Mr. Perilunas seemed to be thinking the same thing. After he had made his introductory remarks to the congregation, he said, “I believe there is something we already have in common, so it is an obvious choice for me to discuss today. An Italian author, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, expressed the idea very well in his novel, The Leopard, when he wrote, ‘If we want things to stay the same, they are going to have to change.’ It’s not a difficult idea to reason out, really. This world and our lives are formed in such a way that nothing stays the same. Sure, the elements will always be there. Gravity will always pull us down. Yet think of how long an hour seemed to you when you were a child, but how quickly a week, a month, a year flies by now that you’re an adult. I would bet even the way you know God has changed over your life, and will continue to change for as long as you live.
“Because everything changes, we inevitably make comparisons between then and now, now and what will come. And we make judgments: This is better than it was before. This is worse. I love the way this is right now, and I wish it would stay this way forever. I can’t wait for this to be over. Making these kinds of comparisons is an essential part of being alive. And it has been an essential aspect of being human ever since we realized how drastically we could change our lives for the better by using the things we know to improve ourselves and the world around us.
“But change is not simply a matter of reasoning, is it? There are emotions to sort out, too, and the more important the change, the stronger the emotions, usually.
“You have lost a pastor here, and you have let go of all sorts of things associated with her. In order for one thing to stay the same—for this community of faith to persist—you had to accept a change. I have no idea how you feel about that, and I don’t imagine all of you feel the same. You have hopes and maybe fears about what will happen next. And it is only realistic that at least some of you may be disappointed even if things turn out well, simply because they are different from before.
“All of these things you feel, I feel, too, in my own way. But if we want things to stay the same, they will have to change. Think of our church for the decades it has endured here, and the thousands of years it has endured in the world. Over that time, nearly everything about it has changed: the languages, the places, the people, even most of the rules. All these things have changed and evolved so the most essential things can stay the same: a community of people who experience God together, finding purpose in our lives and performing good works for ourselves and others. Those things must never change. Everything else can.
“I am so happy to be here, and I am so excited to meet all of you personally and learn how better to be your servant. All I ask is for you to remember that if we change—as we change—we do it so that the most important things can stay the same.”
Bruno’s father led the congregation in prayer. Instead of interlacing his fingers, he always cupped one open upturned palm in the other, as though waiting for something to be placed in his hands. It was familiar, and it reassured Bruno.
3
don’t talk to me about love
BRUNO WAS ON HIS way to the library, thinking about Celia. His heart and lungs felt tangled up in his chest. He cursed himself for falling so hard, so quickly—it was completely unlike him.
He noticed the girl with the brilliant red hair and many-colored sweater at the far end of the hall. She always wore the same clothes, and she never seemed to be on her way anywhere. In the sunlight from the nearby window, she almost looked angelic. The hallway was clearing out, and the girl raised her hand in a hesitant wave at him. Bruno went through the back door into the library. Sorry, I’m having enough trouble with girls.
He nearly collided with the librarian when he turned into the aisle that led to the reading area. “Oh—you scared me!” she said, then quickly lowered her voice. “Where did you come from?”
“The back door.” Bruno pointed over his shoulder.
“The back door?” Once again Bruno found himself leading someone to the door he had used. “I—I had no idea this was here! Are people walking in and out of my library without checking out books?” The librarian pushed the door open and glanced out, then pulled it closed and examined the handle.
“I don’t think anyone else knows about it, either,” Bruno said. “I’ve never seen anyone else use it.”
“I’m going to have to get them to lock this door.” She turned back to him, looking a little wilted. “This is so ridiculous to say, but I’ve been here for two weeks and I still haven’t figured out where everything is!”
“It’s a big building,” he offered.
“Not even the building, just the library!” She waved one arm vaguely at the stacks. “I’ll find a section, but when I go back to what I swear is the same place, it’s not there! I feel like I’m losing my mind, but I’m far too young for that. At least, I hope I am.”
“It is a little like a maze.” Bruno looked around. The shelves loomed too high for him to see the far walls on either side of the great room.
“More like a labyrinth. If you can find Foreign Languages, I’ll give you a hall pass. I’m serious.”
“Isn’t it over there?” Bruno walked off through the stacks, and she followed him. He turned one corner and then another, and found the aisle with the foreign language books.
“Oh, that is such a relief,” she said. But her voice was thoughtful, not relieved. She looked at Bruno, looked away, then looked at him again. Finally she whispered. “Are you Kind?”
“Am I kind?” He stared at her. “I guess so. I try to be nice. Why do you ask? My dad’s a minister—”
She cut him off. “I don’t know why I said that. Of course you’re kind; you helped me find this section. What’s your name?”
“I’m Bruno Perilunas.”
“I’m Lois Beggers-Jouré. Just call me Lois. Bruno, I have a proposition for you. I need another library aide. I never thought a library would be a place where I’d have a particular need for people who can find places no one else seems to be able to, but hey, welcome to Suburban.”
Lois’s words reminded Bruno of the Ebentwine clearing. He hadn’t gone back. Passing through that hidden place with its quixotic keeper, seeing and hearing things that made him think he’d been drugged . . . A small, nagging part of him was intrigued by Ebentwine. How crazy would it be if something like that were possible—passing through, what had the man called it, a liminal?—like poking a hole in a map and coming out the other side, somewhere else completely. But he was sure the clearing was a dangerous place, and just like the heartsickness he felt for Celia, the sooner he forgot about it, the better.
Lois was asking him, “Would you be interested?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“That’s great. It’s not a huge commitment. In fact, I’m not going to call you a library aide, because I won’t stick you behind the desk checking out books. Pretty much all I want is for you to help me find things around here, and not tell anyone I can’t do it myself, okay?”
Lois’s honesty made Bruno like her instantly. “I can do that.”
“I know you’ve been studying here a lot. I’ve seen you and your friends a few times already. In fact, I think they’re here.” They went to the reading area and found Celia, Sylvio, and Regine sitting at a table.
“I’m going to be a library aide,” Bruno told them.
“Nice!” Celia smiled up at the librarian. “He’ll do a great job.”
“He’s already helped me.” Lois patted Bruno’s shoulder and headed back to her office.
“Great, someone to fetch books for us!” Bruno couldn’t decide if Regine was trying to be encouraging or if she was mocking him.
“I really like this new style you have happening,” Celia said to Bruno. “Marco said you got a lot of great stuff at Chris and Cosey’s.”
“I couldn’t have done it without him,” Bruno said, looking down at his clothes—Marco’s shirt, a pair of dark wide-leg trousers, and black leather shoes with
a rounded military toe. “You really like it?”
“I do.” Every time Celia looked at him, Bruno felt like a little kid who might lose his balance and fall down even standing still. As he sat next to her, she noticed his drawing on the paper cover on his textbook. “You like Cranes?” She tapped the paper where he had attempted to copy the stylized letters that spelled out the band’s name, and underneath it, in lowercase letters, the title of the album: loved.
“I do.” He blushed, hating himself for it. “Do you?”
“I love that album. And the cover is so pretty.” Celia’s pen flitted around on the cover of Bruno’s book and sketched in the cover illustration, four women adjusting their dresses on their bare shoulders, all from memory. Time slowed down, and Bruno watched, entranced. Celia caught herself. “I shouldn’t be doodling on your book!”
“Oh, it’s okay.” Her artwork was nothing short of amazing.
“So, you like dream pop?”
“I—I think so. I haven’t heard a lot.” The mystery song played again in Bruno’s head.
Celia went on. “I was just thinking my book covers were missing literary quotes. Last year, our friend Liz was an endless supply of beautiful lines from books and poems. I guess we’re going to have to look for them ourselves now.”
“What was the one from The Awakening?” Regine asked. “‘When I left her today, she put her arms around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were strong, she said.’”
“Yes!” Celia’s eyes shone. “But there’s another one by Kate Chopin that I like even better: ‘Perhaps it’s better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one’s life.’”
BRUNO WAITED IMPATIENTLY for his turn to talk to Sophia. Finally his mother passed him the phone.
“Boono!” His sister still used his childhood nickname. “Tell me everything!”
“What do you want to know?” He drank in her voice, imagining her endless dark ringlets and bright eyes.
“How’s the house? Do you like high school? Are you mowing all the lawns in the neighborhood yet?”
Bruno laughed. “The house is nice. School is big. I like it. I got a couple lawns so far.”
“It’s so good to hear your voice!” Sophia gushed.
“How’s Buenos Aires?”
“It’s beautiful! And I might actually be bilingual by the time I get back. My Spanish is really getting better. I wish you could be here to see everything!”
“I saw the pictures you sent,” he said. “It looks . . . old.”
“It reminds me of Paris, in a strange way,” she said. “I’ve met some great people in my program.”
“You sound really happy.”
“I am! Are you? Are you getting along with Sylvio?”
“Yeah. He’s excited because there are some people at school who dress like him, and they like all the same music.”
“He must be over the moon. How about you? Have you made some friends?”
“I’ve been hanging out with them, too.”
“Really? Am I going to come home and find you all goth and wearing black?” Even when she teased him, Bruno loved feeling like the center of Sophia’s universe.
“I don’t think so.” He laughed with her. “Who knows, maybe.”
“I can’t believe you’re in high school!”
“I can’t believe you’re in Argentina!”
“Check us out!” She laughed again. “Damn, I’ve been on the phone fifteen minutes already; this is going to cost a fortune. You know I would love to talk to you for hours, but I need to catch up with Sylvio, too, if he’s around.”
“He’s here.” Bruno looked up at his brother waiting in the doorway.
“I love you, mister. I miss you!”
“Miss you too. Love you.” Bruno handed the phone to Sylvio.
Bruno went back to his room, thinking if there was anyone in the world who would believe his crazy story about the Ebentwine clearing, who wouldn’t tease him if he told her he had fallen head over heels for a junior girl, who would spend hours helping him hunt for a song he could barely describe, it was Sophia.
THE NEXT MORNING, BRUNO woke up lonely. What’s the matter with me? I’ve never gotten lonely. Is this what love does to you—lets you feel great for a minute or two but then leaves you feeling worse than ever when you realize you can’t have the one you want? On the ride to school, he wondered what it would be like to slip his arm around a girl’s waist, to feel her hand around his neck, her lips against his. Then he wondered if he was possessed. You have got to snap out of it. Outside his homeroom a guy with a bunch of flowers was approaching a girl by her locker, and Bruno was about to look away, when the girl turned and saw the guy there. She started to yell, snatching the flowers and crushing them into the boy’s chest. Bruno raised his eyebrows and went into his classroom.
Toward the end of the first period, the web design class was dissolving into soft conversations, and Bruno listened to his classmates gossiping about the lovers’ quarrel he’d witnessed. He was idly clicking around the web page he’d finished making when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Ms. Moreletii smiled down at him. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”
He got up and followed her out into the hall, closing the door after them.
“I wanted to ask you if you’ve thought about dropping this class,” she said gently. In her heels Ms. Moreletii was nearly as tall as Celia, but her effect on Bruno was very different. Looking up to Celia was like looking up to a queen. Looking up at Ms. Moreletii, he just felt short and awkward. And defensive.
“Drop the class? No, I haven’t. Why? I finished the exercise.” He pointed vaguely at the classroom door.
“I know. But things are going to get harder. Quickly. I’ve been teaching for a while. I can usually spot the students who are going to struggle very early on.”
“You think I should drop the class?” He watched her nod, her face compassionate. He was silent, confused.
“Think about it. Don’t ruin your GPA with a bad grade in a class you don’t need to take.”
He nodded as she opened the door for them to return inside. He watched Ms. Moreletii pull a girl out into the hallway and wondered if his classmate would feel as hollow and embarrassed as he did.
At lunch Bruno was about to ask Celia and Marco if they had taken a computer class with Ms. Moreletii when Regine arrived. “Did you hear what happened to Elsie?”
“Who’s Elsie?” Sylvio asked her.
“I’ve pointed her out to you—that girl with the black hair who always wears that unfortunate headband.”
“Oh, okay. What happened to her?”
“She saw the ghost! They say it’s Mariette, but nobody’s sure. I mean, a girl with curly strawberry-blond hair in a brightly colored sweater lurking around the science wing—who else could it be?”
Bruno perked up. That girl was a ghost?
“Plenty of people have said they’ve seen the ghost by now,” Marco said quietly, looking at Celia.
“Yes, but how many of them have received a note from her?” Regine asked triumphantly. “Yesterday Mariette— the ghost—stopped Elsie in the stairwell of the science wing. She gave her a piece of paper, and when Elsie opened it, all it said was ‘Chat Rouge—Wednesday—eight twenty-seven p.m.’”
“Chat Rouge—the restaurant?” Celia asked.
“Yes. And yesterday was Wednesday, of course. Elsie didn’t know what it meant, but when she looked up, Mariette had disappeared”—Regine looked around to see what effect she was having—“so she couldn’t ask her. The only thing she could do was to go to Chat Rouge and see what happened at eight twenty-seven.”
“Does this sound completely insane to anyone else?” Marco looked around the table. “I realize some crazy stuff happened here last year, but nobody was seeing ghosts. Even if you believe that, though, do you believe in a ghost who passes notes?”
“You haven’t even heard what happened!” Regine said. “
Elsie went to the restaurant, and she was a little early, so she waited outside. At eight twenty-seven exactly, her boyfriend, Scott, came out of the restaurant with another girl! They didn’t see Elsie there, and they started making out right in front of her on the sidewalk! Do you believe now?”
“Are you kidding? So a ghost told Elsie where to go to catch her boyfriend cheating on her?” Sylvio said, incredulous.
“Yes! How creepy is that!”
“That’s pretty creepy,” Celia said wearily.
“Okay,” Marco said, “so Elsie caught her boyfriend cheating on her. But we’re supposed to believe it was because she received a note from a ghost? I’m really having a hard time with that.”
“And you’re not the only one. Especially since Elsie doesn’t have any proof. She swears the note disappeared out of her purse. No one else actually saw it.”
“See!” Marco sat back.
“Why are you so skeptical? You do remember we had a curse on fifteen-year-old virgins here last year.”
“What?” Sylvio asked, incredulous again.
“You haven’t heard about that yet? No one ever really figured it out,” Marco said wearily, glancing at Celia again. “Girls kept having bad things happen on the day before their sixteenth birthday. Broken leg, one girl had an epileptic seizure, another girl actually got electrocuted. They were always accidents, or something that couldn’t have been caused by someone else. And the only girls who avoided it were the ones who had lost their virginity. It was freaky, to say the least.”
“It’s the reason Mariette died,” Regine said. Marco made a disapproving noise in his throat, and Regine turned to Celia. “Well, wasn’t it? She was helping the old chemistry teacher, who was also the swim coach, down by the pool, and she fell in and drowned. On the day before her birthday.”
“Oh, my God,” Sylvio said. “I’ve heard bits and pieces of that story, but I didn’t . . . Did you know her?”
Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange) Page 5
