Union

by John Darryl Winston

  “You’re welcome, Mommy.”

  “T-Thank you, baby.”

  Cory smiles at Camille, knowing what has just transpired. His son has read her thoughts as if commonplace.

  Camille shakes her head. “What should I tell Bearn?”

  “Tell him … tell him whatever you want to tell him, but tell him I’m not interested. And get yourself together. You’re the mother of someone very special. You’re a modern day Thetis.” Cory picks Naz up and leaves the room.

  Camille picks up the phone and unmutes it. “Hello, Bearn?”

  Present Day …

  Avander Pauling had walked up, taking Naz by surprise. “Do you mind?” Pauling nodded in the direction of the ledge, next to where Naz was sitting.

  Naz shook his head. A flock of gulls circled over the water just in front of them.

  “It’s a little warm for my taste,” said Pauling. “Especially so early in the spring.” He sat down next to Naz.

  Patience having left him, Naz decided to take a page from the D school of directness. “Mr. Pauling, are you following me?”

  “Well,” Pauling chuckled, “not exactly, but I was checking up on your girlfriend as a favor to one of my clients, actually Delilah’s sister Darlana. She was worried when her mother didn’t return home last night and for good reason. Mr. Dinwiddie is an unstable soul and between you and me, rather a brute. When I saw she was with you, I knew she was in good hands, so I decided to visit an old friend.”

  “But I’ve seen you around here before … I was playing chess—”

  “Ah … against The Chess Master. Bravo! And playing you were. What a show indeed, young man. Let’s just say that I am a fan, or…” He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his thin blond hair and then sat his hat on the ledge between them. “You can always read my mind if that makes you more comfortable. I have nothing to hide, my boy.”

  Naz shook his head. He didn’t know if he’d ever read anyone’s mind again. “What do you want?”

  “I want to help, of course.” Pauling shooed away an insect. “The only unsettling part about being close to the water.” He waved his hand at the pest again.

  “Who are you? How do you know about the things I can do?

  “Why, I make it my business to know. I have a school—”

  “Lincoln?”

  “Oh no, dear boy.”

  “You’re not the principal there anymore?”

  “Let’s just say my interests there have dissipated. I should have said I have an institute as opposed to a school, one that caters to clients as opposed to students.”

  “And Darla, I mean, Darlana is one of your clients?”

  “Yes.”

  “D …” Naz shook his head. “Delilah said that Darlana was special, can do things that other people can’t do.”

  “Your girlfriend is right.”

  “So there are others like me, who can do the things that I can do?”

  “Oh no. You, my boy, are a one of a kind, and as far as I know, no one exists like you on the planet. Fifteen years ago the greatest scientist in the world spent more than two years of his life teaching twenty boys and girls—most of them orphans—to believe things about themselves and their abilities, that no else had ever considered before or since. He was ridiculed, ostracized from the scientific community, branded a laughingstock, his work debunked, discredited, and discarded and the project abandoned—”

  “My father.”

  “Yes … your father, my boy.”

  “The Chess Master.”

  “Yes.” Pauling smiled. “Goooood.” He looked out across the water. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day. Battle looms even in the calmest seas.”

  A massive, gunmetal gray warship cruised by, barely disturbing the peaceful river.

  “So now what?” asked Naz.

  “You’ve been through a lot today.” Pauling fished through the jacket he had held on his arm and pulled out a small white card. “You’ve gained a father and lost a girlfriend all in one day, although, I can assure you the girlfriend will return. They don’t always, but this one will. Why, you are the son of the great Cornelius Andersen, the Chess Master, royalty. You know, I beat your father at chess once, long ago.” He handed Naz the card.

  “You did?” Naz asked, his eyes wide.

  “No,” Pauling laughed, “but it feels good to say that every now and again.”

  Naz shook his head.

  “But you will. I have no doubt, and neither does your father, I’m sure.”

  Naz shrugged.

  “The twenty-six months your father spent with my clients—”

  “The twenty students are your clients?” Naz started putting it all together. “Oh, Dr. Gwen talked about my dad’s experiments. She told me what happened at Harvard. She even mentioned Darla. I can’t believe I didn’t remember that when D told me about her sister.”

  “Say hello to Guinevere for me please.”

  “I will.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman more possessed or driven,” Pauling reminisced.

  “You were telling me about your twenty stu … clients.”

  “Oh, sorry. So easy to get sidetracked. Nineteen clients now. Nothing to tell really. They had to have an outlet once your father aban … opted out of the study. But as I’ve said before, those twenty-six months don’t compare to the ten years he dedicated implementing his principles and theories to your development. Not to mention what he likely passed on to you genetically.” He looked at Naz’s head.

  “She didn’t finish,” Naz said sheepishly, bringing his hand up to his half-braided hair.

  “My dear boy,” Pauling gave a hearty chuckle. “I was referring to your brain, your beautiful mind.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You have his good manners, similar etiquette, your father’s.”

  “Did you know … do you know him well?”

  “Well enough. I would call him a friend.” Pauling grabbed his hat and briefcase then stood.

  “How can I find him?” Naz stood up.

  “You can’t. He’s a master of disguises, a master linguist. He can blend in in any environment. You probably run into him every day, maybe even out here already.” Pauling looked over his shoulder.

  Naz thought about the odd man at the basketball rims and wondered.

  “Nobody finds Cornelius Andersen, but I’m guessing when the time is right, he’ll find you.” He looked at his wristwatch then held out his hand to Naz. “I fear I shall be late for my next appointment.”

  “Was this an appointment?” Naz shook his hand.

  “My dear boy, all of life is an appointment. Give me a call sometime. Maybe you can come by and meet some of my clients, show them a thing or two, aye.” He put on his hat, tipped it to Naz and then turned and strolled away.

  Naz sat back down and watched Pauling as he walked away and then turned to look in the direction D had gone—what have I done? He was hoping she would have changed her mind and come back, but from what he had learned about D over the past few months, it wasn’t likely. He turned over the card in his hand.

  Before Naz left the festival area, he stopped at the basketball rims, and sure enough, it was a different man setting up. When Naz inquired about the other man who had been there earlier, the current attendant replied, “What man?”

  Naz sat in the big La-Z-Boy chair waiting for Dr. Gwen to finish going over a file at her desk. The twenty-five-minute ride back to Marshal Park on the Helix felt more like an hour. He couldn’t decide what pained him more: D being upset at him or D not texting him to let him know she had made it home safely—it’s been hours. Finally, his phone buzzed in his hand. It was D.

  I made it

  He didn’t hesitate—no time for games. He sent back,

  I was worried about you. I’m sorry.

  “Huh?” Naz startled.

  “I said, what happened to your hair?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry
, Dr. Gwen. It’s a long story.”

  “Uh-huh, well, how was your day?”

  “Um, my day was fine. How was yours?”

  “Hmph … well, if you must know, Naz, my day has sucked to high heaven, but we’re not here for me, are we?”

  Naz shook his head.

  “But thank you for asking. Now, you clearly have something on your mind so spill it.”

  It was no use trying to hide something like this from Dr. Gwen; she knew Naz had a girlfriend before he did, and for some reason, matters of the heart seemed to be her specialty.

  “It’s D.”

  “No surprise there. How is she, by the way? I told you that girl was talented, didn’t I, and smart. You hold on to that one.”

  “That’s the problem. I may have lost her.”

  “I doubt that, but what did you do?” She leaned back in her chair, seemingly unconcerned.

  Her vote of confidence made him feel better. He sat up. “Well, I kind of read her mind, and she got mad.”

  “Naz—”

  “I didn’t mean to. I know it sounds stupid, but she was braiding my hair, and I was thinking about my father, actually had a memory of him—”

  “You what?” She looked at his hair.

  “I had a memory of Cory.”

  “Tell me about it.” Dr. Gwen sat up in her chair and leaned forward. “Naz. You do understand this is the reason we’ve been doing this for almost three years now?”

  He nodded unenthusiastically.

  “This … is a breakthrough. Tell me everything.”

  Naz was tired of talking about Cory, session after session. He knew everything about Cornelius the scientist, Cory the illusionist. It was his belief Dr. Gwen was obsessed with his father. She had every essay or article he had ever written in her briefcase, and there was always some piece of information she seemed to be holding back. He never told Dr. Gwen his theory that Cory was still alive because she likely already knew. He was looking forward to confirming his theory when he finally met his father the next day at the festival. Just the same, he didn’t hold it against her—everybody seemed to like my dad. He would play along.

  “D asked me to recite something from Othello, and I did. It triggered a memory of me watching my dad in a theater playing Othello.”

  “That’s great, Naz.” She went to work in her notebook. “That was one of your dad’s many talents.”

  Well, how come you never told me this? “When I tried to remember more about my father, that’s when it happened. I thought she was talking, so I answered her. That’s how she found out.”

  “What? Naz, stay focused. Tell me more about Cory.”

  “That’s it.” Naz stood up. “There’s no more to tell.” He clenched his jaw.

  “Sit down, Naz.” Her features softened into a calming smile.

  “I’m sorry.” Naz sat down.

  “No … I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I wasn’t listening to you because I was. What happened between you and D is nobody’s fault. You have an ability that no one has ever had before. Everyone, and I mean everyone you come in contact with will be treading in uncharted waters—”

  Naz’s phone fell out of his hand onto the floor, interrupting Dr. Gwen. “Sorry.”

  “D will come around”—Dr. Gwen continued—“if she’s meant to. This thing is bigger than her, and you have to realize that. When she does come around you guys have to be patient with each other. I think we should have a few sessions together, the three of us … off the books. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “I need to ask you this. Does she know about your other ability, the M-cubed?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she find out?”

  “Her father, he’s a fiend, like Bearn. Her mother had stayed out all night, and he was about to hit D. I happened to show up and—”

  Dr. Gwen put her hand up. “Say no more. That poor child … no one should have to go through that.” She took her glasses off, put her head down, and wiped her eyes.

  Naz had never seen Dr. Gwen like this. He wasn’t quite sure if she was tired or broken up about D.

  “Naz, I told you this before, and now more than ever it is imperative that you keep what you can do a secret. I know that D doesn’t have a lot of friends, but just in case—”

  “She’s not really talking to me right now—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You figure out a way to at least tell her to keep this thing a secret. Use me if you have to.”

  “I will.”

  “Now, I won’t be seeing you for the next three weeks.”

  “Why?”

  “Giving a series of talks in Australia—”

  “Technically—” John had walked in. “—it’s a vacation, a long overdue one. But I’m not telling.”

  Technically?! Grrr…

  “It’s on the power of the mind, ironically.” Dr. Gwen smiled.

  “Naz, wait ‘til you see next week’s newspaper,” said John. “Delilah outdid herself. Too bad I won’t see it.”

  Delilah?

  “John’s going with me. Did you take care of—”

  “All taken care of, Mother. All my assignments will be online.”

  That was Naz’s cue. He could only take so much of John. He jumped out of the chair, gave John a quick nod, but before he could take a step, Dr. Gwen opened her arms for a big hug, and Naz obliged.

  “Remember what I said.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Be safe, Dr. Gwen.”

  On the way home, Naz texted D, asking her to keep what she had learned about him a secret. He made sure to include that the request came from Dr. Gwen—damn, still no reply. Like Meri, D seemed to think Dr. Gwen could walk on water while Naz had long ago discovered the woman behind the curtain.

  Naz sat at the chess tables as one of the nine contestants set to square off against the Chess Master; only he wasn’t there to play chess—come to think of it, I haven’t played since I lost to my dad a year and a half ago. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking—what will I say? He bit his thumbnail then looked at his thumb—I don’t bite my nails. Maybe I should’ve waited in one of the tents until he was done. It was too late now.

  The nine players were in place, and the traditional bell sounded signaling the arrival of the Chess Master. A deep purple, stretch limousine moved slowly through the crowd, barely making it through a space provided by the removal of one of the tents—that’s different, especially for the homeless act.

  A man in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie exited the limo first—ah the man in black. Will he do the blindfold routine today? I hope so. Everybody’s gonna love that. He carried a small speaker that was connected to a microphone on his head. He set the speaker on the ground and addressed the nine players and the forming crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you from our neighboring country across the river, The Chess Master, Andres Torres—”

  Who?

  The nine players stood, including Naz, and clapped as a middle-aged man in a deep purple tuxedo stepped out of the limo and made his way to the center of the triangle of nine tables. He was clean-shaven with olive-colored skin, dark eyes, and a salt and pepper, closely cropped hair style—who is that?

  “That’s not the Chess Master,” said Naz.

  All the players took their seats.

  “That’s not the Chess Master,” Naz repeated to the woman next to him.

  “I know, but isn’t he adorable,” the woman said.

  “But that’s not the Chess Master.” He grabbed the woman’s forearm.

  She looked at Naz with fear in her eyes.

  “Sorry.” He let her go and stood up—there he is, the man in black. Naz ran over to him. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s not the Chess Master.”

  “Please return to your seat, sir, or you’ll be disqualified,” said the man in black.

  Naz realized he was making a scene when the man in black made a gesture with his arm
to someone else. “Where’s Cory … Cornelius Andersen?”

  “I don’t know that name, but just take it easy.”

  Someone grabbed Naz’s arm. It was festival security: police officers deployed to work the festival beat, just like the ones he and D had encountered the day before, only his droid tactic wouldn’t work this time. Another officer grabbed his other arm.

  “Let me go,” said Naz.

  They forcefully removed Naz from the area until he stopped struggling.

  “Ok,” Naz conceded. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Now,” said one of the officers as they released him. “You can leave the grounds on your own, or we can drag your butt to the station. You decide!” The officer pulled his baton off his belt. The other officer kept his hand on his gun, still holstered.

  “I’m going,” Naz said as he turned and walked toward the exits. “But I didn’t do anything,” he mumbled.

  Naz tried to block the people out as they laughed and pointed. He hoped he didn’t see anybody from Union, anybody that recognized him. As he walked with his head down, all the way to the train station, he tried to calm himself.

  He couldn’t believe police officers grabbed him, literally dragged him away from the tables. Do they know who I am, what I’m capable of? That cop had his hand on his gun. I’ll squeeze the life out of all of them, every single one. He took deep breaths on the ride home until he calmed down.

  What a way to spend my Saturday. He wanted to text D, but he didn’t dare. He wanted to throw up. He needed to talk to someone. He sent Harvis a text.

  What’s up?

  Harvis sent back.

  Cookout stop by

  He sent back

  Bet

  Harvis sent,

  Bring your gear

  And then,