by Kelli Kimble
“Your book,” I said. “Does it say how you get people to worship you again?”
“It does.” He bent to put the casserole I’d put together into the oven.
“How?”
“You are not ready for that knowledge,” he said, straightening and putting the oven mitts on the counter. “First, you must trust me. You must believe that what I ask of you is the right thing to do. You must feel it’s the only way to move forward.”
“Isn’t there something in the book you can show me that would convince me?”
“No. I’ve already shown you what is yours to see.”
Disappointed, I tore viciously into a head of lettuce as I prepared a salad.
“You needn’t destroy our dinner,” he said.
It was time to change the subject. “Do you know anything about how to get a GED?”
“No. But I bet Miss Cucciolo does.”
That’s it. I just had to ask for something difficult to achieve; a test. “I know what will convince me,” I said, whirling towards him.
His placid features perked up. “Oh, really? Please, enlighten me.”
“If you can convince Miss Cucciolo to come here and prepare me for the GED test and get me into college, then I’ll believe that you’re Anubis.”
“But what would motivate her to do so?”
“You. You and,” I waved my hands, gesturing towards all of him. “Your magnetic personality.”
He frowned. “And if I can do this, you will be convinced.”
“Yes. I’ll believe whatever you say, do whatever you say, resurrect you or worship you or whatever you do for an Egyptian god. But only if Miss Cucciolo comes here to live with the purpose of helping me to pass the GED and get into a good college.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 14
Mr. Finch came for lunch on Sunday. He arrived on Mr. Anu’s doorstep with a scowl. He waved a copy of the Salvation Times in front of him.
“Have you seen this?” he demanded, coming into the kitchen. He took off his shoes and stalked to the table, tossing it down, face up. A photo of our house burning was on the front page.
The house was in the background, totally engulfed in flames. The fire chief and sheriff were standing in the foreground, obviously discussing some detail of the fire. The fire chief was pointing with his mouth open, as if in mid-sentence. The sheriff was frowning and had his arms crossed. Firemen were visible in the shot, but nobody was pointing a hose at the fire or doing anything else that looked like they were trying to slow or stop the burn. Mother and Daddy were off to the side, watching. Mother’s head was bowed into her hankie, and Daddy had his arm around her shoulders. His face was only partially visible, but it was pinched with worry.
The headline of the story read, “Local House Fire is Arson.” Underneath the photo the caption gave a quote from Fire Chief Kale: “All of our initial assessments point to an intentionally set fire.”
Daddy came into the kitchen. None of us had seen the paper; Mr. Anu didn’t have a subscription. Mr. Anu, Mother, and I were clustered around it.
“What’s this?” he asked. Mother and I parted so that he could approach the table. He glanced at the page. “That’s nothing we didn’t already know,” he said. “Why the upset?”
“Because of this.” Mr. Finch pointed at the article with a crooked finger.
Mr. Anu read the paragraph aloud, his voice smooth and clear around the clips of his accent:
“Chief Kale stated that the presence of accelerants, as well as the burn patterns evident during the fire, made the suspicion of arson well-founded. He also stated that the homeowner’s involvement cannot currently be disproven.”
Mother crossed herself.
“Well, of course, we can’t be disproven as suspects. They haven’t even investigated yet,” Daddy said.
“There’s more.” Mr. Finch pointed again, further down the page. Mr. Anu read:
“According to Sheriff Stone, the homeowner is the most likely suspect and will be the primary point of investigation.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Why would we burn our own house down?”
Mr. Finch heaved his briefcase onto the table and began extracting papers. “You’d be surprised. Insurance fraud is big business, and someone who sells insurance for a living would certainly know the ins and outs. Besides that, you’ve recently had some trouble in town. Folks are going to think that maybe you just wanted to cut your losses and leave.”
For a long minute, nobody knew what to say. It was Mr. Anu who snapped us from our reverie.
“The question is, what can you do about it, Mr. Finch?”
“Not much.”
“Then what should we do?” Mother asked.
“My recommendation is to do nothing until they come to a conclusion. No use crying over milk that hasn’t been spilled yet.”
“What kind of milk could they spill?” Daddy asked impatiently.
“I couldn’t say, Mr. Hond. It isn’t my field of expertise. But prior experience with Sheriff Stone would suggest that you speaking to me right now about this very topic makes you guilty by implication. In his mind, only someone who did it would already be looking for a defense.”
Daddy exploded from his chair and, not pausing to put on his shoes, banged out the kitchen door. I started to follow but Mother caught me by the arm.
“Let him be, sweetheart. He needs to cool off.”
My lip started trembling, and then my eyes filled with tears. “Mother. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” In spite of myself, I started to cry.
“Shh, no. That’s not true, Iris.” She wrapped me into a hug and stroked my hair.
Mr. Finch collected his papers with an understated attitude compared to the one he’d come in with. He stood from the table and whispered to Mr. Anu, “call me if there are any developments.” I wondered what kind of development he was expecting, but I couldn’t get my emotions under enough control to ask.
“Betty. Betty!”
Mother released me and rushed to the window. “Clark!”
She ran out of the door. Mother would never go outside in her stockinged feet. Dread lodged in my throat and made it hard to breathe. I rubbed my sleeve across my face and followed.
Outside, Sheriff Stone had Daddy face down on the ground, and a knee in his back. He was putting handcuffs on Daddy, while Mother hovered over them. Daddy’s cheek was grinding into the gravel of the driveway.
“I’m going to have to ask you to stand back, Mrs. Hond,” Sheriff Stone said.
Mr. Finch and Mr. Anu came out of the house. Sheriff Stone spotted Mr. Finch.
“I knew it. You did it. You’ve already got a lawyer. What kind of a person tries to burn his house down while his wife is in it?” he snarled.
“I didn’t burn down the house. I was in it with my wife! Only an idiot would burn down their house while they were inside.”
“Mr. Hond, as your lawyer, I advise you not to say anything else. I’ll meet you at the police station.”
“Shut up,” Sheriff Stone said. “It’s rats like you that let criminals like this one get away.” He stood up and jerked Daddy to his feet. Daddy winced but didn’t cry out. Dirt and small pebbles clung to his face.
“Clark, do as Mr. Finch says,” Mother called. The sheriff opened the back door of his car and shoved daddy inside, banging his head on the frame of the door. He turned and parroted mother’s words in a high-pitched voice with his hands on his hips.
“I’ll thank you not to use brutality on a cooperating suspect,” Mr. Finch said.
Sheriff Stone slammed the back door and opened the front. “I thought I told you to shut up.” He cleared his throat and spit at the ground.
“Mr. Finch.” Mother turned to him, her eyes pleading. “What do we do?”
“I’ll take you to the station,” Mr. Anu said. “And Mr. Finch will follow. Iris, are you all right to stay here?”
I wanted to go to the station, to
o. But would me being there make it worse for Daddy? I couldn’t take that chance. “Yes, sir. Please . . .” I wanted to tell him to take care of my father. I wanted to tell him that Sheriff Stone couldn’t be trusted to be unbiased. I wanted to thank him for all that he’d already done, and all that he was implying he’d do just by going to support Mother. But nothing would come out.
He set a hand on my shoulder. The calm washed over me like a balm, and I recognized that I’d been craving his touch. “Everything will be resolved, Miss Hond. Please do not worry.”
“I just need to get my shoes,” Mother said, hurrying away. “And my pocketbook. Oh, and Clark will need his shoes, as well.” She left me standing with Mr. Finch and Mr. Anu. Mr. Finch got in his car, maybe to give me a moment alone with Mr. Anu. But Mr. Anu didn’t say anything more, and I didn't either. Please let this moment stretch out forever.
Mother returned, clutching Daddy’s shoes against her chest, her pocketbook hanging from the crook of her arm. She kissed me on the forehead, and Mr. Anu broke his hand away. Anguish flooded in, all the more acute because of the moments without it. He helped Mother into his truck, and they drove away.
* * *
Gravel crunching announced a car coming up the driveway later that afternoon. I rushed to the back porch, thinking it might be Mr. Anu with Mother and Daddy. But it was a red convertible with the top up. Miss Cucciolo.
I went out to the driveway to greet her. “Miss Cucciolo. It’s nice to see you.”
“Iris! I’m glad to see you. What are you doing here?”
I bit my lip. “Our house burned down, and Mr. Anu is letting us stay here.”
She frowned. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“The police think my father set it,” I said. “They just took him to the police station a little while ago.”
“Oh, Iris. That’s just . . . let’s go inside and you can tell me all about it.” She put an arm around me and guided me inside the house to the living room. We sat together on the sofa, and she made soft clucking noises and patted my arm with sympathy as I told her the story.
I’d been gushing about it for nearly ten minutes when I called her Miss Cucciolo again, and she told me to call her Tessa since she wasn’t my teacher anymore. My cheeks grew hot with mortification.
“Miss Cucciolo, I can’t believe I’ve been going on about all this when you’ve lost your job. I’m so sorry about that.”
She waved a dismissing hand. “It’s just a job. I can get another.”
“But where will you find another library? Shelby is the closest, and it’s so small . . .”
She interrupted me. “That job fell into my lap. I didn’t really want it.”
“What will you do?”
“Iris. It’s a big world. There’s more than one job out there.”
“I’m glad it doesn’t seem to be a problem for you,” I said. “But I’m still sorry. They fired you because you helped me. Didn’t they?”
“Not precisely. It was for fraternizing with a student — and that did happen to be you, yes. I know you’ve had some unpleasant treatment from other staff, but I don’t think they let that influence the decision. They just can’t have teachers driving around with students and buying them sodas.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. It was obvious that she didn’t believe what she was saying, but it was nice of her to try to take the sting out of it.
“Let’s talk about something else. Something more positive. Tell me, do you believe Mr. Anu yet?”
“You believe him?”
She laughed. “Your eyes are as big as saucers.”
“I’m just surprised, is all.”
“Clearly. Yes, I believe him.”
“What convinced you?”
“Something he showed me.”
“Was it the book?”
“What book?”
“He showed me a book. He said it was an ancient text. It had a picture of a girl in it, that he said was me. And the hieroglyphs you translated. He copied them out of the book.”
She frowned and shook her head. “He didn’t show me that. I wish he had, though. It sounds like a fascinating artifact.”
“Maybe if you ask him, he’ll show you,” I said, trying to ease her disappointment. “But if he didn’t convince you with the book, how did he convince you?”
“He showed it to you, too. But maybe you don’t recall. Or maybe you didn’t see it at the time. He said he was quite sure by your reaction that you had. But maybe not.”
“See what?” I struggled to mask my exasperation. It wasn’t polite to question the motives of an adult, but this conversation was starting to feel circular.
“His true form,” she said. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “It’s beautiful. The perfect specimen. If I’d found something like him while I was in school . . . mm.” She opened her eyes. They were bright with unshed tears. Only, she didn’t seem upset.
“Are you all right?”
She squeezed her eyes into a quick squint, pushing the tears out and dashed them away with the back of her hand. “I’m more than all right. He’s the greatest find of the twentieth century, Iris. The ultimate Egyptian artifact. What he can tell us, show us; it’s immense. Think of the possibilities.”
“I don’t understand. What’s a true form?”
“Do you remember the night he told you what you were?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you remember anything particularly weird about it?”
“I fainted. I’ve never done that before.”
She let out a heavy breath. “Iris. That was because of his touch.” She stood up and went to a mirror hanging above a small credenza. She positioned herself so that she was looking at me through the reflection.
“He showed you something.”
His reflection in the window. My hand flew up to cover my mouth as I gasped. “That was real?”
She turned and came back to me, then knelt at my feet and grabbed my hands. “Yes. Yes! What you saw was his true form. What he really looks like. Something he hasn’t revealed in a long time. And you were a witness to it! Isn’t that exciting?”
“But he looked like a dog.”
“Not a dog. In ancient Egypt, he was often depicted with the head of a jackal. It is what he is, something that few humans ever saw. The image was revered for the rarity of seeing him as he was.”
“A jackal. That’s like a dog, right?”
“A black one. With tall pointed ears and a narrow snout.”
“Oh.” I chewed my lip.
“Look. I know you want to believe him. But you don’t. Not fully, anyway. And until you do, he won’t be able to advance any of his plans.”
“They’re not plans, Tessa. He says it’s all fated. We can’t escape whatever it is he’s setting in motion.”
“Why fight it, then?”
“I —” but my voice trailed off. Why was I fighting it? I couldn’t answer.
She smiled, her eyes dreamy and far away. I could see now why she believed; it was her academic fascination. But I was going to have to live Mr. Anu’s plans, not study them.
“Has he told you his plans?” I asked.
She jerked back to reality. “Only that he wants to resume his duties.” She looked at her watch. “I can see that Mr. Anu probably isn’t going to be back anytime soon, and I should get home. Could you have him call me when he gets in? If it isn’t too late.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You’ll be all right here on your own?”
“Yes. I have some thinking to do.”
“I’m sure your father will be home soon.”
Shame prickled at the back of my neck. In the course of our discussion, I’d completely forgotten about my father being hauled off in handcuffs.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said.
I walked with her to her car and said goodbye. She turned the car around and drove up the driveway. It was dusk and the sky was tur
ning a soft purple, throwing the barn into deep shadow. I clasped my arms around myself to ward off the chill of the evening and went back inside.
It was dinnertime, but I wasn’t hungry. I thought maybe I should make something in case everyone else came home, but as the dinner hour stretched by, it seemed like a lost cause.
I went into Mr. Anu’s study and looked around. The portrait of Joanna was hung prominently across from his desk, right where he could see it best in the morning sunlight. The large oak desk was set perfectly in the center of the room. A leather desk chair was pushed in behind it, and the desk held only a blotter and a stray pen.
I wandered around the backside of the desk and stumbled over something on the floor.
The box.
It was just as impressive as it had been the first time I’d seen it. I sat on the floor cross-legged in front of it and studied it.
So, the figure on the top was a jackal and not a dog. I ran a finger gently over the gilded edges. Could this really be from ancient Egyptian times? How could it be so well-preserved?
With gentle motions, I lifted the lid of the box. There was a rushing sound, like a soft exhale. I’d heard that sound the first time I opened the box and thought it was Mr. Anu. But this time, it couldn’t be.
The sound was coming from the box.
I leaned over to look inside. The tools were on top. How many brain cavities had these tools sucked clean? I closed my eyes and inhaled. Was that faint scent incense? I lifted one tool, and then another, arraying them around me on the floor. All that was left was the fabric covering the book.
My heart started to beat faster. It pounded in my ears. Mr. Anu had told me that I shouldn’t touch the book. Would he be able to tell if I did? He’d said it was sacred.
I felt compelled to take the book out, but I didn’t move. Was this a test?
I touched each of the tools in turn. They didn’t give me any sense of what they’d been used for.