, Joseph?” He whispered, and before having him killed I decided to ask.
   “Tell me, Mr. Volgeen, are you my father?”
   Uncle Jack gave me a long stare, and at the moment, I could swear, he looked at me as if he were a therapist. His stern eyes were studying me as if deciding to let me go or to lock me up in an asylum.
    “What makes you think that?” He asked, turning his attention back to the playing pianist.
    To hell with it all, I thought, feeling how exhausted I was. The way Uncle Jack reacted told me I was wrong. What a fool I was! I was dying of shame.
     I sat straight in my seat looking downward. A kind of numbness took over me, I couldn’t even move.
     “When is your birthday?” He asked.
     “May seventh.” I said. “Why?”
     “So you are thirty nine years old.” He said gravely, as if blaming me for that.
     “Yea… I’ll be forty in about two months.” I said, still not grasping the meaning of his question.
     Uncle Jack’s hand rested on the top of mine. The hand was dry and warm. Some power was coming through it into my body, relaxing it, providing me with strength. Slowly, I sighed and lifted my eyes to the man’s face. He was listening to the music.  His eyes glittered with moisture. I looked at him with surprise, even with compassion, but in a few seconds the moment of his weakness passed. Uncle Jack said slowly as if talking to himself.
    “Yes, it very well might be.” He paused and asked me. “What made you ask?”
    “I have a book of paintings from a Russian Museum.” I said. “Among the others, there is a portrait of Prince Gordunov taken in the last century. It looks like my own portrait. I discovered it when I was in Russia a few years ago. Now you understand?”
    “What was the name of the Prince?”
    “I don’t remember. A.K. or vice versa. You better tell me what happened between you and my mother forty years ago?” Starting absentmindedly I finished demandingly, and immediately felt how stupid my question was.
    For some time we sat still. I felt emptiness growing inside me. It filled my body and went on farther, to the size of the cathedral and even larger, covering the entire town. The sound of the grand piano could barely be heard.
     “Don’t you dare accuse her.” Uncle Jack’s stern voice sounded in the midst of the void.
     “Then whom should I blame, you?” I asked, trying to get back to my senses. It all suddenly seemed to me dull and unimportant, not of any interest at all. The emptiness inside me grew to the extent of the abyss.
    “So, I’m no more than an accident. A bastard.” I said.
    “Wrong.” The man said almost in a whisper.
    “Than what am I?” I asked with a challenge.
    “You are your mother’s son, and believe me, you are not a product of sin.”
    “Than of what.”
    “Of love. I think you were born because your mother loved the man she lived with very much.”
     “What do you mean?”   
     “I can’t answer you, I have to talk to her first. But I want you to know that your mother is not what you think.  She dedicated all of herself to her husband. She brought him up in his business, she supported him in troubles, she encouraged him to move on when it seemed to be impossible. I wish I had such a woman in my life.”
    You did have her! I almost cried out, and immediately felt how nasty it would sound.
      I couldn’t sit any more. I wanted to drop down through the earth, to escape to the edge of the world. I would certainly run out of the cathedral, fly away with the wind, dissolve in rain, drown myself in the river; but the music, it was one of Chopin’s pieces, captivated me, forced me to think of something remote, not related to the place and time. All my being fervently tried to focus, to grasp the distant thought, which was so clear to the composer of the music and so oblivious to me.
     Why am I here?  What am I doing here? I kept asking myself standing in the middle of the cathedral. Not looking at the man whose identity had changed so suddenly, I knew that he, too was listening to the music seeking refuge for his own soul. I didn’t know the man until yesterday, and I didn’t want to know him now, especially in his new role. What did I bring him here for? What was the point?
     The musician, I recalled. I wanted to introduce the piano player to Uncle Jack, to ask the wealthy man to loan me a few million dollars which I planned to promote Roman’s talent. Yes, that’s what it was. Since I’m devoid of talents myself, God made me to support somebody else’s talent. Roman’s talent. That’s what I had on my mind! My true vocation.
     My head just swam in delirium. It was hard to focus, to tune myself onto a certain thought.
     Wait a bit, I told myself. What the hell… Why should Roman’s talent be promoted? Am I liable to make changes in his destiny? Isn’t it God’s will that the musician should remain in obscurity?  Wait a bit, wait a bit… what Roman does?  He performs. He is a performer of Art.  What is Art?  Oh, I had the definition ready for the night. What was it? Oh God, let me concentrate…
     “Excuse me!” I cried, and the music stopped. “Excuse me Roman, I beg your pardon. I only wanted to say.  It is very important. The music you play…” I made a pause collecting myself.  Roman looked at me waiting, thank God I didn’t see a sign of vexation in his eyes. Uncle Jack was sitting motionlessly, a dark shiluette in the last rows.
    “The music you play,” I continued. “How can I make it clear… Music exists despite the power of sound. What’s sound? Air tremble? Funny even to think of this. No. Music lives by itself. Musicians only help to deliver the distant echo of real melody that often needs not a sound, but the silence.”
    “Very good poetry.” Roman said. “Who wrote it?”
    “What poetry?” I misunderstood.
    “The piece you’ve just read. It’s very good.”
    “Really? I didn’t mean it to sound like poetry. Never mind it. I just want to say that a great piece of music always expresses the divine idea. Excuse me, I’ll try to make it clear. I read about Gnostics somewhere, just a short illustration. Gnostic, it says, can be compared to a prisoner in a cell, which has only a small window under the very ceiling. The prisoner sees the light that is coming through and he knows that a whole different world lays on the other side, but he is not able to look out because the window is too high. Only death would to release him from the cell, which, for a Gnostic, is the cell of his own body, and he… You understand what I’m saying?  The music, the effect of the music, the distant echo of another world that provides an aesthetic arrest, is the same light the prisoner sees, a small portion of light.  Bah!…” I slapped myself on the forehead and laughed merrily. “How well it corresponds to the Physics of light! You know, the radiation we call light is just about three percent of the energy that goes along with what we see, we are just not able to percept the rest of it. Kant… Oh, to hell with Kant! Kant has nothing in common with what I want to say. Here, listen. If people create art, we are instruments of God. An instrument, a tool, is not supposed to understand what could be done with its help, but if something is produced with the help of an instrument, this something is needed. Needed by whom? By the instrument itself? By the tool? Bullshit! The one who applies the tool, in our case, the Almighty Creator, knows the purpose he uses the tool for. Art is the highest and the most mysterious matter humanity ever faced. It is divine essence, the nature of which can never be understood in full. That means what?” I asked, and made a pause.
    “What?” Uncle Jack asked from the back rows.
    “It says, ‘When lighting a lamp one doesn’t put it under the bowl, but on the stand and it gives light to everyone in the house.’ Art is the Light. God itself is the Light. His divine ideas reflected in performed music, is the Light of God. Mr. Volgeen,” I said resolutely. “Roman’s music is the light, it must shine to everyone.  We may help, we must help Roman become a famous musician.”
    A long silence followed. I could see Roman was quite puzzeled, Uncle Jack sat too far in the shadow, I couldn’t see his face.
    “Well, it might be a good idea,” he said at last, “Roman, true, has an outstanding talent, and I have to thank him for the wonderful performance. I also found the unfamiliar pieces very inspirational. I won’t be surprised to learn that those were his own compositions. I have to agree, the name of our maestro deserves to become well known. However, I’d like to know Roman’s own plans, they might be totally different from what you have proposed.”
    Silence followed. Uncle Jack and I looked at the musician, expecting his answer.
    “Roman,” I begged,  “tell us you agree, and I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to making you a star, I’ll become your impresario, producer.”
    “Well…” Roman said rubbing his hands. “It’s true. I have good technique and memory. I can play most of Chopin by heart, but… I don’t know. There is an agent in New York who wants me to sign a contract for three years, I still haven’t decided on it.”
    “Don’t! Don’t sign anything with a stranger.” I exclaimed. “He doesn’t have enough power to promote your talent right. We have millions. The money would work better than any connections. The money will open all the doors, I promise, you will play in the famous Carnegie Hall by the end of the year.”
    Laughter interrupted me. Uncle Jack was laughing in his seat. His laughter was serene, as if he was laughing at a well-known joke passed on by a child.
    “Pardon me Joseph,” he said, and rose from his chair. “I like your enthusiasm, but you are promising things that hardly can be accomplished in such a short amount of time. Unfortunately, the industry you are planning to storm into is very well prepared against invasions of this kind.  It all must be done differently, with certain precautions. Here is my offer.”
    Uncle Jack walked to the front and sat in the first row. I saw he was considering what he was about to say.
     “Here’s what can be done. I won’t be surprised in the least if Roman doesn’t like what I’m about to say, but the only realistic way of making our musician a star is his relocation to Australia. There I have connections, acquaintances that would be a real help. I also like your idea, Joseph, to stand beside your friend, to became his impresario. This is a very serious task, and I’d like to see you involved in the project. But!” He raised his voice preventing my exuberant remark. “I don’t want Roman to give an answer now. I’d recommend some time to consider it. You have a week to make your decision, maestro.”
     Australia... The country of dingo dogs and kangaroos. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to me to visit Australia? Australia was an ideal place for the state I wanted to start up.
    My look must have been weird. I could see it in Roman’s smile.
    “The Revolutionary Etude, by my impresario’s request,” he announced, and the beginning passages of sounds rolled over the cathedral responding to the excitement that overfilled my heart. 
    I sat down and listened to the music that soon ended with a loud chord.
    Roman started to play something else, one of his own compositions. I sat with my eyes closed, elbows on my knees, my head rested in my hands. Then I felt a touch on my shoulder. It was Uncle Jack standing next to me.
    “We have to look at the crack.” He whispered leaning to me.
    “Yes.” I answered, and rubbed my face with my hands. “It is there, in the northern wall.”
    Followed by Roman’s accompaniment – absorbed with playing, he neither saw, nor heard his small audience – we went to the corner of the cathedral.
    The oak panel that covered the crack wasn’t fixed in its place. It stood leaning against the wall. I grabbed it by the sides and moved it.
     One need not be an expert to see that the condition of the wall had worsened. The layers of plaster were gone. Reverend Willard had obviously cleaned the crack to see the whole picture. There were no more marks left by the engineer of the project, the old bricks cracked through and fell apart. I felt a stream of cold air coming through from the outside, and despite the music, I could hear the noise of the wind. I followed the crack with my eyes and saw that it had two new branches right above the panels. A short one grew to the left and one more ugly line ran for about thirty feet before hiding itself behind the panels.
    Uncle Jack touched the broken bricks and rubbed the red particles between his fingers exploring them. 
    “I didn’t expect it to be that bad.” I said.
    “Yes. It is serious.” Uncle Jack answered after a short silence and added looking briefly at me. “I used to be a miner, I can tell.”
    “How long can it stay like this?”
    “It’s hard to say, but it should be fixed; the sooner, the better. Your minister was right not allowing anyone in the sanctuary. The work should be started without delay.”
    “The problem is,” I began, talking with a sneer and stopped, deciding whether I should continue or not. “The funds, the one and a half million dollars reserved for the work, are no longer available. The money is gone.” I said, not looking at Uncle Jack.
    “You’ll tell me about it later.” He answered. “Now we all have to leave.”
    We dropped Roman off at the YMCA. Saying his good bye he smiled uncertainly. The wind had calmed down, instead a tiny drizzle filled the night. My wipers slid along the windshield not able to clean the blurry film off. The suspended moisture adorned each streetlight with four or more symmetrical beams, the asphalt glistened, and I could hardly see the road.
      We didn’t talk on the way.  I didn’t feel like talking at all; my passenger sat with his eyes closed his head dropping on his chest. We crossed the river, dark and indistinct with a few far away lights in its vista, and in a while I stopped at the security booth. The gate opened and I pulled up to Mom’s place.  Still saying not a word to each other we went to the guesthouse.  The Australian visitor (he ceased to be Uncle Jack to me, and I still couldn’t call him father) glanced at me once again as if to see if I was able to get home without troubles, and, satisfied with my look, murmured “See you tomorrow.”
    Vaguely, I thought that a new found father and his son could give each other a hug when saying good bye, but neither of us made the move. I nodded, turned around and, not looking back walked to my car.

*   *   *

    The morning was foggy.  The trees outside stood still. My bedroom window was partly open but not a sound was heard from outside. It was about eight o’clock, I still felt sleepy so I lay in my bed, yawning, looking at the trees.  The air in my room was cold and I didn’t want to get out from under the blanket.  I had plenty of things to do and had I been in yesterday’s state of mind I wouldn’t delay doing them, but that morning I felt different. Very different.
     My biological father...  What should I do? I felt very good about the father I knew. When he died I grieved like anyone would do when loosing a parent. A special parent, a passionately beloved one.  I had always been taught that our real father was in heaven. When talking about religion, Dad’s face would become stern. Once I even thought that a face of a man who leads a group of travelers through the wilderness might look like that. The Bible for my father was always a book of practical advice and he followed the rules without even a shadow of doubt. He scarcely ever read any other book.  My biological father, I’m sure has an opinion of his own. He belongs to the vast group of intellectuals who base their principals on the knowledge they acquire not only from the Bible, and, depending on an individual sense of good and evil, construct their own morals. Once, in college, I was shocked when talking to a fellow who seemed to be more intelligent than others were and in whom I saw a possible friend. I mentioned what the Bible said about a prayer and the fellow pulled out a Zoology book from his backpack. “You see,” he said, “this is a book. Your Bible also is a book, no more than that.”
     I didn’t make friends with him. After that I became less open to people with an intelligent appearance. I found that most of them had their own philosophies, different, and very similar at the same time. I wouldn’t trust a person of the type in the wilderness.
    I wasn’t sure whether I could trust Mr. Volgeen either.
    I could live through the discovery of my biological father all right. After all, it didn’t change much. I still was who I was and we were not in the wilderness, but…  Mr. Volgeen had made me an offer. He became the financier of my new career, he was ready to build my future, to fix my whole life, and I had to be grateful.  I had to sacrifice my pride for the sake of Roman’s talent. I had to be ready to call Mr. Volgeen “My father,” at least as a sign of appreciation.
   Oh my God! What looked so bright in the dark cathedral seemed wild in the foggy morning.
   Am I really going to Australia? I asked myself.
   The thought drove my drowsiness away. I cast my blanket away and jumped out of bed. My mind tried to picture the life of an Australian impresario, but the burlesque dream seemed to be so unreal. Was it that easy? What would Lisa say? The Australian mirage...  Even the stars look different there.
  I dressed, rushed to the phone, and dialed Lisa’s office number. She wasn’t at work, she called in asking for a day off and would be back on Monday: some emergency in her family. She had to fly to England for the weekend, I was told.
    What emergency? I thought, staring at the receiver. Why hadn’t she told me? What’s going on? I thought, looking at the receiver. After all, Lisa was constantly short on money and a two-way cross-ocean ticket taken on the day of departure would cost a fortune.
    I called Lisa’s apartment, but got no response, not even an answering machine.  The apartment was dead.
    That was strange. “Oh, how could you?” I exclaimed, hitting the receiver against the phone.
    “What? To be your nurse?” Lisa once asked when I started talking about living together.    
    “I’ll be your nurse,” I answered. “I want to be the one.”
    “I don’t need a nurse.” Lisa answered and, not wanting her to say “I need a man.” I started talking about something else.
     Wait a bit, I thought, walking to the kitchen to make coffee. I’ll show you what kind of man I am. I’ll find you, take you to Australia and you’ll bring me five, no seven children.
     Children? I froze. Should I trust women after what my own mother had done? My mother had always been the soul of our family, my father’s queen, a personification of Christian Moral. How could she?…
     A dark wrath started deep in my chest. I felt sweat break onto my temples.
     Now I knew why Gary and I were so different. At the thought that Gary inherited qualities of our father my soul protested. No, my father couldn’t carry the greed and heartlessness, which makes up the core of Gary’s nature. Is Gary a bastard too?
     I sat at the table dragging my fingers through my hair, as if trying to brush the nasty guess off. Why hadn’t Uncle Jack kept it secret? His belonging to Gordunovs, his resemblance to the portrait… It all would drive me crazy for real. Thank God the man was too noble to lie. Though, he too couldn’t tell it for sure. Damn it!
    Suddenly, I felt hot and stuffy in the kitchen. Wobbling on my way I rushed out to the fresh air and dropped myself on a patio chair.
     The fog was thick. The evergreen bushes at the fence looked at me like some deformed creatures. The top of the huge oak was hidden in the milky mist and what was left of it looked like a giant figure of a beggar panhandling on a street corner. The air was still and full of moisture. The smell of the old leaves raised up from the soil.
   A crow croaked nearby and I heard “Bastard!” in that coarse sound.
   “Go to hell!” I cried. My voice sounded as if I was under water.
   “Bastard!” It croaked again, much louder this time, and it seemed to me that the bushes at the fence giggled and twitched as if teasing me: “Bastard, bastard, bastard!”
   “Bitches! Swines!” I cried, grabbed a green ceramic frog from the deck and flung it into the bushes. .
    “She must tell me the truth! I have the right to know!” I moaned.
   With my heart beating loudly I went back inside, picked up the Paintings of the Hermitage from the floor and ran to my car.
   “Don’t! Stop it!” A voice was yelling inside me.
    “No, I won’t! I have to know, I must know.” I murmured on the way.
    “Stop it, wait! Give it time, it won’t hurt to wait!” The voice persisted, but I didn’t listen. I started my car and backed up to the street.
    Avoiding the traffic jams caused by the weather, I took a longer way through the neighborhoods. I could see about 30 feet of the road ahead of me, beyond that it was a thick cloud. At one place, the street dived downhill where the fog was so dense that I couldn’t see the asphalt. It felt as though my car swam through the milk hell knows where. I stopped and got out of the car. All around was nothing but silent fog. I couldn’t see tips of my fingers.
   “Hey!” I called out, and felt that the sound of my voice died before reaching anyone. “Hell!” I cursed and hit the top of my car with my fist.
   There was no one to help. For two minutes or so I wandered about my car keeping a hand on it so I wouldn’t get lost. All I could do was sit and wait until the fog would melt. That was stupid. In despair I got back to my seat. The fog crept through the door, which I left opened, and rested all over the seats, filling the interior with its dull presence.  I felt cold and wet.  Then, in the rear view mirror I saw a couple of yellow lights.  In a few seconds an old black car with tinted windows noiselessly passed on my right. “Don’t run after it!” The same voice yelled inside me, but I brushed the warning away, shifted gears, and pulled after the red rear lights of the car. We barely made it uphill, the car turned to the left and I lost it. Damn it! I cursed, and sighed with relief – here I could see the road again.
    “Do I really have to interrogate my mother?” I asked myself feeling eerie. There was something unpleasant about the car I followed. For a second I even thought that it emerged from hell to lead me out of the fog. “Nonsense.” I murmured, making a right turn on a busy street.
     The traffic really was slow. I turned the radio on. It was full of comments about the fog that descended on our town, the reporters rattled with the news.  Those journalists! No matter what they cover, an embassy bombing, a baseball game, or a local Girl Scout meeting, they always do it in the same obtrusive tone of an aggressive salesman. Should I adopt that tactic to promote Roman’s talent? I asked myself, thinking how insignificant my own future was in comparison with the skeleton that I was about to pull out of its dark closet.
     I turned the radio off.
     “How could you Mom!” I sighed deeply. It suddenly seemed to me that it was not my father, but I who had been cheated. I imagined myself my father who had just discovered the ugly truth and trembled all over. I had to press the brakes abruptly to avoid colliding with the car ahead of me. The shriek of tires helped me get back my senses. I took a deep breath.  An accident was the last thing I needed. For a moment I kept my attention on the road, but the next hot wave of anger splashed into my mind and I groaned thinking that never in my life would I believe it, but the evidence, the cursed portrait, didn’t leave me a chance. It all was true, it all was just destined to come to come up.   
    We’ll live through it, I decided. She should tell me the truth. The confession will bring her nothing but good.
   This conclusion calmed my agitated mood down.

*   *   *

     I didn’t mean to slam the door of my car, but it still sounded loud, even challenging. With the book of paintings under my arm I walked to the house. Before I touched the button, the door opened and I saw Mom looking at me. 
     Mom’s hair was neatly brushed, but by her tired eyes I could tell she had slept badly last night. She was dressed casually in one of those wide cut dresses that though making her look younger, provided her with a kind of provincial air. Involuntarily I recalled those photographs taken years ago, when she was so charming: a goddess to my father, a temptation to a stranger. 
    How old was she back then? I though, deducting the forty years from her seventy-two.
    “Good morning, Ma,” I said.
    “Morning. What is it?” She asked looking at the book.
    “Just a book of paintings, I wanted to show something to Uncle Jack.” Though I tried to sound nonchalant, I stuttered slightly in mid sentence and Mom felt my nervousness.”
    “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” She asked, looking at me intently.
She spoke quietly and I understood that no one but her in the house was ready for the day.   
    “I’m fine. It is you who does not look well.”
    “Just a headache. Must be the weather. It’ll pass. Have you eaten your breakfast?”
    “I haven’t. Later. I wanted to talk to you first.” I said, making an effort to sound normal.
    “To talk?” Mom asked, as if guessing at what could bring me so early. “Okay,” She turned around and went to her office. I followed.
    “Sit there,” she pointed at a leather armchair and stopped at her desk.
    I sat. For a whole minute she busied herself sorting papers, moving things along the desktop, opening and closing the drawers. It was obvious she was taking her time, deciding in what way to converse with me after yesterday’s talk. I was sure she regretted it.
    Wait, Mom, I thought looking at her, letting the anger grow in my chest. Wait, I’ll ask you something you will really regret.
    “Mom, I’m not a child any more.” I said.
    “I can tell.” She said glancing at me briefly.
    “Listen, Mom,” I started, and my voice trembled. “I know it’s a hard time for you, but sooner or later, it had to happen.”
    “What had to happen?” She straightened, looking at me sternly. 
     “I just wanted to ask…” I said, and paused, breathing deeply.  “Was my father enough of a man for you?”
     “What?”
     “Have you ever been… unfaithful to him?” I was about to ask, but I couldn’t The words stuck in my throat. I sat still looking at the floor cursing myself for being weak.
     “What’s going on with you, Joseph? What’s on your mind?” Mom came to me and touched my hair. “Look at me.” She said.
      I did. I looked at her deciding for myself that despite everything, today, I’d be stronger than her. After what I learned yesterday she lost her authority over me. It was no longer her, but I who had a right to ask questions.   
      “Don’t get angry at me.” I said, calming down. “You know… I want to propose to Lisa. I… I just don’t want to mess it up. I wanted to know how Dad did it. What did he say?”
     “Don’t worry, she’ll accept it all right.” Mom said with relief, but I could feel she still was on alert.  She sat in the other armchair.
     “But why? Is there anything good in me?” I stood up and walked to the window. In the fog I could barely see my car in the driveway. Now I was all right. Some nervous buoyancy lifted my heart and I felt that I could do it, I just had to talk to her to bring it all to a point.
     “Because.” Mom said. She felt much better after we talked. “Because your Lisa is not a fool, she won’t refuse a man from a good family with a secured future. Each woman wants to have her own home, family, kids.”
    “But why do you think that all women are alike?” I asked.
    “Come on.” Mom laughed. “Of course women are different, but in what I said we’re all pretty much alike. She’ll marry you, don’t worry.”
    “Mom,” I turned to her. “If you were Lisa, would you marry me?”
    “What’s wrong with you?” Mom asked.
    “Think Mom, I’m thirty-nine-years-old. Despite my degree I still have no profession, I don’t keep jobs. I’m nothing but trouble for everyone around. It looks like I’m good for nothing. Would you marry a man like that, considering, on top of it all, that he is sixteen years older then you?”
   “First of all you are not that bad, and she knows it, and, second, I doubt she has a better choice.”
    “Mom, wait a bit,” I came closer and squatted at her chair looking into her eyes. “Think, I mean imagine, if my father was sixteen years older, would you have married him?”
    “What’s going on with you? Why are you trembling?”
    “I’m not.” I said, “I’m fine.”
    “You look very strange Joseph.” Mom said, “Tell me what’s wrong with you? Tell me now, what happened?”
    “I’ll tell you, I promise.” I said quietly, resisting an urge to hit her, to pay her back for all her foul sinful years. “You first answer my question.”
   She felt the change in my tone and tried to calm me down,  “I loved your father, I couldn’t imagine myself without him. I would marry him anyway. He was a special man.”
    “Special in what way?”
    “Your father had always taken life seriously. I felt totally protected next to him.”   
    “What if Lisa, being my wife, meet a man of his type?” I almost hissed, I was so overfilled with anger. My look must have been weird. Mom was very pale, her eyes glistened with tears, it was clear she was lost.
     “Stop asking me questions I can’t answer.” She said defensively. I saw that for the first time in her life she didn’t know how to control me.
   “Women, as you know, bind themselves with certain promises when they marry.” She blurted out in a quarrelsome voice.  “To me, Lisa looks like a decent girl, though…. Like your father, you must be a real man, keep your family out of trouble. You ought to get married, but marriage implies certain responsibilities. It’s time to decide who you are.” Now Mom felt better, her voice regained its normal dominant tone.
     “You know Mom,” I said slowly, as if being afraid of what I had to say.  “I think I know what I should do in my life. I’ve made a decision.”
     “And what is it this time?” Mom looked at me as if expecting a new blow.
     “It’s too fancy to tell you right away. Let me live with it for a while. All I can say, I’m  moving to Australia, and I’m taking Lisa with me.”
     “To Australia? Why?”
     “Uncle Jack invited him.”
     “Was it him who planted this new idea in your head?”
     “No. It was my own idea. He just said that in Australia it would work better.”
     “Let’s say he’d support any nonsense of yours just to take you to Australia.” Mom said angrily and stopped, realizing that she shouldn’t have said it.  A long pause followed.
    “Mom,” I said, not taking my eyes off hers. “He is not certain about that.”
     Mom sat frozen, as if afraid to move.
      “Do you know Mom what he wants to ask you?” I continued, getting closer to my mother, looking at her blue eyes. “He wants you to confirm his guess. Do you know what is it?”
     Mom still didn’t move, it seemed she hadn’t heard me. But I knew that she did. She was listening to every word of mine, and I continued,
     “He wants to know if he is my father.”
      The words came out of me as if I knew the answer.
      Still sitting straight, my mother kept silent.
      “Look,” I stretched my hand for the book of paintings and found the right page. “Who is this?”
      She stared at the portrait and I saw she recognized the likeness.
      “It is not I, Mom. Look, here, in fine print. Top right. Prince K.A.Gordunov, 1868. He is a Russian Prince. You remember when I returned from Russia, I asked you about him, you said you never had heard the name, right? Do you remember that?”
   She didn’t answer. I continued.
   “I spoke to Uncle Jack about Russia last night. I learned that he derives from the Gordunov family. Do you understand now? Don’t blame the man. He kept his secret all right. He has never seen the portrait, he didn’t know what the family name could mean to me. It was just a coincidence, and…”
   “Your father.” She whispered slowly, remaining stiff all over, barely moving her lips, “Could not have children. I…” Mom made an attempt to take a breath, but not being able to manage it looked at the direction of her desk as if asking me to reach for something. What it was I never learned. Mom startled and collapsed in her armchair.
    “Mom!” I yelled, leaning to her. “Mom!” I cried. “No! Don’t! Stay with me, Mom!”
    Her lips moved and I leaned to her, trying to hear what she was saying.
    “Gary…” She whispered. That was it. I heard nothing more.

*   *   *

     Mom died at arrival to the hospital. A massive stroke we were told. Had the weather been a bit better the paramedics would have had a better chance, but the fog did not melt till afternoon. With the retreat of fog darkness took over and it seemed that the day when my mother died didn’t exist at all.  I barely remember the first hours after my mother passed away. I barely aware of what was going on around me. I struggled with an urge to kill myself, I knew where Mom kept a gun, but one killing a day seemed to be enough. I wasn’t sure I had a moral right to do it. People asked me questions, they wanted to know how it all happened, but my answers were obviously so weird and vague that soon they left me alone. Sitting in the armchair, I accepted condolences, the doorbell chimed frequently, people from our church had somber looks, they stood for a while and were gone. The church secretary said that Reverend Willard must already be on his way back from Brazil, and the fact that the minister was hiding from the crowd on the second floor, provided no relief. In comparison with the death everything became irrelevant. The commotion of the day seemed to me no more than drifting clouds in the sky.  There were no clouds, no sky, just fog outside, but in my mind I was at the place where my Mom’s soul had found itself. I could visualize my mother young and pretty in a land where the sun was shining softly and the clouds, tremendous and calm swam slowly in the heavens. My Mom’s movements were light, she could easily fly away, but she wasn’t in a hurry. With a bunch of wild flowers in her hands she walked through the grass to a distant groove. Grasshoppers chirped in the grass and I could hear a tiny song of a lark high above the earth. It all looked like the time when my Mother was seventeen or so, when her sister was still alive, and when the troubled life ahead was so remote and uncertain. Mom was walking away farther and farther from me, I wanted her to turn around, I wanted to see her face, I wanted her to recognize me, but she never did. It was as if she had never known me. The dark angel, or whatever it was, stood next to me on guard, I couldn’t call out to her, couldn’t even move in my armchair.
     “Joe.” Gary touched my shoulder. “The attorney is here. We must be present at the opening and reading of Mom’s will.”
     We all were taken to Mom’s office. Gary sat in the armchair in which mother died, but I felt too weak to protest. What arguments could I use, anyway? I thought vaguely that with time we all would hardly remember why that chair is different from its match. Mother had passed away; in comparison to eternity that accepted her soul, a day, a month, a century were just nothing.
     Aunt Stella and Susan sat on a coach next to the window. Both had red eyes, both held handkerchiefs in their hands to wipe the tears. They looked like sisters.  Margaret had no place to sit and, one more chair was brought from the living room.
    The attorney’s secretary cut the edge of the manila envelope off with scissors that I had never seen before (she obviously brought them for the purpose) and the will was read. While the reading was progressing, Gary’s look was becoming more and more grave. Listening to the provisions, I looked at him feeling a mean satisfaction, as if it all had happened to punish my brother for his greed.
    Aunt Stella exclaimed with joy and hid her face in her handkerchief – she received a diamond set which she once expressed her admiration for and some other jewelry together with a gift of fifteen thousand dollars. Susan’s eyes glistened with joy for Aunt Stella, she gave her an encouraging hug.
    The family’s assets in the form of cash, stocks, bonds and real estate were for the benefit of Gary and me, enforcing, however, the condition stated in the will of our father. We still couldn’t get into full possession of the wealth until the day stated in his will. We both were to receive forty five thousand dollars each immediately, but that was all. A long list of conditions, under which certain portions of the remaining assets could be withdrawn before the time followed, but it didn’t provide much hope. Not a devastating war with invasion of alien troops to the American territory, disasters, or sudden death of one of the sons could be foreseen. The mortgage on the house our Mother lived in had to be paid off and the house was to become mine. I could sell it at my own discretion after five years had passed.
    A special amount of five hundred thousand dollars was to be transferred to the Trust account of our church. At this point, Gary’s face burned up with indignation but the attorney read that the amount was reserved in agreement of both our parents. The decision was made years ago.
    The reading was over and the Attorney with his secretary left. Aunt Stella gave me a hug, tapped me on my shoulder, kissed me on the cheek, and was gone. Susan and Margaret went upstairs. They both were eager to talk. Gary and I remained alone.   
     For a few minutes we sat silent. Gary’s look was gloomy.  I could see it was not the lack of money left for him, but the sudden departure of Mom, his constant adversary in the never-ending arguments that made him feel lost and confused. With pain in my heart I  realized that one more essence that used to be almost personified and at the same time unanimously denied in our family, was irrevocably lost with Mom’s untimely death. This essence was the never-ending tension that kept both Mom and Gary on constant alert, that never allowed them to relax. Now, Gary felt like a giant whose curse was to carry a mountain on his shoulders, and whose burden was unexpectedly taken off. I didn’t remember anything like it in ancient mythology, but if such a story existed it would illustrate the state of my brother perfectly. He suddenly changed. His shoulders rounded, deep folds ran down from the corners of his nose, I saw a lock of gray hair in his head. Sitting in the armchair that our Mother died in a few hours ago, Gary looked at least ten years older.
    As if responding to my thoughts, Gary hid his face in his hands and gave way to sobbing.  I never saw my brother cry, at least not in the last thirty years. I made a move to get up to comfort him, but comprehension that I was the cause of our mother’s death hit me so hard that I could not manage to stand up from my chair. My head dropped on my chest and tears rolled down my cheeks.
   Left alone in Mom’s office we both cried bitterly, letting our grief go. I didn’t know what Gary was thinking, I thought that with Mom’s death there was no one around to preside over us, to take care of us, to say no, to instruct us. The family was destroyed, with Mom’s death it ceased to exist, and there was no way to recreate, to revive it.  We cried each on his own, understanding perfectly that in the years to come we were going to be more and more distant, more alien to each other, and at the thought that I would never confess to my brother about what happened this morning, I cried even harder.
     Then it all stopped. The day died outside and the darkness peered in trough the windows. I felt better. After all, life was going on. Reverend Willard and Uncle Jack, whose presence at the place remained a secret for all who were coming with condolences, needed care. 
    “Looks like everyone is gone for the day.” I said.
    “To hell with them.” Gary muttered.
     “We should go visit with Reverend Willard and Uncle Jack.”
     “To hell with them all!” Gary cried.
     “Listen, brother,” I said with anger.  Gary’s ignorance had suddenly made me mad. “They are our guests, you should be polite to them. Mother is no more, all that she had started is our problem now. You can’t just turn away from it.”
     “If you knew the real problem we are in now, you’d wish you were dead!” My brother said gravely.  He stood up from his chair and leaned against it, his gaze down as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. I was totally taken aback with the sudden change. My brother was deadly pale, tears still glistened in his eyes, but it wasn’t grief that made him upset. Gary was muttering something, I couldn’t get what it was. He shook his fist in the air and hid his face in his hands. 
     “What’s going on, Gary?” I asked in dismay. “What are you afraid of?”
     “Nothing.” He said shortly. “I said nothing!” He yelled and walked to the window. Looking into the darkness, he added in a firm calm tone. “We all need to leave tomorrow morning. You must be gone too.  Just disappear. Leave the country. Take as much cash as possible and go somewhere, maybe to South America. Do not use credit cards. In a week send me an e-mail at my MSN address.”
     All that, Gary said in one breath, as if being afraid that he wouldn’t have enough guts to finish.
     “But why? We can’t leave, we must be present at the memorial service.” I stood up and approached my brother talking to him in a soothing tone and touching his shoulder. “Gary, tell me what’s going on? Is someone threatening you? Do you need money to pay some debts? Uncle Jack…”
     Gary didn’t let me finish, he turned around abruptly and said,
     “Forget about him. Do not talk to him any more. I wish he would have never come here.”
     “But why?”
     “Because the man is trouble, nothing but trouble. Do you understand?”
     “No. I don’t. You yourself wanted me to talk to him, just yesterday.”
     “Yesterday our mother was alive.” Gary hissed. “Yesterday it all could’ve turn out another way, it should’ve turned out differently, but now she is no more, and she couldn’t find a worse time to die.”  Gary was delirious. “Go now!” He cried. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone, I said!” He yelled, seeing that I was about to ask more questions.
    “As you wish.” I said. “We’ll talk later.”
    “Yes, later.” Gary said, not looking at me. He stood turning his back to me his hand on the window pane staring into the darkness.
    I walked away in total dismay.

*   *   *

    I had to visit with Uncle Jack. Though what Gary had said was very strange – in my heart I felt my brother didn’t say it in vain, he knew something about the man – I couldn’t follow his advice. I had to see the man who, now I knew it for sure, was my biological father. I had to talk to him. The plan to move to Australia seemed to me even more attractive. Was it because Gary’s words made me feel eerie, or because it just averted me from the tiresome sensation of guilt, I didn’t know. I really wanted to leave. Not hiding in South America as Gary told me to, and not so hastily, that was impossible, but I, true, wished to leave this town where everything reminded me about what happened. The new life in Australia, the new career, seemed to me a safe haven, and whatever danger Uncle Jack presented, I didn’t care. There was nothing more dangerous for me than to find myself in my mother’s house on my own. I would talk to Gary after the funeral, I decided. He surely is mistaken about the man.
     Despite all the reasoning I still felt weird as if danger had settled in the place. It, however, helped me to get back to my normal state. There were a few things that required my immediate attention, and first of all I had to find Reverend Willard, who still was in the house and whose situation was even more awkward than Uncle Jack’s.
     I went upstairs but had to stop to give way to Margaret and Susan who met me on the steps.
    “Hi Joe,” Margaret said. “I see you are much better now. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to you, just wanted to say that your mother was an incredible woman.”
    “Yes, just incredible,” Susan echoed. “We all will miss her so much.”
     I shrugged my shoulders as if saying, what could be done, it happened. The women were on their way somewhere and answering the question in my eyes, Margaret said.
     “We decided to go out, just for a change. Will you two be all right? We’ll be back soon.”
     “No problem, go, it was a hard day for us all.”
     “How is he?” Margaret nodded to the door of my mother’s office. She was asking about Gary.
     “Wants to be alone for a while.” I said with a sigh.
     “I understand. See you later.”
     “See you later, Joseph.” Susan said, and kissed me on the cheek. She smelled of the Boudoir, her face was sloppily covered with powder. One could see that she had cried a lot just recently. The smell of the perfume didn’t go with her look at all.
     “We’ll be back soon.” Margaret said again when they were at the door and they walked out.
     In a few seconds I got to Reverend Willard’s door and knocked.
     “Come in, Joseph!” I heard.
     “How did you know that it was me?” I asked, closing the door behind myself.
     “I was expecting you. I knew you would come as soon as you were alright.” My minister said, standing up from his armchair where he sat looking at the TV with the sound off. I saw a sandwich box and a cup from Wendy’s. It was untouched. My minister looked tired, his collar was unbuttoned, tie loose. He tried to straighten his back and did it with effort, it wasn’t easy for him to look well.  He inhaled as if to start talking, but changed his mind, waved with his hand, and embraced me. So we stood for a few moments, with no tears. We both shed too much of those and didn’t have any more.
    “I took Mr. Volgeen to the church last night,” I said, “To show him the crack.”
    Reverend Willard released his arms and got back to his chair.
    “What did he say?” He asked not lifting his eyes to me.
    “He said the work must be started without delay.”
    Reverend Willard smiled weakly.
     “I didn’t have time to ask for the money.” I said. “I just told him that the funds are not available any more, but I didn’t tell him what happened.”
     “Forget about it, Joseph.”
     “But why?”
     “Because I will have to retire anyway. Without your mother much will change in the church. It is a pity we can’t have her memorial service in the cathedral. She and your father did so much for it.”
     “What about the money, the account must be recreated to pay for the work.”
     “That’s true.” Reverend Willard said. “But now, when your mother is no longer with us, I won’t be able to return the debt. We had a plan to manage it, but I can’t do it on my own.”
     “But at least something must be done!”
     “Something will be done without us. The committee will find a way. I have a commercial property I bought years ago to secure my retirement. I can pay the debt off when it is sold.”
     “Yes, but there will be a scandal.”
     “I don’t think so. Let’s talk about our current concerns.”
     “Yes… Reverend Willard, I wanted to ask you… Could we have a kind of private service, here, in the house, I mean.”
     “Of course we can. I will have to leave in an hour. They are expecting me to be back from my brother’s.” Reverend Willard smirked.
     “I’ll go get Uncle Jack, so we can start in about ten minutes.”
     “Yes, I’ll be downstairs.”
     At last I could go see Uncle Jack. I didn’t like to admit it, but I felt longing for the man. I wanted to talk to him, I felt that I had found a real friend in the man, and, at the same time, I felt as if I was betraying my parents.
     It was still foggy outside, a few lights were shining dimly through the mist, but the pass to the guesthouse could be seen clearly. The security lights went on when I walked to the entrance, and I thought about yesterday. I was right approaching the building from the back. All that had happened last night seemed to have happened a long time ago, in some other life.
     Bernard met me at the door. He saw me coming and opened it up for me. As usual Bernard was at his best appearance. His black coat with a velvet collar was buttoned up, hair neatly brushed, cheeks shaved to the blue. Behind him, in the game room, I saw Uncle Jack.  He was standing next to the pool table, a cue in his hand, thinking over the combination of the balls on the green. The room was lit only from the hood above the table and, in the reflected greenish light, Uncle Jack’s face looked tired. His features needed more energy, more life. It was, however, just an impression. The man looked at me and his face took its normal air of interest and discretion. He put his cue on the table and walked towards me. I shook his stretched hand and he pulled me to himself giving me a long hug. The closeness gave me a sensation of assurance and comfort.
     “I’m sorry, I had to come earlier.” I said.
     “It’s all right. It all was a tremendous shock for me too. I couldn’t even imagine I would ever outlive her. She was a great woman, a queen.”
     “She said my father couldn’t have children.” I almost whispered, lowering my eyes for a second and lifting them again to look at Uncle Jack’s face.
     “So you talked to her about it.” He said, returning to the pool table.
     “Yes.” I said. “And I caused her death by talking about it.”
     The man seemed to be ready for my remark. Focusing his attention on the balls, he responded calmly,
     “Don’t take so much on yourself. What happened was in God’s hands. Confessing to you, she took off a huge burden from her soul. She lived with it for so many years, believe me that wasn’t easy.”
    He bent over the table aimed his cue at a couple of balls that promised no chance, and made his shot. Reflected by the edge, the balls collided with some others that rolled lazily over the green until two of them had found their way to the pockets.
    For a long moment I stood in silence considering his words.  True, when Mom said her last words she changed. She changed not only because she was hit with a stroke that paralyzed her body; something had changed inside her. When she whispered Gary’s name, her eyes were full of some concern. But maybe it was pain that made her look different? If I could have looked into her eyes more, I would probably have understood what it was, but with all the commotion… I was just brushed aside. I wish Uncle Jack were right, saying that she died with no burden in her heart, I wish…
    The cracking sound of the balls on the table distracted my thoughts. I watched as a striped ball spun at the very edge of the side pocket to be pushed in by another, solid ball, that was rolling by.
    “So, you became the owner of this nice piece of real estate.” Uncle Jack said.
    I looked at him in surprise and he explained.
    “Margaret told me about the will; not all, of course, just a few things. What have you decided? Will you actually live here?”
    “I doubt it.” I said. “First I have my own house, and second, I believe Roman will accept your offer and we’ll move to Australia.”
    “Well, sounds like a good plan to me.” Uncle Jack said still looking at the balls dispersed over the table. “Even if the maestro won’t accept it, I see enough reasons for your relocation. You’ll love the country. But before that we have to take care of something important here.”
    “You mean the house? I can’t sell it right away.”
    “I’m aware of that. No. We’ll hire a company to rent it out. I want you to help me with something else, I’ll tell you later.”
    “All right.” I said, and recalled what I had come for. “Reverend Willard is waiting for us for a private memorial service.”

*   *   *

    Reverend Willard, a Bible in his hand, was waiting for us in the living room.  He stood next to the fireplace above which he lit two candles. A large golden cross gleamed on its stand in between them.  I had never seen the cross in the house, the minister apparently had brought it from his car. The minister greeted us with a solemn nod and opened his Bible. In respect of his special role Uncle Jack didn’t come to him for a hand shake, he just sat in the corner of the sofa.
    “All the women are gone.” I said, approaching. “We can start as soon as I bring Gary in.” And Reverend Willard responded to me with another solemn nod.
    I found Gary standing behind Mom’s desk searching through the drawers. The whole room was in disarray. File cabinets were open and papers scattered all over. The bookcase behind which Mom’s safe was hidden was out of its position. The heavy safe door was open. Nothing was left inside. All the contents of the safe, including our father’s gun and jewelry boxes, part of which had already belonged to Aunt Stella were thrown out onto the floor.
     “Gary, what are you doing?” I asked in astonishment, picking up Aunt Stella’s diamond necklace, but my brother didn’t answer, he just looked at me briefly and pulled a plastic basket full of files from the bottom drawer of the desk. He turned it over and papers scattered over the desktop slipping to the floor. Paying no attention to the content of the papers, he fumbled among them for something and, not finding it brushed them off. Then he grabbed the empty basket and flung it against the wall. A few framed photographs fell.
     “What’s wrong with you Gary? What are you looking for?” I exclaimed.
     “Nothing.” He said, not even lifting his eyes to me. “Mind your own business, brother.”
     “What do you mean? I won’t allow you.” I raised my voice, and forced myself to change my tone. It wasn’t a good time for a quarrel. “Gary, we are ready for a small memorial service.” I said. “Please join us in the living room.”
     “Who the hell is us?”
     “Reverend Willard, Uncle Jack and I.” I said, with dignity. “Margaret and Susan are out, it’ll be the men’s service.”
     “Men’s, you say?” Gary became thoughtful for a moment. “That’s even better. Let’s go.”
     He stood up and walked out of the room stepping over the papers on the floor. I followed him watching my feet. Among the papers scattered around the floor I saw the gun. Having my hands busy with the jewelry boxes, I couldn’t pick it up. I just pushed it  with my foot.
     As soon as Gary walked into the living room he went straight to Uncle Jack and paying no attention to Reverend Willard sat in front of the Australian guest. Their eyes met and for a while they just stared at one another. Something certainly was wrong with Gary, he didn’t care to observe manners, his behavior was aggressive, I would even say delirious. I came closer to interfere, but Gary lifted his hand stopping me.
     “Would you mind telling us, Mr. Volgeen what brought you to America?” The way Gary asked the question couldn’t be called polite.
     “Gary, you can’t…” I tried to touch his shoulder, but my brother blurted out,
     “Shut up.”
     “Let him talk.” Uncle Jack said. He wasn’t embarrassed at all.
     “That’s all I have to ask.” Gary said. His tone was threatening. He looked straight into Uncle Jack’s face. “Answer me Mister, what on earth has brought you here?”
     “I have a reason to be here, but I’d rather talk about it some other time.”
     “I’ll tell you what the reason is.” Gary’s face darkened. Seeing that Gary was about to attack the man, I cried,
     “Cut it out I said. You are crazy, you can’t be rude to our guest!”
     “Get out of here!” Gary roared, “I need to talk to him! You too.” He turned to Reverend Willard. “Pack up your things and get lost!”
     “Calm down, now!” I demanded, “or I’ll throw you out of here!”
     “Wait Joseph.” Uncle Jack said. “You have to excuse your brother.” Uncle Jack’s voice was placid though firm. I obeyed. 
     “What you came for you will never get.” Gary hissed into Uncle Jack’s face with a malicious smile. “It is lost. Forever. It will never be found.  Mother didn’t lie to me.”
     “That’s enough, Gary. I won’t allow you to harass Mr. Volgeen.”
     “Why do you care?” Gary exclaimed. “If you’d known what this man came here for, you’d be the first drive him away. Do you want to know? I’ll tell you. He…”
     “I don’t want to hear about that. I want you to apologize and leave.”
     “Me, apologize? Are you a real idiot?”
     “Do apologize, now!” I clenched my fists, barely being able to hold myself from striking my brother.
     “What the hell! Who is this man to you?”
     “This man is my father.” I said in one breath.
     “What?”
     “You heard me. Mr. Volgeen is my real father. If you want to know, our father couldn’t have children.”
     “You are nuts! Who then is my father?”
     “I am!” Reverend Willard stepped forward holding his Bible as a weapon.
     “What?”
     Dead silence followed, I was surprised no less than Gary; what Reverend Willard said was the last straw for the day. Everything swam in my eyes, my legs weakened and I had to sit down. A ringing started in my ears, I felt dizzy.
    Here, in my unclear vision, the front door opened and two people made their way in. I blinked my eyes, but they didn’t vanish, on the contrary, they walked towards us making themselves even more realistic. From the first moment I felt that I’d seen them, no, not seen, but certainly read about them. There was something strange, even unnatural in them as if they had materialized from some forgotten nightmare of mine.
   The tall man with an athletic stature bore no expression on his face, he didn’t pay much attention to us. He stood straight, observing the room above our heads. If his eyes carried more personality, he would have been handsome. His square chin was clearly shaved, he had a straight, well sculptured nose and black brows, but his eyes, as I noticed later, had very tiny lashes and it made them look dull. His black hair was gathered in a ponytail, he was dressed in blue jeans and in a short jacket of black leather.
   The other one was short and lean. His head was clearly shaved; a few earrings decorated his large monkey ears giving him an idiotic look. He couldn’t stay still – his head mounted on the long neck was constantly turning around. If the head would lack those large ears, it could be taken for some other limb of his body, so flexible was his neck. His outfit consisted of old pants and an oversized coat that was good enough to spend a night under the bridge.
     I was sitting still, looking at them, thinking where I had seen them before. It all could be a dream, and to support the sensation the short one asked something in a foreign language. Non of us understood a word. The athlete just shrugged his shoulders in response.
    “What?” Reverend Willard asked.
    “I said why no one here is glad to see us?” The small guy asked in rather clear English,  I recognized his accent, it was Russian.
    “I think you’re in the wrong house, gentlemen.” Reverend Willard said, he was the first to recovered. “Whom are you looking for?”
    “Him.” The short guy nodded at Gary and smirked. “You, grandpa, better stay cool, if you don’t want your guts on the floor.” In a split second a long gun appeared in his hand. The other hand pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and the guy murmured a few words into it.
    “Is it what, robbery?” Reverend Willard asked, but Gary looked at him with spite in his eyes and hissed,
    “Shut up, clown.”
    Gary was sitting, staring on the floor, leaning with his elbows against his knees. His face was deadly pale as if he was sick. I touched his shoulder, but he shook my hand off.
     “Gary, who are they?” I asked.
     He looked at me with cloudy eyes as if seeing me for the first time, and said after a pause.
    “I’ve told you.” Then, he shifted his eyes to Uncle Jack and whispered with hatred. “Thank you, Mister.” He wanted to add something else, but at that moment the front door opened and another man walked in. He was short and stout with rounded shoulders, and a pleasant smile on his round face. He was clearly bald on top and it provided him the look of a cartoon character. The impression was made worth by the clothes he wore – a soft hairy sweater, velvet pants, and comfortable sneakers. The man bowed courteously to all of us and broke into a long emotional monologue:
    “Oh, my God! What a scene! Sons are meeting their fathers. Parents are dead. Long live the parents.  Excuse me for the breach of your privacy, I’ve heard everything sitting in my car. What a story! Oh, I wish Shakespeare had been watching this theater of life, though, who knows, maybe they are watching us from the outer world at this very moment.”
   Had the guest been invited, he could have pass for a nice person, but the way he appeared kept us on alert. We all had been listening to the waterfall of words with nervous tension.
    “You have to forgive me gentlemen, I couldn’t stand sitting outside after your conversation had reached its climax. I felt I just must introduce myself and to bring my congratulations and condolences, of course.”
    Here the man made a gracious bow and suddenly yelled. “What is it? Are you out of your mind?” He addressed his anger to the short guy, who still smirking held his gun with a silencer aiming it at us.
    “Take it away and get out of here!” The man’s eyes glistened with steel. His soft features turned into stone, even the round tip of his nose sharpened.  The spindly thug obeyed without a word. The gun disappeared under his jacket, and he walked out.
    The tall athlete didn’t even move, he stood still, his hands folded on his chest, observing the room. It was obvious that he was well armed and trained to protect his master.
    “You have to excuse me, gentlemen. You know, it’s hard to find good assistants. A man of my profession is always compelled to work with trash. This is a curse. A real curse.” Here his face expressed such a great suffering that for a moment I even felt pity on him. In the next moment, however, the troublesome look left from his face and in a businesslike manner the man said.
     “Okay, let’s waste no time. Would you excuse us, gentlemen, we, I mean Mr. Gary Grand and I, need to talk. We must conduct our conference in private and I think there is no better place than the office of the mistress of the house.”
     Though the request was delivered in a polite tone, there was something in it that didn’t leave you the chance to refuse.  Gary hesitated for a moment and stood up. He gave me a grave look and said.
     “I told you.”

    For a while there was nothing but some mumbling behind the door, then, I heard Gary’s voice, he was almost shouting,
    “No!” Then Gary shouted something not comprehendible, and the muffled voice of the stranger answered something vague. Then Gary’s voice rose up to a clear tone,
    “I don’t care! Go to hell I said!”
    The stranger again started to talk in a low voice that suddenly jumped up to a high pitch as if someone pushed on his chest. We heard a heavy blow against the door and the yell of the stranger,
    “No! Put it down. Don’t be a…”
    More strange sounds followed, then we heard the sudden thunder of a shot. We all looked at the athlete. He still watched us but his eyes narrowed. At this moment the door of the office opened and the stranger, his face pale and eyes sparkling, stepped out.
    “This is a misfortune gentlemen. Big misfortune.” He said looking at us with anger. “Mr. Gary Grand took his own life.”
    “What!” I gasped, and felt Uncle Jack’s hand on my arm.
    “I have to apologize Mr. Volgeen.” The stranger said to Uncle Jack. “God knows, the death wasn’t in my plans.”
    Trembling all over I could hardly understand what the man was saying. I couldn’t believe what happened. I was ready to bolt into the office and only the realization that Reverend Willard and Uncle Jack could be shot by the athlete, stopped me.
    “You young man, Joseph is your name, if I’m not mistaken,” the man said to me, “yes, it’s you I’m talking to. Don’t play a fool. At least for the sake of your beloved English beauty secluded in my tower. Behave yourself or you’ll start receiving her precious body parts by mail. At this time she sends you this.”
   The man threw something to me. It was the necklace from the accessory kit that I bought for Lisa just yesterday.
   “I’m really sorry gentlemen that our first meeting had to be darkened with the death of one more member of your family. Gary Grand wasn’t capable of overcoming his grief.  It is pretty common among sons who love their parents. There is no reason to complicate things so don’t mention me as a witness to the suicide. You all are prudent people arn’t you? One more thing I have to tell you. Since Gary has dropped out of the game, it is your obligation to find out what he could not. Mr. Volgeen will provide details. Members of the Grand family are dying so simply these days, let us allow, at least one of them to live happily ever after. Sorry I have no time to stay with you longer. Good bye, gentlemen.”
    The stranger turned around and walked away. The thug stood with us for a few seconds longer then, still watching us stepped to the door back first and followed his master.

Here ends Part One of the novel.
Please, e-mail me with your personal request and I'll refer
you to the Internet page where you can read
the second part of the novel.

Thanks for reading,
Ditrikh