by James Short
Middleton was just about to order everyone to clear out when a cry went up from the beach: “We’ve found her!” The small bands sprang out of the shadows into action, running towards the cry.
Middleton’s siren had no effect. He opened the window and with his bullhorn roared at the crowd, “Police!” He jumped out of the car with the bullhorn and confronted the mob. “Police!” They froze a few feet away from him. “Clear out!” His order echoed down the beach.
Without waiting to see whether they would obey, Middleton took three long strides to the embankment. He leaped over guardrail eight feet down into the sand. Several hundred yards away he spotted a white streak fleeing a dozen pursuers. The sound the girl emitted was halfway between a scream and a laugh.
“Stop! Police!” Middleton roared again. She fell, and they stopped. He jogged to where the young woman, quite naked, was on her knees retching. Middleton placed himself in front of her. The crowd shrank back a half foot under his hard gaze. Refraining from lecturing them, he asked if anyone knew her. A girl holding a dress and a shoe stepped forward and meekly identified herself as a roommate.
“Dress her and take her back to wherever she came from,” Middleton said quietly. “I would advise the rest of you to do the same. The party is over.” They retreated, some taking his advice, others not persuaded.
When he returned to his car, the groups on the sidewalk seemed to have melted away. Haven’t lost my touch yet, Middleton congratulated himself. Then he heard over the car radio, May, the dispatcher, in a dither, “We’ve had eighteen complaints. No, seventeen. No, eighteen. No, seventeen again. Cindy Gunwall said that her husband is the intruder, and she knows him. Brad Temple reported that a crowd was walking down Binnacle Street and turning over trash cans and kicking cars to make their alarms go off.”
Wu then radioed that he was on Lemon Street observing the crowd at a safe distance. “They turned onto Kiwi St. and are heading toward Malcolm Blvd where they think the kidnapper and the girl went.”
With regret, Middleton called back the patrol cars blocking the exits out of Solvidado to deal with what he euphemistically called crowd control. He would, however, pass by Zacarina Park on his way to join his forces to face down the mob which he was confident his men could do.
The Secrets of the Oldest Resident of Solvidado
Aquino jerked April back, saying, “Do you want to kill yourself or just become a quadriplegic? You only have a seventy-five percent chance of succeeding at this height.”
By the time they had ascended another thirty feet, April had lost her nerve. They emerged on the edge of a small park. She crouched beneath the low zigzagging branches of a cypress to avoid the cold stark light of the street lamp. Aquino stood in the open, his face shining pale green in the fluorescent illumination which also highlighted the ragged outline of the cliff, a picnic table, and a parking lot with meters standing in a row like perfect soldiers at attention. He shook the water off like a dog and then pointed to a block of houses across a street, a fifty-yard sprint.
“We’re going to the third house from the corner.”
“I think they’ve found us again.” April could have sworn she heard a dozen breathless people climbing up the same narrow trail, although she knew that wasn’t possible.
“In their dreams.” Aquino extended a hand. April inched closer, not quite leaving the shadows. He reached in, took her by the arm, and yanked her out into the greenish light.
“I can’t just walk across the street as if I’m like everybody else.” April pleaded. She looked down at her sickly-hued body, not quite believing she was wearing nothing.
“Then we’ll run.” Without giving her the opportunity for another objection, he set off, crossed the street and ducked into a porch. April followed, assuming this was to be just a temporary hiding place until this detestable man had the opportunity to submit her to further humiliation. Therefore it was completely unexpected when Aquino opened the door.
“Do you live here?” April asked, while at the same time thinking to herself, how smart is it to go inside with him, really? However, in Aquino’s company, her cautionary doubts always arrived a second too late, and she was pulled into the darkness.
Aquino shut the door and switched on the light, revealing an old man, sitting in an armchair. His skin clung tightly to the facial bones. A prominent forehead, great shaggy eyebrows, and an aquiline nose gave an impression of a battered pagan god. Classical music came from a small radio.
“Is that you Aquino?” The old man spoke without turning. His voice, though cracked, had vigor.
“Never could fool you, Hal,” Aquino replied.
“You never knock and always know exactly where the light switch is in the dark. My children who have been visiting me for the last forty years still fumble for the switch. Who is your friend?” He didn’t direct his gaze at April perhaps out of respect for her modesty.
“April, a new bride.”
“Your bride?” The old man still thankfully didn’t look at April,
“You know I’m not the marrying sort. It’s not that I haven’t tried, but I’ve taken on an obligation that has made it problematic for me to tie the knot again.”
“Really? I have a hard time believing thieves respect obligations. Why this unusual companion on your romps? Have you taken to stealing brides along with their diamond rings?”
“Please, let’s just not talk about me.” April flinched at what she took to be Aquino’s appraising glance. She sat down in a chair near the old man and hunched over.
“Hal is 98 years old. Shall we inform him as to what we are about?”
“He already knows you’re a burglar,” April observed.
“Oh, don’t think I approve of Aquino’s profession,” Hal raised his cracked voice. “I think it’s a shame that he’s wasting his talents, but how can a blind man accuse another man of being a thief?”
“He has probably stolen things from you,” April said petulantly and stared at Hal wondering how she could miss his blindness.
“Dear child, I’ve been blind since I was sixty—that is thirty-eight years. I know where everything is in this house. Aquino wouldn’t be able to lift two pennies out of the forty-three cents in the ashtray on the coffee table without me catching him. The only thing I can’t keep track of is Hugo, my cat. Trying to figure out where he has put himself occupies a good part of my thoughts.”
“Hal would have made an excellent thief.” Aquino put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Every day he walks across the street and sits on the bench two feet away from the edge of the cliff.”
Although the old man seemed pleased with the compliment, he replied, “More honor in being a dentist.”
“We need some clothes for the young lady. She fell and got hers dirty.”
“Clothes? That is what’s bothering me about her. Why, she’s not wearing anything at all! Are you trying to make a fool of me, Aquino?” Hal asked angrily.
“How can you tell I’m not wearing anything if you’re blind?” April demanded.
“I didn’t at first. But a clothed body makes different sounds when it moves than a naked one.”
“I promise I’m not trying to play a joke on you,” April said. “I would so like to have something to cover myself.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. There is a cedar chest in the bedroom on the right side of the hallway. My late wife’s things are in it. The dresses still have Maricela’s smell—that’s why I keep them. You are welcome to any that fits you.” Hal sighed. “Once I would have been curious about how you lost your clothes. Even a few years ago, I might have asked questions. My curiosity hasn’t been so active recently.”
The doorbell rang several times indicating urgency. Hal stood up, surprisingly tall despite his stoop. As he walked to the door, Aquino pulled April into the kitchen.
“Hal, have you heard the news?” The voice at the door was wildly unmodulated in its excitement.
“Bertram, I stopped listening to ne
ws more than fifty years ago.”
“A dangerous criminal is on the loose in this neighborhood. He has kidnapped a young woman. The police have blocked off several streets. They fear the worst.”
“Oh, that’s old news. In fact, I was just having a conversation with the criminal himself. He’s a good friend. Would you like to meet him?”
A pause ensued, then a laugh more polite than sincere. In a calmer voice, Bertram said, “Haven’t lost your sense of humor, Hal.”
“No, I guess I haven’t.”
“Goodnight Hal.” Bertram chuckled and seemed to back away, then returned. “Why was your light on?”
“Like I told you, I was talking to your kidnapper. But if you want another explanation, you must realize a blind man doesn’t have blind visitors. The light is on because I’m waiting for my daughter. She doesn’t like to come into a dark room.”
“Well, goodnight again.”
“Yes, goodnight again.” Hal closed the door and sighed. He walked slowly to his chair and called out, “Aquino, please come here and explain yourself.”
April turned to look for her purported kidnapper who had disappeared. “He’s gone,” She said on reentering the living room.
“That he is. Well, then, this is going to be an easier question now that you’re alone: Were you kidnapped?”
“No, not quite, more like invited. I can’t understand why I accepted his crazy idea. When I climbed down the trellis my dress got caught, and I was sort of stuck…”
“You don’t have to explain. Aquino is an odd man, and you can’t come into contact with him without having odd things happen to you. As long as he’s not forcing you into anything, I am content with my ignorance. You may go into my bedroom and choose one of the dresses from the cedar chest.”
“Thank you.” April gratefully stepped into the hallway.
“Miss, I want you to know…” Behind her, she heard a clearing of the throat and a slight choke.
“Yes,” April said.
“I want you to know you will be wearing the dress of the lady who for fifty years was my heart and soul.”
“Thank you. I will remember that.”
April closed the bedroom door, then realized how silly it was to be modest in front of a blind man. The cedar chest huge and ancient with tarnished brass fittings lay at the end of the bed. The lid swung open smoothly, the hinges apparently recently lubricated. Four dresses were folded neatly on the top of a mishmash of things. After taking them out and draping them across the bed, she decided on a knee-length plain green housedress that slipped on easily.
Modesty satisfied, she finally felt independent of Aquino. Before putting the other dresses back, April contemplated the contents of the chest—letters, photos, children’s drawings, Christmas ornaments, invitations, gewgaws with names of tourist destinations, broken hair berets, and miscellanea saved by affection or chance. A framed photo in the stiff style of nineteenth-century portraits showed a young woman with a sweet face, “Thank you for the loan of the dress, Maricela,” April whispered. Next to it was a small urn. She picked it up and made out the name on a brass plate, “Grace Joy” and the dates “1919-1922.”
“I can’t visit Maricela’s grave very often.” Having opened the door without making a sound, Hal stood a few feet behind April. “So I visit her here. Maricela had kept these things until the day she died so they must have been important to her.”
“Was Grace Joy your daughter?” Curiosity overcame April’s reserve.
“Yes, she was.” Hal almost seemed to laugh, but the lines deepened over his brow and along his cheeks. “Grace, our first child, had been so sick that it was a relief when she died. We grieved more for her life than her death. We buried her, and with five other children filling our lives, we almost forgot her. Then a developer bought part of the old cemetery. Jacinto, my father-in-law, wasn’t about to have his granddaughter’s bones lost. So he disinterred Grace’s body and cremated it. We planned to scatter the ashes out on the ocean. But all our other children had left. Maybe, that’s why we never got around to doing it. We weren’t morbid people, yet it seemed better keeping her with us again. Would you do me a favor?”
“Okay,” April agreed hesitantly.
“Read to me one of Maricela’s letters.”
“I see a photo of Maricela. She is very pretty.” Seeing him smile, April picked up a pile of envelopes and began to shuffle through them.
“Any letter dated between 1916 and 1918. She wrote me almost daily while I was in the army.”
April opened one dated June 10, 1918. The handwriting was small and feminine and perfectly formed. “My dearest: I am as well as I can be with my dearest absent. My health is good. I practice smiling to keep up my spirits.
“Father sees through me. He has decided that I need more to keep me busy, so I don’t mope around so much and with Mama sick and Gaspar in need of supervision, guess who gets to take care of Gaspar? If there was ever a little brother who hated an older sister, that brother is Gaspar. I don’t feel bad. He hates everything and everybody except perhaps Father. He hates his dog; he hates his cat; he hates his shoes; he hates sunny days; he hates rainy days; he hates music; he hates silence; he can’t see a bug without smashing it; he can’t talk to another kid without trying to say something mean. Sorry. I am filling this letter with complaints, but Gaspar is so funny that I think writing about him may entertain you.”
A low sepulchral laugh from Hal interrupted the reading.
April continued reading: “Although it might seem I have nothing to say, that’s not so. There is news, real news for our poor town. They have torn down the Boller mansion, and before they tore it down, everybody had one last chance to look for the treasure. What a riot! I had never been inside. Father said it was haunted, and if anybody should know what is haunted and what is not, an undertaker should. Father hired the six Castillo brothers, you know that family where everybody looks like a bear and is as strong as one, to carry down the cast-iron bathtub and a large cast-iron stove. Both were on the third floor, and someone had torn up the steps between the ground and second story. But they got it out by throwing it out a window. Did I tell you that there were a hundred people in the house punching through walls, prying up floorboards, sawing doors in half?”
“That is one civic event I’m sorry I missed,” Hal muttered.
April cleared her throat and went on: “I just walked around looking for souvenirs. Gaspar was with me smashing his bugs. I have never seen him so happy. I didn’t find much—a broken abacus was all. Martha Quintero found a trunk with a bunch of clothes too ugly for anybody to take. The Castillo brothers decided they wanted the mantelpieces despite it being eaten out by termites. The house was probably elegant once. I just can’t imagine that now with it being so ugly inside and outside. I think only sick people lived in the house or crazy people like everyone says.
“Nobody found the treasure, of course. Father killed a pig and started a barbecue. Everybody else brought food. So instead of a barn raising party, we had a house razing party. Gaspar didn’t like the party part. He kept on crying, wanting to go back inside the wreck of the house where he could smash more bugs.
“My dearest, please write. Just say anything. If a week goes by and I don’t receive a letter from you, I’m sure you are dead. If anybody shoots at you, hide, run away. I don’t want you to be a brave man. I don’t want to be a widow of a brave man. Or if you have to be brave, consider it cowardice dying and leaving a young wife who loves you so much that she can’t take a breath without thinking of you.”
“Ah, our friend is back,” Hal said.
Aquino appeared behind Hal giving April a start even with the advanced warning. He seemed breathless and high spirited. He deposited a pair of sandals at her feet. “You’ll need these.”
April was unsure whether she should thank him for what was probably stolen.
Noticing the letter in April’s hand Aquino said, not disguising the avarice in his voice, “An ol
d letter?”
“From Maricela. Just personal stuff. Nothing that would interest you.”
“You never told me you had letters.” Aquino’s words carried the tone of an accusation.
“You are presuming too much, my good sir. My door is open to you as a friend and guest. My chests and cupboards are not.”
“The young lady, like me, is something of a history buff. You once mentioned you met Franklin.”
Hal held a hand to his forehead as if visualizing the scene. “He returned for a visit. I came across him walking up to the ruins of the Boller mansion. An old black man, well dressed, well spoken. When he gave out his name, I asked him where he thought the treasure was buried. He laughed and said that the treasure was where an honest man would put it.”
“Aquino wants me to pretend to be Penelope,” April interjected, anxious to have Aquino contradicted. “He thinks she hid the treasure, so if I think like her, I will find it. But I think if the treasure really existed somebody would have found it by now,”
“It existed,” Hal said. “I found a twenty dollar gold piece myself—double eagle they called it. I spent the next summer of my life searching for another one.”
“What gave you the idea to come here to look for the treasure in the first place?” April asked.
“Jacinto, of course. I was a student attending Stanford University. I and some friends had missed the train to San Francisco. We asked around. Finally, this Portuguese man gave us a lift in an old Stanley Steamer. He was hauling a crate on a trailer that we later found out contained a body. He told this tall tale of dead lovers and lost treasure.
“We really didn’t believe him, but it seemed a fine adventure for young men to take up over a weekend. When we came here, Solvidado was almost a complete ghost town. Just a couple of dozen people, most of them related to Jacinto. I spent half a day digging and was about to quit when I saw Jacinto’s daughter Maricela and we instantly fell in love. I had visions of taking her to San Francisco and raising a large family on Nob Hill. As you can see, things happened the other way around. After finding the gold piece, I moved here, and became a dentist and opened up a hardware store. Sold a lot of picks and shovels over the years to young adventurers like I had once been.”