Never quite clear in their meaning
Till in hours or days the future becomes the beginning.
“Do not eat meat today and stay away from green,”
She told me yesterday riding the rickety Farraday elevator.
“I don’t eat meat,” I said, “and I’ll avoid the green.”
“You can’t,” she sighed. “Only when passed is it seen.”
“Then what good does it do to know?”
Her long earrings dangled as she turned quite slow.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I only see.
Do you know who Cassandra was?” She looked at me.
“A poor Greek shiksa who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
No one believed her. They thought she was a nut.
It’s the seer,” she said, patting my cheek.
“We know what we’re saying, but to you it’s all Greek.”
The elevator creaked doors open at the fourth floor.
“My curse, my blessing. As the raven once said, Evermore.”
“I like it,” I said.
Jeremy handed me the neatly printed copy of the poem. I put it on the desk.
“But that encounter yesterday was not the end. At lunch I almost choked on a Brussels sprout. You see the irony in her vision? I eat no meat and came close to death from a green vegetable.”
“What happened?”
“I punched myself in the stomach. The Brussels sprout came out.”
“There’s a moral in this somewhere,” I said.
“There’s a meaning too deep to penetrate,” he said seriously.
“That’s life,” I said.
“Precisely,” said Jeremy. “Precisely.”
EPILOGUE
CHAPLIN CAME EXACTLY at six in a black limo with tinted windows. He got out of the car and smiled at me. He was wearing a gray suit and vest and a perfectly matched tie. His shoes were polished and bright.
“Is dear Mrs. Plaut in?” he asked.
“She’s in,” I said.
“Excellent.”
I followed him inside where he knocked at Mrs. Plaut’s door. Westinghouse went mad inside. And then the door opened.
“Mr. Voodoo,” she said, holding out her hands.
Chaplin took both of them and said, “My dear, I have engaged in a charade. I’m not Mr. Voodoo. I am Charlie Chaplin. Truly.”
Mrs. Plaut looked at him for a moment and then said, “How wonderful. I’ll have to tell my friends. I love your movies.”
“Thank you for your inspiration and hospitality. I savored your sweetbread and tongue delight.”
“You are very welcome,” she said, removing her hands from his.
“We must be going now,” he said. “If you would accept an autographed photograph, it would be my pleasure to send you one.”
“I’d love it,” she said. “I’ll put it in a frame on the porch right next to Eleanor Roosevelt.”
Chaplin bowed and walked out the door in front of me. I started to hobble after him on my crutches, but Mrs. Plaut whispered, “Mr. Peelers.”
I turned to her.
“Mr. Voodoo is a crazy man. I think he’s harmless but you never can tell. The man looks nothing like Charlie Chaplin. Be cautious.”
“I’ll be cautious,” I said.
I went out the door and caught up with Chaplin at the car. When I got into the back seat with him, I gave the uniformed driver the address.
There was a black hat box next to Chaplin.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That?” he said, looking at the box as if he had never seen it before. “That, I don’t know what that is.”
We drove to North Hollywood and the driver parked directly in front of my brother’s small house. Chaplin and I got out and went to the door.
“Oh, I forgot something,” Chaplin said hurrying back to the car.
My nephew, Dave, opened the door. His brother, Nate, and two-year-old sister, Lucy, were right behind him.
“Uncle Toby,” shouted Nate. “Mom, Dad, Uncle Toby’s here.”
I stood in the doorway waiting for Chaplin.
Phil and Ruth came from the direction of the dining room. Ruth moved slowly. There didn’t seem to be much left of her.
“Don’t stand there,” Phil said. “Come in and close the door.”
“I brought someone to see you, Ruth,” I said.
“Brought someone?”
She looked at Phil, who shook his head to show that he had no idea of what or who I was talking about. Chaplin was taking a long time for whatever he had forgotten.
“He’s getting something out of the car. He’ll be right here,” I said.
“Is it a killer?” Nate asked hopefully.
“No,” I said. “It’s …”
I heard a movement behind me. Ruth’s mouth fell open.
“Oh my God,” she said.
I turned and saw the Little Fellow. Derby, mustache, tight jacket, baggy pants, cane, and oversized shoes. He took off his hat and smiled at Ruth. From behind his back he pulled a single flower, a violet. He stepped past me and handed it to her.
Lucy began to cry. Phil picked her up.
“Ah, one more thing if I may,” Chaplin said, reaching inside his jacket.
He pulled out a framed photograph of himself as the Tramp and gave it to Ruth who read the inscription:
To Ruth Pevsner, with love, respect and hope.
Affectionately, Charlie Chaplin.
Ruth clutched the flower and photograph to her chest.
Chaplin doffed his hat again and went out the door. We walked after him and watched him waddle away, twirling his cane, and get into the limo.
The baby had stopped crying and was watching, as were her brothers.
“Toby,” Ruth said. “Toby.”
She gave me a hug.
“I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’ve got a date with Anita.”
“Call her up,” said Phil. “Tell her to take a cab here if she wants. I’ll pay for it. We’re having a late dinner.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Least I can do for my brother,” he said.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 2001 by Stuart M. Kaminsky
This edition published in 2012 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
EBOOKS BY STUART M. KAMINSKY
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM & WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@eMysteries and Facebook.com/MysteriousPressCom
@openroadmedia and Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
Videos, Archival Documents,
and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media
newsletter and get news delivered
straight to your inbox.
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
SIGN UP NOW at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
r />
Stuart M. Kaminsky, A Few Minutes Past Midnight
A Few Minutes Past Midnight Page 20
