Frank was surprised — When would they bury the casket? Where were the grave diggers? His face must have reflected his concern because the man opposite stared at him with an odd look of interest.
“Know him well, did you?” The man asked.
Frank shook his head and answered in a low voice as though afraid to disrespect the dead man sealed in the box just below them.
“Not well… But what I knew, I liked.”
The man opposite looked at him even more strangely.
Frank paused and then ventured: “Are you a relative?”
“Not that I’ll admit to. Came to pay expenses, nothin’ more.”
The man gave him one last harsh look (disdain?), turned abruptly, and hurried away.
Frank watched him go, puzzled. The sky made a deep rumbling growl and it abruptly started to rain.
***
The hospital seemed a completely different place to Frank when he returned; colder and more somber. Whatever life and luster there had been in the place seemed gone and his associations were now darker and tinged with melancholy. Even the hospital itself seemed steeped in gray rather than beiges and off-beiges.
He wanted this to be a quiet and unnoticed hit-and-run, get in and get out — No awkward goodbyes or getting into why he was leaving or where he was going… He’d been careful to pick lunch hour so that he wouldn’t run into many of the staff (none if he could help it).
He strode to the back of the Nurse’s station to the desk Katherine had assigned him when he had first taken this job. At the time, he’d thought he would be there a lot of the time and had brought the typical odds and ends he guessed he would need. Now he quickly packed the unused small radio, pencil sharpener, pens and pencils, and multi-pack of post-it notes into the cardboard box he’d brought and was back down the main corridor and almost to the lobby in a flash. So far, so good — he’d been lucky — the only ones he’d passed had been too far gone to either notice, recognize, or remember him and it seemed he’d made a clean get-away. He had his shoulder against the front door and was just pushing it open when Fernando called out to him from down the hall.
“Hey — How was the funeral, man?” He asked, moving quickly closer with his characteristically bouncy step. “I liked Eli, was sorry I couldn’t make it — my kid got sick.”
Frank didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to talk about it. So much for discrete departures. He let the door close, adjusted the box in his arms. Fernando summed up the situation almost instantly.
“So you’re outta here already, huh? You know, the old folks, they really like you.”
Just what he needed — to feel awash with guilt…But he reminded himself that he’d been honest with Fernando right from the beginning…
“I know…” he responded quietly.
He didn’t know what else to say until he saw the mild look of disgust on Fernando’s face.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come back to visit.” Frank added unconvincingly.
Fernando seemed to again read him easily — yet his tone still softened.
“Sure… Sure… Well, it’s been nice havin’ ya around, man. Hope you got what you were after.”
Was that a needle or was he being sincere? Frank thought. No sign of a sneer, no edge to his voice — I think he meant it. Frank shifted on his feet and shook his head.
“You know, I think of it now and it all seems like a really sick idea. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth...”
He meant it too. It Did seem like a sick idea. He should’ve never taken it this far…
Fernando rested a compassionate hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“Old people die, Frank. You were just a spectator, you didn’t change anything.”
Frank nodded. He hoped this was true, he really did. Fernando extended his hand and Frank shifted one of his free and they shook.
“I’ll see you, Frank. Good luck with the book.”
“Thanks, Fernando. It’s been good workin’ with ya.”
Fernando really was a good guy. Frank thought. It was nice to have made a friend.
He had turned to leave when a strange nagging feeling made him stop in his tracks. It was the same type of compulsive impulse he would often have to remind him that he was forgetting something before he left the house. But this was much stronger — almost urgent and with a will of its own. He turned back, faced Fernando, and asked the question before he’d realized what he’d said.
“Hey, Fernando — You know anything about Eli? He ever tell you anything about his past, where he grew up, that sort of thing?”
That had been a strange feeling — like he was a puppet and someone else had spoken through him. Fernando didn’t show the slightest discomfort at the question. He merely shrugged.
“He used to be a barber — just like my dad when he came here from TJ. Even worked in the same area for a while. Don’t remember much other than that.”
There went the hairs on the back of Frank’s neck again. It wasn’t hot in the hospital but he felt the small trickle of sweat sliding down the small of his back. He did his best to cover his surprise.
“Nothing else?’ He asked as flatly as possible.
Fernando’s brow screwed up in thought for a moment and he shook his head.
“Nah—Not that I can remember, man.”
Frank didn’t want to press but he couldn’t help it.
“But you’re sure he said he was a barber?”
Too far — Fernando was obviously starting to wonder what was up.
“Yeah. We even thought he might know my dad — but he didn’t.”
Frank flashed a phony smile — He needed to get out of there, move on — He didn’t want to field any questions Fernando might have, he needed to think about this…
“Alright, thanks.” He said brightly and was relieved when Fernando allowed it to pass.
“Make sure you say good-bye to the folks ‘fore you split, okay Frank? Otherwise they get freaked, enough faces around ‘em change as it is.”
He agreed with a slow nod. It seemed like the right thing to do; say good-bye and exit gracefully.
“Sure thing. I’ll do that right now.”
As he headed back towards Rachel’s room, Fernando called after him.
“Take it easy, Frank.”
He called back.
“Thanks, Fernando. You too.”
***
Rachel lit up when Frank entered her room — and he noticed she seemed to have recovered from her earlier distress and was back to her old self again. She wore her habitual elegant flowing gown and her make-up was applied in her typically thick fashion, topped by the bright red lipstick that always strayed too wide around the edges of her mouth like a crayon that couldn’t stay within the lines of a drawing.
Unfortunately, her elation faded quickly when Frank told her that he wanted to ask her some questions about Eli and she was immediately overtaken by an obvious agitation.
“Why does it matter?” She asked plaintively. “He’s gone and done with.”
She made the sign of the cross over her breast, sat heavily on the bed and indicated that he should sit in a nearby chair. It would’ve been so easy to let the subject go, treat this kind old woman to a pleasant conversation — but again that nagging prodding in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him rest so easily. Something was wrong — like a picture hanging on the wall at an angle or a crossword puzzle with the wrong word written in some squares… Crossword Puzzle, he thought. Interesting that the idea of Eli’s favorite; a crossword puzzle, would leap to mind. Despite the ramifications, he needed to press on. It just wasn’t his nature to ignorantly walk away.
“It would really help if you told me, Rachel.” He said calmly and quietly. “He was hiding something and I’d like to know what it was.”
She almost began to cry and he felt such pity, he almost withdrew the question — but he didn’t. He simply waited for her to control her emotions and even when she pleaded with him
again, voice quavering, he didn’t relent.
“He was sick, Frank. Why do you care what a sick dead man said?”
The flurry of emotions that rose in him at the question surprised him. He recognized for the first time that he was angry and resentful. He’d been betrayed and betrayal wasn’t something he took well — especially if he didn’t know why.
“Because I thought he was my friend and he lied to me.” He told her flatly. “Or at least I think he did. I mean, all we ever have to go on with a person is what they tell us — and for some reason, he told different things to different people. Why, Rachel? Why would he do that?”
Something about the way she sat straighter and the now firm set of her mouth made him realize that betrayal was probably something she understood quite well. He couldn’t help a quick glance at the photos on the wall. How many of those people had betrayed her? Or were those the only ones in her long life that hadn’t?
After a long moment, she met his gaze.
“If I tell you what he said, I never want to discuss it again, Frank. Never.”
He solemnly nodded his acceptance of her terms.
“Okay.”
She balled her frail hands into white fists and a long violent shudder shook her body. Tears of mascara began to run into the crannies of her face but she was determined to maintain her dignity, even through this. Her voice came out brittle but clear — a matter of sheer will power.
“He said I was just a walking… hole… for men’s pleasure…”
Her voice faltered and she had to clear her throat before continuing.
“He…He said if he were younger he’d … cut out my genitals and make me eat them…”
The tears were flowing harder now and she trembled again.
“He was sick, Frank. Sick and disgusting.”
Frank moved closer and tried to comfort her. Eli? Eli had said that?!? The shock of it kept rolling through his mind in waves. Then it was true! — Eli was not who he seemed to be! What else was he hiding?
“Take it easy, Rachel… “ He said outwardly, in soft soothing tones as the reverberations of this revelation kept gnawing at him. “Take it easy…”
There was more here… he was sure of it! All of his instincts were telling him that this was only the beginning..!
And the certainty of this became even more firmly entrenched as he said his good-byes to Rachel and promised he’d come back soon…
CHAPTER 10 – Burt
Frank was on his way back to the Night and Day cemetery before he’d even really thought about where he was going — or why. But then it made sense — Outside of the hospital, the only people that he knew that had had anything to do with Eli were the odd man that had been so strange at the funeral, and the old clergyman.
When he entered the squat building, Frank found the same clergyman behind a small battered desk doing paperwork and thought it was a lucky coincidence. But then it occurred to him — the man might even be the owner of this tiny decrepit enterprise.
Frank approached and got the old man’s attention. The clergyman looked up with that slightly jaundiced gaze that sometimes comes with age (and possibly poor health). Frank quickly introduced himself and waited to see if there were any signs of recognition and when none came, he began to ad-lib to suit his purposes. He had put no planning into this and it was another one of those circumstances when the exchange went so well, it was as if it were pre-scripted. The conversation played precisely towards Frank’s goals without him even trying — The clergyman assumed that since Frank had said he was at the funeral, he must be a relative of the deceased. It didn’t take him long to reveal that the other man, who’s name he was just now looking for, had passed him a bad check by way of payment and that he was contemplating what to do next. The clergyman went on to explain that the man had purchased the absolute cheapest burial package and had even negotiated the price down on that. To further bounce the check for this lowly amount was beyond the old Clergyman’s experience and that the man had provided proper identification before the clergyman would accept the check made even less sense to the old man.
“Is he trying to force my hand to involve the law?” Asked the clergyman, wringing his hands. “I have his name and address from his Driver’s license somewhere, why would he do such a disrespectable thing?” As an after-thought, the old man quickly added; “I apologize if you know the man, but this is most disgraceful!”
The clergyman slowly shook his head back and forth in dismay and disgust and, as if by virtue of momentum, the movement seemed to repeat indefinitely.
Frank saw his opportunity and seized it. He quickly spun a yarn about his estrangement from the other man, who he creatively claimed was his step-brother, and went on to explain that the poor man wasn’t quite right in the head and that he had thought that something like this might happen regarding payment and that he had come here to make amends. He added an anecdotal story or two about his step-brother’s mental instability and layered these with so many tiny details that he had no doubt by the time he finished that the clergyman believed his every word implicitly. He concluded his convoluted tale with the fact that he didn’t have his step-brother’s current address and would need it to get him to repay his half of the funeral expenses. The words were barely out of his mouth (especially the words “repay” and “half”) before the clergyman located the notation in his accounts ledger and quickly scribbled down information on a piece of paper and thrust it into Frank’s hand with a thankful nod and smile.
There followed an awkward moment until Frank realized that the clergyman was now eagerly awaiting payment. Seeing no other way out, Frank resigned himself to writing a check — hoping that it wouldn’t repeat the fate of its predecessor and that Jackie could be made to understand this expense as justified in the pursuit of added material that would make his novel a success. That the check was for more than Frank had made at the hospital in his whole duration made him wince — but there was nothing that could be done about that now.
***
The drive to Glendale in his old VW bug was difficult. He wasn’t familiar with the area and when he reached the steep hills of Eagle Rock, often referring to the Thomas Brother’s map book in his lap, he wasn’t sure his car would be able to handle the steep incline of the narrow snaking roads. After several tense moments of an overtaxed engine, black smoke pouring from his tail pipe and puffing up behind him in his rear view mirror, he arrived at the address written on the piece of paper given him by the clergyman — or so he thought.
There were no numbers on the tiny shabby 1920s cottage. He could only assume by the address placards on the small houses on either side that this was the place. Somehow, it immediately seemed to fit the man he’d seen at the funeral. As he had been unkempt and scroungy, so was this domain. The shack was horribly dilapidated and overrun by trees and high shrubbery growth. Entire sections were exposed, the paint having peeled off long ago. The porch had collapsed, and several windows were broken — some by trees that seemed to have extended their branches inside and through the home over time. The roof sagged in the middle and without any information to the contrary, Frank would have naturally assumed that this hovel had been abandoned long ago.
He exited his car and made his way towards the house through the growth, trying to place his feet where there had once been a stone path leading to the front steps. Navigating the front porch proved to be more difficult, he moved slowly and carefully only narrowly missing choosing the wrong rotted boards on three occasions and almost falling through before he found safe footing to the left of the aged front door. When he finally reached across from the side and knocked — the sound rang loud and hollow through the house and he was afraid to knock harder for fear the front door might collapse.
After several moments, heavy lumbering footsteps approached from inside and Frank adjusted his position on the porch since many of the boards jumped and creaked with the movement.
The man from the funeral yanked open the do
or and stood scowling in a stained bulging undershirt.
“Yeah?” he asked brusquely.
“Yes, we met at Eli Simms funeral a few days back… I was wondering if I —“
The man shut the door in Frank’s face, mid-sentence.
“— could ask you a few questions?” Frank finished weakly.
Frank looked at the closed door and felt he had no choice but to yell through it.
“Look, I drove quite a ways to talk to you…” He referred to the piece of paper in his hand, knowing that names often helped in matters of persuasion. “…Burt…”
There was no response but Frank noted that there were no sounds of receding footsteps either. Burt was obviously just behind the door, waiting…
“I’d be willing to pay you for your time” he ventured.
There was still no response. What did this guy want? Looking at the house, it had to be money. Frank took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and slipped it under the door. Less than three seconds later, Burt responded.
“Another twenty’ll buy ya ten.” He called back through the thin door.
Frank added another twenty and Burt swung the door once again. He stared at Frank, face impassive and grave.
“Ten minutes.” He said and turned aside for Frank to enter.
***
Burt led the way into his house, weaving through leaning ceiling-high stacks of old newspapers, half-dissected appliances, broken pieces of furniture…He spoke over his shoulder in a gravelly baritone…
“The forked tree don’t fall far from the apple, do it?”
He giggled at his own joke, indicated one of the towering stacks of newspapers.
“I git the news, ya know!”
He glanced back at Frank with a raised wild-haired eyebrow, turned sideways and forced his way through a gap between a dismantled refrigerator and a tall pile of broken toys.
After Death Page 8
