by Ed Helenski
It was markedly different from the other houses on Vine. The yard, instead of being a repository of leaves, branches, dead toys and junk furniture, was neat and well kept. The house was a small one storey, with white vinyl siding, and a porch light that was intact and burned with a bright bulb. The mailbox had their name neatly printed on it, and there was a lighted doorbell button. From inside came the sounds of the television, and the windows were all lit with a cheery glow.
Taking a deep breath I ascended the steps. Before I had a chance to chicken out I rang the bell. There was a bit of noise, and then the door was opened. There stood Juan, senior that is, looking neat as a pin, freshly pressed work shirt, creased blue pants. He looked me up and down for a moment and then inclined his head ever so slightly, in some vestigial bow. “Mr. Tharon. We have expected you. Please come in.” His voice was rich, and still bore some tiny trace of accent, but was carefully exact in its pronunciation.
I stepped into a living room, where a television was showing Cops, attentively watched by two young versions of the Carrones. Juan closed the door behind me and then indicated a doorway. “Please, my wife awaits you in the kitchen.” With a single glance in my direction he went back and sat with his children, an arm around each one, his back too strait and tall to be the product of our own culture.
I passed through the doorway and into the kitchen. It was dark in here, lit only by several candles on the table. They were the fat, taper sort, what might be called utility candles, white, each sitting on a small plate or dish. The wax puddled around their bases. The table had four chairs around it, and some cups and saucers were set. At the stove, Vera was just taking a teakettle off the flame. She spoke without turning to me. “You are right on time, Sir. I was making the tea.” Though from her mouth it sounded like “Yourrighton time esir, I wasmakin de tee” She had traded in her Paul Bunyan smock for a gaily colored shift. She wore a good many beads around her neck, and on her wrists. She poured the hot water into a pot and brought it to the table. “Sit, please.” I sat.
Once I sat she joined me. “Pour, you must pour for yourself,” she said, and I gingerly took the pot and poured some into the cup in front of me. It smelled of liquorice and eucalyptus or perhaps mint. “It is hot. You wait, and blow on it, till it cool. Then drink it up, mind the leaves”. And she took the pot and poured herself a cup. When I touched my cup it was hot enough to nearly burn me, and I picked it up by the handle and blew on it. Vera picked up her cup and gulped the tea down, despite its heat. I was amazed her mouth was not scalded. Perhaps it all came with being a voodoo lady.
We sat in there, not speaking. From the living room came the sounds of some sort of chase, apparently the cops were in pursuit. In the kitchen the only movement was my blowing on the cup, and the dancing of the shadows cast by the candles. Their flames reflected in Vera’s dark eyes, making them seem to glow with some inner light. Her eyes never left me. Finally the tea was cool enough for my lips, and I drank. It was odd, sweet where I had imagined it would be bitter, and it seemed to have a mildly intoxicating effect. I felt my whole body grow warm, and despite the strangeness of my circumstances I began to relax. When I was nearly finished she held out her hand. At first I didn’t understand, but then realized she wanted the cup.
Swirling the tea and leaves around in its bottom she stared at them for a few moments. She muttered some things I could not quite make out, though again I heard what sounded like Korea. Abruptly she set the cup down, then reached over and took my hand. Holding it next to the candle she looked at my palm intently. She said, almost to herself, “espandtado por lo que veo”. She had told me at the store she meant that she worried about me, but later Mags translated for me. She told me it meant “I fear what I see”. I am glad I didn’t have the translation at the time.
She looked at me and spoke quietly. “You, you see Sir, you are los chorrea, the trickle. Inundacion begin with the trickle, but it come. You are not the cause, but you are the, the word, it is not right, but the starter, the spark. It would have all happened anyway, but it happens this way because you come. You come back.”
I was to say the least perplexed. The tea had had some effect on me though, for I felt, rather than reasoned, that what she was saying made some sort of sense. Though I had questions I just sat and listened.
She picked up a leather cup and shook it, then spilled out some objects onto the table. In the flickering candlelight I didn’t know what they were at first. Then I figured it out. Chicken bones. She poked at them with one bronze finger, then spoke, her black eyes mercifully shut.
“It all come in a rush when it come. The girls, they are lost, but they will be found. You will find them, but not how you think. The little one, the one you think is Nancee, she will be the way. Your heart’s desire, it will burn. The one who you think is the answer, that will not come to pass, but they will go just the same.” She paused, and closed her eyes for a moment, then spoke again. “The guard, the, the protector, will be first. He will not succeed. You must be ready to follow it to the end. What is started, it cannot stop till the end.” With that her eyes opened.
“I, I don’t understand” My words were thick in my mouth. I felt glued to my chair.
“Juan, Juan will show you out.” She said to me and began to pick up the cups. I tried to stand, and felt a hand on my arm helping me up. Juan stood there. He guided me to the door. At the threshold it occurred to me she did this for a business. I went to get my wallet out but Juan shook his head at me.
“No, Mr. Tharon. This is not like that. You go now. Please.” And with that, I was out the door. The cold night air hit me hard. I realized I had never even opened my coat inside. I began walking, this time going towards French. I walked past Bobby’s house, all alit. I wondered what was hidden inside. The things she had told me didn’t make sense. But in some fashion I guessed they did. I just couldn’t figure out quite how. The whole thing had the quality of a dream, fading quickly when you awake. But despite that I had some sense, some understanding. I was on a path, and I had to follow it to the end.
The next afternoon Reggie came to see me at the office. He told me about Jason Hurley. There wasn’t a lot to tell. The man had waited his whole life for something that didn’t exist. When he found that out, he couldn’t take it any more. “It’s funny.” Reggie said, “well, not funny, but passing ironic. That fella was 68 years old, but because his daddy was still alive all this time, and because of the way he acted, I still think of him as Eustice’s boy. Everyone did, and that’s a fact.”
Then it was my turn. I still wanted to find out more about Sioban, but thought I had better deal with the business of Bobby. The other could wait. I ran through everything Meg had found out. I gave him the names of the two boys. And I told him what the evidence seemed to point to.
Reggie regarded me balefully. He looked like a man who was being handed cup after cup of poison, and didn’t want to drink it. Like the clerk at a road side stand who waits on a dozen customers a day and suddenly finds himself inundated by a stranded busload of people; Reggie looked overmatched.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn,” he said digging in his coat for his cigarettes. “Both boys. Sounds like the same one got to both boys. But Bobby? Hell, Tom, me and Bobby are close. And you and he go way back. You can’t really think that’s the case, can you?”
I added my thoughts about Bobby’s dad, and what I could recollect from our youth. He looked more depressed with each word. He took a long drag and stubbed out the smoke. “I can’t buy it and that’s a fact. It just don’t make sense. He’s got a pretty wife like Susie. He does all the work with the firemen. Maybe it’s one of the other ones. I could see it being one of those guys, but not Bobby. And it’s just the one thing that Mikey said that makes you think that. Maybe she heard him wrong. It’s possible, ain’t it?”
I allowed that it was. He sighed and got up.
“I guess I have to start with the Laney boy. Damn that’s tough. Maybe he will tell me about it. Ma
ybe he can make some sort of ID. I can’t believe about Mikey. Hell, I see the boy all the time. I see him at the poker games, and around the town. He seems ok. Like any other teenage boy, and that’s a fact.” He looked at me and said, “Don’t take this wrong now, Tom, but since you been back in town it’s been one shit job after another. It’s like you brought the bad news with you.”
His words stung me, and they reminded me of what Vera had said. “Los chorrea” I muttered.
“What?” Reggie asked, “Korea?”
“Never mind” I told him. He left, saying he would try and track down the Laney boy over the weekend, but that he thought he had better talk to the State Police first about procedure.
Friday night Mags came over and I made dinner. She was skeptical at first, but when she smelled the aromas coming from the kitchen she relaxed. I was making chicken Chasseur, one of the few recipes I had mastered. I used to use it to impress dates and get them into bed. Now I was using it to make someone I loved happy. Go figure. I was just sliding the pan with the breasts into the oven after browning them when Mags came in and put her arms around me.
“So” she whispered in my ear, “how long do those have to cook?” I turned the oven down fifty degrees.
“Long enough” I said and turned around into her arms. We kissed as we walked and made it all the way into the living room before we were overcome. Clothes vanished and we lost ourselves in each other. She was hungry, eager, and it felt like she had a hundred hands, a thousand mouths, a million tongues. She pushed me down on my back in the middle of the living room floor.
“You just relax,” she said, kissing and licking her way down my chest, “I’ve got all the energy we need”. Moments later she engulfed me in her mouth. I was delirious with pleasure. All my feelings for her, all my love and caring and hopes all concentrated themselves in this one spot. My hands found her hair and twined in it as she worked her magic with lips and tongue. When I was right on the brink of exploding into her mouth she slid upward, never losing contact with that most sensitive part of me. In seconds I was inside her and she rose above me, moving in a most delicious way. My hands found her breasts and she moaned as I caressed them. I felt her nipples grow hard in my palms and she was literally drenching me in her juices as she rode me. Her eyes closed tight, her pace increased. I could hold back no longer. Just as I was about to spurt into her I cried out, and at that same moment she cried out her pleasure. We both said the same thing. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” It was the most sublime moment I had ever shared with another human being. We were clearly bound. Vera was right. My heart’s desire did burn.
Afterwards, Mags in my robe and me in sweat clothes, we sat down to dinner. I told her about my encounter with Vera. “You went to see her? And she asked you to come?”
“Yup. She said to come and I did.”
“Did she give you anything?”
“Like what?” I asked, finishing the last of my rice.
Mags giggled. “Like a napkin?” She leaned over and licked a spot of sauce off my face. “I guess a charm or amulet or something. I knew about her, of course, everyone does, but I never heard of her asking anyone to come there. People always go to her. How much did it cost?”
“Nothing. They wouldn’t take money.” Her eyes widened at that. “What? Is something wrong?”
“They ALWAYS take money, Tom. This is something very unusual.”
“It sure felt unusual. The whole thing feels like a dream now.”
“Tom, tell me exactly what she said. Try and remember her words.” I was surprised by the serious look on her face. I thought about Vera at the table, the faraway look on her face, her eyes closed.
“She said, uh, let’s see. She said I was the spark. Things would happen anyway, but they are going to happen now because I came back. What else…the girls. She said the lost girls would be found. I would find them, but it would be with Nancy, whatever that means. And uh, lets see.” I thought I would leave the part about my heart’s desire out. She already knew that. But then it came out of my mouth of its own. “My heart’s desire will burn. I guess we just proved that.” She looked a bit uneasy about that.
“Was there more?” Mags seemed to be taking this very seriously.
“Uh, let’s see. The one I thought would not be the one. Something like that. And uh, the protector. The protector would fail. And I have to see it to the end.”
“Don’t take this too lightly. Tom. There’s something to this stuff. I wonder about Vera. She is from Haiti you know. All that voodoo. And she ASKED you to come.” Mags smiled. “Well, it looks like the mystery of the missing girls will get solved anyway. That’s something, right?” She leaned over to kiss me, and we would have started our first encore when the phone rang. “You better get that. Don’t worry, I’ll keep the motor running.”
It was Reggie on the phone. The troopers had told him that this sort of thing was delicate. They would bring a child abuse counselor on Monday and pull the boys out of school to talk to them. That way they could talk to them before the parents got wind of it. Parents can be very difficult, especially if they have something to hide. Doctor Tastler would be brought to examine the boys physically as well. I thanked Reggie for his help and hung up.
Mags wanted to know what was going on and I told her the plans for Monday. She pondered that briefly, then nodded. We got back to our encore. It was a lovely weekend.
Around The Corner Wednesday November 22
Thanksgiving is upon us in The Corners. And it sometimes seems like we don’t have all that much to be thankful for. But, of course, that is our vision that is failing, not our bounty.
This is such a good smelling time of year. Every house I go into, every business, everywhere, is scented with the aromas of the season. There are the pies, pumpkin and apple and pecan. And the fruits themselves, the smell of pumpkins, the crispness of apples, the spicy smells of drying leaves. It’s all good. And of course tomorrow there will be more. Turkey roasting. Potatoes. Dressing seasoned according to tradition and taste. Corn and carrots and peas and broccoli and, my, I am making myself hungry. And don’t forget the rolls and biscuits, and of course the nuts and breads and salads. Bounty.
We are all blessed with bounty, and not just on our tables. Sometimes our losses make it harder to see the treasures we have. But they are there. I lost my dad. The town has lost quite a few people, just this week Jason Hurley, so quickly after his dad. But despite my losses, I am blessed with bounty. I have a town full of people who are coming (I Hope!) to accept me. I have found a wonderful woman who makes me feel complete and for whom I would give anything. I am talking about Maggie Cowell, and I am head over heels in love with her. She will no doubt kill me for printing this, but I LOVE YOU, MAGS!
Speaking of Maggie, she arrived back in town on Friday loaded down with boxes of books from Clearfield. That brings our total to within a couple thousand books of our goal. So Amy Vickers, you had better get the paperwork ready, because we are going to be setting up that new library very soon. And that is certainly a blessing.
At a time like this even misfortune must have its positive effect. The bad things that happen serve as reminders. Reminders of all the good things we have, the things worth protecting. The things worth fighting to keep.
So this Thanksgiving, think about more than the Turkey and the football. Think about the good fortune that has brought you to another Thanksgiving. Think about family, and friends, and pets, and pleasures, and help and hope. Think, and be thankful.
Tom Tharon
Chapter 13
Things didn’t work out exactly as Reggie or I foresaw. I had worked most of Sunday evening to get the copy ready for the printer, so that I could send it on Monday and be free to sort of follow the proceedings. Maggie was sweet enough to take off from work and join me. I am not sure whether it was because she could see how shaken I was with the revelation about Bobby or if she was concerned for the boys. Either way I was glad she was there.
&n
bsp; I had gone back to Maggie’s house on Sunday night after I finished working. As we were leaving in the morning I wanted to stop by the office with my disks and send the copy to the presses. I noticed the For Sale sign on the front lawn of the house next door. Sarah Jacobs’ house.
“When did that happen?” I asked, stopping to peer at the somewhat rundown place.
“Oh, that’s right. I never got a chance to tell you. I meant to, but first I was out of town, and then, well, you had more than your share of news this week, I guess. Anyway, the child services people from the county showed up early Thursday morning. They packed the kids up and took them away. Of course they wouldn’t say why, but I imagined it had something to do with Sarah. She wasn’t the most ideal mother on the planet.”
Thinking back to the egging and the burning bag of shit; I had to concur. Still, I felt like a heel about the way I had behaved with Sarah. I think Mags could tell.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself. I suspect most men are pretty easy to railroad into bed when it comes right down to it. You didn’t know what you were getting into, and when you did, well, it was a little late to make amends. You aren’t the first one that happened to with her, you know.”
I thought about that, and decided she was probably right. I wondered why I didn’t feel bad about running away from Yolanda Doland. Probably because I thought that despite Sarah’s activities there was still a genuine human being inside. I didn’t get that feeling from Yolanda.
Later in the week I asked Reggie about Sarah. He told me that she had been picked up at a truck stop by the interstate, with her head in a trucker’s lap. It hadn’t been the first, or the fifth time, and she had finally been labeled a habitual offender. A judge had ordered her children sent to foster homes until such time as she could prove herself fit. Sarah was sent to a halfway house for women, where she would be living mostly with crack addicts and serious criminals. I didn’t think the system was really doing her any good, or her children. Amy Vickers wasted no time getting the house on the market. Sarah had only been a renter after all.