by Tom Twitchel
The consequences of discussing it with him could be devastating. Mr. Goodturn might reveal things that could change our relationship permanently. My living situation could be affected. What if I made him angry or upset enough that he evicted me? What if he turned me over to CPS? But my biggest fear, my reason for avoiding it for so long was more basic than that: what if I lost the only grownup relationship I had that was important to me?
My independent odyssey hadn’t been perfect. I had made a ton of mistakes and I had found it necessary to get help from other people to hold my life together. But I had learned a lot too. I had learned how to take care of myself and I had learned that when I got knocked down that I could pick myself up. My mother leaving us and Dennis crippling my body hadn’t ended my life or crippled my spirit. I was still me. Maddy coming into my life was a huge lifeline, but I couldn’t expect her to fight my battles for me. Maddy was my friend, but she wasn’t my bodyguard or protector. That was something I had to do for myself.
If I was going to stop running from the things that could hurt me, I had to start somewhere.
It would sound great to say that I felt relief and the strength of my convictions. Yeah, not so much. I was scared. I felt hollow inside and shaky, but not from my injuries. As tempting as it was to rush over to the pawnshop and just blurt out all of my questions, I knew that was immature and foolish. I wanted to do this right.
And then I had an idea.
Locking up behind me, I walked rapidly to the stairs and took them two at a time as I headed to the first floor. When I turned the corner on the second-floor landing the smell of lemon and floor wax wafted up to greet me. As I descended the last flight, I saw Breno on his hands and knees, mopping the floor by hand.
Stopping on the last step, unwilling to walk on his newly polished floor, I said, “Hey Breno.”
Rubbing hard on some tiny spot I couldn’t see, Breno didn’t look up or acknowledge that he had heard me.
“Breno. Hellooo.”
Rising up, he leaned back but stayed on his knees. “Hi, Benny.”
“Can I talk to you? Can you take a little break?” I looked around and other than a patch of floor around the entrance, the tile of the lobby floor gleamed in the bright light of the overhead lamps.
“I’m cleaning the floor,” he said, looking around at his results.
“It looks really good, Breno. But can you take a little break? Just for a few minutes?” I asked.
He stuck out his lower lip, blew out a breath and swiped at his sweaty forehead with the towel he’d been using to polish the floor.
“‘Kay. But then I need to finish. Mr. Goodturn wants it clean.” Using one hand to steady then push himself up off the floor, he stood slowly.
Shuffling over to me, he smiled, beads of sweat glistening on his upper lip. He draped the towel over the banister and stood there waiting for me to continue.
Sitting down on the bottom step, I looked up at him. The same serene happiness I always sensed from him ran lazily through him.
“Breno, how long have you worked for Mr. Goodturn?”
“A long time,” he replied.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. How many years?”
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago.” He frowned trying to get a handle on the concept of time.
A voice came from the stairs and I looked up. A woman who lived on the second floor was coming down the stairs toward us. I didn’t know her well other than the fact that she had a nasty attitude. I had been struggling up the stairs a couple of times when she was in a hurry. Once I had been lucky not to lose my balance when she roughly pushed past me. She was cradling a phone between her shoulder and her chin while she was lighting a cigarette.
Breno’s frown deepened. “No fire in here.”
The woman looked at him and rolled her eyes. She flicked the wheel on the lighter and a small flame burst into life.
Breno became agitated and waved his arms. “No smoke! No smoke!”
She lit the cigarette and gave him a dirty look. “Retard.”
Stepping around me and brushing past Breno, she walked across the newly waxed floor to the front door. I was pretty sure I heard her mutter “cripper” under her breath. What a charmer.
“NO FIRE!” Breno whined. He stood at the bottom of the stairs leaning toward the front door, wringing his hands. “NO SMOKE!”
I’d never seen him behave like that. His normally peaceful demeanor was buzzing with frustration and something else I couldn’t pin down. Fear?
Pushing the door open, still talking on the phone, she turned around and made a show of knocking a tiny ash off the cigarette onto the floor. Putting it back in her mouth, she took a deep pull and blew smoke out her nose and into the lobby as the door swung shut.
Hopping back and forth on his feet, Breno started emitting a whining sound. The emotion he was feeling came through clearly: he was flooded with panic and guilt.
Standing outside, the woman jammed the phone in her jeans’ pocket and raised both hands in a one-fingered-salute. I stood up and shook my head in amazement at her nerve and the totally messed up comment she had made to Breno. Why she would be allowed to rent in Mr. Goodturn’s building had always struck me as odd.
“No, no, no, no, no, no. No smoke. No smoke,” Breno stuttered. His eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with tears.
Reaching out a hand, I touched his arm. “Breno it’s okay. She’s gone.”
Breathing out of his nose, he waved at the thin smoke in the air. “She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. I’m telling on her.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. She didn’t hurt anything.”
He turned wounded eyes to me. “I heard that word. I heard. She called me a bad name.” He was so hurt and was such an innocent that I felt myself getting choked up. I was wrong; she had hurt something. If Maddy had been here, she would have ripped that snotty bitch apart.
“Did you hear Benny? Did you hear?” he pleaded.
Stroking his sleeve, I said, “I heard. Don’t be sad. She’s not worth it. I know how nice you are and so does everybody else in this building.”
He shook himself and his whole attitude changed instantly. “I’ve worked for Mr. Goodturn for five-teen Christmases. I know it ‘cause I’m thirty.”
The abrupt answer to my interrupted question caught me by surprise. I didn’t understand how his math made sense, but I had an answer. Fifteen years.
“Breno, how did you meet Mr. Goodturn?” I asked, still trying to reconcile the rapid change in Benny’s emotions. It had been like a light switch being flipped.
“After my house got burned,” he said, the low buzzing of worry coming back.
“Your house burned down?” I asked. “And that’s when you met him?”
“Yeah. Bad.” More worry welled up inside of him.
Deciding to take a different tack, I asked another question. “Were you natural then?”
Breno tapped his temple with the heel of his palm. “Natural? Maybe. I don’t ‘member.”
“Were you natural before your house burned down?” I asked, trying to nail down the timing of his knack’s disappearance.
His large cow-like eyes looked into mine. “Yeah…before.” His hand tapped at his temple again and the worry inside him seemed to be winding tighter.
Trying to keep my voice low in an attempt to get him to calm down, I asked, “And before? What about before, Breno? Did you have your…were you natural before your house burned down?”
Dropping his head, he started tapping his temple faster. “Yeah.” The whisper was almost inaudible.
“Do you know why it… Do you know what made you not natural anymore?”
He nodded his head but didn’t speak. A low moan escaped his lips. Stepping closer to him, I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.
“What was it Breno? What made you not natural anymore?” I struggled to keep my excitement under control.
His head came up and there were tears streaking his face. He wa
s feeling pain and guilt and I hated myself for pushing him, but I had to know.
“It was bad, Benny,” he said. “It was bad and he took it away for me.”
My heart started speeding up. “Who took it away?”
His temple thumping had slowed down; now, he was rubbing it hard enough that I was afraid that he was going to rub his hair off.
“I was bad. But now I’m good. Ain’t I good, Benny?” Seeing his adult face twisted in childlike pain made my stomach twist. What was he talking about?
Gently squeezing his shoulder, I said, “Of course you are. I know you are. I can tell.” He brightened a little at that. “Who took it away?”
He snuffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Mr. Goodturn. He took it away so I could be good.”
I thought my heart was going to burst right out of my chest. “Why did that make you good?”
Breno sagged and sank to his knees, his knuckles resting on the ground. I knelt beside him, my hand still on his shoulder.
“‘Cause then… ‘Cause then I dint make fire no more.” Huge wracking sobs broke from his lips as his hands came up to cover his face. He rubbed at the tears, but he tried to rub them up his cheeks, as if he could push them back to where they had come from.
Dropping his hands, he looked at me pleadingly, and the pain written there was like a living thing. “Why you ask me these questions Benny? Did I be bad? Why you ask me?”
From behind me a familiar voiced asked, “Yes, Benjamin, exactly why are you asking him these questions?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Standing inside the doorway, Mr. Goodturn stood with his hands on his hips. With the sunlight behind him, I couldn’t see his face clearly but his posture and the tone of his voice communicated unhappiness. My hammering heart threatened to explode and I suddenly felt very guilty.
When I didn’t immediately answer him, he spoke again. “What are you doing Benjamin?”
“Breno was telling me about being a natural. I was just asking him about it.” My courage of less than thirty minutes ago thinned out and threatened to collapse altogether. The inside of my mouth felt like someone had stuffed an old rag in there.
Looking at Breno, Mr. Goodturn tisked and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, which he handed to Breno.
“Is that right, Breno? You and Benny were discussing being natural?”
Instead of wiping his tears, Breno’s hand, cupping the handkerchief, went back to his temple. Tap tap. Tap tap.
“Miz Lap Pam, she called me a bad word. An’ Miz Lap Pam, she was smoking…an’ she had fire. She made fire inside!” The confusing whirlpool of emotions began to spin inside of him again.
Looking from Breno to me, Mr. Goodturn sighed. He suddenly looked very old. He took a step toward Breno.
“Ah. I see. I’ll attend to Miss Lapham, Breno. It may be time for her to seek accommodations elsewhere. Now, Breno, why don’t you go get cleaned up. Benny and I have things to talk about.”
Minutes before, I had been ready to confront Mr. Goodturn but now I was off balance and unsure of what I wanted.
“But I ain’t finish the floor yet. I was almost done. But Miz Lap Pam she…”
Mr. Goodturn placed a tiny hand on Breno’s chest. “Look at me, Breno. Aren’t we friends? Don’t I help you when you need me?”
All of the tension in Breno came to an abrupt halt. No fear, guilt or panic swirled through him. He nodded docilely.
“Fine then. Go wash up. The floor will be here tomorrow when you wake up and you can finish the excellent job you are doing. Yes?
Breno nodded. Handing the handkerchief back to Mr. Goodturn, he turned to walk toward his apartment at the end of the short hall, then stopped to retrieve his work towel from the banister. He gave me a shy smile and began to hum an off-key tune as he walked away.
Mr. Goodturn crossed his arms over his chest.
“Where should we do this Benny?” he asked.
A little thrill of fear rippled through me. Do what? That seemed like a good question so I asked it aloud.
“Do what?”
“I don’t think I have the patience for games or dissembling right now. I am sure that you know exactly what I am referring to. Shall we go up to your apartment or over to mine? I’ve closed for the day.”
My earlier plans had been my plans, my timing, my questions and my control. At least that’s what I had thought. Faced with the reality, I was not feeling very sure of myself.
“My apartment I guess.” My heart continued to thud away at an unhealthy clip.
“Good enough.” He turned and we trudged up the stairs. Well, I trudged. He hitched and waddled, slightly off balance because of his short legs.
When we were in my apartment seated on the couch, I didn’t feel any better.
“Mr. Goodturn, I’m sorry I upset Breno. I didn’t mean to.”
He sat on the very edge of the couch, the tips of his shoes barely touching the floor.
“Benjamin, you don’t know the half of it. You don’t know that boy’s history. But now that most of his secret is out, I think you should know the rest.” His expression was serious and I wondered if we would still be friends at the end of the day.
He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Breno was fifteen when we met. He doesn’t remember because I have changed quite a bit of what he remembers.”
I started to feel sick. My heart kept slamming into my ribs and I felt trickles of sweat run down my back.
“Before I go on, let me set some ground rules: I will only tell you the truth and you will only tell me the truth. But I will tell you what I’m going to tell you without numerous interruptions. Agreed?”
I nodded, happy that there was no need for me to speak.
“Breno had a rare and powerful knack. He has always been slower than most, but he had other more painful problems at that time. He lived in an extremely abusive home environment. I knew that he was in danger and should have acted sooner. His limitations, brokenness and lack of control killed his parents.”
I shuddered and felt my mouth drop open.
“If it had just been a matter of only his tormentor dying, it would have been bad but tolerable, in my opinion. But it wasn’t. Breno’s anger and anguish caused his mother to die as well. Thank God, he had no siblings, as they would surely have perished. Breno wasn’t evil or even mean-spirited, but his lack of emotional control coupled with his knack would have cost other lives eventually. He was just smart enough to know that he wasn’t ever going to be accepted by his peers. It made him angry. His anger had been a legacy from his father no doubt. If I had let things take their own course, he would have been institutionalized and there is no telling how many people would have been hurt. I decided to intervene. My knowledge of his situation led me to be close by when he set fire to his home. He was outside, on the lawn, screaming at his parents, while they burned alive inside. People weren’t coming out onto the street, not in that neighborhood. They were just poking their heads out of their doors like frightened turtles. They had all heard screams coming from the house for years but had never lifted a finger to make a simple phone call that might have changed Breno’s life, and no one was in a hurry to help the crazy man and his wife who were dying in their home that night. It wouldn’t have taken long for the police to show. They could have saved them if the neighbors had acted quickly. But they didn’t.”
So I was there before the authorities. It was easy to decide what to do. In his agitated state, and screaming the way he was, Breno would have been taken into custody as a suspect. I took him. I slowed him down, put him in my car and took him away. I called the fire department too, but it was too late by the time I had arrived. The best that could be hoped for was to limit the damage to just the one home, and in that regard, there was some good fortune. I brought Breno here, and I changed him. I cooled his anger, I limited his mental pain and I created an obstacle to his accessing his knack. He had been a natural and then he wasn’t. He
grieved so terribly over the memory of his abuse and the death of his parents that I took that away too. To ensure that he would never stumble upon the ability to manifest again, I put a powerful aversion to fire and smoke in his mind. I made it uncomfortable for him when he turned his thoughts to the night he burned his parents’ house to the ground. But what I did for Breno was difficult to do. What I do when I make changes in someone’s mind, is more art than science. When I changed his predilection to anger, I also reduced his mental acuity. I made him slower mentally as well.”
He sat there, looking at me, waiting for a response of some kind. So, I gave him one.
“You made him…less intelligent? You reduced him to…that?” I waved toward the door of my apartment.
“I took pity on him and made a mistake.”
“You made him a… You made him like a child!”
“I made him safe. And I made it so others were safe from him.”
My head was spinning. How could one person make that choice for another? Accident or not, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
He raised a hand. “I can see that you need more insight here. Let me say this, my choices are my choices, but I didn’t arrive at this philosophy spontaneously. It was forced on me. The world isn’t a safe place and life isn’t fair. When you throw people like you and I into it, the rules that apply to people without knacks don’t answer all of the dilemmas that arise. Let me share my moment of epiphany, something I haven’t talked about for over fifty years.
You know that I lived in Germany, that I lost my business to a dishonest partner. What you don’t know is that I also lost my wife. I was young, almost broke and very angry. When I lost my wife, I went crazy trying to think of ways to win her back. Look at me Benjamin. I was young, but I looked much like this. Oh, I had more hair and my waist was trim, but I was the subject of ridicule by most. I despaired. I thought that losing Sonja meant that I would never be with another woman for the rest of my life. More than that, I loved her with all of my heart. So, I devised a plan.