by Shoshi
searched, and they would straighten everything out.
Not finding the name, she gave him another frowning look and whispered some unheard instructions to the receptionist who turned away to make a phone call.
A few minutes later he saw the outside door to the doctor’s office open, but it was not Carol and Mathew who walked through it. Instead, a man in a navy blue uniform with lots of gold buttons on it strode through it and up to the receptionist’s desk. Another guard, Mozart said to himself. They have a lot of guards in America. He became very uneasy, and something told him to write a note. He did so on the front page of one of Dr. Pindler’s out-of-date fan magazines. He signed it with his usual dashing flourish even as Mrs. Pindler beckoned to him to come up to the desk. He took the magazine with him.
Still running, Carol and Mathew rounded the corner of West 95th Street from Central Park West and rushed down the block toward #33. Mathew was now alongside her.
“I don’t know what you’re in such a hurry about,” he cried.
“What if Dad has a patient and what if Mozart gets there ahead of us?” she panted out. “And what if Mom’s on the desk today? All she knows is Broadway show tunes.”
“Okay, I get it,” said Mathew. “She won’t recognize him. She’ll think he’s an intruder and call the cops.”
Which is exactly what she’d done.
“What seems to be the problem here, ladies?” asked the officer.
“I caught this man rummaging around in our apartment,” said Mrs. Pindler.
“But this is a doctor’s office,” said the cop.
“It has an access to our apartment,” said Mrs. Pindler.
“Not very safe,” said the officer.
“That may be,” she said, obviously embarrassed. “I believe he may have stolen something.”
“Well, let’s check him out.” The cop began to pat Mozart down.
“Where’d you get a rig like this?” he asked him. “Kind of early in the day for a costume party.”
Mozart couldn’t suppress a giggle. What could he say---except to point out that this is how people dress in 18th century Austria. So he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t think you’ve got much to giggle about, Mister,” said the officer. “You’re kind of whiffy, too. None of these guys like to bathe,” he said in an aside to Mrs. Pindler. He found Mozart’s cache of ducats. “What’s all this?” he asked. “Never saw money like this before.”
“They’re ducats,” said Mozart. “From Vienna.”
The officer had never heard of ducats or Vienna. “These yours?” he asked Mrs. Pindler. She shook her head.
“Probably stolen. I better take him in and book him. Make him take a shower, too.”
“When will Carol and Mathew be here?” asked history’s most accomplished musical genius, his voice now small and plaintive.
“How can riff raff like this possibly know my daughter Carol?” she wanted to know. It was easier to believe that someone like Mathew might know him.
Mozart had decided he couldn’t wait any longer for Carol and Mathew. Things were getting extremely out of hand. He slowly ran his left forefinger across the signature on the note he had written for Carol and Mathew on the front of the fan magazine. He dropped the magazine on the receptionist’s desk.
At that moment the door to Dr. Pindler’s office flew open, and Carol and Mathew raced through it into the reception area.
“Wait!” screamed Carol. “Wa-a-a-it!”
All eyes turned to her. She saw Mozart wave and blow her a kiss goodbye. He held her cell phone aloft so she could see him put it down on the receptionist’s desk. When her mom and the officer turned back to where he had been standing, he was gone.
Carol collapsed into a chair. “Oh, Mathew, we missed him. We missed him. And he probably took the Requiem back with him.” She began to weep uncontrollably.
“Don’t cry---please,” said Mathew. He had become completely distraught himself. He was so used to Carol being equal to whatever most of the time that he didn’t know how to handle her coming unhinged. He wanted to reach out to her and make it all better though he knew he couldn’t bring Mozart back. Seeing her so distressed suddenly made him feel very close to her, closer than he ever had before. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but it felt really good. Quick, make her laugh, he told himself.
“At least he left us your cell phone,” he said. “What do you think they’re going to charge for that 200-year phone call?”
It did make her laugh. She looked at him tenderly. “Oh, Mathew, you always do see the crazy side of things.” That was just one more thing she liked about him.
The officer was absolutely bamboozled by what had taken place—or maybe hadn’t taken place. “Well, I never saw anything like it,” he said. “I’m not sure it even happened. This guy was here, and now he isn’t here.’ He took off his policeman’s hat, rubbed the sleeve of his coat across the medallion as though buffing it and put it back on.
“I think officer,” said Mrs. Pindler, “this is something none of us saw happen. It was just our imaginations---but thank you for coming by.”
“I completely agree with you, Mam. We imagined ii, and the sooner we forget all about it the better.” He tapped the brim of his hat with his forefinger. “Always glad to be of service,” he said and headed for the front door.
The receptionist had picked up the fan magazine and read Mozart’s note on the cover. “Hey, Carol and Mathew. There’s a note on here with your names on it. I think this fellow may have written it.” She handed it to Carol.
Dear Carol and Mathew,
I’m sorry I missed you. New York is an amazing place. I’m glad I had a chance to see it, but I think I prefer Vienna. It’s time for me to go. You two were wonderful. Be sure to look in the doctor’s desk.
He had signed it with his usual over-the-top signature. Carol started crying all over again. “It’s all right, Mathew. I’m crying because it’s all right. Everything’s all right. He didn’t forget a single thing, and he came all this way. What a sweet man. I think I know what’s in that desk,” she said smiling as she ran ahead of him to the secret door that led up to her dad’s library.
Mathew stayed behind just long enough to say to Mrs. Pindler: “You know who that was, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I figured it out, but I wasn’t about to tell that police officer. I’m sorry, Mathew,” she said haltingly. “I really messed things up today.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Why don’t you go and get Dr. Pindler? He’ll sure want to be here when we come back downstairs.” He dashed off to join Carol.
THE END
FEENA
“Scientists know very little about the universe.
Almost anything is possible.”
I need to tell you about Feena. Please pay close attention. A version of her story might be your story some day if you’re a girl—or your sister’s story if you’re a guy—or the story of a friend of yours. It’s a curious tale, strange, you might say, but remember: the universe is a vast place. Scientists know very little about it. Almost anything is possible, they tell us. Absolutely anything. Did this really happen? Or will it happen? You must judge for yourself. I am only the storyteller.
We are floating at this time above a small planet called Earth located in The Solar System. The Solar System? Doesn’t it have a more formal name than that? No, it does not. Earthlings refer to it as “The Solar System” as though it were the only one in the universe. It is not---as the humans in this story have found out to their profound chagrin. Can you imagine the scene? You can if you try. It’s long ago, or maybe it’s not so long ago. Or maybe it’s the opposite direction--like far off in the future. Whatever you wish. But the feel of it is now. To your mind and mine it has the urgency of right this minute.
It’s a lovely day. The su
n shines eagerly bright. The twin moons have just risen, one a bit larger and more ghostly than the other, both about three-quarters full. Yes, at this moment in Earth’s history there are two moons, what seem like two moons. We are sinking down, down into a cover of fleece-thick clouds that hangs over the South Pacific. It’s no longer a nice day. The sun is gone, and it’s raining wildly. There is a whack of thunder. Wow, look at that lightning. Except no, it’s not thunder we are hearing or lightning we are seeing. We are in the midst of a crazed battle. We see muzzle flashes, and we hear shells exploding. Are they shooting at us? Very probably. Could we get shot out of the sky? Possibly. But we have to take our chances and go in. You need to meet Feena. Sweet, dear, conflicted Feena.
I am zooming you in now, way in--heading for a deep-in closeup.
We’re below the clouds, racing toward a smidge of an island—one of hundreds scattered around the area. An explosion of light and noise wipes out our view of everything in front of us. It rocks and shakes us. Briefly we are inside a grizzled black cloud before it wafts away on the wind. It was a near miss, but we are okay.
Now we are crouched in the brownish-gray sand alongside Feena, looking into her face. She has been crying. Her hair is a scraggled mess. Her clothes are torn, and she is smudged with dirt and blood. We also notice something else. She is quite young and overpoweringly beautiful. She has an almost beyond perfect face. Next to her is her brother Gailus, a young man