I sat up in that tree a good while, stunned, pondering what I had just seen. I knew by the way my dad addressed the dawn that this was something he had been doing with regularity, daily perhaps, and it endeared him to me. People practice their golf swings every day, but how many do it purposely for the eyes of Aurora? Being there to greet the sun was something I might have expected from monks and farmers, but dad the lawyer? Now I understood his dream of some day playing in the PGA Senior’s Tournament. It wasn’t the idle fancy I believed it to be. His morning salutes were an unspoken commitment to his dream, a renewing of a covenant between him and his golf-god, demonstrating the sincerity of his intention. Wow, I thought, you think you know a guy and then one accidental day you realize you really don’t know him at all. Very cool, dad. Very cool.
My respect for my father’s discipline and inner life soon turned to a glum comparison as I recalled my previous attempt at rejuvenating my life and soul, and the miserable failure that it proved to be.
Or was it?
Could it be, I wondered, that it was only because I had given up that my aspirations looked so ridiculous? If I had not given up, would time have one day told a different story, and shown that what I considered as failure was tantamount to a stubbed toe, a knock on the funny bone, a bad haircut, a zit on my chin, a single, lousy date?
I recalled something Aidos had told me during our stay on Ko Lanta. She said, “The angels may appear slow to assist us with our dreams, but they love nothing more than courage. Once they are convinced of your sincerity—when they believe that with or without them you shall never give up your foolish-looking endeavor—only then will they spread their wings and fly to help you.”
Zen and The Art of Gardening
Over the course of the week I continued to spy on my father from my coniferous crow’s nest. He never missed a sunrise. I didn’t let on that I knew about his morning ritual because I didn’t want to chance making him self-conscious. Interestingly, I also found that since discovering my dad’s secret I became much more attentive to his conversations, and that I actually looked forward to our evening chats together. I’m not sure he noticed, but I felt closer to him than ever before.
One day I went into his office while he was at work and checked out his library. Until then I assumed that all his books were law-related or biographies, which I knew he liked. I was surprised to find a shelf of literary classics and philosophy behind his chair at arm’s reach. That day I bought him a present, a book about Zen and the art of golfing. When I gave it to him, he smiled and rubbed my head. He placed the book in his briefcase and snapped it closed. Ah, I thought, the sound of one lawyer clapping.
Another reason I didn’t let on that I knew about his morning trysts with rosy-fingered Aurora was because of my own decision that I would say uncle no more. This time, however, I was determined that things were going to be different. I wasn’t out to impress anyone. This time there would be no meditating on the Übermensch I once hoped to become. This time there’d be no hurry, no fantasizing, and no squats. I meant only to pass my mornings, noons, and nights living them as deliberately as possible. How I was going to do that I didn’t know. I told myself I’d make it up as I went along.
The first thing I did was to replace the passive with the active. Instead of eight hours of TV, I limited myself to one or two, filling the newly gained hours with reading and writing and encouraging my parents to recount to me stories of their youth. Instead of going to movies and malls, I went to libraries, parks, and museums. I rode my bike more and drove less. Recalling Anya’s insistence on good nutrition as essential to a healthy mind and body, I donned a chef’s hat and took responsibility for my own diet, doing my own shopping and cooking and volunteering my services to my mother. She found my sudden culinary enthusiasm amusing, but played along. Garlic, regular and copious, became a brow-raising staple.
In the beginning I wondered how I was going to fill seventeen waking hours a day without TV, video games, malls, Facebook, YouTube, and drinking. After three weeks I wondered why I ever bothered with those things at all.
My abrupt lifestyle change did not go unnoticed by the Andrews’ household. Dad took a wait-and-see approach. Mom, knowing me well, wore a fortune cookie grin on her face that foretold what she no doubt believed would be my imminent relapse. Doreen, who had always had a finger on my emotional pulse, and was usually quick to notice any rise or fall in my mental barometer, said nothing.
She finally brought up the subject one broiling Saturday afternoon while my folks were away for the weekend at a golf tournament in Sedona. I was in the backyard putting in a small garden. I didn’t know the first thing about gardening, but I borrowed a couple of books from the library and went to work. When Doreen came out to see what I was up to, I was taking a breather from digging, sitting under my pine tree, Freud asleep beside me. She sat down on the lawn next to me and handed me a glass of cold lemonade.
“Thanks!” We clinked glasses.
“Why are you putting in a garden when you’re going back to school in a few weeks? Dad’s too busy to take care of it, and mom kills AstroTurf.”
I shrugged. “Just seemed like a good idea. Maybe they’ll surprise you. I’ve got a hunch dad might find the time. If not, no biggie. We weren’t using the space for anything anyway.”
“Just wondering…” She sipped her lemonade and then said, “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
“Doing what again?”
“The Superguy thing.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Doreen.”
“C’mon, I know. You’re out of the house before I’m even up for work. And when I get home you’re not in front of the TV, you’re reading, typing at dad’s computer, or on your bike or jogging. You’re not gonna end up in the hospital again, are you?”
“Nah.”
“So I’m right. It’s the Superguy thing.”
“There’s nothing super about it.”
“Does it have anything to do with what Zeeva said about not giving up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think it has to do with all of them. Aidos, Max, Johanna, all of them. I can’t get them out of my head. I tried, but I can’t.”
“You don’t have to explain. They got to me too. I still hear their voices. It’s weird.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure with time the voices will get weaker and fade away. Don’t worry.”
“But I don’t know if I want them to fade,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“That’s why you’re doing what you’re doing now, isn’t it? You think it’ll keep them alive, keep them real to you.”
I shrugged a shoulder.
“And if things don’t work out?” she said. “If you lose the desire and things go back to like before, then what?”
“Then nothing. If I’m doomed to a life of failure and sub-mediocrity at least it won’t be for not having tried to do something about it. At the very least I’ll have succeeded at making my mediocrity exceptional.”
“There was nothing wrong with the old Guy. I just want you to know that.”
“There’s no old Guy and there’s no new Guy,” I said. “They are all the same Guy. Aidos said as much, but at the time I couldn’t see it that simply. She was right, I’m not nearly as complicated as I thought. I’m not a Rubik’s cube or a New York Times’ crossword puzzle. I’m today lived the best way I know how, or I’m today lived half-asleep. I can’t explain it any better than that.”
“You don’t have to, Guy. I know what you mean.”
I downed the rest of my lemonade, grabbed my shovel, and stood up. “There’s another shovel over there,” I said, pointing. “Unless you’ve got something better to do on a one-hundred and six degree Saturday afternoon.”
“Actually,” she said, her eyes dropping away from mine. “I promised I’d meet someone for coffee.”
“Yeah?” I said, starting back towards my garden. “Well, have fun. Anyone I know?”
“Jim.”
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Blasts from the Past
It took a second to compute, but I only knew one Jim. I stopped and turned. “Fielding? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“No, I’m afraid it’s exactly what I think.”
“No, Guy. We’ve talked on the phone a bunch of times, about Thailand, our trip, him and me. He’s trying to open up to me. He’s changed, really.”
“People like Jim Fielding don’t change, Doreen. They morph. Do yourself a huge favor and grab this shovel. You don’t want to go there, believe me.”
“It’s just coffee.”
“I can’t believe you even considered seeing him.”
“I didn’t, at first. He called. We talked. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is you haven’t a shred of dignity.”
“Don’t be mean, Guy.”
“What about those voices in your head? Zeeva’s? Noriko’s? Don’t tell me they’re nodding along with this stupidity.”
“It’s just coffee.”
“And Max. His voice is in there isn’t it? I thought you liked him.”
“Max is dead, remember? You said so yourself. What am I supposed to do?”
“You wait.”
“Wait? How long? For what? Godot never showed, remember, and neither will Max.”
“Then you wait for the next best thing. I mean, c’mon Doreen, Jim Fielding?”
“It’s just coffee, Guy.”
“You want coffee? I’ll make you some right now. A whole pot.”
“I’m going to take it very slowly. If he doesn’t like it, then I’ll know he hasn’t changed. Trust me.”
“It isn’t about him. It’s about you. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I’m not going to sleep with him. We’re just going to talk.”
“Doreen, if I thought you just wanted to bonk him I wouldn’t get so upset. Okay, I would, but he’s a big, good-looking jerk so I could at least understand it. And I also don’t care about your dumb feelings. A guy like that can’t break your heart.”
“Then what’s your problem? If you don’t care what I feel then what are you getting so riled over?”
“Because I care about who you are and where you’re going.”
“Listen,” she snapped. “I’m not Max. I’m not Aidos. I don’t have any stupid destiny. Don’t tell me I should be going somewhere that doesn’t exist.”
I stabbed my shovel into the ground. “Please don’t go.”
Doreen stared at the shovel and then slowly shook her head. “Sorry, Guy. Don’t be mad at me. I promise I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
I watched her walk back into the house and then returned to my digging. I tried to forget about the two of them together, but I couldn’t. I was disappointed in Doreen, yes; but there was something about Fielding’s sudden turn of heart that really bugged me. Why would he have bothered with Doreen now? Like us, he’d be going back to college in a couple of weeks. Did he really think he could just bop her a few times before he left? Was he that low? Of course he was. Still, it was odd.
I heard Doreen’s car start up in the garage and pull away. I poked at the ground a few more minutes with my shovel, dropped it, and dashed into the house. If Fielding had something to say to my sister he could say it in front of me.
I threw on a fresh shirt and grabbed my wallet and keys. I swung open the front door and was met by an elderly man with his finger on the buzzer. He had close-cropped white hair, balding on top, and blue eyes. He smiled. “Mr. Andrews?”
“Sorry,” I said. “He’s away for the weekend.”
“Guy Andrews?” he said, his smile broadening. I detected a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it.
“Yeah…?”
He stepped back and took me in, obviously pleased. Sensing my puzzlement, and embarrassed by it, he extended his hand. “Pardon my ill manners,” he said. “The name is Fischer.”
I shook his hand. “Do I know you?”
“I believe you do.”
“I do? Sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Fischer. Hennes Fischer.”
Mongoosed
“Hennes? The Hennes? No way.”
“So you do know me?”
“Well, yeah! I mean…what are you doing here?”
“It’s a rather long story,” he said, his tone turning serious. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Um, actually, I was just on my way out. It’s kinda important.”
“So is this, I’m afraid.”
I led Hennes into the kitchen. Fielding would have to wait. Maybe I was being a little rash anyway, I thought. Doreen was no idiot, and there was a good chance that after meeting with him again she would come to her senses.
I poured two glasses of lemonade and we took seats around the kitchen table.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” I said, my amazement increasing as I stared at him across the table. “I mean, you’re pretty much how I imagined you to be, a little taller, maybe, but it’s like you’ve stepped right out of a book or something. I read all about you, always wanted to meet you, and now here you are!”
“Well, I’m flattered.”
“I know from the journals that you don’t like to travel, so whatever brought you all this way must be important.”
“I’m afraid so. The journals, do you still have them?”
“Except for the first three that were stolen, yeah. Why? What’s the matter?”
“I might need to take a look at them.”
“Sure…I guess. What’s going on?”
“I won’t beat your bush. Ellery is in serious danger. I have to get a message to him, to warn him. I was hoping you knew how to contact him.”
“Me? I have no idea.”
Hennes frowned. “I was afraid of that. I hoped maybe he had given you some method.”
I chuckled. “You mean like a bat signal that I could flash? Hardly. If anyone would know how to contact him, I’d think it would be you.”
“Normally, yes. But Piranha has gotten too close recently and we had to sever even our deepest channels of communication, to protect ourselves and some others.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Piranha? How does he figure in?”
“You don’t know?”
“Just the name.”
“Well if Ellery didn’t tell you, then perhaps it’s better I say no more. He probably wanted to protect you.”
“Oh crap, here we go again.”
“Excuse me?”
“The secrets, the lies, the intrigues. I thought I was done with all that. I thought that all ended with Attila the Clownhead.”
“Who?”
“Nobody.”
“Guy…may I call you Guy?”
“That’s my name.”
“I don’t want to make any trouble for you, believe me. But Ellery is my friend and I’m very worried for him. You were my last resort.”
“How did you know we had had any contact if your lines have been down?”
“The last communication I got from him said he was leaving the journals with you, and that if things went well, the two of you might finally meet. I was quite happy at the possibility, as I know he really wanted to meet you.”
“I guess things didn’t go well, then, ‘cuz we never met.”
“But you did go to see him in Thailand?”
“Yes, but I never saw him. How did you know?”
“You and your sister,” he said. “If you read the journals then you know Ellery and I have worked together for some time. I have access to much of the same information that he has. According to Interpol records, you and your sister’s passports showed up as arriving in Thailand. But you exited out of Penang. Why?”
“Just being cautious.”
“Who helped you? One of the girls? Was it Hiromi? No, probably Millie. She always liked a good adventure, I recall.” He spoke like a fawning uncle.
“Actually, it was Lena.”
�
�Lena!” I could almost see the nostalgia float across his eyes. “How is she? It’s been so long.”
“Good. Beautiful.”
“I’m sure.”
“You’ve met them, obviously,” I said.
“I wasn’t supposed to, of course. But occasionally Ellery, Anya, and the girls based up in Sweden and Ellery had me hired as one of their tutors. We played it strictly by the book, but yes, I got to know them. Ellery was so proud of them that he just had to show them off to me. That was long ago now. I haven’t seen them since those days. I’m glad they are all okay. They are, aren’t they?”
“Oh yeah. You’d be proud, I’m sure.”
“Good. After their disappearance Ellery stopped any mention of them. To protect them from Piranha, of course.”
“Piranha again. What’s up with that guy?”
“I can’t, my boy. Not if Ellery himself wouldn’t tell you.”
“Come on, Hennes—can I call you Hennes?” He smiled and nodded. “Okay, listen, I’ll make you a deal. You tell me about Piranha and I’ll tell you about Lena. How’s that?”
Hennes chuckled, and I saw an avuncular fondness in his eyes.
“I’ll think about it, okay? Right now I must get a message to Ellery.”
“But I told you I don’t know how to contact any of them.”
“If I know Ellery, he’d have planted the means with you, or perhaps had one of the girls do so. Can you think of anything? Anything at all?”
I thought hard, but nothing came to me. I shook my head.
“Even the most seemingly inconsequential thing could be of importance.”
I mentally retraced my steps with each girl, trying to remember if any of them had ever given me anything. “No, I can’t think of a single thing.”
“Hmm. Maybe they slipped something into one of your pockets or packs.”
“My clothes have all been through the wash and my mother checks every pocket before throwing anything in. If she had found anything she’d have told me. As for my packs, I emptied them myself. Nothing.”
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