"I was, of course, thinking it would make a large boom and scare the panties off her. which I believe it did. I didn't tell my dad that. I just don't answer when he asks me why I do things, and he eventually gives up trying to understand me, saving something like 'Talking to you is like talking to the wall,'
"So, hi," he said. "Visiting someone?"
It took me a moment to digest everything.
'Close your mouth." he whispered. "There are tiny bugs that will think it's a place to sleep and propagate."
"Huh? Oh. No. I'm not visiting anyone. We just moved in." I said, still amazed at how he spoke about himself and his parents to someone he had never before met.
"Moved in?" His eyebrows were hoisted. He considered a moment and then asked. "Unit fourteen?"
"Yes."
He nodded. "I knew she was trying to rent it. About a month ago she moved in with her lover, a recently divorced accountant. My mother is very good friends with Mrs. Darahush, who knows everyone else's business even before they do. So don't try to hide anything from me. I'll know it soon anyway."
"Is that all you have to do, poke into everyone else's life?"
"No. I feed the ducks. too. You already know that." he said.
The ducks, seeing we weren't going to give them any more, set out for the other side of the pond.
"You know a lot of people here?" he asked. "No. Just my mother's friend and her husband."
"Two? Well, that's already more than I know, I know about people. but I don't know any." he confessed.
I turned and grimaced. "You're kidding, right?"
"It depends on your definition of kidding and of knowing. In my opinion, which I'm told will carry a great deal of weight someday, people don't really get to know each other at all. Or let's say it's rare when they do. Which is fine," he added quickly. "It makes it all more interesting. You know, surprises,
disappointments, little betrayals, big betrayals. For me most people are predictable, and that makes them very boring. I can't hide it, and they don't like it. so I have no real friends. Comprenez? That's French for..."
"I know what it is."
"Oh, parlez vous francais?"
"No, but I know some words. Do you speak French?" I wanted to add big shot.
"Mais oui, et allemand et italien or un peu chinois Manderine."
"You speak German. Italian, and a little Chinese?"
"Tres bien. You do understand a little. Yes, to
answer your question. Permit me to fully introduce
myself. Augustus Brewster, genius extraordinaire. I
was discovered in the second grade reading Dickens's
Tale of Two Cities and promptly sent to the school
psychologist, who decided I belonged in some special
educational environment. You are now looking at one
of a select dozen students attending a special
government school preparing me to become a research
scientist. They hope I'll invent a better bomb or bomb
shelter or something."
"How old are you?"
"Chronologically, sixteen. Mentally, off the
board. Probably about thirty. We are taking what
would be considered graduate studies and beyond," he
added dryly.
I tilted my head.
"Skeptical, eh? Go on, ask me anything. I am
forbidden to be on any quiz or game show, and I have
to register with them when I enter the cities from
which they transmit."
"Yeah, right."'
"What, no questions?" he challenged, folding
his arms across his chest and pulling his shoulders up. I thought a moment. What he needs is someone
to wipe that egotistical smile off his lips. All right, he
asked for it, I thought. Daddy was always proud of my
knowledge of U.S. naval history.
"When was the first submarine used in U.S.
combat?"
He pulled his head back. "Interesting choice for
a challenge. It was in 1776, actually, Invented by
David Bushnell, a small, egg-shaped craft constructed
of wood and operated by one man who turned a
propeller. The science was quite innovative. They
submerged by admitting water and then surfaced by
forcing it out with a hand pump. Fulton picked up on
it and applied some of the principles to his Nautilus,"
he recited.
I guess my jaw had dropped so low flies or bees
could form a hive in my mouth.
"Grace," I heard Mommy call, and turned
toward our patio.
"Yes?"
"Dallas has to go. Come say goodbye." she
cried.
"Okay. I'll be right there." I turned back to
Augustus Brewster.
"Are you a history major or something?" he
asked.
I shook my head.
"That was a surprising question. Most people
ask me what's the tallest building in the world or who
invented the telephone. Something ordinary." he
added. "See? You're interesting already. I'm better off
not knowing you."
He turned and marched off, taking long, quick
strides, his head bowed, strands of hair flying about
his temples. I watched him for a moment and then
hurried back to our new home.
"Who was that?" Mommy asked, looking in
Augustus's direction.
"I don't know. He lives here, but he's a very
strange bay," I said.
"Now you've got it." Dallas told me, "They're
all strange. Always assume that about men, and you'll
be fine. Call me if you need anything else. Jackie.
'Bye. Grace, I'll have Phoebe call you."
"Thanks. Dallas," Mommy said. They hugged
again, and Dallas left.
We were alone for the first time in our new
home.
We both looked about the condo for a moment,
and then Mommy nodded,
"It's going to be harder than I thought," she
said.
6
Augustus and Phoebe
.
For me that was an understatement. I couldn't
even conceive of how hard it actually would be. It hit me when I went to my room and started to unpack my cartons of dolls and souvenirs. Each one stung me harder than the previous. In the end I decided to leave them all in the cartons and keep them in the closet.
"Why aren't you putting your things out and dressing up your room. honey?" Mommy asked after she came to my doorway to see how I was doing.
"I can't," I told her. "Maybe later." She just nodded and walked away.
We spent the next few days learning about the area. where to shop for this or that. Dallas was a great help, advising about the best stores and setting us up with a doctor and a dentist.
"They all claim they're not taking new patients, so someone they have has to recommend. It's another scam, if you ask me, making you grateful you're giving them your business," Dallas told us.
The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. Phoebe hadn't called me yet, and she was annoyed about it.
That girl is so absent-minded." she told us. but I suspected it was more than just a matter of
forgetfulness. It was more that she didn't want to be bothered with a younger girl. I did finally_ overhear Dallas tell Mommy that "the girl is just selfish, and Warren puts up with it. He's simply blind when it comes to her and her faults. He carries some unreasonable guilt for Petula's motorcycle death."
Thinking about forgetfulness. I figured that was the reason I still had not heard from Trent. The day after we had moved in I called to let him know where I was and how to reach me. He was already off to his summer baseball
camp. His mother answered the phone, and after I explained who I was and what I wanted, she said she would give him the message. Since I hadn't heard from him and it was nearly a week after I had called. I assumed she had forgotten to tell him. Of course. it also occurred to me that she didn't want to tell him. However. I thought he was sure to ask because I had told him I would call. I waited another day and called again, this time getting an answering machine. I left the same message.
Even with all the time Mommy and I spent together those first few days. I still had time to myself and wandered down to the pond occasionally, curious about whether or not I would meet Augustus Brewster again. Despite his weirdness. I couldn't help but be interested in him. I brought bread crumbs for Quackie and Queenie. but Augustus didn't appear. I began to wonder if he even really lived there.
And then finally one day when I looked out toward the pond. I saw him sitting with his legs crossed, his arms hanging limply at his sides, facing the water. Intrigued. I left the house and approached him. I heard what I thought was him sounding a deep, low note. It sounded like "O000mmmaim." I stepped up beside him and saw he was indeed making that sound. His eyes were open, but he looked as if he couldn't see anything, almost as if he was blind.
"Hi," I said.
He stopped making the sound, but he didn't turn to me for a long moment. Then he tightened his arms and turned slowly toward me. He didn't speak.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I was in meditation, plugging into the great unknown. The ducks tell me you've been feeding them often."
"The ducks speak to you?"
"Of course. Everything speaks to me when I'm plugged into the great unknown. We're all one, all in the same vast spiritual sea!" he declared with such emphasis the veins in his neck strained against his skin.
"Where have you been?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"Here."
"I haven't seen you." I said.
"That's because you're blind. Don't worry. Most people, nearly all people, matter of fact, are blind."
'You're weird." I told him. and turned to walk away.
He jumped up and seized me by the elbow, "Why? Because I talk about things that are strange and new to you? If you're afraid of what you don't know, you'll remain ignorant."
"I'm not afraid of what I don't know. I just know you're very weird."
"Okay," he said, embracing himself. "Define weird.- "You said you talk to the ducks and they talk to you."
"They speak to me in their way. Everything speaks to everything else in its way. You just have to learn how to listen and understand. Don't the trees tell us when the weather will change? Don't birds tell us when it's going to get colder? Doesn't the sea tell us when it's going to be rough? Doesn't a house tell us when it's about to topple or food tell us when it's spoiled? Well?"
"I suppose, if you think of things that way, that's true," I admitted.
"How else can you think of them? Look at Quackie and Queenie. You can see their anticipation. They're speaking to us. Don't be like most people and ignore all the communications. If you can understand the basic language and you free yourself of the obstacles, you can hear more important or deeper things in the world around you Didn't you ever feel that way?" he asked. He looked as if he was hoping for the right answer.
I thought about the day Daddy died and the sea gull that had acted so strangely and had given me an eerie, cold feeling.
"Yes," I admitted.
"So there you are. Grace Houston, You're weird. too."
We stared at each other for a moment, and then I laughed. "You're still weirder than I am." I insisted,
"If-weird means better at communicating with the world around me, I agree. But if you will let me. I'll show you how to be better at it,"
I looked away. "I'm not sure I want to communicate more with this world," I muttered.
'You lost your father in a terrible accident. I know what happened and why you and your mother moved here," he revealed in a single breath.
I looked up quickly.
"Mrs. Dorahush knows all," he declared, deepening his voice to pretend some supernatural events had occurred. "I'm sorry for you. I know you're very despondent, but if you learn to listen and see, you will realize your father isn't gone. He's just another form of energy now. He still communicates with you."
I squinted skeptically.
"I know, you're thinking I'm talking about all that silliness with seances and all, but this is
different." he said, turning and raising his arm as if he was some Old Testament prophet. "It's out there, and it's in here," he said, spinning and poking me just above my breast. "C'mon." he added, before I could complain, "I'll show you some magic."
He started away and paused. "Don't be afraid." "Where are we going?"
"To my laboratory, where I have created Frankenstein." he said. imitating Boris Karloff in a scary old movie. It made me laugh. I glanced back at the patio. Inside the condo Mommy was watching television, diverting her mind, following her favorite soap opera again.
"Okay," I said, "but I can't be too long."
He took long strides, his hair bouncing about his face. He was still barefoot. Today he wore a Tshirt with a picture of an atomic bomb explosion. Underneath was written. "Let there be light."
"Where do you get your T-shirts?" I asked him.
"I make them myself," he said. "I can make you whatever you want. or I'll give you one I've made. I've got a closet full. One size fits all."
We stopped at one of the bigger units. He looked around as if he were contemplating a burglary.
"Anything wrong?" I asked, still quite neryous about following him.
"I don't want to spook you." he said. "but not everything in the world is good. There are dark forces. too. Occasionally I sense them. I just wanted to be sure, that's all. We're clear," he said, and walked up to the patio door. He opened it and turned to me.
Dark forces? Was he teasing me, or did he really mean it? "This is it." he said nodding at the patio door.
It occurred to me that my mother had no idea where I was, and there was no one around to see me go into this home.
"I'll leave the door open if it makes you feel better, although it will probably be more of an invitation to bugs," he said, reading my mind.
I was thinking up a good excuse to leave quickly when suddenly I heard a voice, and a tall gray-haired woman appeared. She had her hair dawn in a rather long ponytail for someone who looked to be well into her late sixties, maybe seventy. She wore a one-piece house dress with a flower pattern and a pair of light blue sandals.
"Augustus, why are you leaving the door open?" she asked him, and then she saw me. "Oh! Is this..."
"Grace Houston, yes, Grandma." he told her.
She smiled at me. "Welcome. dear. You should come in quickly. We've had trouble with mosquitoes lately."
I walked in. and Augustus closed the door.
"I hope you and your mother are settled in okay," she said. "Thank you. We're doing okay."
"I'm showing her my laboratory." Augustus said.
She studied him a moment to see if he was serious and then smiled. "Oh, that's fine. If you would like something cold to drink, please come to the kitchen. I'm working on our dinner,"
I thanked her again and followed Augustus to a room. There was a sign on the door that read. "Enter at your own peril."
"So far it's worked," he said, nodding at it. "No intruders." He opened the door and stepped back for me. to enter.
The walls were covered with computer sheets on which were printed savings in a large font.
"What is all this?" I asked.
"Every time I come across a statement I think makes sense, I print it out and put it up."
There were quotes by great philosophers, people in history, and even some politicians, as well as rock stars and lines I recognized from songs. On the floor of the room were piles and piles of books and magazines. There was so much around it that his unmade
bed looked lost. A computer was on with a moving picture of bubbles rising out of water, each with a tiny pop. Papers were stacked and scattered over the two long tables and the desk.
One of the closet doors had a sign on it that read. "Government nuclear site. Restricted."
"What's in there?" I asked.
"My laboratory." he said, and opened the door. It was a walk-in closet once. Now there was photographic equipment as well as a narrow long table upon which were mathematical equations seemingly randomly running over pages and pages. I gazed down at it all and shook my head. It was much higher math than I had ever seen, and it looked like one big mess,
"What is this?"
"My project. I'm working on time travel, converting matter into energy and then restructuring it."
"Like that movie about the fly?"
He smirked. "Hardly," he said. "This is real,"
"And you're into photography?"
"That's how I make the T-shirts, among other things."
"How do you know where anything is?" I asked, astounded at the books and notepads piled on the floor here. too.
"Everything is in its place." he said, gazing about as if I was the one who was too disorganized, "You want Freud. I have Freud," he said, spinning and lifting a book off the top of a small stack. It was titled The Interpretation of Dreams. "You want Thoreau. here's Thoreau," he continued, slipping a book out from under another. "Plato?" He reached under a table. "Here's Plato."
I shook my head in amazement. I supposed he was brilliant. Maybe he would be a world-renowned thinker someday,
"Now for the magic," he said. "This way."
He directed me to the far right corner of his room, where he had a small table. On it was a tiny metal marble suspended in midair between two metal squares that were humming.
"How did you do that?"
He smiled. "Years ago people would believe I had magical powers. Magic is simply science not yet understood. The ball is caught between two opposing magnetic fields of equal power. Here." he said, plucking it from the air and handing it to me. "Say some gibberish, and put it back in the spot where it was. Abracadabra. Go on Do it."
I took it and put it where I thought it had been, and it seemed to slip out of my fingers on its own and remain suspended. I jumped back. and he laughed.
DeBeers 04 Into the Woods Page 10
