|
------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- by Russ Chenoweth ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- -------The Retirement Party -------Life After Death -------The Game -------The Teller -------The Dinner -------The Bear -------The Blizzard -------A Winter Walk -------All You Can Eat -------At The Beach -------The Pineapple -------Live Oaks -------The Sixth Commandment -------Morris Revealed -------The Chickadee -------Over Easy -------The Organ Donor -------The Wedding -------The Coffee Club -------The Pope -------The Preacher -------The Private Agent -------The Rumpus Room ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- Albert Meyers strolled down the path to the dock and stood smoking a cigar as he looked out over the black water. It was a soft April evening, the best time of year in Florida. Behind him, the sounds of a party had faded. He could hear the peacocks screeching from across the bay at Tiki Gardens. ------- “Hey there, Mister Meyers, how ya doin’? Pretty noisy back at the house, huh? Say, sorry about your dad. We’ll get the guys that did it.” Albert had expected the sentry. ------- “Thanks, Jerry. I’m doing okay. Dark out there tonight. Suck you right in. Getting up to the party later?” ------- “Sure, Mr. Meyers. Danny’s comin’ to relieve me at ten. Thanks for asking.” ------- “That’s great, Jerry. G’night.” ------- “Night, Mr. Meyers.” ------- When Jerry turned, Albert shot him through the back of the head with the silenced automatic. He nudged Jerry’s body off the dock and tossed the cigar in after him. As he passed a potted fern on his way back to the house, Albert reached in among the leaves and retrieved a thick explosive belt which he wrapped around his waist under his sports jacket. ------- The birthday boy was sitting with his wife and daughters. Pretty girls, smart too, at Smith and Wellesley. Albert wove his way across the room. He spoke in Whitey’s ear, and they excused themselves. Whitey tapped the keypad outside his office door and went in. Albert could tell Whitey’d had a few drinks, more than a few. Albert closed the door behind them. Whitey sat at his desk and leaned back with a satisfied smile on his face. Then he remembered something, and his face fell. ------- “Sorry about your father, Albert. Mose had a good run for it, though. Eighty two, right? Seventy myself tomorrow. Never thought I’d make it.” ------- “You didn’t,” Albert said. He put two bullets in Whitey’s chest and watched the body slide to the floor. He sliced the index finger from Whitey’s right hand with a pocket knife and pressed it against the pad next to the wall safe. When the light turned green, he tossed the finger back to Whitey and punched in the combination. -------He stared at the pile of folders and ring binders, the briefcase, the box of uncut diamonds, and the other remains of Whitey’s life. He took only a black briefcase. ------- The belt of explosives went into the trash basket along with Morris’s wallet, his watch, and his diamond tie tack. There was a spot of blood on his jacket. He left that as well. He took a few seconds to open the blinds on the picture window before he left by the fire door. ------- The door set off an alarm as he’d known it would. He crossed sixty feet of manicured lawn and stood behind a big live oak. The inside of the office was clearly visible through the window. A minute passed before someone arrived with the combination and they all surged into the room, Wolfe, Manny Manheim, Sol, and Pinkie. A few he didn’t know. Not Abe, but Albert hadn’t expected to get them all. ------- He stepped back behind the tree, closed his eyes, and pressed the button. The light flashed through his eyelids. A jarring thud merged with the sound of glass slicing through the branches. Leaves and twigs fell around him. For you, Mose, he whispered, before jogging across the dark lawn towards the dock. ------- He untied the mooring lines on a pedal boat and headed into the bay. Soon he’d be out of sight unless they played a spot on the water. Then they’d have him, a fool in a toy boat. ------- The car was parked at an empty house two hundred yards down the shore. He was already driving north on Gulf Boulevard when he heard the sirens. ------- Albert switched cars at a supermarket lot a mile away and drove the rented Chevy to a motel in Tarpon Springs. He waited until he was certain no one was watching before he went into his room and double-locked the door. -------He put the briefcase on the bed and took a can of beer from the refrigerator. He flicked on the TV and sat in front of it for a few minutes, not really watching. ------- With a shrug, he got up and carried the briefcase to the desk, opened it, and began taking out the stacks of used bills, roughly a million he figured. Whitey’s getaway money. He smiled as he transferred it to his suitcase. ------- After a half hour at the bathroom sink with a scissors and hair dye, he inspected himself in the mirror. Shorter and grayer. It aged him but not too much. He looked distinguished. The contacts were comfortable. Little things, but enough. ‘Nice to meet you, Mister Morris Lerner.’ ------- ------- Three days later, at two o’clock on a bright, spring afternoon, Morris drove up Route 6 beside the Cape Cod Canal. The radio played Brahms’ Fourth Symphony as he crossed the Sagamore Bridge into a soft light. No hurry now. He took the old road that wound past the inns and antique shops, nearly deserted in early April. ------- He rounded a bend and slowed. A small pickup had run off the road into overgrown bushes. Morris stopped his car and got out. The fat woman in the driver’s seat was struggling to open her door. ------- “You hurt?” he called to her. ------- “No,” she said, laughing. “Just stuck” -------Morris pulled the door open as far as he could and helped her out. -------“Oooowf,” she said and leaned against the truck, breathing hard. “Thank you, kind sir.” -------There was a crunch of tires on gravel, and a police car pulled up behind them. ------- “Anybody hurt?” ------- “No, officer,” the woman said. “I must of fell asleep and drove off the road.” ------- “You see it happen?” he asked Morris. ------- Morris shook his head. “Just stopped to help.” ------- The policeman checked the woman’s license. He offered to drive her into town, but she said she’d wait for a tow truck if he’d call one. ------- “May I see your license too, sir?” ------- Morris felt a moment of panic before his hand moved towards his pocket. ------- The policeman glanced at his license and handed it back. ------- “Always nice to meet a good citizen, sir,” he said. “Welcome to Cape Cod.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- Morris parked behind an old Volvo with a “Save Tibet” bumper sticker. The door to the chapel was open, and people were going in. He sat for a minute, uncertain what he was doing here, before he got out of his car and followed them. Inside, two dozen elderly people were noisily pushing chairs into a circle. ------- He was about to turn around and leave when a hard-eyed little woman grasped his sleeve. “I’m Martha,” she said. “We usually have a speaker, but today we’re discussing Life after Death. What’s your name?” ------- “Morris Lerner.” ------- “Nice to meet you, Morris. This is Harry.” ------- A tall, slim man offered his hand. “You look like Henry James, Morris.” ------- “Not everyone notices,” Morris said. -------“Let’s get started,” a large woman bellowed. -------“Sue’s our president,” Martha whispered. They sat down on creaky wooden slatted chairs. ------- “Are there any guests this morning?” Sue eyed Morris. “Would you stand up and tell us about yourself, please?” ------- Morris stood. “Morris Lerner,” he said. “I’m retired. Just moved to Eastham. I’ve been to Unitarian churches a few times.” ------- “We’re not a church,” Sue said. “We’re a Fellowship. We don’t have a minister.” ------- “We’re humanists,” someone said. ------- “Whatever that means,” Harry added. ------- Morris glanced around the crowded room. They were all older than he except one young couple and an intense bearded man in work boots and overalls. ------- “Announcements?” Sue asked. “Ollie?” ------- “William’s in the hospital.” Ollie was a round man in his seventies. “It’s his heart again. He should be out by the end of the week.” ------- There was a swell of sympathetic murmuring, and a woman said the Caring Committee would send flowers. ------- “William likes blue,” Ollie offered. ------- Others made announcements about the annual town meeting, a semi-nude peace vigil, and an amateur night in support of gay rights. ------- A very old man rose stiffly from his chair and began to sing what sounded like a Gaelic drinking song. When he finished, he reminded everyone that he was selling food certificates to help the homeless. ------- “If there are no more announcements,” Sue said, “Harry’s in charge of today’s program.” ------- Harry stood up. “Is there life after death? Most people would like to think so. My father said you got what you expected, heaven, hell, or sweet oblivion. Why don’t we just go around the room. Can we start with you, Jean?” ------- “If anyone deserves another life I do,” Jean said, “but I’m pretty sure we switch off like a flashlight.” -------Opinions ranged from a conventional Heaven, though not Hell Morris noticed, to dissolutions in varying shades of bleakness. They spoke of reincarnation, of the memory of friends, and of the reverberations of our earthly lives. -------Harry was good, and it seemed to Morris that everyone thought before they spoke. Most people just hung onto the first belief they tripped over. Two men took a pass. -------“They were in the war,” Martha whispered. “They had to kill people.” -------Morris spoke last: “I saw a bumper sticker a long time ago. ‘Is there Life Before Death?’ I’m still working on that one.” ------- “Hear, hear!” Harry was pleased. ------- “That’s not very comforting,” a woman said. ------- “You want comfort, Ilene,” Harry said, “you could bury your pretty head in the sand.” ------- “It’s time for refreshments,” Sue announced. ------- -------“You play Scrabble?” Morris and Harry were drinking coffee and eating pickled herring. -------“I’ve played it,” Morris said, trying to remember when. ------- “William, George, and I get together once a month,” Harry said, “usually at my place. It’s an excuse to drink beer. Want to come?” ------- “Sure,” Morris said. ------- “What do you think of the Fellowship?” ------- “Interesting,” Morris said. ------- Harry nodded. “Some people don’t deal well with death.” ------- “I’ve never found it to be a problem,” Morris said. ------- “Yeah? You an undertaker, Morris?” ------- “Troubleshooter,” Morris said. “You?” ------- “Government work,” Harry said. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He laughed. ------- Morris nodded and smiled. ------- ------- THE GAME ------- ------- The clam shell driveway crunched under Morris’s tires. The forest loomed beyond the reach of his headlights, and he smelled wood smoke from Harry’s stove. Morris, George, and William all had big houses. Harry lived with a thousand books and hundreds of classical CD’s in a beach cottage at the far end of a sand road ------- Morris savored the darkness and the sound of wind in the pines for a moment. Then he began to pick his way up the icy walk. It was snowing. ------- “Look what blew in!” Harry called, as Morris stamped the snow off his feet. ------- “Hey, Harry. Hi, George.” ------- “There’s Goldkreutzer in the fridge,” Harry said. The kitchen table was crowded with bowls of salted nuts and plates of cheese and smoked fish. A Brahms trio was softly playing in the background. -------“Is William coming?” Morris asked. ------- “I think so. Hope he takes it easy in this weather.” -------A moment later they heard a low chirp, and a tiny red light blinked on a metal box beside the door. -------When William came into the house a few minutes later he hung his alpaca coat on a peg. He grunted a hello and went straight to the refrigerator for a bottle of beer. He settled himself into the largest and most comfortable chair. At eighty-seven, William was a testimonial to living well. ------- “What’s the word on the Beeman tract?” Morris asked him. ------- “Tied up in the courts. With any luck none of us will live to see it built. How you doing, Harry?” ------- “Could be worse, old man.” -------They were in no hurry to get started. George had worked for an overseas consulting firm and had a million stories to tell. William called himself the gay financier and liked to talk about the market. Harry had done something for the Federal government. -------“Want to hear a tape of a Palestinian comic?” Harry asked. ------- “Will I be offended?” ------- “No, Morris,” Harry said. “He’s married to a Jew.” -------The comic sounded like an American. He told good-natured stories about life under the Israeli Occupation. The interviewer asked if there was a typically Palestinian joke, and the comic told about Arafat and his wife kissing on the beach. A cop gave them both tickets, and Arafat asked why his wife’s fine was bigger. “Yours is a first offence,” the cop explained. -------Morris laughed politely. -------“Is there a typical Jewish joke?” Harry asked. -------“Sure,” Morris said. “Isaac and Anna are chopping firewood on a cold morning, and Anna says she feels sick. Isaac says, ‘I’ll take you to the doctor as soon as we’re done.’ They finish chopping the wood, Isaac hitches the horse to the wagon, and they start for town. It’s begun to snow. They talk about their life together, and finally they ride in silence. After a while Isaac looks over at his wife and says, ‘Anna, why isn’t the snow melting on your face?’” ------- No one laughed. -------“That’s a joke?” Harry asked. ------- “Sort of,” Morris said. -------They played Scrabble for the thrill of killer points and for the words themselves. A word like clone might start a conversation that went on all evening. -------“What was that?” William asked, looking toward the window. -------“Raccoons,” Harry said. “Checking my garbage can, but they can’t get in. You’d think they’d learn.” -------Morris excused himself halfway through the third game after putting down a word. It was ten minutes before it was his turn again. -------“You fall in, Morrie?” Harry called out. The toilet flushed, and Morris came back. -------Morris won the game. They played two more. -------“’Perdure’?” George said doubtfully. -------“Means ’survive’,” Morris said. -------“I’ll take your word for it,” George said. “Thirty-six points!” -------They stopped for the evening at the end of the game. It was still snowing lightly. George and William thanked Harry and left. -------Morris stood at the window. “Something out there,” he said. -------He put on his hat and gloves and went outside, leaving the door ajar. He was back in less than a minute. -------“You better see this.” -------“What?” -------“Just come.” -------Morris led Harry to the body of a man, curled up on the ground near the edge of the woods. -------“Shot in the back of the head,” Morris said. “Gun in his hand wasn’t fired.” Morris stroked his chin. “How do you want to handle this, Harry?” -------“I don’t know, Morris. You better go home, it’s my problem.” -------“Not entirely,” Morris said. “Got a plastic sheet?” -------Harry helped Morris wrap the body and stuff it into Morris’s trunk. -------“You sure you want to do this?” -------Morris shrugged. “We have to find his car.” ------- -------After the dead man and his rental car had been disposed of at a safe distance, Morris dropped Harry back at his house. -------Morris drove off, and Harry went inside for a flashlight. He studied the area behind the house where snow had nearly covered Morris’s footprints from the garage and into the woods. Harry went inside again and hung up his coat. He thought about the foot prints. He stood at the card table and studied the Scrabble board. Perdure. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “May I help you?” ------- The young woman was so cheerful that Morris had to smile. Nice hair. She’d done her best to make herself attractive. He handed her the checks and deposit slip. -------“Pretty pin,” he said. -------“Why thank you, sir.” Her fingers brushed the little silver fox on her lapel. She’d verified the total and was about to process the checks when she gasped and turned pale. ------- “Yes sir,” she said in a quavering voice and began placing piles of cash on the counter. ------- “What are you doing, miss?” Morris asked. ------- “What?” The woman seemed confused. “Aren’t you a bank robber?” ------- Morris glanced around the room in alarm. No one seemed to be looking their way. ------- The girl held up the deposit slip. On the back was lightly penciled, THIS IS A STICKUP. -------“Oh no, miss,” Morris said. “That must have been on the slip. It’s someone’s joke.” ------- “I called the police. We have a button.” -------“Call them back.” ------- “I can’t,” the woman said. ------- Morris said, trying to stay calm. “All right, I’ll wait until they come. Go on, miss, help the next customer.” Morris reached over the counter. He took back the checks and the deposit slip and sat in the Customer Service Area. -------The white-faced teller looked around wildly, but a man was already at the counter. He was in a hurry. ------- The woman at the service desk asked Morris if he needed help. ------- “No thanks,” Morris replied, without turning his head. You weren’t supposed to wear a hat in the bank, so he took his off. Now an older woman was talking to the teller. Both women looked around the bank. Morris was about to get up and walk over to them when the police burst through the door. -------“Don’t anyone move!” a policeman shouted. The teller gave a sigh and fainted. ------- Everyone moved. The police looked around nervously. There was muffled conversation, and Morris heard someone phone for an ambulance. It would be impossible to explain what happened without the teller to back him up. ------- “There’s been a robbery,” a policeman announced. “If any of you saw what happened, we want to talk with you.” ------- Morris waited, watching the stock quotes crawl across the bottom of the TV. The market was rebounding from Monday’s low. He admired the watercolors on the bank’s walls. Customers milled. When he saw a man shake hands with a policeman and start for the door, Morris stood and walked out with him. -------“A bad business,” Morris said. -------He was stopped in the parking lot by someone he knew. The police radios squawked in the background. -------“What’s going on?” -------“Attempted robbery,” Morris said. “I didn’t see anything.” -------“They’ll have it all on the tape.” -------Jesus! Morris thought. Of course they would. He excused himself and headed back towards the bank, but a policeman blocked his way. “Sorry, sir. You can’t go in there now. There’s been an incident.” -------Morris drove home and packed. He ate supper, but for once he wasn’t hungry. He stared at the TV for hours and finally fell asleep in his chair. -------The morning paper covered the robbery in detail. The robber had been turned away by the courageous actions of Miss Terry Stevens. Stevens, recently hired, had been slightly injured when she fainted. The manager expressed regret that she’d decided to give up her job at the bank. A picture of the robber taken from the surveillance tape was dim and grainy. The hat blocked half the face. It could be anyone. Stevens’s description of the robber was inaccurate, and a police sketch looked barely human. ------- ------- The following week an actual robbery took place at a nearby bank. The masked robber escaped with considerable cash, and a guard was injured. A few days later the assistant manager of a third bank was shot and killed during an early morning theft. ------- Morris hoped the man would be caught quickly, but despite the efforts of the police and the FBI there were no arrests. There were no more robberies. Everyone was relieved except Morris. They’d never stop looking for a killer. He was sure the teller could recognize him, and the police would find his identity was false. His picture would be in the paper. If he were anywhere else, he’d move on, but he liked the Cape. It was peaceful, and the woods and beaches were lovely. It was a place to die for. ------- ------- A month after the robberies, weeks of worry and lying low, Morris slipped a 25 caliber automatic into his coat pocket and drove to a local drug store. He parked in the unlighted lot and walked three blocks to a candy shop. -------It was just before closing. Morris looked past the display of chocolate bunnies and heart-shaped candy boxes in the window. There were no customers and no one was on the sidewalk. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The young woman at the counter glanced up with a smile that quickly faded. ------- “I know you,” she said. “You’re the man with the note, the one who wasn’t a bank robber.” She tried to laugh. “I guess I won’t call the police this time.” -------“I hope not,” Morris said. “Why didn’t you tell them it was a mistake?” -------“I tried to, but they said I’d scared you away. I finally let them give me the credit, and then I had to make up a phony description. When the real robberies happened, and the shootings, I was stuck. I figured you didn’t do them?” -------“No,” Morris said. -------They looked at each other. -------So, what’ll it be, sir?” -------“Terry, right?” He nodded at her name tag. -------“That’s right,” she said. ------- “I think, Terry,” Morris said, “I’d like a box of chocolate cherries.” ------- He paid her and took his change from a twenty. -------“Thank you,” he said. “They’re for you.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “This is nice, Morris. I never eat out.” ------- “I do,” Morris said. “I’m a lousy cook.” ------- “You’d get better with practice. It’s so expensive to eat in restaurants.” ------- “I have money, I....” He laughed. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s been a while since I asked anybody out.” ------- “It’s been a while since anybody asked me,” Terry said. “I really like to cook. I could give you some simple recipes.” ------- “Simple would be good,” Morris said. ------- “Oh, I didn’t mean...” ------- “I know,” Morris said. “Maybe we’ll both get better at this with practice. I’m sorry you had to give up your job” ------- “I’m not,” Terry said. “You can’t really talk to people at a teller’s window. The candy store is the sort of thing I’ve always done. Like I told you, Morris, I haven’t had a lot of luck.” ------- “Life’s not fair,” Morris said. “No reason your luck can’t change.” -------“I wasn’t complaining, Morris. I’m not an unhappy person. How about you? Have you been lucky?” ------- “I don’t like to talk about my life,” Morris said. ------- “Me neither, “Terry said, “but then we won’t have anything to say to each other.” ------- “We can go on saying dumb things,” Morris said. ------- “Yeah, we’re doing great,” Terry said with a grin. “What are you going to have?” ------- “You want lobster?” Morris asked. ------- “No, it makes me sad to think of them in boiling water.” ------- “You’re right,” Morris agreed, “it’s not nice. I think I’ll have the mussels for an appetizer and the broiled bluefish.” ------- “You like mussels,” Terry said. It was almost an accusation. ------- “Yeah, but the pilgrims didn’t like them,” Morris said, “or lobster either.” ------- “I’ll have the clam chowder and the fried scallops,” Terry said. ------- A waitress appeared on cue. ------- “My name’s Mindy,” she said. “Can I get you something to drink?” ------- “I’ll have a Sam Adams,” Morris said. “Terry?” ------- “Sure, a Sam Adams.” Terry said. ------- Morris had almost finished his mussels. The evening was going much better. “These are good, he said. “Want to try one?” ------- She didn’t, but she’d be a good sport. He was counting on it ------- “Here,” he said. He put a mussel on her plate. “Use your fork to take it out of the shell and dip it in butter.” ------- “Oh, look!” Terry said. She reached into the shell and took out a small but perfectly formed pink pearl. ------- “Whoa!” Morris said. “Talk about luck!” ------- Other diners and a waitress had overheard Terry’s excited voice. Soon the manager was at their table. “Is everything all right?” he asked. ------- “She found a pearl in her mussel,” Morris said. ------- “That’s....amazing,” the manager said. “You don’t usually find pearls in salt water mussels. In fact...” He stopped himself and grinned at Morris. “In fact, I’ll bet you could have it set it in a ring for the young lady. Enjoy your dinners, folks, and good luck to you.” ------- Terry was looking at Morris, but Morris had played poker with crime bosses. Then he made a decision. ------- “I thought your luck could use a boost,” he said. ------- “Oh no, Morrie,” Terry said. “It has to change by itself, because that’s why they call it luck, and it just now did.” ------- ------- -------. ------- ------- ------- ------- -------“Can we have lunch?” Terry asked. “I’m hungry.” -------Morris poured hot coffee into paper cups and set them in his cup holder. -------Terry inspected the smoked turkey sandwiches and handed Morris the one with hot peppers. They ate in silence and watched the geese. It was early fall. The leaves had been turning, one at a time it seemed, for almost a month. -------Morris and Terry never talked about the past. Morris’s past was off limits. Terry said hers wasn’t worth discussing. -------A car drove into the nearly empty parking lot. A middle aged couple got out and carried a bag to the picnic table at the edge of the pond. The geese watched them. Then they paddled ashore a few at a time and in no hurry, looking in every direction except towards the picnic table. The couple seemed oblivious. -------“Jesus,” Morris said, “don’t they see them?” -------The geese circled the table. A large one hopped onto the bench and then to the table top and began to investigate the bag. The couple quickly packed up and went back to their car. They’d driven off before Morris finished his coffee. The geese returned to the pond. -------“It’s nippy out,” Morris said. -------“Feels good,” Terry said. -------They started along the path that led around the pond and through the beech forest. It was early afternoon, but the sun was already low in the sky. Morris had rarely noticed the sun at all before he moved to the Cape. The path was soft sand. Slow going. Bear oak, beach plum, and stunted pitch pine held back the dunes. Nothing moved in the woods except the chickadees that followed them from tree to tree inches above their heads. -------The path wound over the top of a low hill and passed through a field of bearberry. Big old beech trees clung to the steep sides of the dune as the path plunged down into a little valley. Some trees had initials carved into their skin-like bark. -------“Aren’t they wonderful!” Terry said. -------Their feet made no sound on the leaves. At the far end, the path led steeply up the side of a dune. Terry went first. Morris struggled to keep up, glancing nervously at the precipitous slope. -------“Quick,” Terry said in a loud whisper. Morris glimpsed two shapes as they slipped into the shadows. -------“Coyotes,” Terry said. “Really shaggy ones. I love coyotes.” -------The path circled back towards the pond. -------“It’s nice here in the spring,” Terry said. “The new beech leaves are so green.” -------Morris raised his eyebrows. -------“Really green, Morris. So green you can’t believe it.” -------“I believe it,” Morris said. He put his arm around her. -------Terry stopped. “What made those tracks?” -------Morris looked at them. “A bear?” -------“Noooo,” Terry said. “There aren’t any bears on Cape Cod.” -------“There are bearberries.” -------“There just aren’t any bears, Morris. Maybe there used to be. Whatever it is has really big feet.” -------They walked more quickly on their way back to the parking lot. A park ranger had stopped his truck beside Morris’s car. -------“Afternoon, officer,” Morris said to him. “Something wrong?” -------“Some kids scratched your car.” The ranger pointed to the letters crudely cut into the car door. “I know them.” -------“Thank you, officer,” Morris said. “I’d rather just let it go. I can touch up the scratches.” -------“It’s your decision, sir,” the ranger said. “It might be a favor to the kids to charge them.” -------“No,” Morris said. “Eventually they’ll scare themselves. Then maybe they’ll stop.” -------The ranger frowned at Morris. “All right, sir,” he said. “Have a nice day.” He got into his truck and drove off. -------“You really think it might be a bear?” Terry asked. -------“No,” Morris said. -------“We could have taken a picture of the tracks.” -------“We could have,” Morris said, “if we had a camera.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “It’s a blizzard, Morris!” ------- “I’ll say. Must be fifty miles an hour. If this keeps up we’ll be buried.” ------- They watched as the snow blew past the window and a drift began to form in their driveway. -------Terry cooked supper. They tried to ignore the howling and roaring of the storm. Finally it grew dark and the windows became so caked with snow they couldn’t see through them. Later they made cocoa. Morris read. Terry knitted. The radio played Mozart and Scarlotti. -------At ten o’clock the power went out. Morris got out the oil lamps and candles. He switched the radio to battery and kept reading. They’d had outages before, usually in the middle of the night. ------- Around eleven, someone banged on their door. Morris thought of the gun in the drawer by their bed. He opened the door cautiously and shined the flashlight on a middle-aged couple. They came into the hallway, stomping their boots and shedding snow. -------The man was close to his age, the woman a lot younger, a bimbo. -------“Out for a stroll?” Morris said. -------“Yeah,” the man said, “a stroll.” His voice was raspy. “Thought we’d drop in and use your phone.” -------“If it’s working,” Morris said. He pointed to the telephone. -------The man dialed and was answered immediately. -------“Scala,” he said, “Bayshore Road. Roof blew off. Somebody’s gotta get us. Yeah, a neighbor’s house. Hartley Lane.” He turned to Morris. -------“Sixty-five,” Morris said. -------“Sixty-five Hartley. No, I can’t stay here. Awright, awright.” He slammed the phone down. -------“Be an hour,” he said. “Got anything to drink?” -------“Can you make coffee on the hibachi, Morrie?” Terry said. “Why don’t you two sit on the sofa? You must be cold.” -------“Yeah cold.” The bimbo looked miserable. -------“Where you folks from?” Terry asked. -------“Bayshore Road,” Scala said, looking at her as if she were an idiot. “House with the Jacuzzi. The one that just fuckin’ blew away.” -------“Oh,” Terry said. “I meant... You’re new to the Cape?” -------“Lousy contractor took me for a bundle,” he said. “Cutie here thought it’d be nice we’d come up for Christmas.” -------Terry didn’t think she’d ever heard ‘nice’ used that way. -------“I grew up here,” Terry said. “Morris is from Florida. -------“West Palm,” Morris said. He was at the fireplace with his back turned.” -------“Figures,” Scala said. He looked around the room. “Swell little place.” -------“Big enough,” Morris said. -------“What business you in, Mr. Scala?” Terry asked. -------“Coffee’s going,” Morris said from the fireplace. “Good thing we kept the old percolator.” -------“Pharmaceuticals,” Scala said. “Import, export. Business you in, Morris?” The man’s voice dripped with ridicule. -------“Shoe store in the Bronx,” Morris said dully. ------- “Got anything to eat?” the woman said. ------- “Cookies,” Terry said. She got out a box of cookies, slightly stale. -------The couple drank coffee and took turns complaining about their house and the Cape. They were staring into the coals of the hibachi an hour later when there was a heavy knock on the door. It was a policeman in a yellow parka. -------“Scala?” he asked. ------- “They’ll be right out,” Morris said. -------“How about you folks?” the cop asked. -------“We’re fine,” Morris said. -------The Scalas left without another word. Strangely subdued, Terry thought. -------“Maybe we should have gone to the shelter with them,” Terry said. -------“’Why?” Morris said. “They were so much fun?” -------“You weren’t very friendly, Morris. Why’d you tell him you owned a shoe store?” -------“I worked in one when I was a kid. Funny business, shoes. You sell a ton, but you go broke anyway.” -------“I didn’t like the Scalas, either,” Terry said. -------Morris didn’t say anything. -------“What is it, Morrie?” -------“I know the guy,” Morris sighed. “Micky Scala. Michelangelo Scalamanga. You don’t want to know, Ter. Good thing we had the percolator.” -------“So you could make coffee?” Terry said. -------“So I could slip a few Xanax in the pot,” Morris said. “Maybe he won’t remember he knows me.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Look, Morris! The first footprints in the snow.” Terry had to shout to be heard over the wind. -------“That’s great,” Morris answered. ------- “I love snow. It makes everything beautiful.” ------- “Uh huh.” -------Morris pulled the hood up over his stocking cap. His fingers were numb, and he could feel the cold through his parka. He could barely see the trail. ------- “This is crazy!” he shouted. ------- “It’s why we came,” Terry called back. ------- But they’d have come in any weather. They walked early in the morning because Terry worked at the candy store until six. She’d kept her car and her job when she moved in with Morris. Terry was in her early thirties. He was almost fifty. He couldn’t believe his luck. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. -------Once earlier that winter the wind had plastered snow on every branch and tree; it froze and lasted for days. The oak leaves were topped with white, and the pitch pine needles gleamed like stickpins. They took too many pictures. Another time, the snow fell in soggy bundles and collected on the branches like biscuit dough. The day warmed as they followed the boardwalk through the swamp, and melting snow fell on their heads. They saw deer tracks and hundreds of rabbit tracks and flocks of robins eating cedar berries. They’d passed an elderly couple on skis. -------Today they were alone in the storm. The sky and water were strange colors. The wind left pine cones on tiny pedestals and carved the drifts into fantastic shapes. Everywhere, the young cedars were wrapped in white. He’d never seen snow like this in the Bronx. -------They held on to one another as they crossed the causeway over the salt marsh and paused halfway and let the wind press them against the rail. -------“Look, Morrie, the ducks!” -------“Black ducks,” Morris said. -------“Are they?” -------“I just mean they’re black.” -------“I think there really are black ducks,” Terry insisted. “Everything else is white. My favorite color. It makes me think of weddings.” -------“In China it’s the color of funerals.” -------“Have you been there, Morrie?” -------Morris nodded. Terry was pleased when Morris revealed even a small detail of his past. -------A skier appeared, hooded and mysterious. Morris felt for the automatic he no longer carried, but the man strode past and vanished in the swirling snow. -------They topped the final rise. The ocean waves were huge, their crests blown back in plumes and rising like smoke. There were no boats or birds, just the angry green water. -------“Snow on the beach is so strange,” Terry said. She leaned on him. -------“What’s that, Morris?” She pointed. “It’s like a dune.” -------“It can’t be,” Morris said. “It’s…. God, I think it’s a whale. A dead whale washed up on the beach and covered with snow.” -------“Oh Morris,” Terry said, “it’s a white whale.” -------For just an instant, Morris felt its enormous weight. ------- ------- ALL YOU CAN EAT ------- ------- “Park as close to the door as you can,” Harry said. “There’s a lot of ice.” ------- “I could let you out here,” William offered. ------- “No,” Harry said, “we’d better stick together.” ------- The six men had ridden down in William’s Cadillac. It was Harry’s idea to have lunch at the Old Timers Buffet. Morris hadn’t wanted to go, but he didn’t want to disappoint his friends. ------- “All You Can Eat for seven bucks!” Harry said. “It’s a good deal.” ------- “I guess it depends on the eats,” Morris said. ------- They found a table and draped their coats over the back of their chairs. Morris saw that his flannel shirt had been the right choice. They looked like an over-the-hill bowling team. He took a plate and wandered among the steam tables. -------An Hispanic kid wearing an Old Timers jacket set down a huge tray of meatloaf. ------- “Thanks,” Morris said. The boy gave him a contemptuous look. So screw you, Morris thought. He took a slice of meatloaf and ladled gravy over it, and he piled his plate with spare ribs, barbecued chicken, roast potatoes, and Brussels sprouts. ------- “You can go back as often as you want, you know.” Harry said. ------- “So, I’m greedy,” Morris said. “Those chicken livers will kill you, Harry.” ------- “They’ll have to get in line. Try some, Morrie. They’re good.” ------- “Next time,” Morris said. ------- “Great food, huh?” George said. ------- “Not bad,” Morris agreed. It was better than he’d expected, but there was too much. Great for big eaters. He saw a three-hundred pound workman shoveling it in and a mom with half a dozen overweight kids. Kids got in cheap. Most of the customers looked normal. -------An older couple went by, plates mounded with fried chicken. -------“How can they eat all that?” Morris asked. -------“It’s their supper, too,” Harry said. “I once saw a guy fill his plate three times in five minutes. He left with it under his coat.” -------“Pathetic,” William said. -------“You haven’t missed many meals, William,” Harry told him, poking his stomach. ------- A vivacious young woman whisked away Harry’s empty plate and was reaching for his coffee cup when he clapped a hand over it. -------“Thanks, Annie,” he said. “Not yet.” -------“Hey, Annie,” William said. -------“Hola, William.” Annie patted William on the shoulder. ------- “They don’t want you taking your used plate to the buffet,” William explained to Morris. “Germs. They’re nice kids. Columbians. That’s Manuel, the head waiter. He’s at Harvard.” ------- “Columbians, huh,” Morris said. ------- “Manuel’s pretty sharp,” William said. ------- “I’ll bet he is,” Morris said. ------- George came back from the Men’s Room. ------- “I’ve never seen a urinal that high.” ------- “Separates the men from the boys,” Harry said. ------- “No kidding! You’d have to be over six feet!” ------- “Or have a long one,” Harry said. ------- “The Columbians are all short,” George said. ------- Morris went back to the steam table. He took more meatloaf and some chicken livers and scalloped potatoes. He saw the meatloaf kid again. Their eyes met. ------- “I know you, man?” Manuel asked. ------- “No,” Morris said. “All you guys in school?” ------- “Yeah,” Manuel said. “Habla Español, hombre?” ------- “No.” Morris said. He spoke good Spanish. Why did the kid want to know? ------- Morris went back for a brownie and ice cream. They talked for another hour, poking at their desserts and drinking coffee. ------- “You hear the one about this guy who takes a bite of his sandwich and calls the waitress over?” George asked. “He says to her, ‘S, O, B.’ And the waitress says, ‘What do you mean?’ And the guy says, ‘Soggy on the bottom.’ So she says to him, ‘S, H, I, T.’ And he says, “What do you mean by that?’ And she says, “Shoulda had it toasted.’” ------- “Funny,” Morris said. “Got to make a pit stop before we go.” -------The urinal was high, but Morris was a big man. He was standing with his back to the door when someone came in.” ------- “That’s him,” Manuel said in rapid Spanish. -------“El judio? Mean looking bastard. What’s the matter with him?” -------“I dunno. I just didn’t like the way he looked at me.” -------“Think he’s a cop?” ------- “Nah.” ------- “So?” ------- “Get Annie to take his picture. Publicity or something. Get names and addresses, say we’ll send ‘em copies.” ------- Morris washed his hands and walked out. ------- “Manuel’s going to take a picture of us,” he told Harry. ------- “I’ll handle it,” Harry said. ------- Annie came to the table with a camera and a big grin. Harry stood and motioned her to the side. He tried to hand her a bill, but she shook her head. He flipped open his wallet and showed her something, and she left. ------- “What was that about?” Morris asked, as they were walking back to the car. ------- Harry took out his wallet and showed Morris an ID card. ------- “National Security Administration! Shouldn’t you have turned that thing in?” ------- “It’s fake,” Harry said. “NSA. No Such Agency. Why’d they want our pictures?” -------“My picture. They think I’m a competitor. -------“What, in the fat-food business?” -------“No, Harry, in the funny business. What’s Manuel studying?” -------”William says chemisty. Business and chemical engineering. Pretty impressive.” -------“Drugs,” Morris said. -------“You think so?” -------“I know so,” Morris said. -------“Morrie, you stay out of it!” ------- “Not me, Harry. There’s another way.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- Morris was surprised. There were no other cars in the small parking lot. It was nearly noon on a beautiful day, clear and bright. After he closed the car door it was suddenly very quiet except for the distant sound of surf. Morris hung the binoculars around his neck. -------“Sally said the path starts on the other side of the road.” Terry carried their lunch in a small backpack. She looked terrific in her new hiking boots and denim shorts. ------- They crossed the road and started up the path. It wound steeply through the pitch pines and out into an open field covered with bearberry. The path led over the top of a big sand dune, and suddenly the Atlantic Ocean was in front of them. -------“Wow!” Terry said. -------There was a weather beaten house still boarded up for the winter below them, and beyond it a short stretch of deserted beach. Except for the house and the tip of a water tower miles to the north, there was no sign of civilization. Morris looked at the tower through his binoculars. It looked the same, only closer. ------- “It’s like Scotland,” Terry said. Morris agreed that it looked like pictures of the Highlands. Terry took off her backpack and got out sandwiches and the thermos of coffee. They talked very little. Terry could talk or be quiet. ------- “We could try that road,” Terry said, pointing to a dim track below them. Morris looked at it through the binoculars. -------“It must be a fire road,” he said. “I wonder where it goes.” Morris was careful about things and places he didn’t fully understand. But he couldn’t see the harm, and Terry was having a nice time. ------- “Sure,” he said. ------- A little way along the fire road they passed a young couple. -------“It’s another world!” the boy said. Morris smiled and nodded. -------The road led over a rise to a cleft in the low dune overlooking the ocean. The sand sloped to the water. -------After they’d made their way down to the beach they could see miles in either direction. -------“There’s nobody here but us!” Terry said. -------“It’s Tuesday,” Morris said. -------“What...?” -------“I’m kidding,” he said. “Looks like somebody had a bonfire.” He pointed to the charred driftwood. -------“A beach party,” Terry said. -------“Pretty far to go for party.” -------“Maybe it’s a nudie beach,” Terry said. -------Morris laughed. “They’d need the fire to keep warm.” -------“I’ll bet it’s the witches!” -------“Sand witches?” -------“Nooo, Morrie! Real witches. They sit around the fire and play drums.” -------“They sound like fruitcakes,” Morris said. -------“They don’t hurt anybody.” -------She put her arms around him, and they stood in the shadow of the high dunes, while the big waves crumpled and hissed at their feet, and the empty beach stretched to the distant headlands. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- -------“I forgot to tell you, the men’s group is at our house on Wednesday.” -------“Oh, Morrie, that’s nice!” Terry said. -------“Now I got to get the food.” -------“What do they like?” -------“Juice and coffee, cookies, crackers, sardines maybe, smelly cheese.” -------“We have coffee and crackers. You can get sardines and cheese at the Food Giant.” -------Morris glanced at Terry, but she was watching a squirrel climb onto the bird feeder. -------“Good idea,” he said. ------- ------- Morris had eaten all his meals out before he hooked up with Terry. He’d shopped at the deli but never in a big food store. The place was huge. Twenty kinds of orange juice, a whole aisle of bread. Bialys! He put a package in his cart. Nathan’s hotdogs! What else? -------This time of day most shoppers were retirees looking for bargains. When he saw an old lady slip a jar of caviar into her purse, he whispered in her ear. She pushed her cart away without looking at him. -------“What did you say to her?” -------Morris spun around. A young woman, mid-twenties, jeans and no makeup. Why hadn’t he noticed her? -------“I told her only the big crooks get away with it.” ------- “Are you a cop? -------“No.” Morris grinned. “I was a robber.” -------She gave him a look. -------The woman abandoned her shopping cart and headed for the exit. Just before she left she took something from her purse and dropped it in the Food-For-The-Homeless bin. ------- Morris left his cart near the Organic Foods and took the stairs to the rest rooms. On his way back, he passed two tough looking men coming out of the manager’s office. He knew what they were. -------“Smart cookie, that manager,” the one with the briefcase said. -------“Everybody wins,” the other agreed. -------They walked past the table where a heavy woman was giving out samples. The big one grabbed a handful of cheese cubes. -------“Guy must have been hungry,” Morris said, approaching the woman. -------“You see that? He took ‘em with his bare hand like some kind a thug!” -------“Thugs definitely,” Morris said. He speared a piece of pepper cheese with a toothpick. “This is good. Real spicy. I got some guys coming to the house.” -------“Men go for the hot stuff.” She winked. -------He put a package of cheese in his cart. “Say, can I leave my cart here while I check something out?” The men were heading for the exit. -------Morris followed them out and got in his car. He tailed the dark blue Lexus half a mile to the Harbor View Motel and watched while they went into their room. He was about to leave when they came out and drove away. He followed them until they split off toward Chatham. -------“Thought you got lost,” the samples lady said. -------Morris apologized and took his cart. When he had everything for his men’s group, he stopped in the produce section and selected a small pineapple. He tossed a New York Times in the cart, and checked out. -------Back at the Harbor View, he sat in his car for a minute. You don’t have to do this. When he’d made up his mind, he stripped the keys from his key ring and dropped them in his pocket. The lock was a piece of junk. Ten seconds and he was in the room. He set the pineapple on top of the TV and hung the steel key ring from one of its leaves. He stood back to look. He smiled. Boom! -------He spotted the briefcase under a bed and made a detour to the landfill on his way home. Before he got back in his car it was covered with half a ton of garbage. ------- -------Terry came into the kitchen as he was putting groceries in the refrigerator. -------“Success, Morrie?” -------“No problem. Look what I got, Ter. Bialys! And Nathan’s hot dogs! Great place.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “This is exciting, Morrie! Flying to Florida!” ------- Morris and Terry were drinking coffee an hour before their flight. ------- “Better not be too exciting,” Morris said, “Florida either. I told Ma to try to keep it quiet. Don’t forget, Terry, I’m ‘Albert’ down there. I hope…” He stopped. -------“Hope what?” ------- “I hope we have an easy flight.” Morris had been going to say something else. ------- “I’m not worried, Morris,” Terry said. “People fly all the time.” ------- “Right,” Morris agreed. “Nothing to worry about.” ------- She laughed. “Just bad weather, highjackers, birds sucked into the engine. You’re the one who’s nervous.” She touched his hand. ------- “Yeah, yeah,” he said. ------- “You think your mom will like me? ------- “Sure she will. Compliment her cooking.” ------- “She’s a good cook, huh? How long since you’ve seen her?” ------- He didn’t answer for a moment. “Ten years.” ------- “Morris!” ------- “Couldn’t be helped. I write sometimes. We’ll take her to Disney World,” ------- “Whoopee,” Terry said. ------- “I’m serious. You’re in Florida, you got to go. It’s better for grownups. It’s clean.” ------- “Clean?” ------- “No trash, graffiti.” Morris thought a moment. “You think you and I could do one of those flower islands they have around town?” ------- “Flower islands!” Terry was convulsed. Morris had to laugh too. He laughed until there were tears in his eyes. People looked at them and smiled, he lowered his head over his coffee. ------- “It’s not that funny,” he said. ------- “Sure it is, Morrie. You can do anything, but gardening’s not you.” ------- They had to show at I.D. at the gate Morris’s driver’s license was genuine, but he was relieved when they were through. ------- Terry was thrilled with everything, the plane, the clouds, the Washington Monument from the air. She ate the peanuts in the tiny bag and said they were especially good. They arrived at Tampa on time. ------- On the way to Clearwater, Morris stopped their rental car outside a rusty building. SID’S SURPLUS. -------“Back in a minute,” he said. ------- ------- His mother was glad to see him “You look good, Albert. Put on some weight.” She didn’t mention the ten years. ------- “You look good too, Ma.” ------- “For an old lady I’m not so bad.” ------- Terry and Anna talked about Florida and about Live Oaks Acres where Anna lived. She showed Terry pictures of Morris when he was a boy. ------- “I’m having a party tonight in the dining room,” Anna said. “You make points bringing guests. It’s the same dinner everybody gets, but we have wine and nuts.” ------- “Sure,” Morris said. He’d rather have taken them to a restaurant. ------- Morris and Terry went for a walk before dinner in the cemetery across the street. It was shaded by hundreds of huge old trees hung with Spanish moss. ------- “I can’t believe these trees,” Terry said. ------- “Live oaks,” Morris said. “Just the thing for a cemetery. Ma has a plot with the Jews.” ------- “Where’s your dad?” Terry asked. ------- “Memorial Park,” Morris said. “St. Pete.” ------- ------- “This is my son, Albert, and his wife, Terry.” Anna introduced them to six ancient women. “They flew down from Boston.” ------- “I’ll bet it’s cold up there,” Flora said. “I’m from New York.” ------- “It’s cold,” Morris agreed. “Foot of snow.” ------- “I miss the snow,” Flora sighed. ------- “So, go back,” Mimi said. ------- “Next year,” Flora told her. ------- “What do you think of the President?” Ceil asked. ------- “Ceil!” Anna said. “Enough with the politics!” ------- “Phooey,” Ceil said. “I want to know what they think. I think he’s an idiot.” ------- The ladies mellowed with a glass of wine. The talk was pleasant. Morris thought the food was good, although the women complained it was boring. He let his eyes wander over the sea of white heads. There were only a few men. One of them was staring at him. Morris turned away. He found it hard to breathe. When he looked again, the man was gone. ------- After dinner, Anna challenged Morris to a game of pool. ------- “The men die off,” she said, “and the women won’t play. Sometimes I get a game with Ben Weintraub.” ------- “Weintraub,” Morris said. ------- “He owns the place. Hates to lose.” ------- “I’ll bet he does,” Morris said. ------- Anna won two games. ------- “Did you let her win?” Terry asked when they were back in the guest room. ------- “You kidding? Ma’s a shark.” ------- ------- Terry and Morris went down to Anna’s apartment for breakfast. ------- “Do something useful, Albert,” Anna called from the kitchen. “Get the mail.” ------- Morris took the key to Anna’s mailbox and got on the elevator. It stopped at the second floor. The door opened, a tiny woman gasped and stepped back clutching her chest. The door closed and the elevator continued to the lobby. Anna’s box was empty except for the local newspaper and a notice about the Valentine Day’s dinner. ------- Morris got back on the elevator and pressed the button. This time he stood back from the door. The elevator stopped. The door opened, and Ben Weintraub pointed an automatic at Morris’s chest. He stepped in and punched the fifth-floor button. -------“They killed Mose, Ben. They got what they deserved. Nothing to do with you. Why not let it go?” ------- “What d’ya think I been doing here, Albert? You come to my place all fat and sassy with a bird on your arm.” ------- “Coincidence. How could I know?” ------- “You’re askin’ me, Albert? Up we go. Fifth floor, men’s wear, toiletries, last stop for Albert Meyers. Figured you might come some day, with your mom here.” Weintraub pointed to a door across the hall. “Go on in. You need a drink.” ------- Morris went into the living room and looked around at the expensive furniture and florid artwork. ------- “Nice place, Ben,” he said, turning towards him and firing the gun he’d held under the St. Petersburg Times. The shots boomed, but the walls were thick at Live Oaks, and the residents hard of hearing. He stepped over the body, wiped the doorknob with his handkerchief, and took the fire stairs to his mother’s floor. ------- He checked the clock. A long five minutes. Anna was still in the kitchen. Something smelled good. Terry was reading a magazine, but she looked up and smiled. Morris put the paper on the coffee table and sat next to her on the sofa. ------- “Promise me something,” he said softly. ------- “Sure, uh...Albert” ------- “Promise if something happens to me, you’ll go back to school. See McGinn. I set it up.” ------- “Morrie! What are you talking about?” ------- “Shush. Just promise.” ------- “Okay, but...” ------- Anna called Terry from the kitchen. ------- Morris watched her go. He smiled like a man who didn’t plan to die any time soon. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- Morris noticed the silver gray van when he looked out the window to see if the squirrels had gotten past his latest defenses. He’d become fond of the little bastards and half wanted them to keep winning. -------The van slowed as it approached his house, and something glinted in the driver’s window. A camera? The house wasn’t that picturesque. He was on the deck and got a better look when it came by again. The driver saw him. ------- After the van crossed the bridge and disappeared around the curve, Morris ran to his car. He caught up to it and kept it in sight until it pulled into the Governor Winthrop Motel. A large man in a business suit and a hat got out and went into a room. Morris thought he looked like a rabbi. ------- He parked in a lot across the road and watched until it was time to meet Terry for lunch. He didn’t mention the man to her. ------- ------- Morris returned to the motel after lunch. The silver van was still there. He waited, listening to the radio, until the man came out just before three and drove off. He was clearly making another pass by Morris’s house, so Morris stayed well back and pulled off the road before the bridge and watched through binoculars. -------The man must have assumed no one was home. He got out of his car and went to the front door. He knocked and tried the knob. Then he went around to the back of the house and reappeared a minute later. ------- Morris was waiting when the van returned to the motel. The past was catching up with him. He’d been a fool to think he could simply slip into a new life. Whatever it was about, it would have to wait until evening. ------- ------- “Going out for a while,” he told Terri after supper. ------- Terri was surprised. Morris didn’t like to go out at night. ------- “Anything wrong, Morrie?” ------- “No,” he said. “Just some business to take care of.” -------Morris took his walking stick from the coat closet, grabbed his car keys, and drove to the motel. ------- -------“Yes?” The man spoke through the closed door. ------- “Manager,” Morris said. ------- The door opened, and the man looked at him suspiciously ------- “What’s this about?” he asked. ------- “That’s what I want to know,” Morris said. ------- He watched the man closely and saw his eyes flick towards the suitcase at the foot of the bed. ------- Morris shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. ------- The man stepped back, but he didn’t seem afraid. Morris saw that he was wearing a yarmulke. Maybe he was a rabbi. ------- “Sit,” the man said. The chair was near the suitcase, so Morris sat down. The man sat on the bed. ------- “How did you spot me?” he said. ------- “You’re not good at this,” Morris said. “You and I have a problem?” ------- The man didn’t answer. ------- “What’s your name?” Morris asked. ------- “Josh Weintraub.” ------- “Ben’s son?” ------- Weintraub nodded. ------- “It was self defense,” Morris said. ------- “In his own apartment?” ------- “We were at the Oaks to visit my mom. I didn’t know Ben lived there until I saw him in the dinning room. I was going to stay away from him, but he pulled a gun on me in the elevator. How’d you find me?” ------- “Your mom keeps your letters in her desk.” -------“Terrific. You’re smarter than I thought, Rabbi.” ------- The man raised his eyebrows. ------- “The hat. Not even lawyers wear hats around here.” ------- “I wasn’t thinking.” ------- “Conservative or orthodox?” Morris asked. ------- “Conservative,” Weintraub said. “You religious?” ------- “Everyone’s religious,” Morris said. “The Jews invented religion, right? Listen, Josh, I’m sorry about your dad. Call it a misunderstanding.” -------Weintraub shrugged his shoulders. “What’s it like up here in the boonies?” ------- “It’s good. We read, take walks. We go to a Unitarian Church.” ------- Weintraub laughed. “Unitarians! A hit man should fit in. Ever think about coming back?” ------- “What? Become observant?” That’s why you came, Josh? All this way just to tell me to re-up?” ------- “I came to kill you.” ------- “What about the sixth commandment?” ------- “Do no murder.’ It’s not quite the same thing, Morris, but let’s forget about it.” ------- “Fine with me.” -------Weintraub nodded and sank back against the headboard. “I’ll say good night then. Got to get up at 4:00 am to drive to Logan.” ------- “Just don’t leave the gun under the pillow, Rabbi. State’s got tough laws.” -------Amateurs. Back in his car, Morris unscrewed the top of his walking stick. He removed the ten gauge shotgun shell and put it in his pocket. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Morris!” ------- ------- Terry poked him awake. ------- ------- “What?” ------- ------- “I heard something.” ------- ------- He was on his feet in an instant. He walked barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. From the kitchen window he could see the driveway and the garage and the tall shapes of three men. They’d found him. He’d have to wait until they broke into the house before he shot them. If he could just keep his picture out of the paper... ------- But what the hell were they doing in the garage? A shovel to bury the bodies? The weed-whacker! ------- One of them turned toward the house. It was a kid! High-school kids stealing a stupid weed-whacker that didn’t even work. Suddenly the gun felt heavy in his hand. ------- It was five minutes before he stopped shaking and went back to the bedroom. Terry was asleep. ------- ------- “You okay, Morrie?” ------- They were drinking coffee. Morris was staring out the window, not really seeing the goldfinches and chickadees battle for a perch at the feeder. ------- “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. She’d forgotten last night. ------- “You look kind of down.” ------- “Who me? Hey, what do you say we walk at Audubon this morning? Haven’t been there for a while.” ------- Suddenly he glimpsed something small and black darting behind the couch so fast he couldn’t see the legs or tail. Terrry didn’t see it. ------- ------- They walked at the Audubon sanctuary and saw a green heron and a four foot long blacksnake. After Terry left for work Morris read the paper. He met her in town for lunch. Then he spent the afternoon cleaning the garage and rearranging the garden tools he never used. He kept thinking about the night before. ------- He was still restless and decided to walk to the bay by a road he seldom used. Most of the cottages were empty in early June, but he heard the familiar thump of a basketball in the distance. He’d been good once, when six-two was tall. ------- He saw three boys practicing lay-ups. He recognized them from the way they moved. ------- They stopped playing and were staring as he approached. He saw the weed-whacker on a workbench in the garage. ------- Two of the kids hung back, but the tallest one looked him in the eye, daring him to say something. Suddenly, he passed the ball hard to Morris. Morris caught it without flinching. The kid motioned with his head. Let’s see you put it in, old man. It was an easy shot, but he hadn’t played for years. Then they’d be buddies? Nice shot, mister? We couldn’t fix your crappy weed-whacker, so you can take it back? ------- Morris looked at the ball. It was old and cracked. Some long shots were worth taking. He began to squeeze it with arms that could still bench press nearly three hundred pounds. He was starting to think he’d made a mistake when the ball popped with a bang. He tossed the flattened thing back to the boy. ------- He stared at them coldly, the way he’d made a lot of men have second thoughts. Then he smiled and aimed a finger at the big kid. Pow! ------- ------- He had supper ready when Terry got home at 6:15, fresh salmon with soy and ginger. Terry always had stories to tell. Nobody else could get so much out of a whole day selling chocolate bunnies. People told her things and she listened. She never repeated them except to him. -------After supper he turned on the radio. Terry swore she liked classical music and he pretended to believe her. He picked up his book and read a few pages. ------- He saw it again. Small and black, running along the floor and behind the sofa almost too fast to believe. ------- Terry was skimming through the Times before she started her homework. He was going nuts. He shouldn’t have dragged her into his crappy life. Suddenly he was covered with sweat. ------- ------- It was dark when he woke and checked the clock. Six a.m. The feeling was still there. Mornings should be his best time, a fresh start every day, the only way he’d made it all these years. Twenty-seven punks he put away. Ought to give him a medal. He got up and made coffee and watched TV until Terry woke. They ate bacon and eggs. ------- “Jesus!” ------- “Morrie, what?” Terry was looking at him, her mouth open. ------- “I keep seeing things. Black specks out of the corner of my eye. Losing my marbles.” ------- “You mean the mouse?” ------- “You saw it?” -------“Sure. It’s been running behind the sofa all week. I was afraid to tell you. Because... you know.” ------- “Because I’d want to kill it.” ------- “They got these traps now, Morrie. Hav-a-Heart. You let ‘em go outside. Maybe in the Miller’s yard?” She laughed. “I was afraid you’d think it was dumb.” ------- “Nothing you want is dumb, Terry. We’ll get Hav-a-Hearts. We’ll get a dozen. God, you were afraid I’d kill a mouse.” He started to laugh, and then he was crying, sobbing uncontrollably. ------- “Morris! What’s wrong? Tell me!” ------- “You’ll leave me.” ------- “No, Morrie. I couldn’t leave you now no matter what. Tell me. It’s not right you carrying something like this.” ------- “It’s bad, Terry. I was a criminal. It’s over now, but.... ------- “Morris, just tell me.” ------- He closed his eyes and said a prayer. Then he told her. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Look, Morrie! Must be twenty chickadees taking turns at the feeder.” ------- “I wouldn’t call it taking turns,” Morris said. ------- “They have to stock up for winter. I read about it in the paper. They hide seeds, and their brains get bigger so they remember where they put it.” ------- “You serious?” ------- “That’s what it said. Squirrels can’t remember where they put their acorns, so they have to bury a lot of them. Chipmunks hibernate. The Birdwatcher thinks chickadees should be our national bird because eagles are mean. They steal food from other birds.” ------- “Eagles look mean,” Morris agreed. “But maybe stealing is more our thing than planning for the future.” ------- “Isn’t it amazing, though, about bird brains?” ------- “Yeah,” Morris said. “Too bad we can’t grow bigger brains when we need them. Reminds me of this guy that did the accounts for the mob. Terrific mind. Handled billions of bucks without ever losing a cent. Then he ups and dies, and. turns out the money’s stashed away in banks all right, but the account numbers were in his head. Two billion bucks out in the blue! I remember the guys at the funeral. Looked sicker than the corpse.” ------- “So, what happens to the money?” Terry asked. ------- “Still earning interest. Being loaned out by banks, making the world go round. A contribution to international finance from the Jewish mafia. Makes me laugh. ------- “Erlich was a funny guy, but he and I got along pretty good. Gave me a copy of a book he wrote on gambling. Wait a sec. It’s one of the few things I brought with me when I bailed out.” ------- Morris pulled a small volume from the bookshelf and handed it to Terry. ------- “See the inscription.” ------- “To Al,” Terry read. “A true friend. Keep the book, buddy. It’s worth a fortune, Mungo the Magician.” ------- “Yeah, ‘Mungo,’ it’s what they called him. And that’s before he made two billion disappear!” ------- “Why’d he say the book’s worth a fortune?” ------- “Good tips? Gambling’s a fool’s game unless you’re a genius.” ------- “He makes it sound like the book is worth something.” ------- “A few bucks maybe, to a serious gambler. Why?” ------- “I was thinking, Morrie. It’s just.... Everybody writes important stuff down somewhere.” ------- “I told you. He memorized the account numbers.” ------- “Yeah, but don’t you think that...just in case... Maybe he hid them in the book?” ------- Morris stared at her. “Jesus,” he said. He held out his hand, and she gave it to him. “Why would he give it to me?” ------- “Because you were his friend, Morrie. You were nice to him. You’re nice to everybody.” ------- “Some kind of code you think? How do we figure it out?” ------- “I don’t know, Morrie. You’re smart. You got to think like your friend Ed. He’d want you to figure it out.” ------- “Actually it is the sort of thing he’d do. You’re something, Terry. You and those chickadees.” ------- ------- It took a week, but there it was finally, right in the first paragraph of the book. You turned the letters into numbers and loped off the twenty digit bank accounts one after another. Morris could have transferred fifty million from the First Bank of Barbados to his own account in five minutes. Fifty million, Mr. Lerner? And what was the source of this income, sir? Yeah, the IRS might be curious. ------- “What’ll we do with it, Morrie?” Terry asked him. ------- “I could cash some if I was careful. But it’s not worth it, Ter. We got plenty. It’s just as dirty, but it’s all legal now. ------- “Tell you what,” he said with a sudden grin. “We’ll give it away. We’ll scatter a little birdseed.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- Morris sat watching the chickadees at the bird feeder. When the piano trio ended, he took the disk from the player and put it in its case. He turned on the radio and picked up a book. Terry was knitting a brightly colored sweater. -------The phone rang. Ten o’clock at night? Morris answered it. There was half a minute of strained silence before he spoke. ------- “You sure, Ma?” ------- Terry heard squawks from the phone. She put down her knitting. ------- “Course I’ll come, Mom. Where are you now? That’s the nursing home, right? No, I bet you don’t like it. Let me get off the phone and make a reservation.” -------Morris hung up and looked at Terry. ------- “Anna says she’s dying. I have to go to Florida.” ------- “Oh, Morris, that’s terrible. I’ll come with you.” ------- “You don’t have to. God knows what’s really going on. I don’t trust her.” ------- “Don’t you want me to come?” ------- “Sure I do, it’s just... My mom can be difficult. It’s hot as hell down there in July.” ------- “They have air conditioning.” ------- “Only inside.” ------- ------- They were at the Tampa airport, waiting for a cab to Clearwater. Morris could feel the sweat dripping down his body. -------“Regular steam bath.” -------“I’d never get used to this.” Terry said. ------- “They have to. Got to pave the roads, build the houses. It’s probably like this all the time in Brazil.” ------- “It is?” ------- “I don’t know. Here’s our cab. The driver looks cool.” ------- “The cab’s air-conditioned, Morris.” ------- ------- They had a guest room on the fifth floor of the Live Oaks Assisted Living Facility. The woman at the desk said they could visit Continuing Care any time. Morris suggested they take their bags to the room, and he’d go see Anna alone the first time. ------- There was a long, bare corridor from assisted living to the nursing home. They should put up travel posters, Morris thought. Aruba, Rio, the Pyramids. He went through two sets of swinging doors. A cheerful nurse at the reception desk pointed him to Anna’s room. ------- “You can give the aide a break.” ------- “Sure,” Morris said. ------- Anna was sitting in a wheelchair. She looked mummified. The young Asian girl in the chair beside her glanced up from her paperback. ------- His mother opened her eyes. -------“Albert!” She reached out her shriveled arms. “Get me out’a here!” ------- Morris kissed her on the cheek. ------- “I want to go home, Albert!” ------- “To your apartment?” he said. “Shouldn’t you be here, Ma? I mean...you’re sick, right?” ------- “I’m dying, Albert, but I can’t stay here with all these zombies!” ------- “Hey, okay. I’ll ask.” ------- “Tell ‘em, Albert! You can make people do things!” ------- “Sure. First thing tomorrow.” ------- ------- “That’s all she said?” ------- “Not even ‘hello.’ She looks awful, Ter. She’s gonna be pissed, but I don’t see how she can go back to her apartment.” ------- “Is she going to die, Morris?” ------- “Wouldn’t put anything past her.” -------Morris stared at the blank television screen. “Christ, I don’t know what to do. You see a TV Guide?” ------- ------- “It’s our decision to keep her in the nursing home, Mr. Meyers. You want me to tell her that?” the head nurse said. “We’re used to being the bad guys.” ------- Morris thought about it. “No,” he said, “I’ll tell her. I just hate to see her like this.” ------- The nurse nodded. “Even the smart ones like your mom lose their judgment at the end. She was in her apartment, with Vera her companion, and she demanded we move her to the facility. The doctor won’t move her again. ------- ------- “This is Vera,” his mother said. “She’ll get me back in my old room.” ------- Vera was shaking her head. ------- “Don’t you desert me, Vera!” ------- “I’m not deserting you, Anna. It’s the doctor. Dr. Hershey never comes to see her. Maybe you can get her another doctor?” ------- Morris glared at Vera, and she closed her mouth in a grim line. ------- “That’s right, Albert! Get me a doctor who’ll let me go back to my apartment.” ------- “Listen, I don’t think...” ------- “You got to do it! I’m gonna die here!” She was shouting. Her voice was amazingly strong. “I’m in pain. You want me to die in pain? My mouth’s dry.” ------- There was a glass of water and a straw on the bedside table. ------- “Can’t they can give you something?” Morris was feeling desperate. ------- “They just give her aspirin,” Vera said. ------- “I’ll talk to them,” Morris said. -------The nurse was smiling grimly. She’d heard it all. -------“Your mom knows how to lay on the guilt. She hasn’t complained about pain before. I’ll give her a couple of aspirin.” ------- ------- “She’s scared, Morris,” Terry said, “but there’s nothing more you can do. I’ll go with you this afternoon. Maybe she’ll have calmed down. What do we do about lunch?” ------- “The nurse said the hospital cafeteria’s okay. Anywhere, as long as we don’t have to eat with all the little gray heads.” ------- “It must be awful getting old, Morrie. Don’t you get old.” ------- “I’ll try not to,” Morris said. ------- ------- “The soup looks okay,” Terry said, “clam chowder. It’s cheap, too.” ------- “Yeah, but I’m having two fried eggs over easy, sausage, and home fries,” Morris said. Terry frowned. ------- “Hey, what can happen?” Morris said. “It’s a hospital.” ------- They found an empty table in the brightly lit room. It was only 11:30, but staff in scrubs and uniforms were eating lunch. How could they be so cheerful and spend the day with people with sick people? Maybe Anna should go back to her apartment, but he couldn’t afford to stir up trouble here. He shouldn’t even be in Florida. ------- ------- “A half hour ago, Mr. Meyers. They took her to the hospital. Low potassium. They have to give it intravenously. Vera’s with her.” ------- “Vera, huh?” ------- The woman smiled. “Your mom likes her.” ------- ------- “You’re no use to me, Albert. You might as well go home.” She was a shriveled monkey in the big hospital bed. ------- “Hey, Ma.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ------- “Doesn’t help.” She turned her head.” ------- “Okay,” Morris said. “Okay!” He walked out of the room. ------- Terry took his hand. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” ------- “Sure she does,” Morris said. “She’s right. Nothing I can do. I figured we’d have to leave tomorrow, anyway. Not a good place for me.” ------- ------- Morris made plane reservations for the next morning. At six they took an air-conditioned cab to a restaurant. It was pleasantly cool inside. ------- “My name’s Michael,” the young waiter said, as he brushed back his long hair. “I’ll be your server tonight. We have two specials, seared tuna with our Al Fresco remoulade and island jerk chicken. Can I get you something to drink?” ------- “Tap water,” Morris said. They’d need a minute to look at the menu. The waiter drifted away. -------The restaurant looked out on a bicycle trail that followed the route of the former Coastline Railroad. There was a public park beyond the bike path where flowers bloomed under the palms. The fronds waved in the breeze. -------“Hot as Hell out there,” Morris said. -------“You think there’s a Hell, Morris?” -------“Why not? Sartre says Hell is other people.” ------- “Sartre?” ------- “A writer. Anna was a real pistol when she was young. Fun to be with. Too bad she can’t go quick and easy.” ------- “That man’s watching us, Morrie. In the pink shirt.” ------- “I know. I’ll tell pretty boy to bring the check with the food. Probably lookin’ at you. Classiest dame in the place.” ------- “Just the youngest,” Terry said. ------- ------- “Who the hell’s this?” ------- They were watching the eleven o’clock news when someone banged on their door. Morris got up and opened it. ------- “Surprise!” Anna said. Vera was pushing the wheelchair. They both looked triumphant. ------- “I got a doctor at the hospital to sign her out to her apartment,” Vera said smugly. “The creep at the desk wouldn’t give us the key to Anna’s security lock, so we’re staying in your room tonight.” ------- “Fine,” Morris said. “We’ll get a cab to the Holiday Inn.” ------- ------- The long trip back to the Cape was tiring but uneventful. Morris was slumped in his favorite chair that evening, waiting for the late news on TV. Suddenly his shoulders shook as he began to sob. Terry put her arms around him. ------- “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. ------- “Don’t be sorry,” Terry said. “It’s okay.” -------Morris pulled himself together and lit a cigar. Terry went back to the kitchen. -------The news came on. The usual stuff, but Morris sat up in his chair when the account of a bizarre double murder in Florida was reported. The women, seventy-eight year old Anna Meyers and her paid companion, Vera Koslovsky, had been shot as they slept in a guest room at the Live Oaks Assisted Living facility. ------- “Terry!” Morris he called. ------- “What?” she answered from the kitchen. ------- He hesitated. “Nothing,” he said. “Remember to close the back door.” ------- In a moment he heard the satisfying sound of a door being closed. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “It’s junk!” Terry said. Terry was rarely critical of anything, but she thought trying to sell a fifty year old electric organ that someone had rescued from the dump was nuts. -------“A lot of people looked at it,” Morris said. ------- “You’re saying that to be nice, Morrie. If this next guy doesn’t want it, can we take it back?” ------- “Sure, we’d better. Everyone’s sick of looking at it.” ------- A few minutes later a young man appeared in the chapel doorway. ------- “Hi,” he said. “I’m Josh. About the organ.” ------- “It’s yours if you want it,” Morris said. “I‘ll help you move it.” ------- Josh flipped the switch and touched a few keys. Then he sat on the bench and played. He tried several of the stops. Morris couldn’t hear any difference. ------- “Needs work,” Josh said. “I want to look in the box.” ------- He removed the wooden panel at the back of the organ. Inside was a maze, everything covered with dust. Strands of electricial tape hung from a sea of wiring. The desiccated body of a mouse lay on the bottom of the organ case, its bony arms raised in supplication. ------- “Jeez,” he said. “What a mess. Some of these old Gulbenkians are nice, but this one’s shot. See there?” He pointed to the rank of soldered circuit boards. “Fifty years ago they all had to be hard-wired. No way to fix them now. I’m always hoping to find a cherry.” ------- “It’s worthless?” Morris asked. ------- “Except for firewood,” Josh said. ------- “Well, thanks anyway,” Morris said. “We appreciate your coming.” ------- “So what’ll we do with it?” Terry said after Josh left ------- “You heard the man,” Morris said. ------- ------- The phone rang. Terry answered it in the kitchen. “Morrie,” she said, “someone wants to donate an organ to the chapel!” It was after supper. Morris was reading the paper. ------- “You got to be kidding. Give him Josh’s number. Maybe it’s his cherry.” ------- “For you again, Morrie,” Terry called a half hour later. “You absolutely won’t believe it! This guy says he’s from the Organ Donors Association!” ------- “Bizarre,” Morris agreed. “Tell him no thanks.” ------- “I told him we gave at the office,” Terry said with a little squeak. ------- “Funny,” Morris said. He hadn’t looked up from the paper. A few minutes later he was asleep. ------- ------- The doorbell rang. ------- “I’ll get it,” Morris said. He turned on the porch light and looked out the living room window. A tall, spare man was standing at the door. Morris saw no one else nearby. He opened the door. ------- “Jesus!” he said. ------- “Hey, good for you,” the man said. “I don’t even look like my picture. Okay if I come in?” ------- Morris showed Jesus into the living room. ------- “So tell me, Morris,” Jesus said. “Are you a good Jew?” -------“Am I a good Jew?” ------- “Who else we talking about here? It’s all I ask of my disciples.” ------- “So I’m a disciple now?” ------- “I don’t know, Morris,” Jesus said. “I guess you’ll have to decide that for yourself. It’s funny how things work out. I just wanted people to be good Jews, and what do I get? Two thousand years of murder and mayhem. You kill twenty-seven men for money, and it’s a public service. ------- ------- “You were talking in your sleep, Morris,” Terry said. She waited for Morris to say something. When he didn’t, she went back to the kitchen. Morris sat in his high-backed chair and stared at the TV. ------- “Someone at the door,” Terry said. “I’ll get it. Maybe it’s another organ donor!” she added with a laugh. ------- “Wait!” Morris started to get up, but Terry was already opening the door. -------Morris heard voices. Terry came into the room a moment later, followed by a large man. -------“Guess who,” the man said to the back of Morris’s chair. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you at the library. I thought you were dead, Albert. No such luck, huh? I called a little while ago to make sure you were home.” -------“Hello, Abe,” Morris said from the hall behind them. He had his coat on and his right hand was in his pocket. “Let’s take a ride.” ------- -------Terry had begun to worry by the time Morris returned. -------“Everything all right?” she asked. -------“Sure,” Morris told her. “Just a guy I used to know. We talked about old times.” -------“Not another organ donor?” She grinned. -------Morris thought about that a moment. -------“I should have asked.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “We’ve been invited to a wedding, Morris. On the Fourth of July. Isn‘t that great?” -------“Here on the Cape?” -------“No, in a little town in upstate New York.” ------- “You want to go?” ------- “I really do,” Terry said. “Jo Ann was my best friend in high school. We still write.” ------- “Have you been to see her?” ------- “To Quimby? I’ve never been anywhere, Morrie, except to Florida with you.” ------- “Then let’s go. After that we’ll do Paris.” ------- “You serious, Morris?” ------- “I’m always serious,” Morris said. ------- ------- “That must be the inn,” Terry said. ------- “The Quimby Inn.” Morris pulled into the parking lot past the big sign and turned off the engine. -------“Nice town,” he said. “Clean.” ------- “Jo Ann says it burned down in 1895. They rebuilt it exactly the way it was before. That’s why it looks so new.” ------- “Old but new,” Morris said. “I like the Opera House. Must be the college up on the hill. I’ll bet it’s cold in the winter.” ------- “Jo was lucky to get the job,” Terry said. “It’s a good school.” ------- “Never heard of it.” “It’s small. The kids are supposed to be really smart.” ------- “Got to be smart these days,” Morris said. “What does Jo’s fiancé do?” ------- “He’s a banker. He’s from here, from Quimby Five generations of farmers.” ------- “And one banker. Must be a nice place if nobody ever leaves.” ------- Terry hesitated. She hated to hurt anyone’s feelings. “It feels...so far away.” ------- “Far away?” Morris smiled. ------- “You know what I mean, Morrie.” ------- “I know. A million square miles of dairy farms.” ------- “Yeah, it’s claustrophobic. Only that’s not the right word.” ------- “Sure it is. But like the signs say, ’If you lived here, you’d be home.’ Let’s check in and see if we can find somebody you know.” ------- ------- “Having a good time, kid?” ------- “I really am, Morrie. Last night was so fun. You never told me you could dance! You’re quick on your feet for a big man.” ------- “Got to be when you dance with the devil. We can dance again at the reception tonight. What’s with Sally’s husband?” ------- “I don’t know. She says Harold’s usually pretty cheerful. He worries her.” ------- “Tell you what,” Morris said. “We’ve got an hour to kill. I’ll take him for a walk.” ------- ------- “Yo, Harry. Feel like some fresh air? I thought I’d walk over to the college.” -------Harold didn’t seem enthusiastic, but he got up and came with Morris. ------- “Pretty town,” Morris said. ------- “Not bad,” Harold agreed. ------- “Where you guys from?” ------- “The city.” ------- “Hard to believe it’s in the same state, huh?” ------- “Yeah.” ------- “You like it there.” ------- “We live in Scarsdale actually,” Harold said. He grinned at Morris. “Jo sic you on me?” ------- “It was my idea,” Morris said. “I thought you looked a little down.” ------- “You’re a shrink, right?” ------- “No, Harry, I’m a retired business man. I got bored hanging around the Inn. So, what’s going on with you?” ------- “Why do you care?” ------- “Because JoAnn’s Terry’s friend. You don’t have to tell me anything. Let’s go have a look at this place. I thought it was supposed to be small college.” ------- “It’s for rich kids, lots of fancy buildings. My business is going to tank, Morris. I own a book store, and I was doing okay until they opened a big box. More books, lower prices. I can’t compete. I haven’t told Jo.” ------- “Switch to used books. They’re more interesting.” ------- “Interesting way to starve, yeah.” ------- “Do it right. Good stock. Warehouse titles off site. Search and order on the web, cut rate, personal service, friendly staff. You could open a coffee shop and a cyber cafe, live music on the weekends. Call yourself ‘Cafe Creme.’ Or ‘Murder Ink. Specialize in mysteries.” ------- “Jesus, Morris. You come up with that stuff off the top of your head?” ------- “Not entirely. Thought about it myself. So, what do you think?” ------- “It’s not a bad idea, but it would take a big investment, and I don’t have the money.” ------- “I do,” Morris said. “Give you a good deal, a contract your lawyers will love. Think it over, Harry. If it’s something you really want to do.” ------- “Why would you do that for me?” ------- “Because of Terry, and you seem like a nice guy. For me too, I guess. I always wanted a bookstore. Not that I’d help you run it. Too bad you can’t open one on the Cape, but then you would starve.” ------- “God, it’s tempting, but I don’t know. My building and location are okay, just nothing special. You need more these days. Some kind of hook. Used books aren’t a bad racket, but.... ------- “Let me make some phone calls,” Morris said. ------- ------- They were danced out and collapsed in their hotel room late that evening when the phone rang. ------- “That was Sally,” Terry said. She says there was a gang war last night outside Harold’s store. Nobody knows how it got started, not even the gang members, but a lot of people were shot. It’s a good thing the store was closed for the Fourth. Bullet holes everywhere, but no real damage. And guess what! Harold’s decided to turn it into a used book store with computers and a coffee shop. He’s going to call it, ‘The Fourth of July!’ Isn’t that great?” ------- “Great,” Morris said. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- -------The screen door banged. Morris was back from his morning walk. He hung up his jacket. -------"Just did something dumb," he said. -------"You, Morrie?" Terry said with a laugh. "You don’t do dumb things." -------"I told Bennie I’d go with him to the Men's Coffee Club." -------"That's great. It’ll do you good to get out." -------“Maybe,” Morris said, “but it’s a big group. Could be anybody there.” -------“Don’t worry, Morris. You’re always telling me it doesn’t matter.” -------Morris nodded. He’d said it too often. “What difference does it make? Why does it matter?” It mattered to her, and she was right. He was lucky she’d stuck with him. ------- -------The Coffee Club met in the basement of Holy Martyrs Church. Strange name, Morris thought. Bennie said to wait for him in the parking lot. He watched the cars drive in. Everybody came early. Bennie pulled in beside him, and Morris got out and locked the car. -------“We’ll get you a name tag inside,” Bennie said. “Half the guys couldn’t remember their own name without one.” He glanced at Morris and laughed. “I should have told you. You ought to be either bald or gray-haired.” Bennie was bald. -------Inside the church basement dozens of older men were milling around, standing and sitting at tables, talking or staring into space. Bennie showed Morris where to sit. “I have to set up the sound system. I’ll be back to introduce you.” -------A tall, good-looking man called the meeting to order. He was the only person wearing a jacket and tie. The guests were introduced one at a time. The first man talked for five minutes about his distinguished career in marketing. A round-faced old guy sitting next to Morris poked him on the arm. -------“This is very unusual,” he said with a scowl. -------When Bennie introduced Morris, Morris said he thought the Cape was a great place and he was glad to live there. He spoke for less than 20 seconds and was enthusiastically applauded. -------Announcements took another ten minutes. These were mostly reports on members who were in the hospital or sick at home. Cards would be sent. Morris looked around the room. Some men appeared to be nodding off with the meeting barely underway. Morris began to have a bad feeling. -------The discussion leader changed each week. He was expected to introduce himself at some length, and he did.. Gregor’s story was interesting. His family was from Eastern Europe and had spent four years in a DP camp after the war. They’d finally made it to the U.S., where Gregor attended MIT on a full scholarship. -------The discussion topic was modern technology. Morris had bought a computer for Terry, He and Terry both had cell phones. The old guys had nothing good to say about any of it. Cell phones didn’t work. No one wrote letters or spoke face-to-face anymore, their kids couldn’t write a sentence or add a column of figures, they were addicted to computer games and sent text messages while driving. It went on and on. One man admitted that he wrote emails to friends and another pointed out that he couldn’t read a hand-written letter. They were heard politely, and the gripe session ground on. -------Morris was amazed. How could seventy-five educated and prosperous old men be so down on what the rest of the world was in love with? They seemed to be echoing one another without enthusiasm. -------They broke for coffee and doughnuts. Morris was used to the easy friendliness of Cape retirees, but he didn’t find it here. A few men turned their backs on him. He had an interesting conversation about China with a man who’d been a captain in the merchant marine. -------Several small groups were huddled in private conversation. When he went by one table to get more coffee he heard them speaking German. It was all they’d spoken at home when he was a child. ------- -------“How was it, Morrie?” Terry asked. -------“Boring,” Morris said. “But something funny was going on. I’m pretty sure some of the old crocks are Nazis.” -------“Nazi’s on Cape Cod! How could you tell?” -------“The same way Nazis can tell a Jew. Not big shots, they’d have been too young.” -------“What’ll you do?” -------“Do? Nothing. They’ll die off in a few years. Creeps me, though. Old bastards living the easy life, laughing about the good old days. Nothing I can do, Ter. It’s too bad I....huh.” -------“What, Morrie?” -------“I was thinking it’s too bad I don’t have pictures, but I just remembered, Bennie does. He was going to put up a bulletin board with names and faces, and some of them didn’t go for it. Big surprise!” -------Morris excused himself and went into his office. He came back smiling a few minutes later. “Bennie’s going to email me the pictures. I can send them to a guy I know.” -------“Who’s that, Morrie?” -------“An old Jew. Lives in Vienna. Likes to hunt.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Joan asked if we’d like to go to a poetry open mic at O’Malley’s with her and Steve. She’s the girl who makes chocolates for the shop. She’s nice.” ------- “You mean she’d like you to go with her,” Morris said. ------- “No, Morrie, she meant us. I told her about you, that you were this...distinguished older man.” She grinned. “She wants to meet you.” ------- “Values experience,” Morris said. “Smart girl. You ever notice that people always say ‘older.’ No one’s ever ‘old’?” ------- “You’re not old either, Morris. Take my word for it. Would you go?” ------- “Sure,” Morris said. “It’ll be different.” He didn’t want to go to a poetry open mic, but since he’d known Terry they’d done a lot of things he hadn’t wanted to do, and most the time he’d enjoyed them. Christ, she’d given him his life. ------- They went in Steve’s car. It was a beat up Land Rover with tubes for fishing rods on the front bumper. Steve was a life guard in the summer and worked in construction the rest of the year. He was a big man, rough looking. He asked Morris what he did. ------- “Trouble shooter,” Morris said. “But I’m retired.” It was a good story, just enough detail not to sound canned and so convincing he half believed it himself. He judged people’s intelligence by how well they bought it. Steve was smarter than he looked. ------- “You write poetry,” Morris said. It wasn’t a question. Terry had told him that’s why they were going. ------- “Just since last year,” Steve said. “I was drinking at O’Malley’s with a buddy. We sat in at the open mic, and I got hooked. You’ll see, Morris. Or maybe you won’t. It’s a personal thing.” ------- “Fair enough,” Morris said. ------- O’Malley’s was a roadhouse, a shabbily comfortable Irish restaurant and bar. Shillelaghies and shamrocks on the walls, framed pictures of Irish poets and rugby teams. Brendan Behan smiled down blearily at them. Morris had met Behan. The borstal boy, IRA soldier, playwright and drunk. ------- “Whatcha drinking, folks?” ------- The waiter, if that’s what he was, looked and sounded like an old IRA fighter himself. Their beers came, along with a tattered menu. Fish and chips, Irish stew, and burgers. Morris and Terry ordered the fish. Joan had a burger, and Steve said he’d try the stew. The waiter seemed preoccupied. Morris thought it was a probably a good thing there were only three items on the menu. ------- “Lot of atmosphere,” he said. ------- “Place has been here a while,” Steve said. “Plenty of Irish on the Cape. Second homes, that’s my bread and butter.” ------- “I like it here, Morrie,” Terry said. ------- “Me too,” Morris agreed. ------- The fish was good. Better than good, and the fries were the best Morris had ever eaten. He asked the waiter how they were made. ------- “Don’t know how he does anything,” the waiter said. “He doesn’t speak English.” -------The waiter was the bartender too, and he answered the phone the two times it rang while they were eating. There was a big noisy group in the next room. Cops, the waiter said. They met once a month. Cops, the IRA, dead poets, he ought to feel at home, Morris thought. There didn’t seem to be any staff beside the punchy waiter and the invisible cook. All bit actors, no director, no plot. Behan would have liked it. ------- The open mic was held in a back room where two dozen creaky chairs were squeezed together in a rough semi-circle. It was dark except for the light over a music stand. Most of the audience had brought their beers. -------A tall young man said hello and plunged immediately into a long poem. His hands and body rocked, and his words seemed to splash all over the room, words and phrases that Morris had never heard before. Was this guy for real? Was it doubletalk, some kind of trick? He didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure what he’d just heard, but he clapped as hard as everybody else. ------- They weren’t all that good, but some were even better. There was a small man with a beard whose poems sounded simple but weren’t and funny but not really. Morris felt challenged, drained. ------- When it was Steve’s turn he read a poem about building houses. Write about what you know Morris had heard. Wood and steel, the smell and feel of the tools, the materials, the beauty and the waste. There was more to Steve than he could have guessed. It was a sad poem, too, about frustration and emptiness. There was more to all of them than anyone could know. The poetry gave you a quick glimpse of what was inside, and it wasn’t always that nice. -------A big woman stood up. She was beautiful, he realized, and hugely pregnant. Talk about full of life! She was a performer, a performance artist. Her’s was an act, but one you had to believe. This stuff was dangerous, You could spill your guts, and then what? Could he write poetry, he wondered? A scary thought. ------- There was no featured poet this time, Steve told them. Sometimes there was but not tonight. The last to read was an older man who Morris hadn’t noticed. A big Irish face with broken veins. Morris thought of Behan. A face.... Christ, Morris knew him! It was obvious that he remembered Morris, too. He got a lot of applause for his short poem, but Morris hadn’t listened. When the applause died down they all stood up. The man came over to him. ------- “Good to see you, um...” ------- “Morris.” ------- “Sure, that’s it. Morris. Good to see you, son. Thought you were pushing the daisies, and here you are doing swell. And who are you, darlin’? You got yourself a good man here.” ------- “Terry,” Morris said, “this is... an old friend of mine.” ------- “Harrigan,” the man said, “Bobby Harrigan. We go back a ways, your hubby and me. But the past is past, I say. What do you say, Morris? ------- “Another time,” Morris said, “another place.” ------- “Ain’t it the truth. Got to go,” the man said. “The old lady’s gonna think I’m playin’ around. Be good, Morris. Stay well. Nice to meet you, Terry.” He raised his right hand, a large gold signet ring on his fourth finger. The Ring of the Fisherman.. Morris couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bobby Harrigan moved his arm, just a fraction, and made the sign of the cross over them. He nodded and turned away. And Morris suddenly remembered what they used to call big Bobby Harrigan, at another time, in another place. ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “Morris, are we going to the chapel tomorrow?” Terry asked. “I didn’t think you’d want to.” ------- “I don’t particularly want to hear a preacher, but I always like to see the geezers. Sure we’ll go, unless you don’t want to.” ------- They were at the chapel early the next morning. Alice had already opened the folding doors to the larger room with its high ceiling and pastel stained glass windows. Morris wondered if they were expecting a large crowd. Good luck, but maybe the reverend would bring his own. ------- The Reverend Mr. Cole was standing in the foyer talking to Alice. He was a tall man in his fifties, bearded and distinguished looking. Occasionally he glanced into the chapel which was filling up slowly. A respectable showing. Morris had to smile. Concerned about the honor of the Fellowship! ------- “Who is this guy?” he asked Harry. ------- “No idea. Something Alice arranged. She thinks we need more religion. I don’t suppose it will hurt us, Morris.” ------- “No,” Morris agreed. There were worse things than religion. ------- When it was time, and they were spread out in the chairs to make the chapel appear full, Alice asked the visitors to introduce themselves. The pair of elderly women had just wandered in, they said. The young man was visiting area churches. Too bad it wouldn’t be a normal meeting, Morris thought, but what was normal? There were several announcements, reminders of the Women’s Group and the Tag Sale. -------Reverend Cole had stayed in the smaller room while Alice was speaking. He’d used the time to put on a colorful robe, and when Alice introduced him he swept up the aisle, just as he would in a real church it occurred to Morris. -------The reverend appeared to be carrying a small box. He sat on one of the three ornate chairs on the raised platform and opened a concertina. He began to play, quite expertly, what sounded to Morris like a Scottish ballad. When he’d finished, he put down the concertina and stood behind their rarely used lectern. ------- It was to be a genuine sermon, Morris realized, probably the first preached in the chapel since the demise of the old Universalist congregation more than half a century before. Cole was a good speaker, and it was his own story, about his experience as lead attorney in a death penalty appeal attorney a few years before his late-in-life ordination. He had defended a suspected hit man who ordinarily wouldn’t have inspired much sympathy even within the anti-death penalty movement. But the evidence against him was badly tainted. The witnesses complained that they’d been coerced and that they’d never really identified the killer. The weapon found in Anthony’s car was an obvious throw-down, probably too dangerous even to fire. The testimony of a jailhouse snitch was worthless. They wanted Anthony badly, for something, for anything. He could feel sympathy for the cops and the DA, Cole said. Anthony was a dangerous man, but what they had done to him was wrong. If you could railroad a bad man you could railroad a good one, and it happened too often. ------- Cole was a firm opponent of the death penalty, but the real point of his sermon was that he’d come to know Anthony, Ant’ny he called himself, and he wasn’t a monster. He was more like a soldier, probably a lot like some soldiers Morris had known in the army, men who were quite casual about taking a life. But Anthony was a soldier in a war that was generally fought beneath public notice. He was a garbage collector, he told Cole, an exterminator. They should give him a metal. For all his bravado, Anthony was afraid, and he was angry. It would be an insult to die for something he hadn’t done. -------They lost the appeal. Anthony died by lethal injection, and John Cole was a witness. Despite the considerable effort made to justify the death penalty and to sanitize the actual process of execution, it was an ugly business, Cole said. In his opinion it was immoral, a national disgrace. It put us in the company of the most vicious governments in the world, and it was an admission of defeat, an attempt to bury our failure as a society. It was against the law of love. ------- A good talk, Morris thought, for all the man was preaching to the choir. He felt like saying, ‘tell it to the Christians’. A very good talk, though, by a decent fellow. ------- When Cole finished, he sat down and played another sad little Scottish tune. Morris had been tying to think of a comment or question. He liked to participate in the inevitable discussions in some small way. They were a thoughtful group of people and always had good questions. But there was no discussion this time. Cole walked back up the aisle and stood at the rear of the room. ------- No one moved. Finally Morris stood and walked over to Cole and shook his hand. ------- “Fine sermon, Mr. Cole,” he said. “I wish more people could have heard it.” ------- “I’ve given it before,” Cole said with a smile. “I think many people don’t want to hear it.” ------- Others had begun to line up behind Morris. He thanked the reverend again and went to get a cup of coffee. Half a dozen people had stood in line to shake Cole’s hand. The others made their way to the food table. They’d talk to the reverend later, with a cup of coffee in their hand. ------- The members of the fellowship were invariably kind, and they were quite sharp despite their age, but they weren’t church-goers. That was the whole point of the Fellowship. -------Morris watched Cole talk with the members. He’d taken off the robe and looked more comfortable. Perhaps someone should have warned him that they didn’t have a real service. Their programs were largely informal and informational. Sometimes personal and even partisan, but not the proxy voice of a higher power. Morris had been to many churches and synagogues over the years. Every service was a performance. The sermon, the mass, or the reading of the Torah were buttressed by music and prayers and often a small crew of officiants. An unadorned sermon was a strange affair. It was as if Jesus had delivered his Sermon on the Mount and the crowd had applauded and slapped his back. ‘Good job.” And then gone about their business, unaware that they had been addressed by the purported Son of God. -------“Tough job, defense attorney,” Morris said to Cole when they both had their coffee and doughnut. -------“Easier than corporate law,” Cole said. “No, you get used to it. Most of my clients were guilty, but they were all human beings. I made sure they got a fair trial. Anthony was my only death penalty case. Not something I could ever get use to. No one should. It’s what pushed me to the seminary finally. I felt sick about Anthony. I know he was a bad man, but he was being framed. It made me disgusted with our justice system.” -------“I’ve known some people society would be better off without,” Morris said, “but I agree with you. A civilized society should stay out of the death business. I can tell you something though. I don’t know how much it helps. Anthony was framed, that’s true, and he was also guilty as charged. He fooled you, Reverend, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” -------“What are you saying?” Cole looked confused, and angry. “How can you know that?” -------“Can’t tell you that Mr. Cole, but I have my sources, and it’s true. It was a hit, ordered and paid for by a mob boss.” -------“You were in the justice system?” Cole asked. -------“You could say that,” Morris said. “I was involved.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “There’s a poetry open mic at the Wellfleet Library, Morrie. Joan is going to read, and I want to hear her. You don’t have to come.” ------- “I’ll come.” Morris surprised himself. ------- The meeting room at the Library was almost full. Morris knew nothing about poetry. He liked some of the poems and disliked others. The audience clapped loudly for everyone. Joan was quite good, which was a relief. ------- One of the last readers was a woman well up in her seventies. Martha Schneider’s poem was about her late husband. He must have died recently because the grief was powerful and raw. It was a fine poem but painful to listen to. Morris had rarely felt such emotion. He must be getting old. ------- “With you in a minute,” he told Terry. “I want to talk to her.” ------- Several people had stopped to speak to Martha after the session. When she finally stood alone, Morris approached her. ------- “That was very moving,” he said, “and I thought it was well done, although I don’t know much about poetry. You’ve been through a hard time.” ------- “I miss George terribly,” she said. “They say it’s supposed to get better, but they don’t say when. Have you ever lost anyone?” ------- “No one as important as your husband was to you,” Morris said. I think it will get better in time, but you’ll always have George with you.” ------- “I’ve begun to understand that,” the woman said. “I saw your wife. She’s quite a bit younger than you.” ------- “I’m lucky she’ll have me,” Morris said. “We’re not married, but I’ve made sure she’s taken care of financially.” He laughed. “I don’t know why I told you that. I’m not even sure why I had to talk with you. I’m Morris Lerner, from Eastham. I’m very sorry for your loss.” ------- “Thank you, Morris. You’re not a lawman are you? Police or FBI? There’s something strong about you.” ------- “I was a private agent once. I’m retired.” ------- “You must have been successful, you retired early. You wouldn’t consider one more case, would you? I think a ‘private agent’ may be just what I need.” ------- “I’m not for hire,” Morris said, “but I’ll help if I can. What’s the problem?” ------- “It’s rather complicated. Would you and Terry come to lunch at my house tomorrow? Afterwards, my companion could show her around the gardens while you and I talk.” ------- ------- “Wow, Morrie, you didn’t tell me she was this rich!” ------- “I didn’t know, Ter, but I’m not surprised. Fabulous garden.” ------- “I get to see it with her companion. Whoopie.” ------- “He might be a handsome young guy, Lady Chatterly’s gardener. Don’t let him corner you in the potting shed.” ------- “Morris, you’re being silly. It really is a beautiful house. It’s sad to think of her alone in a place like this. Look, she’s waiting for us.” ------- -------Lunch was curried chicken salad with hot rolls and a delicious white wine. Martha was more cheerful than she’d been at the poetry reading. She’d grown up in Orleans, and she and Terry talked about how it had changed in recent years. Morris was happy just to listen. Martha seemed to know not to ask him about his past. -------Martha’s companion, a pleasant young woman, ate lunch with them and afterwards led Terry off for the promised tour of the gardens, both women giggling about the potting shed. Morris and Martha took their coffee to what had been George’s office. -------Martha got down to business immediately. “Someone is trying to kill me, Morris. I know I sound like an hysterical old woman, but read this. I’ve written it all out.” She handed him several printed pages. -------Morris read them carefully and laid them on the desk. -------“If this is true, Martha, it does seem like someone’s trying to kill you. Who would benefit from your death?” -------“My kids are all grown and very successful. It was a second marriage for both of us. George’s children already have their inheritance, which was substantial. He left me the house. With the acreage I suppose it’s worth ten to fifteen million in today’s market. It was much too big for us, but sometimes the kids come to visit. We thought of it as just the place we lived. The blindness of the rich. When I die, my estate will be divided among my children and George’s, with a few bequests to charities. They all know that, and they seem fine with it. Wouldn’t it be madness to risk trying to hurrying me to my reward at my age? I’m sure the Coalition for the Homeless could use the money, too,but I don’t believe they’d bump me off.” -------“Do the police know about the attempts on your life?” -------“No, and I know it’s dumb not to tell them, but I couldn’t bear that kind of publicity just now.” -------“Martha, how did George die?” ------- “He drove his Jaguar into a tree. Some people thought it was suicide, but I’m sure he just lost control. We were having too much fun. He probably shouldn’t have been driving.” ------- “Nothing suspicious? ------- “Not that I know of. You don’t think...George was murdered? Someone hated him that much, and now they’re after me?” ------- “Is that possible? Could someone have hated him, or feared him? What did George do for a living?” -------“He was an investment banker. He started Palmasola Investments back in the sixties and was its CEO until he retired, but that was all long before we even met. I think he was still associated with them in some way. He made several trips to Florida every year. Why? What is it, Morris? You know something!” -------“Your husband was murdered, Martha, but maybe you’d rather I didn’t tell you this?” -------“I’m seventy-eight, Morris. George is safe from everything, and I don’t care about myself. I want to know. Oh God, don’t tell me Palmasola is one of those ponzi schemes?” -------“No, pretty much the opposite in fact. It’s a very conservative fund. Everyone involved in it is guaranteed to make money. The investments aren’t the problem, it’s the investors. Palmasola is a huge money laundering operation. I know that for certain. This burglary you mentioned in your notes happened during the funeral?” -------“The police said that’s not uncommon. The criminals read the papers. They took George’s desk apart, looking for cash the police said, and they stole his computer, which wasn’t an expensive one. They didn’t take much. You think they were looking for something about Palmasola?” -------“That would be my guess. George may have done or said something to make them lose confidence in him. Did he say anything to you, give you anything before he was killed?” -------“The nicest present he ever gave me,” Martha said, “for our fiftieth anniversary.” She opened the glass doors of a bookcase and took out a small volume. “This is a first edition of Emily Dickinson’s collected poems. It’s the most valuable thing in the house, but the thieves wouldn’t know that.” -------She handed it to Morris. He looked it over carefully and gave it back to her. -------“It’s a lovely book, but it may have lost a little of its value. Look at the back cover. It’s slightly thicker than the front, and the endpaper is a lighter shade. Can you feel something inside the cover? I believe it’s a computer disk, George’s hold card. It’s probably a run down on the whole operation. There’s no guarantee, but if you turn it over to the FBI, that might end your troubles.” -------“Won’t they be angry at me? Whoever they are.” -------“Gangsters tend to be practical. Once the beans are spilled, killing you gets them nothing, but you’re right, they can get angry like anyone else. Of course if the FBI handles it properly, there’s no reason anyone would ever know you were involved. But you know, Martha, I may have an even better idea. If you trust me, we could take the disk out now. I can make a copy, and I’ll find a way to get it to the FBI that leaves us both out of it.” -------“Would you, Morris? I do trust you. I came to you after all. And even if you were one of the gangsters, you could just take the disk and know that I can’t hurt you. Isn’t that right?” -------“You’re a smart woman, Martha. If I were a gangster, I might agree with you. But let’s not take the chance. I think you should leave suddenly on an extended tour of South Africa. Could you do that?” -------“That sounds like a splendid idea, Morris. I don’t know how to thank you.” -------“I had a thought about that, too,” Morris said. “Maybe when you come back from Africa you can teach me how to write a poem.” ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- “I know you like to plan ahead, Morrie, but I’m on the pill!” ------- Terry was grinning as she handed him the box. ------- “What’s this?” ------- “Didn’t you order them?” ------- “A thousand prophylactics? No, Terry. I didn’t order this. Do you have the package it came in?” ------- Morris studied the mailing label. “It’s our box number, but the wrong zip. See on the invoice? It should have gone to Heaven’s Gate.” ------- “The church! They ordered a thousand condoms?” ------- “Church or religious order, whatever they are. Maybe we should hand deliver this stuff.” ------- “Not me, Morrie! I couldn’t keep a straight face.” ------- “And you think I can?” ------- “I know you can. Go on, they’re probably desperate.” ------- ------- Heaven’s Gate was buried in the wooded hills of South Wellfleet, a small community of buildings and private homes surrounding a large church. The church, almost a small cathedral, reminded Morris of those bizarre constructions that were the life’s work of a madman. Beside it, a square tower rose to over a hundred feet like the medieval Italian fortresses that were partly expressions of power and partly a rude finger to the other clans. -------The place appeared to be deserted. There was no one at the reception desk in the main building. Morris wandered down a spacious hallway filled with paintings and statuary until he found an occupied office. The sign beside the door said, ‘Sister Mary Magdalene’ An attractive woman smiled up at him. ------- “Good morning, sir. Can I help you?” ------- “’Morning, Sister. I think this is yours. It came to us by mistake.” He set the box on her desk. ------- “Yes, I can see that,” she said. “The wrong zip code. It was kind of you to bring it.” She smiled at him. “I’m Sister Mary.” -------“Morris Lerner. It was no trouble, Sister. Quite a place you have here.” The woman hadn’t batted an eye at the box of condoms. -------“It’s a wonderful place. Have you seen the inside of our church? Most of the sisters are at a retreat, but I’d be glad to show you around. You might find it interesting.” ------- “Sure, why not,” Maurice said. “I’m Jewish, but I find all religions interesting.” ------- “We have sisters from many faiths beside Christianity,” Sister Mary said, “Jews, Buddhists, Muslims. Most Christians forget that Jesus himself was a practicing Jew. A lot of people think we’re a cult, but we just want to live our lives the way Jesus did, praising God and doing good.” ------- Morris knew what people said about Heaven’s Gate, but Sister Mary didn’t seem like a fanatic. She was an attractive woman, which her plain long dress emphasized rather than concealed. She seemed sincere, but Morris hadn’t survived in a dangerous trade by making hasty judgments. ------- -------. “Meeting rooms all along here, the kitchen and refectory, a big parish hall. We’re planning to open a non-denominational conference center after we build our hotel. There’ll be an Olympic-sized pool beyond the tennis courts. That’s my game, tennis. She grinned. Almost my favorite activity. Do you play, Morris?” ------- “Not for a while, Sister. I lift weights.” ------- “Mmm, I thought you might,” Sister Mary said. “Consulting rooms, we do a lot of counseling. You might not think it, but there’s a great deal of mental turmoil here on the Cape.” ------- “I lived in Florida, Sister,” Morris said. “Mental confusion does well in resort areas. You have professional counselors?” ------- “Of course. We’re professional in every way. I sense you are as well.” ------- “Not to speak of,” Morris said. “This is certainly impressive!” ------- They had entered the main body of the church. ------- “It’s our great joy,” Sister Mary said. “The nave isn’t finished, but it’s nearly so. We plan to clad the walls in Jerusalem stone. It took the medieval world hundreds of years to build a cathedral, but we don’t have that kind of time. Do we, Morris?” ------- “I doubt it,” Morris agreed. “Very nice. Reminds me of Ely Cathedral, on a smaller scale. Impressive organ, too.” ------- “It’s a Skinner. We rescued it from an old department store. Man plans, God laughs. Isn’t that an old rabbinic saying?” ------- “A Yiddish proverb. Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht. It’s really from the Psalms.” ------- “Yes, I suppose so. I spend a great deal of time in here praying. That may seem strange for a busy woman, but I find it productive. I don’t know if anyone is listening, and I certainly don’t know if my prayers are answered, but it seems like the thing to do. Part of being human. Do you pray, Morris?” ------- Morris didn’t answer for moment. “I hadn’t thought of it as prayer,” he said. ------- Sister Mary took Morris on what she called her VIP tour, pointing out the church’s beauties and peculiarities, “and the naughty little jokes, Morris, just like in the Medieval cathedrals. For good or ill we don’t change much do we, still yeomen, knaves, and fools.” ------- “Fools especially,” Morris agreed. ------- “Mmm,” Sister Mary, said. “But not you. Here we are. I’ve saved the best for last. I wonder what you’ll think of it.” She took a bunch of keys from her pocket and fitted one into the lock of an inconspicuous door. ------- “Go in, Morris.” ------- It was a large room, luxuriously furnished. The illumination from a skylight was suffuse. Music played softly, maybe a Brahms concerto. The scent he’d noticed surrounding Sister Mary was stronger here. The most conspicuous piece of furniture was an ornate king-sized bed. ------- Sister Mary closed the door behind her and slid home a sturdy bolt. -------“We won’t be disturbed,” she said. “Officially this is our ‘Hospitality Suite’.” She stood closer to Morris and touched his cheek with her fingers. “But I prefer,” she said softly, “to call it ‘The Rumpus Room’.” -------Morris had been cautious in his emotional entanglements, almost to the point of celibacy. So many of the men Morris had known in his former life could relate to women only through violence. Sister Mary was attractive, but she was no threat. He gently took her hand from his cheek, gave it a little squeeze, and let it go. He presumed there was a video camera concealed among the furbelows, but perhaps he was wrong. ------- “No one could accuse Heaven’s Gate of being inhospitable,” he said. “Sorry, Sister, it’s a generous offer, but I have to get along to the grocery store. My partner gave me a list.” ------- “Oh, what a shame,” Sister Mary said. ------- As he drove away, Morris glanced at the tower and smiled. Maybe not a finger after all. ------- 18 August 2009
|