by Gilbert Ford
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TO MY DAD & GRANDAD,
WHOSE NAME I SHARE
1
The Spirits Visit
“Spirit of the late Robert Fisher,” whispered Maria’s mother from the other side of the wall, “I summon you to this table on behalf of the dear wife you left behind so many years ago.”
Maria shifted her weight in the walk-in closet of her mother’s bedroom. The air was stale, with musty fur coats that clung to hangers high above. She brushed her curly hair from her face and pressed her eye to the holes that ornamented the grate looking into the parlor.
A tiny candle pierced the darkness in the next room, illuminating the dusty magenta of her mother’s turban and her thin hands above a crystal ball. Beside her sat an elderly woman wearing glasses. Her hair was pulled into a white bun that glowed in the light.
“For it is I, Madame Destine Russo, who begs you to inhabit me,” whispered Maria’s mother. The psychic shut her eyes and froze, the stillness interrupted by the rustling of a parrot perched on her mink shoulder.
Madame Destine’s eyes popped open. “Come!” she said, slamming her fist onto the card table. “Speak to your dear Marilyn!”
The parrot beat its wings before settling. Feathers floated around the two women seated at the table while Madame Destine’s eyes rolled back. Then her body spasmed, shaking her pale hands so that her bracelets rattled against the table.
Maria pulled away from the grate, her heart pounding. Even now, as an eleven-year-old who’d been part of the act since she could talk, she feared something would go wrong. Her fingers fumbled over the switch until she turned it. “Don’t mess this up!” she told herself.
The blades of the fan spun behind Maria until they gained momentum. Then she ducked, allowing the cool breeze to shoot through the grate and into the parlor.
Very slowly, the wind chimes sang a sad spirit song and the loose hairs on the old woman’s bun stirred under the flickering candlelight. Pipes clanged. Faint moans echoed deep inside the apartment.
Madame Destine shook before the startled old woman, their shadows running across the velvet curtains blocking the daylight.
Then Madame Destine froze again, letting out a soft whimper. Gradually, she tumbled onto the table, her head slamming beside her crystal ball with a loud thud.
The parrot flapped his wings again before settling on top of her turban.
Maria switched off the fan. Then she pressed her eye against the grate, looking for directions from her mother.
“Madame Destine?” said Mrs. Fisher, stretching her neck over the lifeless mound. “Are you okay?”
Maria rolled her eyes. Boy, was this old lady gullible. Although the scam changed from time to time, she knew what would soon follow. That widow’s wedding ring would be their meal ticket until the next naive victim arrived in their apartment looking for answers.
The widow shivered, turning her head around the parlor as if to look for signs of life. Finally, she grabbed her purse and shot up from her folding chair.
“Marilyn!” said a guttural voice.
The old woman stopped, then grabbed at her heart.
Madame Destine’s face rose from the table. “Mariiilyn,” she said in the same deep voice. “My sweet Maaaaaarilyn.”
Mrs. Fisher fell back into her chair and swallowed. “Oh, Robert?” she gasped. “Is it you? Is it REALLY you?”
“Marilyn, how I’ve missed you!” said Madame Destine.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s been twenty years, but not a day’s gone by that I’ve not thought of you,” said Mrs. Fisher.
“Sweeeet Marilyn,” said Maria’s mother, her eyebrow arching above one open eye. “I miss the world of the living. It’s so cooooold here without you.”
“My Robby, I’ll soon be joining you, I’m sure of that!”
“But, Marilyn,” said Madame Destine quickly. “There’s JUST one thing you must do before you join me. Just one favor I ask of you.”
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just say it!”
Madame Destine’s eyes darted sideways at the large diamond ring on Marilyn Fisher’s finger. “Oh, Marilyn,” she said, and tossed her head back. “It’s been two decades since we’ve been together. Do you still wear the wedding ring I gave you the day we made our vows?”
Mrs. Fisher glanced down at her hand and forced a smile. “I still wear the ring with pride, my love. I’ll always be your girl.” Her chin trembled.
Maria pushed away from the grate. Then she laid her head back onto the worn pillow on her tiny mattress. She propped her Converse sneakers against the wall before mouthing the words that came from her mother in the other room. “You must part with material possessions before you join me in the next world!” Maria waved the way she knew Madame Destine would, with palms out and fingers spread apart.
Kerthump!
A fur coat fell on Maria’s head. She pushed the moth-eaten lining away from her and stood up in the cramped closet that also served as her bedroom. She grabbed the coat covering her gray blanket and tiptoed around her mattress, stepping on pens, paper, and library books.
“Ouch!” Maria said under her breath. She’d hit her head on the hanging light bulb. Maria steadied it before placing the fur back on its hanger nestled with her mother’s clothes. The fan pointing at the grate took up most of the real estate, and Maria had to carefully ease back into position without knocking it over.
“I ask that you donate your ring, the symbol of our love and happy marriage, to the Brooklyn Urban Youth Initiative for Tomorrow,” said the deep voice of Madame Destine in the next room.
“TOMORROW! TOMORROW!” screeched the parrot.
“Silence, Houdini!” snapped Madame Destine.
Maria imagined Mrs. Fisher must be wondering why on earth her husband’s spirit wanted her to give her ring to charity, but she knew her mother had already solved that riddle.
“Our marriage produced no children, Marilyn. My only regret was not having a child to look after.”
“But, sweetie? You hated children. We talked about this.”
“And THAT is my biggest regret!” said Madame Destine, a little too soon and way too sharply.
“Well,” said the voice of Mrs. Fisher, “I suppose I could write a check. I would have to research the organization to make sure it was—”
“No!” boomed Madame Destine, slamming her fist on the table. “It must be your ring. It must be this organization.”
The pipes clanged in the apartment, and soft moans echoed in the hallway before the signal had been given. Maria slapped her forehead. “Oh, you’ve done it again, Mr. Fox!” she mumbled. She rolled off her mattress and turned on the fan so the candles could flicker and the wind chimes could whine in the next room. She listened for her mother’s bracelets to jangle, followed by the loud thud of her head striking the table. Then Maria cut off the fan and fell back on her mattress.
The house was
silent.
Maria shut her eyes and cleared her mind in the stiff, musty air of the closet. She tried not to think of her mother and her scam, or Mr. Fox coming in too early with the eerie sounds. She pushed how they were conning a helpless widow to the back of her mind. She even ignored the pain in her stomach. It had been twenty-four hours since Maria had eaten.
As she let her mind go blank, she settled into stillness. And ever so faintly, her fingers began to tingle—the same tingle of lip balm on cracked lips or the first bite of minty gum in a stale mouth. She felt his fresh, comforting grip hold her hand. Although she’d never seen him with her own eyes, she knew he was with her.
“Edward?” Maria said, her lips parting into a smile. “What did you make of Mrs. Fisher? Did you see her late husband?” Maria pushed her library book, The Rescuers, aside where a pen had been resting under it. She slid a piece of paper beneath her right hand. Then she balanced the pen between her knuckles over the paper. Very slowly, Edward’s cool grip guided Maria’s hand across the paper, allowing the pen to leave a most mysterious reply:
Mrs. Fisher may be foolish to believe her,
But her heart is far wiser and sweeter.
2
Dig Up the Dead
After ten minutes, the front door slammed. Heavy footsteps hammered the floor, until Maria snapped from her trance. The closet door flew open, flooding her room with light.
“John screwed up again,” said Madame Destine. She brushed the parrot off her shoulder and pulled the fur coats across the bar with a harsh screech. She slipped out of her mink and slung it on Maria’s mattress. The fringed dress Madame Destine wore might have once belonged to a flapper during the 1920s, but after a century, it was riddled with moth holes and stains.
Maria stood up. “Did she fall for it?” she asked.
“Too soon to tell,” said Madame Destine.
“I did it as we rehearsed. When Mr. Fox started in on the pipes early, I turned on the fan, too.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Madame Destine shook her off impatiently and threw on a black fur. She looked like a giant stain in the bright room. Houdini fluttered back to her shoulder. “That woman better come through. If she loved her husband, she’ll do as she’s told.”
Maria thought about the old woman. Mrs. Fisher seemed kind, and she could tell the widow would do anything for her husband. Kindhearted people could be gullible. But something pulled at Maria. Edward had said her heart was wise and sweet. “But…,” began Maria, her voice wavering. “Do you feel like what we’re doing is … wrong?”
Madame Destine stopped.
She turned around to face her child, her eyes narrowing as if to study her. “My sweet and caring Maria,” she said. “Have I not told you again and again? There’s no right and wrong, only—”
“Opportunity,” they said in unison. Madame Destine shouted it with gusto, but Maria only mumbled it.
“OPPORTUNITY! OPPORTUNITY!” mimicked Houdini.
“Knock it off!” Madame Destine said. She held her parrot’s beak in place, but he shook his head free and shifted farther down her arm.
Maria slipped past Madame Destine and into the light of her mother’s master bedroom, where a queen-size bed and a dresser were surrounded by four walls decorated with yellowed newspaper clippings—all obituaries going back many years. The clippings had been tacked in clumps, one on top of the other, and a light breeze from the two open windows sent the papers fluttering.
“Besides,” Madame Destine added, handing Maria a broom, “that old bag has no relatives. She’ll take that ring to her grave, where someone else will snatch it. I’m just getting there first.” Then she pointed to the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning—”
The door to the kitchen swung open, and a tall, thin man with dark features wearing a black turtleneck and a newsboy cap stepped in. His heavy unibrow stretched over his face. “Can’t hear a stinkin’ thing in the basement!” he said. “I bang on the pipes, I do my moaning, but I can’t for the life of me hear my cues!”
Madame Destine greeted him with a stern look. “You came in too early, John.”
“I’ll do better next time,” said Mr. Fox.
“Well, clean out your ears. You almost ruined it for us!”
Maria quickly added, “It’s okay, Mr. Fox. I was able to turn on the fan. She didn’t notice a thing.”
John Fox rubbed his chin. Then he lifted his heavy brow. “Did she take the bait?”
Madame Destine’s smile snaked across her face. “She took the bait. She’ll likely investigate the organization to see if it’s legit. Did you finish the website?”
“I worked all night on it,” Mr. Fox answered. “I made it real nice, see?” He brought out his phone and typed something before he held it up.
Madame Destine slapped the phone out of his hand. “It’s gotta match the business card! Who’s gonna support an organization that doesn’t look legit?”
“Aye-aye, Captain!” Mr. Fox said with a salute.
Maria tugged on Mr. Fox’s sweater and dug into the pockets of her patched blue jeans. “If you want me to take a look, I can help like I did with the bait.” Maria pulled a business card from her pocket that read
MR. BENJAMIN EDMOND FACTOR
Brooklyn Urban Youth Initiative for Tomorrow
Giving Children an Opportunity to Grow
718-555-5555
www.buyit.org
Mr. Fox slapped the card out of her hand. “I don’t need no help from a kid!” he said. “You just go back in that closet and stay put.”
“Mr. Fox!” exclaimed Maria, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she picked up one of her library books from her mother’s dresser. “I can’t be in two places at once! How can I be in my room when I have to clean in the kitchen?” Maria hugged the broom and book as she slid behind her mother.
Mr. Fox was unmoved. “I don’t like your girl doing all this reading.” His lips curled before turning his gaze on Maria. “She’s gonna get too smart for her own good.”
Maria gripped her book a little harder.
“Knock it off, John,” said Madame Destine as she fluffed up her collar and straightened her turban. “My little girl’s gonna have brains just like her mama. One day you’ll be Madame Destine, Maria, just like your grandmama before me.”
Maria tried to picture herself in her mother’s heavy turban and musty coat, but she couldn’t see it. Although a life of conning was all she’d ever known, Maria wondered if there was something better for her out there. Something that involved actually helping people—like the characters she’d read about in books.
Maria gazed up at the poster that read MADAME DESTINE, THE GREATEST SPIRITUALIST MEDIUM. The portrait of her grandmother under the banner showed a soft, saintly looking woman.
Madame Destine pushed Maria toward the kitchen door, but Maria kept her gaze on the portrait. She’d inherited her grandmother’s large brown eyes and soft, round face. “Is it true that Grandma really did convene with the spirits?” she asked. “The papers say she was a real diviner.”
Madame Destine moved slowly across the floorboards with her daughter. “Now, Maria,” she said, pushing her through the kitchen door, “how many times have I told you? There’s no such thing as spirits. People who think that stuff is real are foolish!” Madame Destine playfully jabbed Maria in the side with her elbow, but it hurt.
“FOOLISH! FOOLISH!” squawked Houdini.
“Knock it off!” Madame Destine shouted. Houdini turned around and fluffed his feathers.
“But what if—”
“I mean it, child! Your grandmother shared none of her secrets with me. I don’t know her method, but take it from me: Hard work and crafty research is needed to dig up the dead. You can only see into the past by using the magic of your wits and natural instincts. Haven’t you learned how to use the library?”
Maria put down the book and began sweeping the floor while her mother followed behind her. “Mom, I told you! I’ve BEEN using
the library. I’m always reading stuff I like.”
“Ah! Stories! It’s a waste of time. You need facts. Facts for you to use to your advantage.” Her lips slithered into a smile. “You should be researching public records and family trees, snipping obituaries and highlighting their survivors. We’re researching widows, my dear. LONE. SURVIVING. WIDOWS.”
“Okay,” murmured Maria. She rested the broom against the counter and filled the sink with water.
“Good! And don’t you forget it. Now, clean up the place while Mama’s gone. Me and John are off to scrounge up some dinner.” She slid her arm through Mr. Fox’s, and the two of them exited the apartment through the front door, leaving Maria alone in the kitchen to ponder spirits and libraries, fiction and facts.
3
Edward
Maria scrubbed the stove with steel wool, her fingers stained with pink soap and grime. Her mother had been gone for a while, and she had already mopped the floor, but Maria didn’t want to stop cleaning before she returned, or she’d be accused of slacking off.
She kept scrubbing until the back of her head tickled. Then her skin began to tingle. She loved this feeling. “I know you’re here, Edward,” she said to the empty kitchen with a smile. Her hands were grimy, but she didn’t care. Edward had a way of making her feel special—as if she were Cinderella and her life of scrubbing and conning was only temporary.
She threw the steel wool into the sink and wiped off her hands. “Why don’t you tell me about Mrs. Fisher and her late husband?” she said, smiling.
Maria pulled out a vinyl chair from the table. “I’m almost ready,” she said.
What she loved most was hearing about the lives of the departed. She loved it almost as much as she enjoyed reading a good book. She’d been wondering about Mrs. Fisher’s husband ever since the séance.
Maria slid out a piece of plain white paper from under the empty fruit bowl and placed it in front of her. Then she grabbed a pen and rested it lightly between her two knuckles over the paper. She shut her eyes, threw her head back, and cleared her mind. The faint water drops from the sink and the occasional honk outside shrank away from her consciousness.