by Jay Sherfey
“That would be Mr. Wyatt, I take it?” Downing tipped the can and swallowed.
“Yes, sir.” Jason nodded.
“Well, Mr. Sutter, I did not serve in the Air Corp during the war. Being older and college educated, I served on a variety of senior officer’s staffs. I am most proud of my time serving with General Bradley.” Downing coughed, cleared his throat. He stood and grabbed his shirt pockets; then patted his pants. He found a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and matches on the window ledge over the sink. He sat, lit one, and took a deep pull. The smoke eased out in a long exhale. “What did you think of those books?”
“They were exciting and everything, but…” Jason shrugged. “Something was missing but I can’t say.”
“Reality, Mr. Sutter. Reality.” Downing stared into space. “Do you think the books would sell if the truth of war were ever splattered on the page?” Jason could tell that Mr. Downing was lost in a painful memory. “What happens to friends on the receiving end of a bombing run during the London blitz is not something people want described in detail.” Downing’s eyes closed. Memories from the war shadowed him. His hands trembled slightly. “I usually do not talk about these things. You have turned me into something of an open book, Mr. Sutter.” He finished off his beer and stood up to retrieve another from the fridge; his cigarette dangled from his lips. “I am sure Mr. Wyatt’s experience was much the same as all of us. There were long periods of hurry up and wait, with short intense bursts of total horror, followed by a happiness to be alive one more day. The books tend to gloss over the horror part.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “If you don’t mind, let’s change the subject.”
“Of course, sir. I didn’t mean to…” Jason started to apologize.
“Think nothing of it, Mr. Sutter. I asked you, if you recall.” With beer in hand, he moved around the table and put his cigarette out in the sink. “Disgusting habit really.” He returned to his seat. “What else have you been looking into?” He popped the tab and a bit of foam shot out. He brought the can to his lips and drank the overflow.
“Well, I heard that there are these plants that grow in China, but nowhere else. But now they are growing here, but no one knows exactly how they have managed it. So, I have been reading about plants and stuff.” Jason felt Mr. Downing’s relief with the war left behind.
“Now, as it turns out, I know a few things about biology and plants. Did you know that animal cells tend to be oval in shape while some plant cells tend toward rectangles?” Jason shook his head. “Have you ever seen a living cell of any sort?”
“No sir.”
“Well, that’s your trouble, Mr. Sutter.” Downing slapped the table and jumped up. “You need to see what you are reading about. And…being a pack rat from way back, I happen to have a microscope for you to see exactly that.” He waved Jason to follow him back downstairs. “All the books and words on the page can never make up for first hand experience, Mr. Sutter.”
In minutes, Jason stared through the eye-piece of an ancient, brass microscope at rectangular plant cells. Chloroplasts, little green ovals, circulated around the cell. The cell nucleus was clearly visible. He was mesmerized. He increased the magnification while Mr. Downing spoke over his shoulder.
“You are looking at a very efficient solar energy converter. Of course, a good many plants use photosynthesis.”
Jason barely listened. For a time, he saw with his eyes, but as Mr. Downing continued to talk, he observed with something else. The nucleus became suddenly very clear and close. A ball of ribbon, like a hundred roller coasters twisting and turning in and around a hidden core, filled his view. Entranced, he let his inner sight take him where it would. He touched down lightly upon one of the ribbons.
Mr. Downing stood by his side. He took the boy’s silence and his sudden intake of breath as a sign; he might need help.
“Well, my boy, why don’t you let me have a look at what you have?” He laid his hand gently on his shoulder. His thumb made contact with the skin of Jason’s neck. A connection opened between their minds and for an instant, Mr. Downing rolled along behind Jason into an alien landscape. The contact lasted seconds. It broke suddenly, as Mr. Downing collapsed onto the floor unconscious. Jason, unaware, continued his travels through the looking glass.
* * *
“Ah, good afternoon, Suzy,” said Chiang when she opened the door to the Dubois house. “Is Mrs. Dubois available? I have something I would like to discuss with her and Mr. Dubois, if possible.”
“Chiang?” Suzy did not disguise her surprise or her worry that he might come face-to-face with Lydia. “I…I’ll see if either can come to the door.”
“I am grateful.” He bowed slightly and waited patiently. The wait was short.
“Yes? What do you want?” Lydia stood at the door.
Chiang stood silently for a moment before answering. “I am Professor Chin from the local University campus. Your foster son, Jason, and I have been doing some meditating together. I thought I would introduce myself, since he and I spend time together.” He held out his hand. “I am pleased to meet you, at last.”
“Well…” Lydia stared at the proffered greeting; then looked up into his eyes. “He doesn’t talk much about what he does when he’s not around the house. Nice of you to come around,” she said sarcastically, “at last.”
“I see.” Chiang spoke calmly. He dropped his hand; then crossed both of them in front of him. “Do you have any objections to Jason spending time with me?”
The wheels in Lydia’s head started turning but ground to a halt. The pain in the back of her neck shot up over the top of her head. She grimaced; her whole body shuddered with the sudden jolt. With both hands pressed to her forehead she said, “No. You two can do what you like as long as no trouble comes of it.”
“I can see you are in pain, Mrs. Dubois.” Chiang was awed by the visible results of Jason’s changes to her mind.
“It is nothing, just a minor headache. Is there anything else?” Lydia wanted to get away to a cool, dark place, take her medication, and lie down. She massaged her temples with both hands.
“I wanted to ask if you would allow the other children in the house to join me for a project sponsored by the town and the University? It is a little thing, but it would be fun for the children, I believe. A learning experience at the least.”
“Yeah, well, talk to my husband. He takes care of the things outside of the house.” She turned and walked away. The door closed. Chiang waited a short time; then accepted the fact that Mr. Dubois was not likely to join him on the porch. He headed home. The lack of common manners and civility surprised him. A few minutes in Lydia’s presence unsettled him. A shower, a change of clothes, and time in the company of Mrs. Lim would be the cure.
Chapter 17
“Man! It’s too weird.” Russ sat across from Jason at a picnic table in the Wyatt backyard. It was the Saturday before Jason’s meeting with Mr. Downing. Stacks of comic books lay all about the table surface. The covers flipped open in the breeze, blowing across the yard. The afternoon summer heat tempered as clouds passed overhead in a bright, blue sky. The air smelled of new mown grass with faint wafts of gasoline.
“What’d you mean?” Jason shrugged, proclaiming his innocence in the whole affair. He felt sorry for his friend’s predicament. Music came from an open, second story window.
“These things girls do and…and what they think is so important. I mean…” He shook his head; then glanced up at the open window. “What did you do to me?”
“Exactly, what you asked,” replied Jason calmly, “if you recall.” Jason reached out and scanned the stacked comics; his finger ticked off the titles. He sought Fantastic Four editions. Sue Storm sometimes gave him good ideas for understanding his gifts.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Russ, resigned to his fate, looked over the stacks on the table and moved a few Green Lantern comics from a Hulk pile to a stack with Superman and Batman. He whispered the lyrics of the song echoing from his o
lder sister’s room.
“I will follow him, no matter where he will…” He stopped abruptly and looked at Jason. “I was on your front porch with Suzy yesterday. We talked, talked, talked for an hour about stuff I can’t even remember, but I enjoyed it. I mean…” The silence stretched.
“Go on,” Jason requested softly. He gave up on finding the comic he wanted and leaned on his elbows on the picnic table. He gave Russ his full attention.
“It’s not natural. It’s a disease man! Now I’m listening to my sisters and having,” he grabbed the hair either side of his head, “conversations.” He spoke the last word, as if confessing to an egregious sin. “Now I got their music in my head.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” Jason raised his eyebrows. He didn’t move except to grin knowingly.
“Jason! Man! My older sisters? A week ago they hated everything about me. Now, they talk to me. My mom talks to me!” Russ crossed his arms on the table and laid down his head. “I’m into girly music. My mom wants my opinion about what colors she should use in decorating the bathroom.”
“But you like these…talks and the music. Right? You like your mom seeking you out?” Jason smirked.
“Are you going to help or make it worse?” Russ glanced up and rested his chin on his crossed arms. He looked at his friend with a mixture of annoyance and pleading.
“Answer my question!” Jason insisted.
“Yeah, I like it.” Russ hid his face again. Guilty as charged.
“Well, my friend, I have some good news and some bad news.” Without looking up, Russ’s hand waved for Jason to continue.
“The good news is that I didn’t do anything to you or Suzy. The bad news is that I didn’t do anything.”
“Huh?” Russ raised his head. A confused expression hung on his face.
“All you did was sleep. When you woke up, I told you that I worked it out. Remember?” Jason smiled.
“Yeah, I kinda remember.” The details from the week before in the shed escaped him.
“I didn’t do anything. You and Suzy worked it out yourselves thinking I had opened some connection.” Jason chuckled. “Solved it all by yourselves.”
“You mean, you never, had us share thoughts or anything?” Russ sat up, not sure if he should be angry.
“I did nothing,” confirmed Jason.
“Then…”
“Face it Russ, you have a way with people, both guys and girls. It’s a gift.”
“Ya mean I really like the girl stuff? I’m like…a queer or something?” Russ practically squealed these last words. Desperate he grabbed the edge of the table in an iron grip.
“Don’t be totally lame!” said Jason none too kindly. “No!” He leaned forward and pointed his finger in Russ’s face. “You’re not queer.” Neither knew exactly what that meant, but they knew it was something bad. “It’s how you are with people, all people.” Russ relaxed a little. “You like people. You want to know what they’re about. You do it without thinking.”
Russ nodded. “OK. OK. I think I get it.” He took a deep breadth. “I’m a people person as my dad calls it.” Jason nodded. “Whew…had me scared there for a minute.” He perked up and started to work the stacks again.
“It’s the same for Suzy. The two of you found what you needed together.”
“So, I did it myself believing it was you?” Russ stopped sorting the magazines and piled them up into two tall stacks.
“Yep.” Jason grinned, happy Russ caught on. His plan worked.
“Does Suzy know?”
“I’m not sure.” Jason spoke thoughtfully. “Maybe, but I’ll tell her anyway.”
Russ nodded.
“What are you goin’ to do with all these comics, anyway?” asked Jason. Some looked brand new.
“My mom wants me to throw them out or put them somewhere out of the way.” Russ put a hand on the stack and sighed. “Maybe I’ll just chuck ’em.”
“I thought you loved these. Couldn’t wait for the continuing story.”
“Not so much now,” Russ smiled.
“How come?”
“Ha!” Russ stood, picked up one of the stacks and turned toward the house. “How come, you ask? ’Cause,” he nodded at the second stack, “Can you get those?” Jason got to his feet and hefted the second pile. “Cause, I’m living in a comic book.”
They carried the stacks to the side of the house near the back door. Together they stood around the gleaming, aluminum garbage cans. Like bombs released through opened bomb bay doors, they released their loads. The loud crash bounced off the walls.
“You’re Superman as a kid trying things out. You’re Spiderman learning how to use his spider power. Who needs comic books?” Russ replaced the can cover.
“I’m no superhero Russ. I’m just me.” Jason looked at his friend who grinned at him like he knew something painfully obvious.
“That’s the best part. We can be friends. Especially when things get tough, ya know? When you start saving the world and all.” Russ took Jason by the shoulders and ushered him inside the house. “Let’s find something to eat.”
In the kitchen Russ carried a large, bright yellow, blue, and red, ceramic clown, cookie jar to the kitchen table. Jason lifted the lid and pulled out two large chocolate chip cookies. Russ took glasses from the cupboard and asked, “How’re Chiang’s experiments coming?”
“Disasters. I can’t even get into the meditation. I don’t float.” Jason took a bite of cookie; Russ put the clown back on the counter.
“Milk! We need milk.” In moments, two glasses of cold milk appeared. “Whoops, too much milk and not enough cookie.” The clown gave up more chocolate chip disks. “Ya know?” mumbled Russ with a crumb or two lodged in the corner of his mouth, “maybe you need to ask someone else.”
Chapter 18
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Miss Thompson. She sat with Jason at Mr. Downing’s kitchen table. The family doctor examined her god-father in the basement. Every time a noise came from below, Jason looked at the basement door. It was his fault, but he couldn’t tell anyone.
Earlier at the microscope in another world, Jason never registered the touch on his neck. Sometime later, his mind tossed him out of his micro-state, as Rachel had thrown him out of her dream. The force pushed him and the stool on which he sat over backwards. Mr. Downing’s inert body cushioned his fall. After the shock, he found himself, staring over Mr. Downing’s chin into his nose. Clambering to his feet, Jason jumped back barely able to breathe.
What happened? What’d I do? What should I do?
Jason stood over the unconscious man and struggled for direction. Finally, he raced upstairs found nothing helpful in the kitchen; then rushed into the small room next to it. A desk dominated the space; it held a typewriter, telephone, and some books. Frantic, he fanned through the books and found Mr. Downing’s address book at the bottom of the stack next to the phone. Jason had never used a phone, but quickly worked it out.
“Living under a rock”, he whispered frustrated. He found Rebecca’s number and dialed. She arrived like a shot and called Dr. Reynolds, their family doctor, who also showed up in short order.
Dr. Reynolds checked the patient’s vital signs, as Downing lay on the basement floor. Confident there was no imminent danger, they all struggled to move the unconscious Mr. Downing from the basement floor to an old couch on the other side of the room. Given his size, taking him to his bedroom upstairs was out of the question. Rebecca covered her godfather with the crocheted, tan afghan that decorated the back of the couch.
“Should we call for an ambulance?” asked Rebecca.
“No.” The doctor loosened his tie. “There’s nothing to indicate he’s in any immediate danger.” The doctor rubbed the back of his neck. “This is strange. I gave him the once over at his yearly check up only last week. I’ll do a few more checks just to be sure.” He shooed Jason and Rebecca out and suggested they wait upstairs.
Rebecca and Jason worried for twenty m
inutes in the kitchen.
“What on God’s green earth do you think you are doing?” Downing’s shout from below froze the two. “Reynolds, I’m fine. Let me up and get out of here!” They dashed to the top of the staircase. Dr. Reynolds stomped up the wooden steps. He shook his head and stuffed his stethoscope into his black bag.
“There’s nothing wrong with him that I can tell, Rebecca.” He headed for the front door. Rebecca followed. “I have to get back to the hospital. I have several mothers-to-be going into labor any time now.” The doctor grabbed his coat, left lying over the back of chair by the front door. “What happened is anybody’s guess. His vitals are fine.”
“Thank you so much for coming. I was so afraid he’d had a heart attack.”
“Heart attack?” Reynolds guffawed and stopped at the front door. “No family history. No indications. A neural upset of some kind more than likely but, as you can hear, it passed quickly. I wouldn’t worry Rebecca.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “He’s stubborn but he takes care of himself. I must be off.” She watched him drive off; then returned to the kitchen.
Shortly, Mr. Downing appeared at the top of the basement stairs with his shirt unbuttoned; his hairy chest exposed. He glared at Jason and his god-daughter.
“Well, what are you two looking at? I’m not at death’s door.” He marched into the kitchen passed the two of them and pulled a beer from the fridge. Popping the tab and taking a long drink, he looked at Rebecca and Jason over the rim. He gulped half the can, held the can out, and pointed with his index finger.
“Rebecca, be a dear and run over to the drug store. I need some aspirin. I have a terrible headache.” He took another long swallow. “I’m gonna need some more beer too. You know where to get that.”
“Sure. You’ll be OK?” Rebecca watched him carefully, looking for any sign of distress.
“I am sure,” he smiled and forced himself to relax, “Mr. Sutter here will take good care of me for the short time you are away.”