The Merchant looks up at the Old Man and tries to read his expression. The Old Man reveals nothing. This seems to give the Merchant pleasure. “I’ve waited ten years to tell that story, Killer. Ten years to tell your story. But this is not a fairy tale. No one gets to live happily ever after. You don’t get the chance to run away from the Truth.”
The Old Man asks a simple question, “What is it that you want?”
The Merchant takes out a photograph and holds it up to the Old Man. “I want to know what happened to the Kid in the picture. The Kid in this story. I want to know where the body is.”
“And if I don’t tell you?”
“Then little Hannah and child will learn from me what you truly are... Killer. I know you can’t live with that. As I’ve said before, you will pay and tell me what it is that I want to know. And you will admit to me what you really are.”
∏
The Old Man sits awake in his room and remembers...
The soldier walks up to the candy shop and finds the gate drawn down halfway. He slips underneath and enters the store. There are no lights on. He walks towards the storeroom located in the back of the shop. A gentle tap on the door is enough to open it. The soldier hears a voice. It’s low and unsteady. From the darkness, this voice calls out a simple question, “How far will you go to protect your child?”
The soldier sees the shadow of the Candy Man, as he sits on a battered metal chair in the din of this back parlor. The Candy Man waits for an answer. But the soldier remains silent and reaches to turn on a light.
“Leave it off,” says the Candy Man.
The soldier does as he is told. He pulls out another chair and takes a seat across the room from his friend.
“You didn’t answer my question,” says the Candy Man.
“It’s not really a question of how far one would go to protect a child. You’re asking, how far will I go to get retribution.”
“You’ve seen what was done to Hannah. You have seen the crime. She’s scarred for life. Hannah will never be able to look at me the same through that battered eye.”
The soldier does not answer.
“I know the Pretty Lady Dame has come to you. She believes that I am weak. She doesn’t think I can make this right.”
“And I can?”
“You once admitted to being a Hunter.”
“And you were one too.
“No, I never was. All I had to do was pilot a boat and watch silently from the shadows. I was never a hunter. It’s not who I am.”
“But you told me that I couldn’t stay the Hunter forever.”
“And wasn’t it you who said, ‘You can’t transcend what you are?’”
The soldier does not say anything. He studies his friend and knows this much is true: Candy Man is powerless to protect the honor of his own child.
The soldier tells his friend, “As I’ve told your wife, I will do what you’re unable to do. I will hunt down the people who did this to your child. I will find the ones responsible, no matter how long it takes. And when they see me, they will know fear. They will come to fear me and by extension, they will fear you, too. And they will know there are no victims here. They will know their kind doesn’t win.”
This is the last conversation the soldier has with his friend. In less than a week’s time, the Pretty Lady Dame knocks softly on the soldier’s door, and calmly tells him, “He is gone. Your friend went quietly in his sleep... without a fight.” And with no hint of a waver or tremble in her voice, the Pretty Lady Dame tells the soldier, “You know what must be done.”
∏
It will be simple. The soldier knows who he is looking for. It is the Kid, the one who hangs out across the street in front of Illusions. It is the slick-looking Kid he has seen coming into the store every so often to talk to Hannah. The soldier is sure of this.
The soldier knows that it is not a question of who the Kid is, but rather one of where the Kid can to be found. He no longer hangs out in the street. He hasn’t been seen in a while. So, the soldier asks himself, “What stands out about him?” The answer is easy: the Kid is always pressed and clean. His clothes always match. His hair is immaculately cut with a hairline that is razor sharp and neat. The Kid’s pencil thin mustache is always neatly trimmed. The Soldier bets the Kid can be found at the barbershop.
There is a neighborhood spot that the young boys from Illusions go to get their cuts. It is a drab, non-descript parlor four blocks north of the Candy Man’s store. The soldier knows this is the place he’ll find the Kid. So, he camps out across the street from the shop. From the moment it opens to the time it closes, the soldier comes around every hour and leans on a pole across the street and watches to see who comes in and out of the shop. From his perch, the soldier stares deep inside to see who is sitting in the barber chairs. The soldier is patient.
After seven days, the Kid reveals himself. He comes early to the shop. It is mid-morning, in the middle of the week and there is only one barber inside. No one else is around. This is the way the Kid probably wants it. The boy doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. The soldier watches him smile and laugh with his barber. This Kid has already forgotten what he has done to Hannah.
When the Kid is done, he quickly leaves the shop. The soldier follows him. It turns out he only lives two blocks east of the barbershop. It is an old, red brick building—a four-story walk-up—with an old fire escape painted black, hanging off the front.
As the Kid enters the building, the soldier turns his gaze towards the windows. He is looking for any movement—the opening of a window, the tussling of curtains... anything. After a few minutes, the soldier sees a hand fumbling with the blinds to a fourth-floor apartment. This must be where the Kid lives.
The soldier goes home and prepares as a hunter would. He takes out his switchblade and sharpens it. The soldier then takes out a pair of black gloves and snaps them on tight to make sure they fit properly. The soldier comes back the next morning and finds a quiet spot across the street from where the Kid lives. But it’s the apartment building next door that he approaches. The soldier acts as though he is searching for his keys when a woman coming out of the building holds the door open for him and lets him inside. He walks up the four flights of stairs unseen. There’s a door to the roof that has a latch that easily slides open. He unlocks it and heads outside. The two buildings are connected, so the soldier is able to hop over from one roof to the other. He peeks over the ledge, down to the street below. The block is quiet and empty. The soldier carefully steps down to the fire escape below. Quickly, he begins to tug at the window. It slides open with little effort. The soldier slips inside the apartment. He lands in the kitchen and takes out his knife.
The kitchen is small and neat. There are only two unwashed glasses in the sink. The soldier walks softly into the next room. It’s the living area. A blanket covers the couch and a bed pillow lies fallen at its legs. An empty beer bottle stands alone on the coffee table. Music from the radio plays softly in another room. The soldier follows the sound. He walks up to the door and gently taps it open. There is no one inside. The radio beside the bed has been left on. The soldier goes to the check the bathroom. It is empty. No one is home.
The soldier looks in a hall closet and ruffles through the few shirts and jackets hanging inside. Eyeing the varying sizes of the clothes—some large, some extra-large, a few double- extra-large—the soldier concludes two people are staying in this apartment. But the place seems more of a hideout than a home. Nothing personal seems to be here. There are no paintings or pictures on the walls. There’s not even a pile of mail lying around. The soldier goes back into the kitchen and begins rummaging through the cabinets and beneath the sink. He goes into the bedroom and looks under the bed and finds three shoe boxes full of new sneakers. The soldier begins poking around another closet, which is practically empty. There are a few shirts hanging inside
and a few pairs of jeans folded neatly atop a shelf. The walls in the apartment are bare. The soldier goes into the bathroom and opens up the cabinet under the sink. Among the soap and cleaning supplies, the soldier notices a shoebox tucked away in the back. He pulls it out and opens it. There is a 9 mm handgun inside. He pulls out the cartridge. The clip is fully loaded. The soldier puts away his knife and takes the gun with him. He heads into the living room. There are two matching sofa seats at each end of the couch. The soldier pulls them out to the center of the room. He has them facing each other. The soldier goes over to the lamp and unscrews the light bulb. He tests to see if it turns on. It does not. He then takes a seat in the sofa that’s now facing the front door. He keeps the gun in his lap. The hunter waits.
∏
A full moon hangs low amid a starless night sky. The soldier hears the rustling of keys. The door opens and a figure steps into the dark apartment and locks the door behind himself. The figure walks into the living room and turns on the lamp. The light does not come on. The Kid drops the bag that he is carrying and examines the bulb. He screws it in tight and tries again. The light turns on. The soldier sees that it’s the Kid, the one who has harmed Hannah. The Kid sees the soldier sitting in the chair pointing a gun at him. He lets out a soft gasp. Then he looks back at the door behind him. The Kid knows he can’t run. He turns his nervous eyes back to the gun pointed at him.
The soldier nods at the bag on the floor. “Toss it over here.”
“It’s... it’s only food.” The Kid does as he is told and tosses the bag at the soldier’s feet. He examines the bag to see if the Kid is telling him the truth. There are chicken wings and French fries inside.
The soldier tells him, “Have a seat.” He points at the chair directly across from him.
The Kid does as he is told. The soldier studies him. The Kid is smallish and thin. The soldier thinks to himself, “he is just a child.” The Kid has round shoulders that are hunched in fright. His head hangs low and his gaze is cast downward. The Kid trembles in his seat. “Look at me,” says the soldier, quietly.
The Kid lifts his head up. He has what can almost be considered fragile features. He has flawless skin and his eyes are small, yet dark. That’s where the evil lies. It’s behind the eyes. The soldier has a question for the young man, “Do you know me?”
The Kid looks directly at the soldier. “Yes, I know you.”
“Then you know why I’m here.”
“Yes,” says the Kid.
“And why is it that?”
“You’re here because of Hannah.”
The soldier’s eyes narrow and he stares hard at the young man. He is not satisfied with an answer that is not complete. “Excuse me?”
“You’re here because of what I did to Hannah.”
That’s what the soldier wants to hear. The Truth. The soldier gets up from his chair and walks behind the Kid and places the cold barrel of his gun against the back of the Kid’s skull.
“Your name. Tell me your name.”
The Kid resists. The soldier presses the gun against the back of the Kid’s head a bit harder. He repeats softly. “Tell me your name.”
The soldier leans over and waits for the Kid to do as commanded. The Kid finally relents and whispers his name into the soldier’s ear. The soldier nods in approval. Then he tells the Kid, “I will speak the truth to you. That person dies tonight.”
∏
The memory of the Kid fades away, and the Old Man imagines peeking through the window blinds and seeing the Boy sitting patiently on the front steps. Storytime has arrived. But the Old Man waits and, as he often does, studies the Boy from afar. The Old Man has come to realize that all it takes is a glimpse of the Boy at just the right angle, and he sees the Boy’s father. The Old Man wonders if his journey is meaningless; if it’s just some quixotic quest to uphold a schoolboy’s notion of justice. But the Old Man doesn’t allow such a thought to linger because he knows that this is how evil does its work. It sneaks in and creates doubt. Doubt in those who seek to hold evil accountable. It is in these moments of silence and stillness that the righteous let evil slip out of their grasp and into that quiet space that always leads to forgiveness.
The Old Man assures himself he will not allow that to happen.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
I know where grown-ups hide the truth. They hide it in silence. The truth is tucked away somewhere in Mama’s lost and distant gaze. The Old Man conceals the truth behind knowing smiles that take the place of answers to my questions. They don’t want me to know the things that they know. But that’s OK. That means the truth is something for me to learn on my own.
∏
Mama is hiding away in her studio. I peek around the corner of the door. Mama can’t see me, but I can see her. She sits on the floor with her legs crossed. She is huddled over and curled up with the black portfolio in her lap—the little girl’s portfolio. The little girl from Gilead.
“Mama,” I say, softly. “Mama.” But she doesn’t answer.
Mama is lost to me. So I go outside. Besides, it is almost storytime. The Old Man will be coming out to join me soon. I am thankful for his company.
∏
The Boy noticed the darkening sky and the cold chill of the deepening night air, as it gathered about him. He continued along the bare path, trying not to look too far to the left or the right, trying to keep his footing; wondering if he had been wise in coming here, if he had been right in seeking the wolf in such a lonely and desolate place. He was growing more unsure of himself with each step, as he moved carefully and slowly up the path. Suddenly, he saw something... no, he felt something up ahead. It might have been nothing. It might have been a shadow crossing the moon. It might have been everything he sought.
His heart beat faster. His head grew light, but his eyes stayed sharp, as he stared up the trail. He waited quietly for another sign, and soon came his reward, as the shadows moved up ahead and became living and breathing flesh. There on four paws, eyes reflecting his own bright gaze, head still as stone and pointing down the trail toward him, was the wolf.
The Boy could not move. The red eyes, the great tongue, the huge claws flashed in his memory. But as he stared, he saw none of them. He could also recall the song that had drawn him here, the singer from that distant night now only yards from him, breathing in the cold night and exhaling hot steam.
And as he stood, peering into the wild eyes before him, remembering that sad, sweet song, he felt his heart soften and his fear evaporate.
His eyes filled, and without warning, he knew why he had come here. He knew in that instant what he had traveled to find, what he had heard in that song, what he had embraced in his lonely bed as he had lain awake, listening and wanting. He knew that the song had been a cry for an end to solitude. The cry was to banish loneliness. It had reached out across the miles and the years and touched him. And it had guided him. He knew this now.
And so, with his heart full and his eyes afire with understanding, the boy faced the wolf and he spoke back—with his smile. And in that instant, the two—boy and wolf—were one heart.
∏
“The mystery behind the big, bad wolf has been solved,” I say to the Old Man.
“And how was the hero of the story able to solve it.”
“He went in search of the wolf. He went after it.”
“What does the hero learn from his search?”
“Being willing to seek out the wolf, the boy learns that the beast was not something to fear.”
“Why is this important?”
“If the boy only accepted another person’s word, he would not have known the truth. He would only believe what others told him to believe about the wolf. Instead, he was able to go through his own experience to understand and know who the wolf is. He learned to live without fear.”
“Do
you think the wolf reveals himself in the same light to everyone who seeks him out?
I don’t answer quickly. “I suppose it depends on what’s in each seeker’s heart. It depends on what they really hope to find. The seeker can choose to define the wolf however he wants when he finds him. Good. Evil. Both. It’s up to the seeker.”
The Old Man smiles at me.
“Should I continue the story? I’m almost finished.”
The Old Man says I don’t need to go on. “There’s always tomorrow.”
I want the Old Man to tell me the truth, so I ask, “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” says the Old Man. “I can’t stay here forever.”
“Why not? This could be your home.”
“If I stay, I’ll just end up disturbing the peace that you and your mother have here.”
“You’re just saying that to be nice. If you really believed that you’d disturb our peace, you wouldn’t have come back in the first place.”
“Sometimes selfishness comes with old age. I’ve become an old man who has become too stubborn to let certain questions go unanswered.”
The Old Man says nothing more. Mama is calling for me. I am wanted inside.
“You better go. You’re needed.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
“The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.”
—John 1:5
After midnight, the front door to the candy shop is locked and the metal gate is drawn down and shut tight. For Fox, his only way inside is through the rear door located in the back alleyway, where a huge, prison-built Goliath stands on night watch. It’s the Merchant’s other gatekeeper, the one they call Me-Too. Me-Too’s only responsibility is to stand silent, look mean, and, if any trouble is to arrive, be quick on the draw with the 9 mm gun tucked away in the belly folds along his waistband. But Fox has no fear of Me-Too. He’s a generation older than Fox and is a source of amusement. Fox enjoys finding new ways to be humored by the slow-witted giant. So, Fox rolls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and shows off a watch.
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