He walked to the back workshop, checking various preparations along the way that he’d made earlier. He’d cut the main power to the house and moved in the dark, his oddly colored pupils shining. Whatever light he would choose to use would be powered by the auxiliary generator which was located in the workshop next to the kiln. The controller of the digital sound and light board was a small, handheld wireless gadget of his own design. He plucked it from the workbench and double-checked that it was powered and ready to go. He’d programmed the sound and lighting design—he was ready.
“Five minutes to curtain,” he said aloud in the dark, as if he was a stage manager calling the cast together for a performance.
“Thank you, five minutes,” he responded aloud to his own call to begin the show.
1942
Pavel stood in front of his house, shaking with fury. “Where are your parents?” He faced the three boys who had sent a ball through his window, shattering the window and the framed photo on the wall directly opposite. He had run out of the house and, with the broken frame in one hand, he used his other to grab each boy before they could run, one by one, hard by the arm and pulled them into a tight group in the front of his house. He was enraged. Pavel held the ruined frame, glass broken, daguerreotype shattered, that had contained the sole photographic evidence of Her. If one stared hard enough at the broken daguerreotype, one could make out the line of a shoulder and a curl of what might be dark hair.
Pavel tried not to weep. His grief and anger were accelerating into something akin to rage and he was becoming overwhelmed by his emotional state. One boy, a skinny boy who looked like his arms and legs had grown too rapidly for the rest of his body, spoke up, voice shaken.
“Sorry, mister, it was an accident.”
Pavel glared at him, furious.
“You hurt my arm,” said another boy.
Pavel swung his head to stare down the next boy who dared speak.
“My father will pay for the window. Don’t worry about it.”
Pavel found his voice.
“Is that right? Your father can locate a window glazier today with access to 1880s vintage leaded glass? That is what was in there.”
“Shut up, Stuart,” said the first boy.
“Stuart, is it?” asked Pavel.
“Yeah, old man. It’s Stuart.”
“This was your idea, Stuart? There are baseball fields everywhere. Why would you play where you know you might cause damage? You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Yeah it was my idea. And it was a stupid window and a stupid frame. And you hurt my arm.”
He slapped the boy full across the face. The other boys gasped. Stuart’s nose bled, and he glared defiantly at Pavel.
Tears streamed down Pavel’s face, his emotions no longer in his control.
“All of you need to leave here, right now. Never come back. Never play in this street again.”
The boys gaped, jaws dropped, at the man who wept in front of them, unsure of themselves or what to do.
“What do you want us to do about the window?” asked one of the boys.
Pavel wiped his face with his free hand, the other still clutching the frame.
“I will send the bill to your parents.”
“You don’t know who they are,” said Stuart, wiping at his nose.
“I know who all of you are. I know where each of you live. Get out of here, now.”
The boys ran.
Saturday’s child works hard for his living, thought Pavel.
The man tried to think. Plans would have to be made. Arrangements.
The Great Rule had been broken. For that he would pay. He would pay dearly.
He walked with a certain amount of labor into his home, his emotional outburst having left him exhausted to the point where every muscle and sinew seemed to ache as if he had been dragged across the ground for a very long distance.
He would have to make a notification. Traveling anywhere was out of the question. He could not run. They would find him. Pavel thought of fleeing, but where would he go that he would not be found? There was a war on, and traveling to Europe was out of the question. Pavel walked into the kitchen and sat at the table, placing the frame on the table’s surface.
He stood and moved to the counter and the black, Bakelite telephone. He picked up the receiver and dialed.
“This is McGovern,” said the voice through the receiver.
“McGovern, it is Pavel Trusnik.”
“Yes, Pavel. What has happened?”
“I have broken the Great Rule.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“We will be over to take your statement. Please do not make plans to go anywhere.”
“I won’t.”
“This is very serious, Pavel. It is important that you do not try to leave.”
McGovern hung up, and Pavel stood for a moment, the receiver in his hand. He placed the receiver back in the phone cradle, and returned to the table and sat.
Pavel was terrified. He did not move. He would wait for McGovern.
He thought about McGovern, the large red-haired man. McGovern had always been kind to him. He had the hardened, thick-bodied appearance one might see in a police officer or fireman, and rumor had it that McGovern did consultations for the police from time to time. Despite McGovern’s imposing appearance, Pavel knew him to have a compassionate nature. But would he now?
After an hour Pavel heard knocking on the front door. They can’t have made it here already, he thought. The knocking continued. He crept into the living room and peered at the door and the two figures on the other side of the door’s glass. He opened the door to Stuart with the man Pavel knew to be his father. Stuart held a bloody handkerchief to his nose.
“I’m Jim Jeffers. I believe you have met my son, Stuart. I understand that my boy broke your window today.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“You don’t happen to know how my boy got a bloody nose from breaking your window, do you?”
Pavel sized up Jeffers. He was about Pavel’s height, and a smattering of red veins decorated the surface of his nose and cheeks. A slight smell of alcohol on his breath explained the red veins. Pavel was too exhausted to enflame the emotions of a man who had been drinking. He kept his voice level.
“I’m afraid that I do. I slapped him. I’m sorry, Stuart.” Pavel directed this last to the boy’s face.
“You slapped him? Did he say something to you? Stu, did you say something to this man that he would slap you? People don’t slap people unless they say something to get themselves slapped.” The tone that Jeffers used with his son was disturbing.
“Sometimes boys can be impertinent if they are frightened. I’m sure Stuart was frightened after he broke the window,” said Pavel.
“Is that what happened? My boy was impertinent after being frightened?” Pavel was not sure what was happening on his front porch, but he was growing more and more uncomfortable, both for himself and for the boy Stuart.
“I suppose,” Pavel said. “How would you like to handle the matter of the window glass? It is the original glass from when the house was built. Leaded, 1880s. I’m afraid it is quite expensive.” He met Jeffers’ direct gaze and concentrated on making his expression as blank as possible.
Jeffers stared at him, his face growing red, his breathing heavy, the smell of alcohol on him more obvious.
“I know the other boys were also responsible, so I’m sure some sort of arrangement can be made?” Pavel said.
Jeffers cleared his throat. Changing the subject to be about money had the effect Pavel had hoped for.
“I don’t have the means right now.”
“No one does, these days. I understand.”
Jeffers stuffed his hands into his pockets. “We can board it up for you, until then.”
“That will not be necessary. I can take care of that myself. I can als
o make arrangements to replace the glass and send you the bill to reimburse over time. Small payments. How does that sound?”
Jeffers said nothing, but seemed to consider Pavel’s offer.
“Of course you would divide the bill among the families of the other boys responsible,” Pavel suggested.
“Yes. Yes, I suppose that is fair.”
“And I’m sure the boys will take their game to one of our many fields next time, yes?” Pavel glanced at Stuart, who glared back at him, and Pavel saw a glimpse of the boy he had slapped earlier that day. Pavel sighed.
Jeffers reached out his hand to shake on the deal. Pavel did not put out his hand. He had enough physical contact for one day. “I am expecting company soon, so if you do not mind, I need to get the window boarded up. It will be cold this evening.”
Jeffers bowed his head and turned away from Pavel, shamed. He put his arm over his son’s shoulders and steered him off the porch. Pavel stood in the doorway and watched as they walked down the street. Both father and son appeared to be broken. Pavel did not feel good about shaming Jeffers in front of his son over money, but it had to be done.
He did not wish to think about what was about to happen to Stuart. Pavel was familiar with what occurred when the Great Rule was violated.
Until that point of slapping Stuart, Pavel had never been forced to run, to move on, to start over. The periods in Pavel’s life where he had moved from one group of people to another had been infrequent and happened either in an organic way or through careful organization on Pavel’s part. Those moves carried little or no negative results. There was one… Pavel’s mind wandered and he brought it back. Now this. The Great Rule had been broken, and Pavel must be patient and wait for McGovern to arrive. Pavel considered the consequences of his actions. He had heard rumors, but was unclear what would happen next.
Pavel boarded the window before McGovern arrived. He was not sure who else would be coming or how many there would be. He was certain that McGovern would be one of them. He tried to empty his mind of what was about to happen and concentrated on the task at hand. He moved to the back of his house to his workshop. He selected a measuring tape, went back to the window and measured, making sure to be precise with his selection of lumber and tools and cloths and cleaning supplies. Everything must be repaired with the utmost care. Pavel insisted upon keeping an immaculate home. He went back to his workshop and gathered the rest of the supplies. First, he cleaned the area in a deliberate and careful manner, sweeping up the glass, taking pains to ensure against scratching the pristine wood floor, leaving the broken glass that remained in the window so it might be easier for the glass company to find a match if they had a large enough sample to refer to. He scrutinized the area and determined that it was satisfactory, then got to work on boarding over the window. He was surveying his work on the outside of the house when he heard the small sound of gravel crunching under footsteps outside his house. He turned.
“Hello, Pavel,” McGovern said. McGovern held a satchel at his side that was stuffed with papers. He was with two other men. One man appeared to be on the young side, olive-skinned, dark hair, maybe in his twenties, though Pavel knew that appearances were unreliable. The other had a rather Nordic appearance to him: tall, blonde hair that was turning white, and close to middle age. Again, Pavel knew that was an unreliable judgment, since both he and McGovern appeared to be middle aged and were most certainly not. That was their nature.
“This is Revera.” McGovern indicated the young man. “And you may remember Peters.” he pointed at the older man. Both bowed their heads in somber greeting.
“McGovern. Gentlemen. Please come inside.”
The four men walked up the steps to Pavel’s home and went through the door. Pavel peered outside at the street before shutting the door.
McGovern, Revera and Peters followed Pavel into his home. Pavel had never heard of anyone actually breaking the Great Rule, and he was not sure of the punishment involved when one did so. He had the impression that the punishment was particular to the person who had committed the offense. That did not comfort him. He led the men through the house.
“Would you prefer the living room, or the kitchen? I can serve you tea in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen will be fine.” They walked past the front room and the living room where the furniture was covered with sheets. The house appeared to have been shut up either for a sale or for a time while the owners were away.
“It doesn’t appear that you use much of the house,” Peters said.
“Not much reason to,” said Pavel. He led them into the spacious kitchen and indicated that they should select where they wanted to sit at the table. He set out food on plates for snacks and put on a kettle for tea.
The three men chose seats at the table while Pavel continued playing host to this strange trio. Of judges. He breathed to calm himself and attempted to remain neutral.
“Unless anyone would prefer coffee? I think I might have some.”
“I’d like some,” Revera said.
McGovern shot Revera a look.
“Tea will be fine,” McGovern said.
Revera shrugged his shoulders, but did not argue. Once Pavel had everything on the table and arranged in front of the men, he took a seat and joined them.
“Well then, shall we begin. How bad is this?” Pavel asked.
“Speaking in the strictest of terms,” Peters said, “this is your second offense, the first of course, being your wife.”
“But I—” said Pavel.
“You’re going to have to stay quiet on this and hear us out,” Revera said.
McGovern reached into the satchel at his side on the floor and brought out a mountain of paperwork. He handed the paperwork to Peters. Peters consulted something on one of the sheets and spoke without looking at Pavel.
“The first offense was your wife. Your repeated warnings from Trope & Co., not to mention your own friend, Mr. Robert Lamb, are an indication that people attempted to warn you that your association with Miss Rychtar could prove dangerous, yet you chose to not heed those warnings,” said Peters.
McGovern spoke up. “You were forgiven and went unpunished when I came to you after Žophie died. That was determined to be a tragic accident, based in large part, to our lack of forethought in having you raised in an environment that left you unprepared for a more reality-based world. This, however, is the second time for you, when your impulse has overridden your common sense of whom and what we are. The boys are sick. The boy you slapped is deteriorating. In order to shield you and by association, us, we have arranged a short-lived epidemic that will not only affect the boys, but people in the surrounding areas and scattered locations beyond that. That solution is unavoidable. The disease is a common flu, but as you know, the flu can spread to many people.”
Peters slid a sheet of paper and a pen over to Pavel who was so nervous he could not read what was on it.
“Sign it,” said Peters. “It is an acknowledgment that your actions required taking extraordinary steps to avoid attention and discovery and that you are aware of and agree with these steps.”
Pavel was horrified. “But many people could die,” he said, his face draining of any remaining color.
“Yes. Many people will die because of your actions. This is why we take certain precautions with respect to our interaction with others,” said Peters, holding the pen out to Pavel.
“But how can you do this? They are innocent people!”
Revera made an exasperated sigh. “So was your wife. So were those boys.” He switched his focus from Pavel to McGovern. “I’m going to make some coffee, if that is all right with you.”
McGovern glared at him for a moment, then made a gesture of assent with his hand. Revera got up and found the tin of coffee in the cupboard, put on a pot to boil water and stood at the counter, watching the others. Revera focused his attention on Pavel and continued from his place at the counter.
“You grabbed each of the boys i
n a rage. You slapped one. He will die before the others because your rage was directed more at him. Their blood will be water in a matter of hours, perhaps a little longer. You were the last person to have contact with them. Attention will, as a matter of course, fall to you.”
McGovern continued, taking his cue from Revera. “In order to draw attention away from you, it must look like the three boys were exposed to the same flu. A flu that many will get, starting today and stretching into the next few weeks until it runs its course through everyone infected by it.”
Revera measured coffee into the now boiling water and continued where McGovern left off. “It has already started. This is the sort of thing we are trained to do, and we are very good at it.” Revera said. Pavel’s heart began to flutter.
***
In the short time allowed before arriving at Pavel Trusnik’s home, Revera walked with determination down a path through the park on Raymond Avenue in Pasadena. He carried a newspaper in his hand. He took off his heavy gloves, stuck them in his pocket, then ran his bare hands in a methodical manner, taking care to touch every part of the paper, getting newsprint on his hands in the process. He deposited the newspaper on one of the park benches. He approached a woman walking with two toddlers.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me how to get to Euclid Avenue from here?” At that moment, one of the toddlers tripped on the path and fell down. Revera immediately bent down and picked up the toddler. He handed the toddler to the woman, brushing her hand when doing so. The toddler began to cry.
“Never mind. I’ll ask someone else. You are rather busy. Thank you, though.”
Revera walked away from the woman, looking behind him in time to see a man sit on the bench where he had left the paper. He watched the man pick up the paper and begin to read.
The Puppet Maker's Bones Page 17