Everyday Ghosts

by James Morrison

  The police arrived first. Officer Stingo and Officer Lund reported to Father Gabriel. “There’s an animal trapped in the barn,” Father Gabriel told them.

  “Firemen are on the way,” said Office Stingo. “But it don’t look good, sir.”

  “Could somebody please tend to Brother Walter?” Father Gabriel asked. “He’s just inside. He tripped on a loose board.”

  “I warned you about that, sir,” Officer Lund said sternly.

  They turned to the bearded man tied to a tree by his neck. The butt of a burnt-out cigarette was clenched between his teeth. He told them he had no name. “No worries,” said Officer Stingo with the pride of one who had finally got his man. He grabbed the stranger’s wrist and held up his hand. “He has fingerprints. Those are even better.”

  By the time the fire trucks got there, the barn was nothing but a heap of blazing wood. A photo appeared in the next day’s papers. It had been taken from a distance. No one knew by whom. It showed many men running this way and that, surrounding the fire, hoisting thick hoses that coiled about the yard like serpents. It showed the Bishop and the Abbot huddled together in a corner of the picture, with expressions of fear and confusion. It showed a wild-haired, snickering man tied by his neck to a tree, which raised concerns about proper procedure among citizens who wrote letters to the editor. It showed a small group of monks standing in a circle with kindly, troubled looks on their faces and, in the middle of the circle, kneeling among them, a young man whose whole body was wracked with such grief that, had it been seen more closely, it might have been unbearable to witness. No casualties were reported.

  The photo showed a scene of great turmoil. If it was true that order came from chaos, then all should have been well by the morning. But it was a very long night.

  20

  Pete left the next day just before dusk. He had brought little with him and took little away. He had left his Bible on the table in his cell, which was otherwise empty now.

  What Father Gabriel had told him was that his mother had been there, soon after Pete arrived. She had not come to see Pete, but to see Father Gabriel. She wanted him to tell her that he would take good care of Pete. He assured her that he would. Then she told Father Gabriel about Michael. She told him she had letters from Michael to Pete. She did not know what to do with them, but she had saved them. She kept them hidden from Pete’s father. She could not condone them or what they meant, she said, and she was sure Father Gabriel would agree. Even so, Father Gabriel told her, Pete should have them. He suggested that she send them along, but they never came.

  Pete’s plan was to walk down to the village and sleep that night in the park. The next morning he would get a bus. Father Gabriel had given him money for the ticket. If his mother still had the letters, he would read them. He could scarcely imagine what they might say. But there were several. That meant something. He had not given up.

  Was it possible that Pete could find him? Should he try? He would have to decide. He could not believe that Michael would still be waiting. He hoped not. He hoped he had lived. So many years had gone by.

  That afternoon he had heard Father Gabriel speak one last time. He spoke of Christ’s wounds, his torn hands, his crown of thorns. “Do you know what love is?” he asked gently. “It is the suffering of those nails. See Christ on the cross. See him. Learn from that how to love.” He ended as he always would now, by putting in a good word for the Hindus. The men listened closely and lifted their heads and said, “Amen.”

  “That was lovely,” Pete said afterward.

  “It’s just words, of course,” said Father Gabriel. “But we’ll see. We’ll see.”

  “Brother Louis wasn’t there.”

  “He’s taking it hard about the mule.”

  “Neb was a donkey,” said Pete. “I think Brother Louis may be a true believer.”

  “I think so too,” said Father Gabriel. “It’s a pity, isn’t it?”

  Soon Pete would sleep under the stars, as he and Michael had imagined they might. He stopped near a patch of dandelions by the path. Neb loved dandelions. Pete picked one. He felt the tears coming again, but he resisted. He would always mourn her, but he had had enough of sadness for now. He sucked the sap from the dandelion’s stalk. It tasted sweet.

  He put the flower in his pocket and started down the road.

  Neb watched him go. She was sitting in a ditch at the edge of the woods with her legs folded under her. The ditch was shallow enough that she could see over a ridge up the hill if she lifted her head a little. Her heart leaped up when she saw him, as it always had. But she did not bray. If he knew she was there, she thought he might stay. She let him go.

  She had only cried twice before. It felt strange. For a long time she had lived with an old woman. She had loved the old woman and thought she was kind. But the woman gave Neb’s child away. Still, Neb had not cried then. It was only later, when she realized her child would not be coming back. That was when she cried, and it was when she first knew that she could tell the future.

  It came in handy. It was how she had known to kick loose the planks at the back of the barn, so she could still get out if the door stuck. She had known this would happen. It was the man who beat her who had let her out of her stall. That she had not predicted. It was after he nabbed the scoundrel who’d set the place on fire that he had set her free. If it hadn’t been for that, she would have been a goner. She thought maybe she should forgive him for everything else he had done. But no. On second thought, she wouldn’t. After all, he hadn’t kept the door from shutting.

  A little black cat had come wandering by that afternoon. It saw Neb sitting in the ditch and came up to her and nipped at her sides. Neb guessed that it thought it might get some milk. When it found it couldn’t, it nestled beside her. Now Neb felt it pressed against her, purring. The poor little thing had patchy fur and a tattered ear. Something had chewed its ear off. It was so small. Neb had no idea how they survived, these little things. She figured she would take care of the cat for a while.

  She hadn’t slept all night. She was tired, but she was thinking too much. She thought again of the old woman. The second time she cried it had been for her. It was very strange, because Neb thought her heart had turned against the old woman after she had given away her child. But it was something Neb heard her say long after that, when Neb herself was given away.

  “Be good with her,” the old woman said to the people who took her, as Neb was being led off. “She was all I ever had.”

  What else could you do, Neb thought, but cry.

  In the distance, up the hill, Pete stooped to pick a dandelion. Seeing this reminded Neb that she was hungry. But she did not think she should stir just yet, because it might wake up the cat.

  She watched Pete going down the road until he disappeared. She knew she would not see him again. He had been a good friend. She hoped everything would work out for him. She knew it would. She knew it, not just because she could tell the future, but because she had faith. She had faith in him.

  It was not long after dark that she finally fell asleep.