Sundial

by C. F. Fruzzetti

  “I think that was the point. They made her irrelevant by you NOT knowing who she was, especially since she could hear you rattling off such personalized greetings to everyone else. She did not intimidate you because no one had bothered to even let you see her as a threat. It took away all her power of reputation. Not to mention, I’m sure it stung that Dr. West never mentioned her to you. Your naïveté was your best defense.”

  “I wish I had been the one who could have decided that on my own. I’m not a fan of being kept in the dark. I’m well aware of the hazards of knowing too much, but disclosure helps me be prepared.”

  “I hear you. I watched the baffled look on your face when you met Carson—that was something that would have been hard for any actor to replicate. However, I will try and be more transparent with information going forward as long as you agree to do the same. Deal?” Reid asked as we turned into Arlington National Cemetery.

  “Deal,” I agreed. I put on my sunglasses. They were a good prop for my supposedly red eyes and smeared mascara from grief. I closed my mind as we got out of the car. I did not want to take any chances.

  Carson Noir’s presence at the burial surprised me. It seemed like an unnecessary and odd personal overture on her part. Her red blouse matched the red line of bitterness etched across her mouth.

  A gathering group of naval officers in dress whites walked up and blocked her from view. Admiral Bennett and Jurgen were among them and, as we approached, they left the group to join us. Admiral Bennett clamped a hand on Reid’s shoulder while Jurgen asked me how I knew Dr. West. I was hardly listening to what I was saying to Jurgen. I was surveying the scene around me.

  My dad did not come to the burial. I only saw him briefly at the cathedral and he had skipped the receiving line. I understood he needed to keep a low profile.

  My eyes were drawn back to Carson Noir. She was talking privately to Vlad Dune. No one else interested me. Something about her made my fight instinct flare up. I had identified my enemy. Carson Noir looked up and we stared at each other across the crowd. I did not flinch. I thought of myself as a panther: still, silent, and about to attack.

  I saw Dr. Cohen and Mr. Parks moving toward the group of us. Mr. Parks was in a dark suit and his face was solemn. He was talking in a hushed voice to Dr. Cohen but his step was more rapid than usual. He gave a slight nod to Admiral Bennett and I noticed how pleased Admiral Bennett was to see Mr. Parks. He and Dr. Cohen blocked my view from Carson Noir and Vlad Dune. Reid and I were now in the middle of this powerful group of people.

  Mr. Parks reached out his hand to shake Admiral Bennett’s. I had never seen him adopt a western greeting before and it caught my interest. Instinctively, I looked at Reid. Admiral Bennett had been touching Reid’s shoulder with his right hand and Mr. Parks wanted to stop Reid from learning something in Admiral Bennett’s mind.

  It was getting late in the morning and many of those who came to the service did not follow to the burial site. I reminded myself of the clue Dr. West had given in my birthday card. “At my eternal rest you begin your quest. Listen to the message of voices not heard.” I was listening and I only heard a lot of voices. Reid said this clue was for me, so I hoped I would know what I was supposed to hear. There was not even a bird chirping on this cloudy day.

  Dr. West had a full-honors funeral. After the casket team secured the casket, the chaplain led the way to the gravesite. The casket team put the flag over the casket and the chaplain performed the service. He concluded the service by asking us to read aloud the version of “The Prayer of Saint Francis” delivered by Mother Teresa when she addressed the United Nations. I sensed Carson Noir’s tension from where I was sitting as the chaplain said:

  Make us worthy, Lord, to serve our fellow men throughout the world, who live and die in poverty and hunger.

  Give them through our hands, this day, their daily bread and by our understanding love give peace and joy.

  Lord, make me a channel of thy peace.

  That where there is hatred I may bring love,

  That where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness,

  That where there is discord, I may bring harmony,

  That where there is error I may bring truth,

  That where there is doubt I may bring faith,

  That where there is despair I may bring hope,

  That where there are shadows I may bring light,

  That where there is sadness I may bring joy.

  Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort that to be comforted,

  To understand than to be understood,

  To love than to be loved.

  For it is by forgetting self that one finds.

  It is by forgiving that one is forgiven,

  It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.

  Amen.

  It reminded me of the great respect I had for Dr. West as a humanitarian. He was passionate about saving lives and relieving suffering. Medicine was an obvious career choice. After all he had witnessed on the battlefield, he had told me once that dying was a struggle but death was a friend. He could not abide anguish or cruelty of any kind.

  At the close of the prayer, bells went off signaling noon. They were nearby but not in the cemetery or part of the funeral. I thought about the last line of the prayer—it is by dying that one awakens to eternal life—and it triggered the clue back into my mind. I looked to follow the music. The Netherlands Carillon and the Iwo Jima Memorial were a short distance away. The carillon chimed each of the Armed Forces anthems and concluded with “Stars and Stripes Forever.” I knew without a doubt that was where Dr. West wanted me to go after the service.

  The bugler played “Taps” and the flag was folded. The chaplain gave me the flag. I suddenly realized why Carson Noir was present as she bristled. The flag and the card of condolences go to the next of kin. By giving the flag to me, Dr. West was declaring me his daughter. Did she really think Dr. West would have given the flag to her? Even if they were engaged, that was more than ten years ago…

  I realized everyone was waiting for me to stand. It was time to go and everyone began to walk back to the cars in small groups. Dr. Cohen gave me a hug goodbye saying he had a lunch date but that Dr. West would have been pleased with the service.

  I murmured to Reid we needed to go toward the Iwo Jima Memorial. Mr. Parks, Admiral Bennett, and Jurgen were several feet behind us when Carson Noir appeared out of nowhere.

  “Whitney, we meet again. I look forward to seeing you in the lab soon. We have some exciting prospects to investigate as well as thrilling new concepts for you to try,” she snarled at me. Whatever she was referring to was not exciting or thrilling; more likely dark and disturbing. “I know you were a friend of Dr. West’s. But soon you will see he was too emotional and weak to succeed in this world. Suicide is an angry message that is soon forgotten. What was the point, really? He kept going on about the value of life but he didn’t even value his own. He must have come around to my way of thinking in the end. Knowing I was right probably drove him to do it. I’m not surprised; he was never strong enough to seek real power. I hope you will not be as disappointing.”

  “Pleasing you is not high on my agenda at the moment,” I said with a surly delight to claw her with my words. I felt Reid’s grip on my arm tighten in warning to calm down.

  “Don’t worry. It will be soon enough,” she said with a laugh. Vlad Dune sneered. I noticed he was no longer sweating but there was a slimy sheen to his skin. He gave off a clammy coldness that was reptilian. I hugged the flag in my arm for a sense of warmth.

  “Maybe you will be lucky enough to be one of my lab rats, Forbes,” Vlad lolled. He looked at me in a way that made me suspect he did not see me as human. He saw me as a specimen for experimentation. The debasement of his stare was frigid.

  “That’s enough,” Reid growled. He put himself in front of me.

  “Come on, Vlad. We’ve got more important things to do,” Carson sneered.

  I was
not used to feeling such a strong fight response. Usually I avoided conflict but something about Carson Noir and Vlad Dune made me want to attack. They were evil and haughty. I wanted them to think twice before messing with me but Admiral Bennett, Mr. Parks, and Jurgen had joined us. Mr. Parks’ rigid body language told me he would take care of it.

  “Vladimir, sadly, I see nothing has changed with you after all this time. You would think you would try to pick on someone your own size, not a young and defenseless girl. It’s despicable that you would harass a child who has lost someone who was of great importance in her life. I know it will be difficult for you, but try and show some respect.”

  Vlad’s transparent white skin turned red with fury and he took off his sunglasses. His blue eyes were full of hate as he spit out an insult to Mr. Parks in another language. Admiral Bennett snorted at Vlad with disgust. Vlad looked in my direction and he saw his own reflection in my sunglasses. He looked away, unable to stand the sight of himself.

  “Fortunately, I don’t speak African,” Mr. Parks answered. “But I’m sure in this instance it will not be a communication barrier I will regret.”

  I would have never guessed Vlad was African. I looked more closely at his face and realized he had albinism. Why would anyone who understood what it was to be different have such disdain for others who were also different? It was not his depravity that scared me; it was that his hate came from his own self-loathing.

  I looked at Reid to see if he understood what Vlad had said. He had a rigid and disgusted look on face. I took that as a yes.

  Carson led Vlad away and Mr. Parks took a deep breath. Reid spoke to Mr. Parks in Chinese and then excused us in English. I scowled at Reid—when would he stop doing that?

  “Show off,” Jurgen muttered to Reid with a grimace as he passed us. “Whitney, I do believe I will be seeing you soon. At least, I will do my best to arrange it.”

  Reid’s grip on my arm guided me quickly by Jurgen and we walked in the direction of the Iwo Jima Memorial. In the distance, the flag over the monument whipped in the light wind and I could feel my coat blow out from behind me. I looked around me and saw the rows upon rows of graves. The numbers weighted me with sadness.

  “I was only telling Mr. Parks we were working on the birthday clue. I know you hate it when I talk to him in Chinese but there was no way around it this time. I promised you full disclosure when I speak to him and I will keep my promise. So, you think Dr. West left you something at the Iwo Jima Memorial?” Reid questioned as he put his arm around me. “I know he was a marine…”

  Reid must have been reading my body language since I had kept my mind closed. It was getting easier to maintain the more I did it. I realized that instead of wanting to spin away from him, it was comforting to allow him to be there. Respect and understanding were at the core of humanity. I wondered if a person deprived of that turned into someone like Vlad Dune.

  “I thought about that but I think he wants us to go to the Netherlands Carillon. I almost forgot it was there until I heard the bells after the “Prayer for Saint Francis.” Dr. West loves his fellow marines but it is our humanity he wants me to be thinking about—that’s what makes the struggle and sacrifice of war worthwhile. It is always democracy, freedom, and peace that people give their lives for. The Netherlands’ peaceful neutrality was shattered when Germany invaded,” I answered.

  “Why did they give us a bell tower? Do you know?” Reid asked as we walked toward it. I had been here many times and I knew its history. My dad had made a point of highlighting how an underground resistance could change the fate of a war. This was why intelligence was so valuable.

  “When we joined the Allied Campaign, The Netherlands was occupied. But, thanks to the efforts of the Dutch underground resistance, they made the task of destroying the Nazis less difficult. The Dutch transmitted intelligence to the Allies and provided escape routes for our planes and for thousands of people evacuating the fate of the concentration camp.”

  “OK, but why are they thanking us? Shouldn’t we be thanking them?” Reid asked.

  “When the Americans arrived in The Netherlands with the Allied forces, it was winter and thousands were starving. American and British bombers dropped food. The Netherlands Carillon is a sign of friendship and deep gratitude. Each bell represents something different. I think the smaller bells represent the children of The Netherlands,” I explained, recalling all I could about the site. The more I talked about it, the more confident I was that this was the right place. Reid and I walked up the steep hill from the cemetery to the landmark.

  “How do you know all that?” Reid asked, a bit dumbfounded. “I’ve never even been here before and it sounds like this is your home away from home.”

  I laughed. “My dad loves history. He said if we didn’t know our history, we would be doomed to repeat it. As a kid, I think he took me to every monument. I guess I ended up loving it as well,” I said. The modern rectangular carillon was in sight. The bell tower was made of angular and open steel. It had a glass-enclosed playing structure and observatory. Two bronze panthers guarded the plaza steps on top of the hill and looked across the Potomac River into the city.

  “Cool. And look, there are two lions. This must be correct,” Reid said. He looked up at the structure with awe.

  “I always thought they were panthers,” I said with a laugh. I made a tiger claw with my fist. Reid laughed at my Shaolin reference. “But either way works. And they are really beautiful.”

  I pulled the park service brochure and found the quote from Queen Juliana that I could not remember. This was the message Dr. West wanted us to hear. I read it aloud to Reid. “To achieve real harmony, justice should be done also to the small and tiny voices, which are not supported by the might of their weight. Mankind could learn from this. So many voices in our troubled land are still unheard. Let that be an incentive for all of us when we hear the bells ringing.”

  “I think we need to see if there is something on a small bell,” I said. Reid and I climbed up the metal steps to the observatory platform. Inside one of the bells was another envelope with the lion on the outside. I started laughing. “I can’t believe it. It’s a scavenger hunt!”

  The next clue was not hard. “Bridging the gap between four score and our time, one needs to see and know the Arts of War. I am at the seat of struggle, inspiration, and hope.” I grinned and shook my head. OK, he wanted us to take Arlington Memorial Bridge to the Lincoln Memorial. A symbolic gesture of unification in and of itself: not only did it connect Washington, D.C., and Virginia, but it also linked General Robert E. Lee’s home of Arlington House to the Lincoln Memorial and joined the South to the North.

  I also appreciated his double reference to the Arts of War. Not only was The Art of War by Sun Tzu one of my favorite training books from Mr. Parks, but the Arts of War was also the name of the gilded-bronze equestrian statues flanking the D.C. side of the bridge individually named Sacrifice and Valor. The Rubenesque people and horses exuded heft and brawn. Washington was a city of symbols. I wondered what he was trying to reveal with his choices.

  I gave Reid the clue to see if there was anything else he could pick up from the paper.

  “Nope. There is nothing on it. Maybe he wanted it to be that way in case someone else found it? Speaking of clues, I wanted to tell you that when Admiral Bennett was holding my shoulder I saw a horrific scene with Mr. Parks in his mind. I know how he broke his pinky finger and why he never fixed it,” Reid said seriously. I had always wondered about his finger but sensed it was an off limits question so I never asked him about it. “He tried to break through the bars of a jail cell to undo the noose of his wife. “Dr. West, Admiral Bennett, and Mr. Parks were there to try and get her out during the fall of Saigon. She hung herself so they could leave the country. The end of the memory is the rest of them trying to get Mr. Parks on a plane to safety without her. The sadness is very strong in Admiral Bennett’s mind. You would not have wanted to see this memory. But I felt l
ike I should tell you.”

  “My mother was a very close friend to Chen Parks. She always seemed sad whenever she talked about her. That must be why. How awful,” I said. I thought about Mr. Parks’ broken finger, his daily reminder that his wife was gone. I wondered how he kept going after something so tragic.

  We were both quiet as we crossed the bridge back into the city and passed the equestrian sculptures. My eyes focused on the Greek Doric temple known as the Lincoln Memorial. It was one of the city’s most enduring symbols of freedom. It was no accident Dr. Martin Luther King selected its steps for his historic “I Have a Dream” speech.

  I should have known that since the clue was so easy, finding it in the Lincoln Memorial was not. Frustrated, I joined Reid, who was in another chamber. I had checked all the obvious places, including the south chamber with the Gettysburg Address inscription. My boots echoed through the marble monument.

  “I don’t know why, but my intuition is telling me this clue has something to do with Dune. Or maybe I just can’t get that two-faced creep out of my mind,” I muttered. I also had the growing sense that Dr. West had made finding this clue difficult so we would work together.

  “Why did you call him two-faced?” Reid asked. He had a laugh in his eye at my insult of choice.

  “Because he is a hypocrite. He hates me because I am different but he is different himself! People with albinism have always faced discrimination in Africa. The limbs of albinos are sold on the black market to witch doctors,” I said. I had done a report on Tanzania for my World History class. I had learned about this problem while doing research. That bit of gruesome information was the one piece of my report I hadn’t forgotten.