“That’s ridiculous,” Grace scoffed. “We are stronger, smarter, and more efficient than ever before.”
“Just like the humans,” Volk said. “Yet none the wiser for any of it. The yetzers have matched them and us measure for measure. The stronger and smarter the humans think they are, the greater their hubris, and the less they think they need God. The Academy took their cue, and we are no different.”
“Really, Captain, I never knew you had such a wild imagination. If any of what you say were true, we’d have learned about this in our history books. Our professors at the Academy—the wisest cupids in all of Heaven—would have spoken of it. Yet, none of our philosophers or poets, historians or psychologists have mentioned a word about what you speak. One must therefore conclude, Captain, that you are out of your gourd and need help.”
“Grace, you weren’t here during the war when the Anteros cult nearly succeeded in wresting from us our portion of Heaven. That is when Minos took over and nothing was the same since. Instead of seeing the rebellion as a warning of how far we had already drifted, Minos initiated his so-called ‘progressive reforms,’ which were really no different than those that Anteros had demanded. Instead of going back to our roots, we got Anteros-lite. The only difference between the Eros cult and the Anteros cult was time. Anteros wanted quick, radical transformation and the Eros establishment preferred a gradual approach. And so now, here we are.”
“But you and Captain Cyrus fought on the side of Eros,” Grace charged.
“At the time, it was a choice between the lesser of two evils. After the rebellion, Cyrus and I retreated to the mountains and spent years in study and contemplation. By the grace of God, we rescued a portion of the ancient archives. With its sacred knowledge we were able to continue our training according to the teachings of the blessed tzaddikim.”
“The what?”
“The holy sages.”
“Archives? That’s a legend, a fairy tale.”
“As real as this lake we are sitting on, Grace. A library of ancient relics and writings. Although much was lost in the war, we saved enough to keep the teachings alive.”
“And no doubt this archive is invisible to the likes of me,” Grace sniffed.
“Like this lake, without my introduction to it, neither you nor anyone else at the Academy could ever locate it. If the Academy were to learn of the archive’s whereabouts, they would confiscate the holy manuscripts and relics it contains, or worse.”
“You really don’t think much of us, do you, Captain?”
“I don’t blame you, Grace, or most of the cupids. You and they don’t know anything but the lies and propaganda that the Academy has pumped into your heads since the day you were conceived.”
“Captain, I have demonstrated a great amount of patience with you, but you have yet to show me anything that could persuade me that what you say is true.”
“I showed you this lake.”
“That’s little more than Captain Cyrus having pulled flowers out of thin air. A magic trick or illusion. You are insisting that there is no Eros; that the Academy is controlled by a cabal of imposters, and that we are scorned by so-called angels in the heavens who are greater than we. Do you realize how ludicrous you sound?”
“I do.”
“So, why come to me with this now? Had you kept your fantasies to yourself and continued to perform your job admirably, who’d have been the wiser? Why come out now and share your paranoiac obsessions with me, knowing that I would have to report you? Really, Captain, I used to respect you, even—” She turned her eyes away and took a bite from her apple.
“I love you too, Grace.”
“Excuse me?” Grace said, blinking, her bite of apple dangling from her lips.
“I said I love you too.”
Grace was about to reply that he had a funny way of showing it, but realized that it was precisely his funny ways that endeared him to her so much. Other cupids feared or patronized her, but Captain Volk was the first to truly respect her. Whereas others wanted favors from her, carnal or material, the captain had never asked for anything but her thoughts and her heart.
“Take me back,” she commanded.
“Why? What are you afraid of?”
“You.”
“Me? Or my truth?”
“I’m not going to fall in love with a madman.”
“And if I were to prove that I’m not mad?”
“But you are, and I will not be drawn into your deranged world. Take me back right now and I will forget we ever spent this day together.”
“Very well,” Volk said. He slipped the oars into the water and turned the boat. This time, however, he did not row slowly. The captain rowed with blurring fast, powerful pulls.
Grace shrieked. Caught completely off guard, she nearly tumbled into the water.
The boat sped across the lake like a hydrofoil, covering the distance back to shore in under a minute. After his final strokes, he stood and rode the scull like a surfboard as it skimmed across the water and shot up onto the pebbly beach, stopping just short of where the forest met the shore.
Grace screamed in panic as she bounced off her bench and into the captain’s arms. Volk heaved her over his shoulder and leaped from the rowboat.
Dazed and frightened, Grace had never witnessed such a thing. She didn’t think it possible.
“Put me down!” she cried, kicking and beating on his back with her fists.
He began to whirl, one arm out, the other securing Grace upon his broad shoulders.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she screamed. “Captain, stop it! You’re scaring me!”
He continued to whirl, faster and faster, his head tilted back, eyes upward, chanting words Grace could not understand.
Everything around her blurred into streaming, sparkling white light. The last thing she remembered before passing out was a sound she had never heard before—beautiful music, a choir of angels.
42
Pesto
Ellen Veetal nervously tapped her fork on Corleones’ red cloth napkin as she waited for Chauncey Matterson. He was ten minutes late.
Just as she was about to reach for her cell phone, he entered the cozy, dimly lit, Italian restaurant. She saw him search for her, his eyes not having adjusted to the darkness. She raised her arm, and a big, happy smile lit his face.
“So sorry I’m late,” he said, kissing Ellen on the cheek before taking a seat across from her at the table. “The meeting ran over. Some of these professors just don’t know when to shut up.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “No problem.”
Chauncey Matterson let out a relaxing sigh, smiled, and took in the pretty sight in the flowery dress before him.
“You look lovely,” he said, meaning every word. “You know, I believe that the last time I saw you in a dress was at Jill’s wedding.”
“Come to think of it,” Ellen said, “you’re right. I guess I’m just in the mood. I’ve had this dress since high school.”
“Really? And it still fits you perfectly,” Chauncey said, as if in congratulations. “That’s either a testament to your genes or your self-discipline.”
“It’s a little tight in places,” she admitted.
“All the right places.”
Ellen cocked her head coquettishly. “Are you being nice or naughty?”
“You know I’m always nice. It’s naughty that I have to work at.”
He left just enough space for Ellen to up the flirtation ante, but she didn’t. Disappointed, but not wanting to let the break turn into uncomfortable silence, he quickly picked up the slack.
“What made you reach so far back into your closet today?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I got to thinking about my youth, about high school, and, well, maybe the nostalgia bug bit me.”
Chauncey took her hand across the table. “You’re feeling down about something.”
“I’m fine,” she was too quick to answer. “What makes you say that?�
�
“Nostalgia. It always leads to sadness or discontent. It starts off fun. We smile or laugh at a few reminiscences, but all too soon, we grow self-reflective and think about lost youth, lost opportunities, mistakes and failures. Personally, I avoid visiting the realms of nostalgia. Live for today, or live for tomorrow; the past is irretrievable and irreparable.”
“Now I am depressed,” Ellen said.
“No, hey, think about it. Your dress still fits! That’s amazing. You should feel proud, feel happy. Not many women can boast of that. And don’t tell me your dress size isn’t important, because we both know it is.”
Chauncey Matterson did not like the foot the evening was getting off on. He snagged a waiter and ordered a carafe of red wine, pesto, and antipasto in the hopes that the distraction would shake things up, and they could start over again.
“How about some good news?” he said.
“Your friend gave us the okay on the cottage?”
Matterson reached into a pocket of his sports coat and held up a leather-strapped keychain with two keys dangling from it. He nodded, a big, dopey grin on his face.
“Wonderful,” she said, the word conspicuously lacking in enthusiasm.
“He told me this weekend or the next would be fine, but after that he had already promised it to another friend for a few weeks.”
“How about next weekend, then?”
“Um…okay, but I kinda thought you were hoping for this weekend. You seemed a little stressed-out earlier today, and this evening, well…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ellen said, giving the professor’s fingers a little squeeze, and getting the predictable response, something akin to the excited expression of a puppy dog. “I’ve been behaving selfishly. It’s just that…you’re not going to like this.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Matterson said, feigning confidence.
“You know that guy that came to see me as you were leaving?”
The professor remembered well. He recalled the man’s good looks and pleasant demeanor, and in doing so, felt a twinge of jealousy.
“What about him?”
“He’s very strange.”
Matterson sat up straight. “Did he try something? Did he harm you in any way?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He was the perfect gentleman.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Ellen bowed her head slightly and looked up at Chauncey, an uneasy expression on her face. “I think he might have…powers.”
“Powers? What kind of powers?”
“That’s just it. I’m not sure. I want to test him some more.”
“What did he do? I recall him admitting to having no powers.”
The waiter arrived and Chauncey and Ellen released fingers to allow him to set down the carafe of wine and appetizers.
“I know you won’t believe this, but he knew an awful lot about me, about my past. Not generalities either, but specific details that no one else could possibly know.”
“What kind of details?”
“Names, places…incidents. Very private incidents.”
“I’m sure there is a logical explanation,” Matterson said.
“I am too. That’s why I want to interview him some more.”
“Are you sure he’s not dangerous? He sounds like a pervert to me.”
“He gave me no reason to think so,” she replied, spreading pesto on the freshly baked bread.
“Still, I don’t like it. If you go through with this, I want to be there.”
“Maybe you’re just jealous,” Ellen said, a playful twinkle in her eye. “After all, don’t tell me he isn’t handsome, because we both know he is.” She purposely used the same phrasing that Chauncey had used a few minutes earlier about her dress size.
“If you want me to be jealous; I can do jealous. What does he do?”
“You mean work?”
“Yes, what’s his profession?”
“I-I don’t know. He, um, claims he has amnesia.” Ellen realized how silly she sounded, and was a little embarrassed.
“Amnesia! Ellen, really, something is very odd here.”
“I know, I know. But the fact of the matter is, of the hundreds of people I interviewed, he was the only one who—”
“Could fool you?”
“Maybe. But he was sure good at it.”
“Look, I can tell there is no changing your mind on this,” he said. “I understand. If you don’t follow up you’re going to carry the wonder around with you, and maybe even resentment towards me. I most certainly don’t want that. Go ahead and interview him again, but let me be there with you. I’ll keep my mouth shut and just observe. And I promise that I’ll be objective in my conclusions.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Let’s get it over and done with so that we can move on.”
“Thank you, Chance. You’re so understanding. Thank you for putting up with me.”
“Aw,” Chauncey said with a wave of his hand. “It’ll be fun. I’m as curious as you are now. Come on, let’s toast and talk about our little trip. What’s another week anyway?” He held up his wine glass.
Ellen smiled, relieved, and held up her own. Just as they were about to clink glasses, she froze, her eyes fixed on the threesome that had just entered the restaurant.
“What’s the matter…?” He turned to follow her gaze.
43
Dinner Theater
“Well, speaking of the devil,” Matterson said, suspicious. “You didn’t happen to mention that you would be here, did you?”
Ellen picked up her menu and hid her face. “Absolutely not.”
“Hmm…”
“Maybe he’ll sit at the other end with his back to us,” she said.
Chauncey snuck a quick look. “Nope, he’s headed right for us.”
“Shoot…”
“Hello, Ms. Veetal, Professor Matterson. It’s nice to see you both again.”
Ellen lowered her menu and acted surprised. “Mr. Cyrus, fancy meeting you here.”
There was nothing fancy about it. Cyrus had heard the professor mention the restaurant’s name as he was leaving the office. Knowing Matterson’s profile intimately, he also knew that Corleones was his favorite restaurant. He took all his dates there.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“I suppose I can say—you did.”
“I mentioned no such thing,” she contended.
“No, you didn’t.” He waved over his dinner company. “This is Officer Sam Jeffreys,” Cyrus said, laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “and his lovely wife, Sara. They are my landlords, and I’m treating them to dinner as a token of my appreciation for the kindness and generosity they have shown me.”
The four exchanged hellos and handshakes.
Ellen said, “How did you all meet, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Sara said.
“Every long story can be cut short,” Ellen said, smiling pleasantly.
Sara, however, didn’t find the woman’s smile so disarming. She knew women, and she knew a real smile from a fake one.
And Sam knew his spunky wife, so he quickly jumped in. “We met at the station.”
“I was arrested,” Cyrus admitted.
“Arrested?” Matterson said, very interested.
“Yes,” Cyrus said. “Twice in one day.”
“You don’t say?” Matterson said. “May I ask for what?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Trespassing, disturbing the peace…assault and battery.”
“Good gawd, man, why isn’t he in jail?” Matterson exclaimed. He turned to Ellen, and through the side of his mouth whispered harshly, “What did I say?”
“He was in jail,” Sam confirmed. “Let’s just say he’s under house arrest for now.”
Ellen returned to her initial question. “You said I brought you here, Mr. Cyrus?”
“In a way, yes.
After I left your office, I passed a construction site. I saw a pick-up truck pull up and some men jump out. I wondered if the site was looking to hire. Ten minutes later, I was hauling bags of cement. They paid me in cash. Afterwards, the site’s foreman said he was impressed with my work. He asked me back. I got a job and a raise on the same day. I thought we’d celebrate.”
“Congratulations, but I certainly had nothing to do with that.”
Cyrus said, “If I hadn’t had stopped by your office and left when I did, I wouldn’t have noticed that construction site and the truck full of men.”
“That’s just a coincidence,” Matterson said.
Cyrus smiled. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“No?” Matterson said, his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “What do you believe in?”
Cyrus cocked his head. “God,” he answered artlessly.
Chauncey turned to Ellen and rolled his eyes. His index finger twirled about his ear, signaling cuckoo.
Only Sara caught the subtle motion. Her lips tightened.
Ellen said, “Did you say you got a raise too?”
“Yes. There were some problems at the site and I was able to help.”
“Cyrus here is a walking encyclopedia,” Sam said in the way of explanation. “The guy knows something about everything. But don’t get him started, because he has difficulty stopping, and one thing just leads to another and another.”
Sam gave Cyrus a playful punch in the shoulder to make sure that Cyrus knew he was just teasing him.
“What university did you graduate from?” Professor Matterson asked.
“He never attended school,” Sara said.
“Can’t the gentleman answer for himself?” Ellen said, more snap to her voice than she had intended.
Sara squinted, and Sam casually took her hand and gave it a caution-inducing squeeze.
Sam said, “Cyrus is very humble. He doesn’t like to talk about himself.”
“Maybe that’s because he has something to hide,” Matterson said.
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3 Page 27
