Black as Night: A Fairy Tale Retold

by Regina Doman

  He walked for a few blocks, then took an abrupt turn down a promising alley and glanced around. There was a fire escape ladder hanging down on one side of the building, with a garage beyond it.

  Bear moved fast. Using a garbage can as a way up, he clamped onto the lowest rung of the ladder, and wrestled himself up. Swiftly he climbed up to the balcony, then hurried to the corner of the building. If he was lucky, the man wouldn’t look up—at least not right away. Climbing over the fire escape railing, he dropped onto the roof of the nearby garage and crouched down in the shadows.

  He waited, holding his breath. From his viewpoint, he had a clear view of the alley and the street beyond. No one passed by. The minutes stretched on, and he was just wondering if he had been a fool after all, when there were casual footsteps and a man appeared at the corner of the alleyway and paused. He was wearing dark glasses and a light jacket, and something about the way he was standing made Bear guess that he was carrying a concealed weapon.

  Come on, get closer, Bear internally urged, hoping to recognize the man.

  But at this distance, it was still difficult to see him. The man checked the soles of his shoes as though he had stepped on something unpleasant, and Bear knew he was really trying to decide whether or not to pursue Bear down the alley.

  Afraid of me? Or just not sure where I went?

  He knew the man was more than his match in terms of build, and probably armed. Chances are, he lost me, Bear concluded, and wondered what would happen if he drew attention to himself. But an internal caution made him hold back. Unarmed on this rooftop, he was too much of a sitting duck if the man decided to shoot.

  After an interval, the man adjusted the collar on his jacket and vanished, continuing up the street. Bear scrambled down the fire escape and crept down the alleyway as casually as possible. But when he reached the street, the man had vanished.

  Bear started home, trying to calm his heart rate. I think I almost met Blanche’s possible stalker. But the real question was still a mystery. What had Blanche done to make herself a target?

  Chapter Thirteen

  …Lord, open my lips.

  …And my mouth will proclaim your praise.

  Standing at the lectern of the altar, catching the early morning sun, Father Francis read the antiphon for the Invitatory: “Come, let us give thanks to the Lord, for His great love is without end.” And the opening psalm began.

  Friday. Morning prayer again. She was getting used to the routine. It didn’t seem quite so long. And she liked it. Now, standing in front of the Mary altar before Brother Herman’s new design, she was once more experiencing nearly perfect content, despite the fact that her neck was still sore from yesterday’s attack. Ironic, isn’t it? Now that something bad actually happened to me again, I almost feel free from the sense of impending doom.

  Father Francis began the hymn before the Office of Readings, and she joined with the other friars on the second verse:

  To God the Father of the world,

  His Son through whom He made all things

  And Holy Spirit, bond of Love,

  All glad creation sings…

  She jumped as something ran over her foot. Brother Herman, in the pew behind her, also started. She turned around just in time to see Brother Charley leap into the aisle, grab a scaffolding plank leaning against the wall, and smash it on the ground with a tremendous crack.

  Everyone in the church caught their breath. Father Francis looked up, his eyes wide.

  Red-faced, Charley held up a dead rat by the tail. “Sorry. That wasn’t very Franciscan, was it?”

  Taking a deep breath and reverting to his characteristic dry humor, Father Francis made a sign of the cross towards him. “Absolved. Give him a decent burial after prayer.”

  Charley departed from the church with the dead rodent, and Father Francis, shaking his head, took up the Psalm again.

  II

  “Nora seems to be feeling better,” Brother Matt remarked to Leon as they gathered their notebooks for the novices’ class that morning.

  “I’m not entirely sure that she should be,” Leon said.

  Matt looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if I could explain it,” Leon confessed. Not because he couldn’t find the words, but because he didn’t want to break Nora’s confidence. She had told him about a sense of doom hanging over her a few nights ago, and he had been inclined at the time to brush it off as spiritual intuition gone haywire. But the fact that she had been assaulted, however randomly, bothered him. “She should be careful.”

  “After all, that’s twice in the space of ten days that she’s been attacked,” Brother Charley spoke up, coming out of his bedroom. “You think she’s just one of those perennial victims?”

  “I think there’s more to this than meets the eye,” Leon said. “She hasn’t told us everything that’s happened to her.”

  “Brother George thinks she might be in trouble with the law,” Matt said with some seriousness. “He thinks it’s odd that she doesn’t talk much about herself. ‘She’s too quiet,’ he said to me.”

  For some reason, this irritated Leon. “Maybe she just isn’t talking to him,” he said. “And I don’t blame her. I’m just hoping she’ll talk to one of the priests about what’s going on. We really don’t need to know.”

  Brother Charley frowned. “So why are we talking about this?” he shouldered his backpack of books. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  Feeling chastised, Leon tried to put thoughts of Nora’s problems aside and concentrate on his Catechism of the Catholic Church class. Fortunately, it was apologetics-based, and he usually found the subject interesting.

  But just as he was warming to the subject, there was another interruption. Brother Herman poked his head in the doorway. “Sorry, Bernard. Two things. Tonio is here, asking to see you. And the Knights of Columbus are here with some food and other donations in a truck. Can I break up your class momentarily to get some help unloading?”

  “That’s fine—we’re about due for a break anyhow,” Father Bernard said. “I wonder what Tonio wants?”

  “He said he wanted to go to confession,” Brother Herman said. “He’s out on the steps waiting.”

  “Praise God,” Father Bernard said, and went to the front door. The novices followed, and went outside with Brother Herman while Father Bernard talked quietly to the homeless man who was standing at the door, hat in hand and a penitent look on his thin face. Outside the friary a large truck was parked, and Father Francis was talking to the driver.

  The driver, Mr. Kane, was a Knight of Columbus who owned a discount store in the Bronx, and he was an occasional volunteer at the friary on the weekends. A white-haired, red-faced Irishman, he had already donated a used van, a furnace, and hundreds of cans of soup and beans to the friary, as well as any surplus merchandise from his stores. Today he had several boxes of groceries, which the novices unloaded gratefully, and something else.

  “Utility garbage cans on wheels, from a janitorial supply liquidation,” he said, pointing to stacks of gray plastic cylinders in the back of the truck. “I got them for a song but I don’t think I’ll sell too many at my store. So why don’t you take ‘em?”

  “Thanks very much,” Father Francis said. “Yes, I’m sure we can use them.”

  “Can you use twenty? If not, just take what you can use. I’ll see if the Missionaries of Charity want the others.”

  “Ladies first,” Brother Herman said.

  Mr. Kane laughed. “Okay. But save me time driving. Why don’t you take six of them, and I’ll get the sisters more if they want?”

  “Certainly,” Brother Herman said, and looked at the novices. “Let’s get them inside. Can you each take two?”

  The novices wrestled the heavy-duty oversized trashcans out of the truck. But once they were turned right side up, the four revolving wheels on the bottom of the cans slid easily over the pavement to the basement steps. They thanked the Knight, who saluted and
drove off to his next stop.

  “These will be a real help to sort the donated groceries,” Brother Herman said as they hauled them down the steps. “You know, cans in here, boxes in there… that will make it easier to put together the food bags.”

  “Plus they move easily,” Leon said appreciatively. He pushed the can across the wide expanse of the basement floor. It clicked effortlessly along the linoleum, gaining momentum. Inspired, he quickened his pace, grabbed the sides, and leapt inside the trashcan. It hurtled across the floor and crashed into the opposite wall. “Durable too,” he reported, checking the sides.

  The other friars laughed. Grinning, Leon shoved himself off the wall and plunged towards them. Stepping forward, Charley grabbed the edges of Leon’s can and hurled him across the floor again.

  “Woo hoo!” Leon yelled. “Do it again, Charley!”

  Not one to miss the fun, Brother Herman clambered into another can. He pushed himself off the table, and, finding that he wasn’t going fast enough, grabbed the ends of Matt’s rope belt. “Come on, Matt, run!” he urged. “Give me some momentum!” Matt obliged.

  Seeing this, Leon grabbed Brother Charley’s cord and took the reins in hand. “Race you, Claus!” The two teams of friars careened across the basement floor, the wheels of the cans spinning smoothly, a tremendously satisfying thunder.

  “Will you look at these maniacs?” Father Francis stood in the doorway with Nora. “You’d think we were running an amusement park down here.”

  “Just test-driving the new garbage cans!” Leon called. “Hey, cut it out!” he exclaimed as Brother Charley started spinning him around.

  “Come on and try them out, Francis!” Herman bellowed.

  The novices immediately started up a chant. “Fa-ther Fran-cis, Fa-ther Fran-cis…”

  “Good Lord,” the older friar muttered, but his eyes glinted. Brother George came down the steps to see what was going on. The novices picked up their chant, slamming the walls and stomping.

  Father Francis crossed to one of the trashcans and the novices cheered wildly. “How do you work these things?” he said. “George, give me a hand.” George obliged, and pulled Father Francis across the floor in his can. With whoops, the other two trashcans took off after him. Nora sat on the steps of the basement and laughed and laughed.

  Finding the rest of the friary deserted and wanting to investigate the din in the basement, Father Bernard came downstairs and paused, smiling at the sight.

  “Am I going to get my novice class back or are you all becoming urban charioteers?” he asked.

  Recollecting himself, Leon leapt out of the trashcan, hi-fived Charley and assisted Father Francis in getting out of his can.

  “I say we keep a few of these for recreational use,” the superior mused. “They’re not bad. Good mileage, quick response time…”

  “At the next chapter, maybe we’ll write that into the norms,” Father Bernard said. Together they all walked up the steps to the vestibule, and entered the church again.

  “How did things go with Tonio?” Brother Herman asked after they had all genuflected in front of the tabernacle and were walking back into the friary.

  “Odd. I went with him into the entranceway, and started to hear his confession. Then he started coughing and asked me for a drink of water. I went to get him one, but when I came back, he was gone.” The friars reached the entranceway, and suddenly Father Bernard halted and pointed. They all looked. The spot above the doorway, where a large hand-carved crucifix had hung, was empty.

  “So that was it,” Father Bernard said quietly. “He didn’t want the sacraments—he wanted to supplement his income.” He sighed heavily. “Well, I didn’t obey our own rule about not leaving visitors alone. Serves me right.”

  The rest of the friars were silent. “I’m sorry we were all fooling around downstairs,” Leon said, deflated. “If we had been up here—”

  “No, it was my own fault,” Father Bernard rubbed his head, smiling wryly. “I was starting to think that my golden counsels were winning his soul. It’s good for my humility, that’s all.”

  Leon turned towards the door as he heard the sound of ominously familiar barking. There was a knock, and Father Francis pulled the door open to reveal a tight-lipped Marisol, straining against two yelping Rottweilers. As soon as the door was open, she released the leashes, and the dogs sped into the friary.

  “You keep dem,” she said. “Un present.”

  She turned on her heel and marched down the steps, ignoring Father Francis’s protests, while Charley and George hurried to catch the dogs that were speeding through the church, still howling.

  “I suppose this is another donation?” Father Francis said, shutting the door. “What on earth possessed her to give us these two devils?”

  Brother Leon groaned. He knew too well why she had given the dogs to them, and he suspected he knew the Lord’s reason too. “Purgatory,” was all he said.

  III

  Bear sorted through the shiny pile of photographs and stopped at one picture of Blanche, standing in front of a backdrop of large chess pieces looming over her.

  “That’s from my play this summer,” Rose said. “That was opening night.”

  Blanche wore a pale blue dress and a white sweater. Her long black hair, caught up in a white bow, fell down to her elbows. Bear searched her expression. To him, her smile seemed a bit forced. He wished it had been a close-up. He wanted a better idea of what had been going on behind her eyes.

  He put the picture aside and looked at the next one. Rose stood next to her sister, dressed in a red little girl’s dress with a black headband.

  “That’s me in my costume.”

  “You were Alice in Wonderland, weren’t you?”

  “Technically, no. I was Alice, but the play didn’t take place in Wonderland. It took place on the other side of the Looking Glass,” Rose explained, moving to a more comfortable position on the couch beside him. Fish was busy on the phone. Jean was out. Mrs. Foster was making lunch. It hadn’t been a particularly productive day for searching thus far.

  Rose pushed back her hair. “See, Lewis Carroll wrote two books—Alice in Wonderland, and Through the Looking Glass. Movies usually try to combine both of them into one story, but they’re actually significantly different tales. Our director wanted to give the later book its due.”

  “And the differences are—? I never read them,” Bear said. He looked through other pictures of Rose with various cast members dressed in odd costumes.

  “Alice in Wonderland is about the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, and the Queen of Hearts. Alice spends the whole time trying to get into this beautiful garden and growing bigger and smaller all the time,” Rose explained. “Through the Looking Glass is less well known, but I almost like it better. For one thing, you can tell Alice is more grown up and independent. She makes her own decisions, even though they’re not always the right ones. Looking-Glass Land is supposed to be the land on the other side of the mirror—everything is backwards. Alice discovers the world has become a giant chessboard and she chooses to take part in the game. Just like in the first book, she meets all sorts of strange characters. There’s a snobbish Red Queen, and an old White Knight, who becomes an important figure for her. He and Alice are not exactly in love with each other, but they care for each other. The director said the White Knight is almost a substitute father for Alice—maybe an image of Lewis Carroll himself.”

  “You seem to have enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, I did,” Rose said with a sigh. “I was so surprised that I got the part. It was for the Bronx Children’s Theater. I wanted Blanche to try out too, so we could be in it together, but she said she wasn’t an actress. I tried out for the part of the silly White Queen, but then the director had me read for Alice, and he picked me for the part. It sort of devoured our summer after that—my being the lead. Between the play practices and work, I barely saw Blanche after a while. But I kept telling myself I’d make it up to her when we went on vaca
tion in California together. And then she decided not to go on vacation with us after all.”

  “Why was that?”

  Rose paused. “Well, I think she was feeling—I don’t know. Mom and I were worried about her, because she seemed so reclusive. But Blanche kept saying she just wanted to work more hours to make her tuition payment for college. I guess this summer she really grew up.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We’ve always been a close family. Until now, Blanche’s life sort of revolved around us. But this summer, she was off doing her own work, following her own activities. Like visiting Mr. Fairston and those folks in the nursing home. I didn’t do that with her. And then I guess that things were going on inside her mind that she felt she couldn’t talk about with us. It was hard to feel separated from her like that. I guess she was—well, becoming more of an adult. And less like a kid.” She looked at Bear, smiling, but he could see a tear in her eye. “Sort of like Alice, I guess.”

  Bear thought about that. “She’s been challenging me, too,” he said quietly, thinking of her last letter and their last conversation.

  “I wish we had made her come with us, but Mom said we needed to respect her decision,” Rose said. She turned over the photos dismally. “She wanted to be alone, and Mom said we should let her be alone. I guess Blanche didn’t want the struggle of having to explain to a lot of relatives we don’t see too often about everything she was going through. They’d have understood even less than we have.”

  Bear was silent, picking at the edges of the photos. “Rose, I’m sorry,” he said with difficulty.

  “For what?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. If I had, maybe I could have helped her sort through some of this. Maybe I should have been the one she was talking to.”

  “Well, maybe it was something she needed to face alone. If you had been here, you might have—I don’t know, distracted each other. Who knows?” Rose said. “Maybe this is all happening for a good purpose.”