Solomon's Grave

by Daniel G. Keohane

  She walked beside him into the hall. He began to reach for her hand, but caught himself. That would be too intimate. When they reached the front doors, she looked sideways at him. He caught the gaze, and as usual, something unspoken passed between them. They both began to laugh at the same time.

  “Look at us,” she said.

  He reached over and this time did take her hand. “Look at us.”

  “What about Saturday?”

  “Sure,” he said, then released her hand to reach for something in his sport coat. “Wait. Have to check. The pastor’s had a pretty full plate between us, but it’s been lightening up lately.” From the coat’s right inside pocket, he pulled out a Palm Pilot, tapping with the stylus across the screen’s calendar.

  “Hey, lookie here. The church is in the twenty-first century.”

  When he got to Saturday, he looked up and smiled. “Got me a gen-u-ine cell phone, too.” He tapped the left coat pocket with the edge of the PDA. “Mom and Dad figure these sorts of Christmas gifts get more use than new socks.” He quickly scanned the calendar entry. “Yep, as long as it’s after 6:30, Saturday’s cool.”

  “Don’t you have to drop that word now that you’re a priest?”

  “Minister,” he corrected for the second time that week, and tucked the small organizer back into his pocket.

  “Same thing.” She reached out and lightly touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Then she turned around and hurried down the hallway.

  He wished he could see her face, assumed it was blushing as much as his own.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next few days progressed without incident. Nathan and Hayden continued their dissection of the church’s paperwork, and various other miscellany. Now and then someone paid a visit and Nathan offered his pre-established explanation about Sunday’s fellowship dinner dramatics. This had become so repetitive that he soon answered their concerns with a confident smile. More importantly, he was picking up the regular order of things, to his mentor’s obvious satisfaction. Hayden joined him for Wednesday’s visit to the three hospitals in Worcester, but let Nathan do most of the talking. Bible study that evening, led by Pastor Hayden one final time, was crowded and boisterous. Hayden was a man of many passions, but his strongest was discussing the Bible with young people who usually—and that evening was no exception—comprised more than half the attendees. By Thursday morning, the pastor looked more relaxed and admitted feeling better about leaving the flock in Nathan’s hands.

  “As long as you promise not to fall down too often,” he said as they drove to the main cemetery.

  Nathan grimaced. “If I do fall down, I promise to at least stay conscious.”

  Hayden nodded. “Fair enough.”

  They were in the fifth car of a modest funeral procession convoying from the church. The deceased was a ninety-one year old man named Karl Gipson. The man had passed away in his sleep at the nursing home Tuesday night, less than twelve hours after Nathan visited his bedside. Nathan remembered Gipson as quiet, perpetually tired and mumbling. It surprised him to think of how close he’d been to death. Even in his exhausted state, the man had laid a withered hand on Nathan’s Bible to pray silently along with him. Nathan felt a momentary wave of euphoria at the memory. Sadness and exaltation—the contradictions of a Christian’s life.

  Gipson’s family followed the hearse at the front of the procession. In his rear view mirror, Nathan counted five other cars behind his. Not a large group of mourners, but then he’d had a small family, many of whom were either dead themselves or living in the southwestern part of the country. Elizabeth was in the last car, representing the Rosenberg Senior Care Center. In their only, and brief, conversation at the church before setting out for the burial, Elizabeth mentioned that Mrs. Conan wanted to attend. But she explained that the woman could barely stand. “Besides,” she added quietly, “and I hope this doesn’t sound bizarre or anything, but this is the last place I’d want her to see considering, well, how advanced her own condition is.”

  When she paused, Nathan had put a hand on her shoulder, told her that was probably a wise move. He’d removed the hand quickly. Too familiar, too soon.

  The green sprawl of the newer Hillcrest Memorial Cemetery came into view after rounding a turn. He assumed Tarretti would be waiting at the gravesite, standing off at a respectful distance. When the funeral plans were made Wednesday morning, Hayden remarked that Tarretti never failed to have everything ready for the procession’s arrival. As far as he knew, the man rarely left the grounds, and remarked that he probably “had nothing better to do, anyway.” Hayden said this with his characteristic grin, an expression Nathan was only now able to detect in the otherwise stony face.

  As the hearse entered the grounds, Nathan said, “Pastor, my dad’s in some new group in town. I don’t think I’ve heard the name yet. Not the K of C. Something more recent. Spends a lot of time there.”

  Hayden made a noise of acknowledgement and nodded his head. He said nothing.

  Nathan turned the car into the wide stone gates and pressed, “Do you know the group I’m talking about?”

  “I believe so. A small lot from what your mother has told me. Call themselves the Hillcrest Men’s Club.”

  “My mom thinks he’s been going there too much, might be drinking...”

  Hayden didn’t comment right away, but as Nathan pulled to the curb behind the last family car and parked, the old man said, “I really don’t know. I’ve tried to talk to your father about it, but he gets very defensive. Lately, all I’ve been able to do is keep tabs on him via your mother.” He opened the passenger door and paused. “You don’t mind if I lead the graveside ceremony this morning? I’ve known Karl for a long time.”

  “Not at all.” Nathan decided to drop the subject of his father for now. He’d forgotten Hayden’s feelings again. Gipson was a friend. Besides, it didn’t sound like he knew much more about the club than Nathan did.

  Though the sky was overcast, the weather remained calm and dry at the graveside. The chill of autumn floated teasingly in the air. Nathan kept two paces behind the pastor and tried to blend into the background. Hayden read apt passages from the Bible before the mourners took turns stepping onto the artificial grass laid over the grave and laying down the flowers offered by the funeral director. As they did so, Vincent Tarretti slowly moved closer, trying his best to be discreet. His graying blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and tucked inside a flannel shirt. While Hayden spoke softly with the family, Nathan moved from the group and shook Vincent’s hand.

  “Reverend, good morning. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” Nathan said, and hoped that was enough. “Pastor Hayden has a lot of praise for your work here.”

  Vincent smiled and nodded. “We’ve done a lot of these over the years. He’s a good man. Ready to take command?”

  Nathan shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” A thought occurred to him, and after checking that Hayden wasn’t giving him signs that he was needed, added, “Listen, Vincent—do you prefer Vincent?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “You’ve been around for a while. Ever heard about a new men’s club in town?”

  A surprised expression crossed the caretaker’s face. A moment later he masked it with a look of indifference. “I’ve heard of them.”

  “What have you heard?”

  Vincent stuck out his lower lip and slowly shook his head. “Not much. Why?”

  “Nothing serious. Just my dad’s been spending a lot of time there lately and my Mom’s worried.” When Vincent said nothing, simply continued his faux-disinterested stare, Nathan tried another approach. “Any idea what they’re all about? If there’s a religious background? I suspect it’s mostly just a bunch of guys hanging around, something like that.”

  Now, the other man looked at the minister directly, and for a moment Nathan thought he was angry. When he spoke, his voice was subdued, cautious. “I learned long ago that some th
ings look one way to the public and another in private.”

  “Meaning?”

  Vincent nodded to the dispersing crowd. “I think your boss wants you.”

  Hayden was looking in their direction, and when he realized he had Nathan’s attention gave a short wave, fingers wiggling in a come hither gesture.

  “Can I—” Nathan said as he turned back, but Vincent was walking toward the gravesite, casually putting on a thick pair of work gloves. He was either in a hurry to lower the casket, or running from the conversation. Nathan moved into step behind Hayden as the minister walked with Gipson’s middle-aged daughter toward the line of cars. He tried to get his bearings, keep his mind on the somber event, but he kept wondering what Tarretti’s answer meant. Probably nothing.

  * * *

  Vincent hovered near the gravesite, but not so close as to look impatient. He would make no move to lower the casket until the lead cars in the procession had rounded the far curve out of sight.

  Waiting gave him time to calm down. He didn’t like people asking him questions about anything not related to work. Then Dinneck asked about the men’s club, of all things. The timing of the kid’s question so soon after Quinn’s visit was troubling. Still, all Dinneck wanted was information. To help his father. It bothered him. Vincent thought of his notebook. His notes were his own; they were between him and God. Let Dinneck get his answers somewhere else.

  Still, last week the young preacher had reacted oddly when he saw John Solomon’s grave (Entries “816” and “817” he thought reflexively)—and now this.

  The cars moved on, rounding the corner and passing out of sight. Vincent carefully pulled away the Astroturf to reveal a small winch at one side of the hole. He offered his own prayer for Mister Gipson, then slowly lowered the coffin. He worked steadily, but was unfocused. He thought again of his notebook. He did not like it when so many entries crossed paths.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I still think he might not be ready.” The gray-haired woman leaned against the kitchen counter and took a long sip of tea. Ralph Hayden knew that Gabby Zawalich had more to say on the matter than that single statement. The pause was simply a way of collecting her thoughts. Gabby was one of the few parishioners who still referred to Hillcrest Baptist as “the new place.” Most younger adults in the parish were too young to remember a time when the church wasn’t here. Gabby and Hayden’s wife had been as close as friends could ever be. After Jean’s death, the woman standing in front of him had taken it upon herself to be Ralph’s self-appointed guard dog. She was also one of the church elders, the only one who continued to express reservations about their newly-appointed pastor.

  Hayden waited, hands loosely clasped behind his back. The few remaining mourners sat on Karl Gipson’s living room couch, pouring over a yellowed photo album spread across the lap of his daughter. They took turns pointing to pictures and relaying stories about the man.

  No sooner had Nate Dinneck excused himself and returned to the church to finish the paperwork, than Gabby ushered Ralph into the kitchen. He knew what was coming.

  “It’s not that I don’t think he’s technically qualified, mind you. His grades in school were exceptional, and Reverend Burke couldn’t say enough good things about him. Emotionally, though, given his age....”

  “Gabby, Sunday shook a lot of people up, but honestly I think his little ‘spell’ was an aberration. I haven’t seen anything since to worry me.”

  Her teacup was a delicate china piece with intricate roses etched along the lip, now with a blotch of red lipstick. She placed it on the counter atop its saucer.

  “All last week, Ralph, he seemed so, I don’t know, distracted. You must have noticed.” She cast a quick look into the living room and lowered her voice. “First Art stops coming, won’t talk to anyone about it, not even Beverly. Now Nate has that episode during the reception. I don’t want to start comparing the sins of the father to—”

  “I wouldn’t call Art taking some time off for personal reflection a sin, Gabby.”

  She waved her hands in front of her. “I know, sorry. If that’s what it’s about. But you’ll be leaving Monday. Do you really think Nate Dinneck is ready to run the church on his own? I’m serious,” she added when Ralph was unable to suppress a grin. “Another incident like this weekend’s and I won’t be the only one wondering if....”

  She hesitated again.

  Ralph’s smile faded. “Wondering what?”

  “If we hadn’t made a mistake in choosing him. It’s a big move for someone so young, so much going on with his father and all.”

  Ralph took Gabby’s small hands gently into his. He gave them a squeeze. “Honestly, I think he’ll do fine. I’ll stay in touch while I’m at the monastery. If I sense anything wrong, I’ll cut my visit short and move back to town a few days early. You have the number. Call me any time you want.”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s keep this between us, for now at least. Give Nate a fighting chance. Don’t forget that when I came to town I wasn’t the flawless specimen of liturgical perfection standing before you now.”

  She smiled. A good sign.

  He said again, “Nate’ll do fine.”

  He wondered, however, whether he really believed that himself. Dinneck had been less distracted this week. There would be bumps. No one should expect otherwise. It might take some time, but they had plenty of that.

  He squeezed Gabby’s hands again and together they returned to the living room to rescue Karl’s daughter from the photo album.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nathan stood at one end of a massive blue room. Like the walls, the ceiling and floor were also painted a bright, sky blue, with no clear delineation between them. Looking too long in one place made him dizzy. The sole object in the room anchored his vision. The door. It stood opposite him, painted black, twice as big as any door should be.

  He squeezed his hands into fists and thought, Not again. Please. No more nightmares.

  He knew this was a dream, or maybe another waking vision like he’d had on Sunday. He didn’t remember going to bed, couldn’t recall what he’d been doing—before this room appeared.

  Something pressed into his left palm. He opened his hand, saw the key. Like the door, it was the right shape but oversized, a child’s toy rendition. There was no door knob. Rather, the keyhole was built into the black wood where the knob should have been. Light shone through it. Wherever the door led to, it was bright. Another room? Outside, maybe.

  He turned around. Maybe he could walk out of this dream of his own free will. He had expected to be paralyzed, rooted to the blue floor, but he was able to turn. There was no other door. Just a wall. It might have been blue, like the others, but he could not tell.

  It was covered with monsters scrabbling along its surface. Ugly, horrible things, some brown, others white with red splotches, others still darker or stained green. They had two arms and legs, or only one, or four, or six. He stepped back. They swarmed over the wall like wasps on a hive. Their heads were pocked, scarred, misshapen. Some of them had the distinguishable features of eyes and noses, other less identifiable orifices. All of them, though, were wrong. They were terrible, misplaced. And laughing.

  They were laughing at him.

  As a group, they scurried to the floor, flowing like mud around and behind him. The now-exposed wall was streaked with grime, smelled of old garbage and excrement. Nathan dropped the key and covered his face. As he sank to his knees, he felt their horrid presence pass by but never touch. They were too close to him.

  “Nad ei tohi seda võtit saada!” shouted a woman’s voice. The voice was young. He didn’t recognize it. “Nad avavad ukse!”

  She must have been speaking to him, but what she said made no sense. The language sounded familiar, maybe Russian. The voice was urgent.

  He pulled his hands away.

  One of the creatures from the wall stood less than a foot away. Its brown and yellow face was malformed, lo
oking like it had been pounded out of clay by an angry child. One milky eye considered him for a moment; then the bottom of the face split. More rotten garbage smell. It had opened its mouth to make more of that laughter-noise. Two chipped teeth were visible before it closed again and the thing reached down and grabbed at something in front of Nathan. It moved quickly and with the caution of a dog snatching food from its master’s plate.

  It had the key. The mouth opened again, more laughter and more awful stench. It scuttled away, out of sight behind him.

  Nathan pivoted on his knees and faced the black door again.

  “Nad ei tohi seda võtit saada!” The young woman screamed at him from her hiding place.

  The wall where the door had been was gone, covered in the squirming, giggling bodies. Were they demons? In the past few moments, Nathan had forgotten that what he saw wasn’t real. If this was another dream, and it was, had to be, demons would fit in well with this recurring theme.

  He shouted, “I want to wake up, now. I don’t want to see any more!”

  The creature with the key slapped and punched at the others, forcing them to clear an area around the keyhole.

  “Peatage nad! Nad avavad ukse!”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying!” Nathan stared at the blue ceiling and stood. He was arguing with a nightmare! He didn’t even know what the woman was telling him.

  The laughter in front of him changed to screams and shouts. He looked down in time to see the door swing inward.

  Everything that happened after, happened in seconds.

  Every detail etched in his mind one moment, to be lost in the next.

  Beyond the door was beauty beyond beauty beyond beauty....

  Nathan screamed. It was too much; the light beyond the door spilled over them, pushing the creatures back. They huddled in the center. Something moved behind Nathan, but his eyes were locked on the world beyond the door. No single detail could be grasped. Trees, then they were gone; hills traveling on and on forever with no horizon, also gone in a blink; light so, so, so bright; colors, figures beyond the door, standing twice Nathan’s height. He tried to focus on them.