 
OLD MISS GRACING

by

Edward Drobinski

Copyright © 2013 by Edward M. Drobinski

All rights reserved

Dedicated to the overworked, overwhelmed, underpaid and unsung heroes and heroines on whose hearts and minds this world depends. -- Our teachers.

Chapter 1

"What a lousy birthday present. I wish this one was returnable," thought five year old Zeke Carmichael, as his eyes opened to the would-be light trying to impress the shut window at the foot of his bed. It was another of those days when the sky couldn't decide whether it wanted to be blue, gray, or white resulting in a color best called blayite, perhaps trying to invent a new sign of drudgery, or perhaps trying to approximate a sound made after having too much to drink. He viewed the non-descript color, clucked his tongue and grimaced, thinking; "I'll bet there's a north wind on top of it." It was September 8, 1954, the days before rock 'n roll and the first day of the beginning of a common misery, most often identified as kindergarten. SCHOOL!

His cheerful mother walked into the room, clapping her hands twice, saying; "C'mon, Zeke. It's 7:00AM. Time to start getting ready."

"You don't have to make a celebration of it. It's more like a funeral. -- Mine."

"C'mon, c'mon. You're a big boy now. It's time to start acting like an adult."

Up until now the only advantages Zeke saw to being an adult was that they got to make all the rules without having to go to school. He was told time and again, that his mom and dad did, indeed, go to school when they were required to a long time ago. Zeke put that idea on hold, as it was a very convenient argument today, with no means of verification open to him.

"If I act like an adult, do I get a say so in what goes on around here?"

Mom grabbed Zeke under the arms, picked him up and gave him a big kiss on the cheek and an interminable cuddle. She said; "I'm going to miss having you around here all day. I won't know what to do with myself. I'll have to have another baby."

"What a horrible thing to say," he thought, as he acted appropriately, pretending some degree of understanding, by putting his arms around his mother and sloppily kissing her. As she wiped her face with her perennial handkerchief, he thought; "She's planning to replace me already."

Zeke ate his breakfast and dressed for the occasion, brown cuffed baggy long pants and a white long sleeved button up shirt, topped off with a spiffy blayite bow tie. Mom was waiting for him in the kitchen, took his hand silently and together they were off. Down two flights of stairs they went, to the corner and across the two-way street controlled not only by traffic lights, but also crossing guards in bright orange jackets, confusing the motorists in their disdain for the electronically precise signals working above. They walked, hand in hand just like the old days, only now to a new destina¬tion. To Zeke it was more of a dirge this time, as he recalled singing and skipping down the street with her on the way to the park or library, seemingly eons ago. The three story brick building now in too close a view must have been built before the dinosaurs, or by one. Its color was now that of blowing dirt and its bricked in windows were obviously there to keep one from escaping, the hard way.

Zeke said; "Mom, you can still change your mind."

"Don't make it harder on me than it has to be. I've told you that if I don't bring you to school, I'd get arrested and sent to jail."

He didn't want to imagine her in jail, but said; "How will they find out? I won't tell."

She looked at him, widened her eyes and said; "The mind police will find out. We'll be thinking about it and they'll break down the door and come get us." As they got to the schoolyard's entry, she picked him up, holding him once more, put him down and said; "Go ahead, now. You'll meet lots of new friends." She quickly turned and left, not wanting her little one to see the tears in her eyes.

Zeke stood at the gate and watched his mother disappear into the crowd at the corner. He ran to that side of the schoolyard and gripped the chain link fence. He could see her cross the street and go back to their apartment building. He started to cry, perhaps instinctively knowing that the best part of his life was officially over, the horror now born, like the strange beast slouching its way to Bethlehem. As he cried, he thought; "Mom, you've already taught me reading, writing and arithmetic. Don't let these 'professionals' foul it up, at least not yet. God, they'll probably try to socialize me, too."

The tears got worse as he looked around to see all the other kids, now on the opposite side of the schoolyard, right next to the school. "Wasn't there already an adequate supply of willing victims?" he thought. He saw some kids cross the street running and laughing, probably not wanting to be late for the hanging. "They couldn't possibly want to be here, could they? If this is an improvement, I'd hate to see where they're coming from."

His crying became even more intense as he stared at his apartment's entry, hoping that at any instant Mom would pop out, defy the law and rescue him. Instead, in her absence, the bells of hell split the dismal morning and he saw all of the kids forming lines. "The tigers don't even have to bother running and pouncing," he thought; "The sheep are trained to make it easy for them." He gripped the chain link fence tighter, maybe trying to rip open an escape route and riveted his eyes on the apartment door, hoping for some last second miracle. Sensing the end, his crying became as violent and wet as the time some kid told him that there was no Santa Claus. He felt a hand rest gently on his right shoulder. He turned around, trying unsuccessfully to hide his tears and saw the lady who he would soon find out was called Old Miss Gracing.

She said; "Come on, now. You don't want to be late, do you?

"I'm trying my best."

She reached for his hand, which he pulled away and she said; "Trust me. No one wants to hurt you."

Though the "trust me" reminded him of some used car ads he had seen on television, her kind, smiling face compelled him to take her hand. At least this one didn't look like an Indian after his scalp. He said; "I'll believe it when I see it."

She said; "You can't think like that;" a phrase that would come to mean more to him with each passing year, but right now his response was; "I can't help what I think. Are you part of the mind police?"

She was surprised and intrigued at that reply coming from a five year old. She said; "No, I think I'm your kindergarten teacher. Don't worry about things. I cried my first day of school, too. When I got in, I hated it so much that I stayed there nineteen years."

Zeke half-heartedly gave her his hand as now he was somewhat intrigued. He took a good look at her. She was a tall woman with a pleasant spectacled white face, big soft blue eyes and long gray hair blowing gently in the breeze. No makeup could be detected and her plain pink dress, adorned in frills only at the buttons, conveyed a feeling of dignity and grace. But, she looked even older than Mom and therefore even less likely to have ever been five years old. And, if she ever was a kid, she was certainly a weird one to stay in school nineteen years. Zeke took another look at her face, now displaying a combination smile with a far-away look in her blue eyes and instinctively he said; "I like you."

She said; "You'll make a lot of new friends."

He replied; "I've heard that one already."

She stopped, looked down at him, put her hands on her knees and put her amused face right in front of his cynical one and said; "In the future, I'll try not to be so trite."

Zeke didn't know what trite was, but thought that it must have meant something like repetitious and thought that he probably liked the reply and the curious, lined but pretty visage one foot from him.

She again took his hand and led him to the end of one line of boys, went to the front and directed everyone up the fire escape into the ominous institution. From his vantage point he saw other kids his size, turning around to scrutinize the one who required special attention. Not certain whether their looks conveyed envy, disdain, curiosity or mixtures thereof he pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes on the friendly old lady in front. He thought; "I can tell that she thinks I'm special and she's the one in charge here."

The interior was a good match for the exterior. Walls of peeling, jaundiced, probably at one time, yellow paint covered the top of the wall, separated from its peeling, nauseous, probably at one time green, lower counterpart, by a brown stained railing, which seemed to have as much broken, bent or missing as it had in its right place.

When Miss Gracing led the group into her room, Zeke's outlook perked up some. Despite the walls being identical to those already encountered, these displayed decoration; pictures of various birds, large cards containing the letters of the alphabet, both upper and lower cases, letters or essays done by former occupants, crayon drawings of God knows what and some miniature wooden depictions of animals. The item that kept his attention the longest, however, was a black and white realistic drawing of the backs of an elderly man and woman holding bare hands, carrying umbrellas in the other, walking down a dark, rainy city street. A glimpse of the surrounding three story apartment buildings was difficult at best, as the blackness of the night intruded on large areas. At some points one could not differentiate between parts of the structures and the equally black starless sky dead ahead.

The teacher walked to the large chair and desk at the front of the room in front of a blackboard background. Forty much smaller identical chairs were lined up in an orderly fashion, one presumably his, as the others instinctively sat; the girls careful not to pick a seat with some deficiency. She picked up a light purple piece of chalk and wrote her name on the blackboard. She turned to the approximately forty children, smiled and said; "I'm Miss Gracing," seeming to display ease, elegance and friendliness. "Please take any seat available." She smiled and paused before continuing; "Well, I see you already have. Now, you can tell me who you are." She slightly shook her head when uttering a few of the words, causing some of her loose long gray hair to fall on her face, which she brushed back with her right hand. She pulled some papers out of her middle desk drawer, focused on them and said; "Michael Adler?" Zeke saw a little boy take a nervous look at the kids near him, then look at Miss Gracing, pointing his index finger at his chest. She nodded, smiling, saying; "Michael?" When she got no objection, she continued; "What is your home address and phone number?" He answered, apparently correctly and this routine went on with about four more students. Zeke had been intently surveying the procedure and had his answers prepared.

She said; "Zeke Carmichael?" Zeke promptly smiled and waved from the back of the room. "Zeke, what would you like to learn in this class?"

Zeke's smile ended as he started to spout his prepared answers, at the same time realizing they were no longer appropriate. He didn't know what he wanted from this class. Five minutes ago he wanted to go home. He glanced at the old black piano facing the room from one corner and said; "I'd like to hear you sing and play the piano."

"No, Zeke, the question was, what do you want to learn?"

Not really knowing what to say, he improvised; "I guess I'd like to learn to sing and play the piano with you."

She blinked a few times, as if she were pleasantly surprised and said; "Very good, Zeke. We will try to accomplish that." She made some notes on her papers and continued the roll call, sometimes throwing in tricky questions. After they got over their nervousness, the kids started to laugh at some of her questions and more often at the responses.

After everyone was identified, Miss Gracing pointed at the red, white and blue sitting in a notch just above the blackboard and asked a black girl why she thought that flag was there. The girl fidgeted in her seat and mumbled; "I don't know." She paused a while in the silence and said; "I guess it's there to remind us that we're in America." Miss Gracing said; "That's not a bad answer, but mine is that it's there because the government says it has to be."

Her answer struck Zeke as odd for some reason, so he called out; "What would happen if someone removed it?"

She said, "Probably nothing."

Zeke was surprised, but liked the answer, as it showed that some rules may be broken without penalty. He made a mental note to bring that one up with his mother someday.

On this day Zeke was to hear the Pledge of Allegiance for the first time; "With liberty and justice for all," desiring more of the former for himself. He played "Roll the ball" for the first time, though with the large number of students standing in a circle, he never got the ball. He didn't really care, as the game seemed silly to him. Three kids stood in the middle of the circle and the others rolled a soccer ball slowly at them, with the object of hitting one, at which point the roller became part of the inner circle. With the requirement of the slow roll, the kids inside had no problem getting away from the ball. Besides that, he wasn't sure it was desirable to be in the middle.

As she picked up the ball, indicating the end of the game, she pointed at Jimmy, a tall, thin white boy, who wore black dress pants and a disheveled white shirt undone to the second button with a black tie and said, "What kind of movies do you like?"

Jimmy promptly replied; "Monster."

"Why?"

"They're different."

"Better?"

Jimmy took the question as applying to the monsters themselves, not understanding that she was alluding to the movies.

He hesitated before weakly replying; "Well, no, not all of them. There are bad ones, too."

By his response, she wasn't certain, but thought she understood his direction, decided to follow it and said; "So, you like the good monsters?"

"Yes."

"What makes them good?"

"That's easy. Some are misunderstood and have a hard time, but they do something for somebody else, like 'King Kong'."

"Did you ever see 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'?"

"No."

"Try it. I think you'll like it."

After the break for lunch, Miss Gracing had the class put the small chairs in some semblance of order, before sitting. It was amazing how she remembered everyone's name. Zeke sure couldn't. The kids spent the rest of the afternoon trying to learn songs Miss Gracing sung while playing the piano. "Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go. The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifting snow."

Zeke particularly liked that song and from the words, he unconsciously developed his idea of what a house was. Unlike the things called houses in Bayonne, NJ, a house was more like the structures he had only seen in paintings, surrounded by trees, open space and water.

When the bell rang, everyone looked at her and she said; "I'll see you all tomorrow."

Zeke brightly deduced that class was dismissed and got up to reform the entry line and everyone got behind him. It was 3:15 and Miss Gracing led the group out the way they had come in. When the contingent got to the fire escape, Zeke saw his Mom waiting at the gate. He also saw kids ranging in ages from five to sixteen doing and yelling, all kinds of things. It reminded him of some movie he had seen in which the Bastille was stormed.

Zeke walked over to his protector and she said; "How did it go?"

"It was okay. There was one really stupid game, though."

"That's not bad. I think I was involved in five stupid games, myself, today."

"What?"

"Never mind. It's impossible to explain."

"Were you rolling a ball at anyone?"

Mom just laughed at that one and he felt like he was missing something. She asked him what he did all day and what the teacher was like and he told her at length as they held hands and skipped home.

Miss Gracing went back to the classroom to shuffle papers, put some in her purse, which she carried over one shoulder as she walked home. The first half block happened to be the same route as Zeke and she watched the skipping duo, thinking thoughts too numerous to crystallize into anything other than that she wondered about him and how he got the way he had so far appeared.
Chapter 2

She walked three more blocks to her apartment over a candy store, accessed through a back alley. On the way she made polite "Hellos" to a few unremembered kids from prior years, who chose to greet her in some fashion, one boy of about twelve, yelling; "Hey, Miss Gracing." She smiled, waved and wished she remembered the name belonging to the loud rambunctious youngster, who was too busy running, playing and showing off to care.

She walked through the alley behind the candy store and took the stairs to her apartment. It was three railroad rooms heated by a huge black iron stove in the kitchen. She used her key and entered it. Simon came out from behind the stove and jumped into her arms. He was an orange cat with white markings, who wasn't afraid of anything. He didn't want to hurt anything himself and consequently seemed to assume that everything else felt the same way. His sequestered existence kept his illusions alive, as the only person he ever met was Eloise. "Simon, are you hungry?" she said as she put him down, heading for the white painted built in kitchen cabinets. She found his favorite easily, looking through the predominantly glass doors. She sat at the kitchen table, where she could keep a loving hand on Simon's neck while he ate as if he were near starvation. The room, as well as the other two, evoked an art deco, art nouveau and craftsman look, popular when she was a young woman, now available reasonably at Goodwill and junk stores. The angular shape of the deco contrasted nicely with the flowing forms of nouveau, suggesting some type of blue symbolic balance. Practicality was introduced through the craftsman table and its attendant four chairs, which gave a sturdy appearance exhibiting a lightly stained oak simplicity.

She lazily looked around the room, stretched out on her chair, viewed the white painted stamped tin ceilings and walls now covered with gray paper containing small cups, each holding one flower, of different sorts, each some shade of blue or red. She removed some papers from her carrying sack and put them and it on the table, which served as her desk. She liked working there because of its proximity to the stove heat source. The other two rooms displayed a similar motif, though the third room, with views of the street and was decorated sparsely, as it was too cold to use in the winter months.

When Simon was finished, she yawned and wanted to take a cat nap with her favorite companion and went into the adjoining room, removed her dress and crawled under the covers, with Simon in eager pursuit. She thought back to what didn't seem so long ago, when a mid-day siesta was not a requirement. She was born September 15, 1900 and her near 54 years were beginning to make themselves noticed. There were compensations; including Simon, the cuddle bug. She quickly drifted off, no doubt encouraged by the dark windowless room.

When she awoke she found her hooded full length black cloak in the closet, put it on and walked down the hall passing paintings depicting a penitent Magdalene and another showing an angel's visit to a resting crew, pausing on their flight from Egypt.

She opened the door at the end of the hall, revealing a bearded thin man sleeping with his back to her on a brass bed. She slowly walked over to the still creature, gently pulled down the blanket, seeing him wearing only briefs, pulled the hidden hunting knife held in her right hand under the cloak and proceeded to furiously stab away at his head and upper body. Blood shot out of the wounds spraying on her face and cloak. The almost still creature turned to her, the geysers at reduced force and said; "Bonnie, don't." This only seemed to get her more agitated and she flailed away, until the body was completely still. She then gave one more thrust to the heart, twisting the blade on its exit. The blood's pressure drop-off turned the spurts into steadily flowing rivers. She woke up to Simon curiously looking at her face. "Darn that dream," she thought, as she remembered the crying little boy she had met earlier in the day.

She put her hand under Simon's chin and scratched it, saying; "Don't worry, Simon. I'll never stab you." He trailed her back to the kitchen, where she fixed dinner and a pot of tea. She sat at the table and again looked at her papers which were almost immediately accompanied by Simon. "Simon," she said, picking him up and putting him down in her lap. With her right hand on his little furry head, she again perused the compelling papers with her left.

Chapter 3

Miss Gracing woke up to a well-practiced work day, feeding Simon, having coffee and breakfast, showering, dressing and going down the stairs to begin her walk to the center of learning. She was no longer disturbed by yesterday's dream. After countless viewings of the show, the shock effect had worn off.

Zeke was also re-playing yesterday. Despite one day in a row of pleasant experience, he was not anxious to get back to the decaying brick citadel.

"Mom, come on. Just let me stay home today. I still need to recuperate from yesterday."

"You come on, Zeke, I mean it," she said as she fidgeted with the tie on his squirming neck.

"I learn more from you right here. I didn't hear one thing new yesterday," he said, opening up a new front.

Ignoring the attempted new engagement, Mom said; "Didn't you tell me you liked Miss Gracing?"

"Yes," he smiled. "But, I can see her again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow never comes. So, you, little boy, are coming with me today." She finished the tie and took his hand. Realizing that it was futile to conjure up any half convincing argument, he trod along, with his head down, all the way to the schoolyard entrance.

Mom said; "Bye, Zeke. I'll be waiting here when you get out. Don't worry, you'll be fine." She started to walk away.

He said, "That's easy for you to say."

She smiled at him and kept walking, thinking about what she could do all day without him, settling on the hairdresser, as at least there would be someone to talk with.

"Waaah," he cried out, moving his small feet quickly to catch up to the longer steps taken by Mom, on the other side of the chain link fence.

Mom looked at Zeke, who now had tears running down both cheeks and shook her head from side to side, indicating a resolute "No." Just as yesterday, the now two day old habit continued, as he clutched the fence with both hands and intently watched Mom walk back home, continuing the precipitation display. He turned around, facing the dirty brick dragon, today taking special note of the three basketball courts painted on the asphalt near the building. All six rims were bent or twisted in some direction, making them of no use. He thought; "Who would do such a thing? I hope I don't have to meet the culprits. There was no purpose to the distortion and it must have taken a good deal of time and effort to achieve the results." The whole thing was just so ugly and upsetting that Zeke couldn't bear looking at it anymore and watched the little houses across the street as he wailed, fantasizing that someone would come out and offer him refuge. He didn't know that unlike his mother's life of leisure, the occupants were concerned with taking care of their own chores and problems.

His reverie was broken when he, again, felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her face and felt guilty for crying.

Miss Gracing said; "You told me that you liked me."

Zeke said; "Oh, I do. I really do. I'm just getting really bad feelings from those distorted rims. What kind of creep would do that?"

She said; "Do you know the first meaning of the word 'distort?'" When Zeke answered with a puzzled look, she continued; "It is to unite by winding."

Zeke was confused, but felt a little better. He weakly said; "But, they're now useless."

Miss Gracing responded; "You can't think like that."

Zeke still didn't know exactly what she meant by that phrase, but knew that it must be significant, as it was the second time he had heard it in their two day relationship. Maybe it meant that a sad conclusion was always wrong. But, sad conclusions do exist; like going to school. He would have to give it more thought later, but in the meantime he felt reassured and said; "Are you going to play the piano and sing today?"

"Sure. I do that almost every day."

She took his hand as the gongs rang for lineup time. She again led the somewhat composed boy to the end of the line and led the class in. To Zeke's chagrin, five or six of the other kids brought apples for the teacher, a mixture of races and sexes represented.

Miss Gracing graciously smiled and patted the cheek of each donor. Zeke scrutinized the situation from his rear seat, taking special note of the little girls. Curious creatures they were, wearing long hair, dresses, some makeup and shoes that look difficult to walk in. Boys had it so much easier. They didn't have to fuss with their hair, didn't have to go through some weird gyration when taking a seat, didn't have to learn how to apply lipstick and didn't have to risk falling every time they took a walk. Why did these little ones choose to make things more difficult than they had to be? Extremely strange.

Miss Gracing clapped her hands once and got undivided attention, picked up a paper basket with her right hand and said; "Today, I'm going to show you how to make one of these. You'll all have one to take home at the end of class." When she thought that she had detected a few incredulous looks, she added; "It's easy, believe me." She smiled; "If I can do it, anyone can." She motioned for the kids to come up to her desk. She showed the class the rough paper, the brads and a huge sharp pair of scissors. After demonstrating the technique she told each kid to take their own set of materials and of course, much smaller blunt edged scissors. Everyone followed orders and laid their stuff somewhere on the floor, sitting next to it.

Before much time elapsed, most had something in front of them, beginning to show its first inclinations toward basketry. Miss Gracing walked around the area, giving everyone a visit, offering encouragement, approval and smiles. Zeke was trying to speed up the process so that he could show Miss Gracing a completed project. She got to him too early and he sighed and shrugged. She said; "Don't be upset, you're doing wonderfully."

"I'm slower than I want to be."

"Speed isn't the only consideration. In fact, in my book it's one of the lowest. Besides speed will increase with practice."

"What's the highest consideration?"

"Quality, of course."

She started to go to the next student when Zeke blurted out; "Why do some people here choose to be girls? It looks like a real pain."

She was very surprised at the question and after a bit of a pause she offered; "The two papers you are making a basket out of are blue and red, which happen to be my favorite colors. The blue paper didn't choose to be blue, did it?"

"I don't think so."

"The red paper didn't choose to be red."

"No."

"It's the same principle with boys and girls. Did you choose to be a boy?"

"No."

"Well, girls didn't choose to be girls, either."

"They make such a process out of sitting and squatting, pulling their dresses around and crossing legs. Are they trying to hide something?"

Miss Gracing almost laughed out loud, managed to stifle it and was at a loss for words. Fortunately for her, Zeke continued his discourse saying; "They're not hiding a knife, are they?"

Her first reaction was that of shock, recalling her dream and for an instant wondered if Zeke had the same one, but quickly realized that his phrasing was pure chance. She smiled and said; "No, they are not carrying a knife. Nor are they carrying anything that could hurt you." She thought; "Or at least I don't think so."

She scooted away before Zeke could get his next question out. Fortunately for her, Zeke's little mind would soon be concerned with ten more pressing questions and observations.

The day passed slowly and pleasantly. The bright afternoon sun cast interesting moving shadows on the floor, while the kids played roll the ball and sang songs. Zeke watched Miss Gracing's complicated hand movements on the piano and thought; "That looks impossible."

Zeke's mother was waiting at the gate, as promised, at 3:15. He scampered over to her with his now completed basket. Before she could say anything about it, Zeke said; "You have to take me to the grocery store."

"Why?"

"I want to get an apple for Miss Gracing."

Mom complied with his wishes and he picked a large, but not the largest, Golden Delicious in the store. He liked its quality.

When she got home, Miss Gracing did not see her little furry friend, Simon and was concerned. She looked through the kitchen, opening and closing doors, looking behind the stove and anywhere else she could imagine as a cat hiding place. Her eyes focused on her favorite object, an art nouveau planter. Over a blue background, a young woman's head sat predominately in a black cameo, her long flowing blond hair escaping the circular encasement, where it intertwined with the green branches with red flowers. The inside of the planter held some dirt and dust, but no Simon.

She looked in the next room, calling out; "Simon,...... Simon,...... Simon." with no success. Then she entered the third, seldom used room and saw him sprawled out on the window sill, oblivious to the world, enjoying the warmth of the strong sun. She ran over and rubbed his belly furiously, saying; "Simon, Simon." She picked him up, nuzzling her face against his belly, saying; "Don't you ever scare me like that again." She gave him numerous head kisses and a gentle bite on the nose. Simon was still groggy from his long nap and didn't know quite what was going on. He thought; "I wish I knew what I did to get the special treatment. I'd do it every day."

She carried him to the kitchen and put him on the linoleum floor. He rubbed against her legs as she stood at the counter, transferring his fish dinner from a sealed can to a dish. Miss Gracing removed her dress and shoes to take her usual catnap in the bed in the next room with her happy confused companion. Perhaps it was due to the scare Simon had given her; perhaps it was due to the curious questions Zeke was asking; or perhaps it just happened to be scheduled in this time slot; Eloise proceeded to have a dream that was not exactly new territory, but it covered one she preferred to go around.

"Salem Institute for the Criminally Insane" warned the black painted wood sign on the road. The ten foot light gray stucco over cinderblock walls did not increase how inviting the facility appeared. If one could get over their probable initial queasiness, there was a guard holding a rifle sitting behind the closed iron gate.

There was approximately one acre of lawn, devoid of trees, bushes, or anything else one could hide behind. Though the season wasn't clear, the browned out short grass with bald patches suggested fall, winter, or poor maintenance. The facility itself also had a light gray stucco over each of its five stories, iron bars on all windows and culminated in a flat roof. A visible sloping roofline would have been an improve¬ment, but its existence would have also indicated a too complete and tended feel for the solemn least cost structure.

The feel of the interior was consistent with its outside partner and evinced completely white cinderblock walls and plain white ceilings, barely set off by whitewashed oak thin planked floors. What little furniture, was domiciled, substantially benches and seats, seemed to be attached to the walls or floors with black iron bolts and chains.

Eloise was seated catty corner on one of the larger benches, which fortunately had a red cushion. Her single piece light gray institutional dress almost covered her naked splayed legs. The open top four uniform buttons showed flesh, which like her legs, looked as if they had never visited with any sun. Her disheveled, slouching and unadorned appearance was only besmirched by smeared bright red lipstick below hard, knowing and laughing eyes.

Other inmates were more agitated. Some were on an important mission quickly walking somewhere, perhaps late for an appointment. Others were babbling to anyone they could get near and mostly to no one in particular about something of the utmost importance. Some were doing both and some sat on the floor, interchanging crying with angry yells.

The attendants seemed to be taking everything in stride, another typical work day. Eloise periodically tried to get their attention with a derisive laugh as she stared into their elusive eyes.

As there was nothing new or shocking going on Eloise was not jarred awake; rather she relaxed into the customary ambiance; perhaps enjoying her vantage point until her body and mind were refreshed from the nap. She then uneventfully fully woke up with a happy, furry cat huddled in her belly, who did not have the slightest intention of moving. She patted his head gently and then more furiously, hoping it would induce him to get up of his own volition. When that didn't work she picked him up by his belly, Simon doing his best to keep his weight to the ground. She put him to her side, stood up and walked to the kitchen. The light still streaming in jolted her back to full reality. She lost her sense of complacency as she recalled events that took place just prior to her dream.

Chapter 4

For the first time on a school day Zeke was up before his mother called. He was extremely anxious to bring his special apple to his teacher, who was quickly becoming more than he expected.

"Mom. Come on. Make my breakfast."

"You're early. I want to watch the rest of 'The Honeymooners.'"

Zeke dressed himself and sat on the floor in front of the television, to see Ralph get very contrite, sheepishly walk over to Alice, put his arms around her and say; "Baby, you're the greatest."

Zeke said; "Is Dad going to be home soon?"

"Yes, very soon. His team is in the playoffs again, so no telling exactly when, but it's soon."

"They gonna manage to blow it again?"

"Probably." She laughed, "It's becoming a habit. The way your father tells it, somebody always manages to do something stupid at the last minute."

She made his breakfast and Zeke finished it quickly, going to the door in anticipation of her arrival. When it wasn't immediate, he looked her way.

"All right, all right. Let me get my shoes on. What's happened to you in the past two days? First you don't want to go and then you can't wait. Hot or cold. Try a little lukewarm."

When he didn't answer she continued; "Have you finally discovered that they're not going to torture you at school?"

Zeke stamped his foot and implored; "Come on! I've got no time for silly questions."

She complied and they left for the education building. They were, as usual, holding hands but Zeke was pulling her along. When they got to the gate, he said; "Bye," and purposefully walked into the schoolyard.

It was still early and kids were milling about, some giggling, some playing with a rubber ball and some talking in small groups. Zeke didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to speed up time. He realized that he'd gotten himself into a "Hurry up and wait" situation, which his father told him was the single biggest part of his World War II army experience. He stopped near the middle and took a look around to see if he could locate Miss Gracing. Instead an eight year old boy, named Robert came up behind him and said; "Hey, do you have old Miss Gracing?"

Zeke didn't appreciate the description, considered smacking him in the face, but was deterred by his size and then mumbled; "I have Miss Gracing." He tried to conjure up a defiant look.

"Yeah, that's what I meant. I had her in kindergarten, too. I think everyone in this school had her in kindergarten. My mom did, too. She's been around for quite some time."

Zeke couldn't discern the purpose of this conversation, so drew a blank. In order to appear unafraid he finally came up with; "Did you like her?" his eyes glaring as if to impart that there was only one right answer.

"Everyone I know did except one goofball. He always wants to be the center of attention and thinks she didn't give him enough."

"Did she?"

"Probably. You know there are 35 to 40 kids in a class. And to tell you the truth this guy isn't the sharpest pencil around. When he says something, often people just say, 'Very good.' 'That's nice.', 'Glad to hear it.' and try to find an excuse to get away as soon as possible."

Zeke laughed; "I haven't met anyone like that yet. Come to think of it, I haven't met anyone yet except you and Miss Gracing"

Robert laughed; "You'll find them. He's far from unique. They're usually saying; 'Look at me. Look at me.'"

The lineup bell finally went off and Zeke broke away, desiring to get on line as fast as his legs could carry him. Robert said; "See ya."

Zeke, distractedly, looked back and said the same. His quick feet enabled him to get to be the first boy on line, a change from the previous two days at the rear, now the closest to Miss Gracing. He vaguely remembered his mother's commentary about hot and cold. He saw her walking toward him in an orange silk, knee length, clinging dress with her long gray hair swimming in the gentle zephyr. He said; "Good morning, Miss Gracing."

She said; "Good morning, Zeke," and looked at him with a combination smile, wrinkled brow and an air of amusement.

"I have a present for you today."

"Well, thank you. Can you hold it until we get inside?"

Zeke was crushed for a few seconds before realizing that he could wait another long minute. After the usual procession took place, he walked right up to her desk, removed the bulge from his pants and put the special apple on her desk, as she stood there watching.

"It's a Golden Delicious," he said.

"It's gorgeous. Thank you."

"It tastes good, too."

She laughed; "I'm sure it does. Thanks again."

Seven or eight other kids made their way to the desk, depositing their red apples on arrival. Miss Gracing thanked each of them. One black boy named Jeremiah saw the yellow object sitting there, pointed at it and said; "What's that thing? That's no apple. It must be some kind of tropical fruit." Some of the nearby kids had a laugh, if not at the brilliance of the statement, then at Jeremiah's inflection on delivery.

Zeke got upset. He said; "It is too an apple, a special golden one. You're just too stupid to know."

Jeremiah actually laughed at him saying; "Apples are red. Violets are blue. Whoever can't understand that must be as blind as you."

Some other kids got a kick out of that one, too. Miss Gracing interrupted the sideshow, calmly saying; "That will be enough from both of you. Go take seats."

Zeke was disappointed at what happened. Didn't anyone except Miss Gracing know a special apple when they saw one? And why did they have to comment and laugh about its specialness? Envy displayed as derision? He made sure he took a seat as far away from that loudmouth Jeremiah as possible, though he peered with contempt at the still grinning black poet. The seat happened to be right in front of Miss Gracing's see through desk. She announced that to start the day she would read "B'rer Rabbit" to the class. What she must not have realized was that her clinging orange silk dress must have clung somewhere up high, because Zeke got the sight of a pair of legs, the likes of which he never previously noted and Jeremiah was forgotten. She wore no type of leg covering, exposing milky, white, curvy legs. While she was sitting and reading she took off her shoes and sometimes wiggled her toes. If asked Zeke would have to admit that he didn't hear much of "B'rer Rabbit" that day. He figured he could always take it out of the library, which loved to cater to children. When she finished reading the book he thought that it must have been an extremely short story. She put on her high heeled shoes, stood up and straightened her dress. Zeke didn't think she could top the last show.

The rest of the day was less stimulating with Miss Gracing playing that impossible piano. "God," he thought, "That thing must have a million different buttons and actions. It must take a lifetime to learn how to play it." Everyone sang old Irish songs and played that silly rolling ball game, only this time Zeke got a few rolls of his own.

When Miss Gracing got home she found a good Simon right at her feet as soon as she opened the door. She wondered if Simon knew how lucky he was to have such a regular companion. He had her to himself at all times except when she had to work and shop. She had become a, sort of, what others might call, a recluse, initially out of necessity. She preferred the term, "One who likes to keep to herself." She fed the famished feline and took off her dress to initiate her siesta. She remembered that she had bad dreams two days in a row and really didn't want another. She had already covered the murder scene and the psychiatric institution, so maybe if she conjured up the other recurrent two before sleeping, she could then get forty winks in a cheerful place. So, she remembered the broken male body in a deep crevice on the mountain and it being impossible for anyone to get the body out. A t least that's what she was told. She got right up to the edge and peered down the black jagged hole, noting the lack of growth on the white rock never exposed to the sun and the twisted crumpled torso at the bottom

She then recalled being severely bruised and naked on a cold concrete floor, being photographed by smiling men, instructing her to assume many different positions, who seemed to relish their "work" a bit too immensely.

So much for the memorabilia stuck in her head. She drifted off, with Simon on her chest and pleasantly dreamed of being young and standing on a cliff overlooking a calm Pacific Ocean on a warm summer day. The wind was intermittent and mild, coming from the South, gently pushing her long black hair back while she watched swimmers and surfers, wondering how she could get down to join them.
Chapter 5

Zeke realized that he had quickly become a creature of habit. He was now always ready for school a bit on the early side and brought Miss Gracing his "Golden Delicious" apple offering, though he was no longer alone in his choice. Other kids, including Jeremiah, brought in the "yellow fruit" periodically. He wasn't sure how he felt about this new development. At times he was glad to see that his present was no longer laughed at, but sometimes he no longer felt unique.

Zeke regularly took the seat right in front of Miss Gracing's desk and the other kids, too, started taking the same seats every day. From his vantage point Zeke could get a private dialogue going with the teacher, being able to answer questions and make observations well within her earshot, without having to go through the trouble of raising his hand and being called on.

Some days she seemed slightly annoyed at Zeke's privileged position, so he tried not to bother answering the easy questions. He would reserve his commentary for something in which he didn't think he would be making the standard answer and could mesmerize her with his outlook. She was something less than mesmerized, but at times she was quite taken with the five-year-old's remarks and seemed to forgive him for the judicious use of his advantage.

When asking the class one of her questions designed to require opinion, thought and analysis, she asked what everyone thought of their President Eisenhower. Some kids said that he was "so old," some that they didn't know, some that their folks didn't trust Republicans and some made observations that were probably about some other politician they saw on television, thinking it was "Ike." Maybe he was somewhat out of sorts; maybe he was looking to stir up a little excitement; or maybe he thought that he had waited an appropriate time since his last transgression, but Zeke was out and out annoyed with the stupidity he heard in the volume of answers. So, without raising his hand, he forcefully said; "Eisenhower's a military man. He's personally seen the horrors of war unlike many non-participants who glamorize it. He's, therefore, much less likely to get this country into one."

Not knowing that Zeke was merely parroting as best he could, what his father had said about six months ago, Miss Gracing was startled at the response, knowing a number of ways to answer it, but was not quickly able to deem the one most suitable for a five year old audience. She finally said; "That's an interesting point of view. I'd like to discuss it further another time, but right now," clapping her hands to get attention, "It's time for milk and cookies."

Now Zeke was annoyed with Miss Gracing's non-response and avoidance, while there was a general low cheer as the kids left their seats, running, skipping and walking over to the refrigerator. Zeke and Miss Gracing held back somewhat and she said; "Zeke, I'd like to talk to you after class, today."

Zeke's annoyance quickly turned to worry, as he had heard similar phrases used when there was some disciplinary problem. He was distressed about what he had just said, her apparent reaction to it and afraid his mother would find out he was bad in school. He said; "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

As she walked by on her journey to the refrigerator, she put her right hand on Zeke's cheek, smiled and said; "No, don't be sorry. I'm really interested in what you said and want to discuss it further, one on one. Where do you get some of your ideas?" He held her hand against his cheek, thankful for the person who could always make him feel better.

Zeke could have said; "From my father" but that response would probably extinguish the interest and discussion, so he merely said; "I'm not sure." No one had yet made him acquainted with the thought that there was nothing new under the sun.

Miss Gracing cheerfully dispensed the goodies and the rest of the afternoon was spent singing songs; "Daisy, Daisy give me your answer, do. I'm half crazy, oh for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage. I can't afford a carriage. But, you'd look sweet up on the seat of a bicycle built for two."

Zeke detected something he liked in the sound of that song. Most kids didn't seem to take any significance from it, sometimes incorrectly substituting other words here and there and only hearing the sound of the words, as a typical non-reflective five year old would. The class learned a new game, though. The kids made a line and each, in turn, went to the blackboard to solve a math problem put there by Miss Gracing. The kids were giggling and commenting upon their perceptions of the problem's difficulty. Some kids got things like 1+1=? and they successfully wrote down 2. When they had obtained the smile and approval of Miss Gracing they went to the back of the line to the clap of very small hands and the cheers of very small mouths. When Zeke got his turn the problem written was: 24 x 3 over 18 = ?.

He knew that "x" meant times, but he didn't understand what it meant to put one number over another.

He slowly walked to the blackboard and took a piece of chalk in his right hand. He said; "I know that 24 x 3 = 72, but I can't go further than that. What's the line for?"

Miss Gracing said it meant "divided by," to which he quickly responded; "Oh. Then four." He paused and added; "Like a batting average." He paused again, wrinkled his brow and said; "Well, it can't be a batting average, but it could be a slugging average if the guy hit a home run every time up."

She again viewed him curiously, but simply said; "Well, I don't know anything about baseball, so I'll have to take your word on that part. But four is the correct answer." As he walked sideways to the back of his line, he eyed Miss Gracing eyeing him. The previously silent crew gave out a hesitant half cheer, probably not certain of what they had seen and heard.

The game was still being enjoyed when the bells chimed. Miss Gracing waited for silence, then said; "That's it for today. Line up and follow me out. Zeke, please wait at my desk."

While waiting there Zeke took notice of something that had previously escaped his eyes; a heavy 16 inch long pair of silver scissors with a very tapered end. He wondered why the scissors the kids used the other day to make baskets were so small and blunt, though they were obviously good enough for the task. What were these for? He started to fidget with the heavy scissors, finally making a half-hearted attempt to lift them with one hand. When he heard Miss Gracing return, closing the door behind her, he dropped them back on the table, resulting in a very audible sound of a metal thud.

Miss Gracing said; "Zeke, don't touch that."

"Okay.", he said quickly and nervously.

She took her seat behind the desk, checking the scissors and seeing that they were properly closed. "Bring your chair around here and we'll chat without a desk separating us."

He did as he was told, placing his chair opposite hers. Upon sitting, he noticed a curvy pair of milky crossed legs opposite him. He briefly stared, but when he saw her eyes looking into his, he re-directed his line of vision to her face. He watched to see when she would look away, so that he could return his gaze to the very interesting lower half of her body. Of course, she could see what he was doing, enjoyed the "covert" male attention and was mentally amused, tempered by a real desire for propriety.

The innocent dalliance ended when she said; "Zeke, have your parents taught you math?"

"Yes, my Mom mostly."

"Why did she do that?"

Zeke didn't know what to answer, as up until then, he thought that this was what all parents do. "I don't know. We had the time. And it was fun for both of us." He thought to himself; "Why can't you take a long look out the window?"

She happened to oblige him, pretending to be extremely interested in a sparrow fascinated with the view inside the window. She saw the direction of his eyes through the corner of hers, smiled and slowly returned the focus of her eyes to his, giving him adequate time to adjust his aim. "In class you made a compelling argument for having a military man as President. Where did you get that idea?"

It wasn't a simple answer for him. It was true that the words mimicked his father's pronouncement, but he also knew that most people considered George Washington the greatest President and he was a military man and there was something which spoke to him in the logic of a truly tough guy not being compelled to prove his toughness. Lesser men have to keep demonstrating their worth, usually unsuccessfully, to themselves, if no one else. He knew this from the baseball he watched on TV. This would be hard to explain for him, at least at this age, so he merely said; "I have to admit that it came from my father." He had a disparaging tone in his voice, as if he had produced no value in the repetition.

"Don't be ashamed. Your father probably has a lot of good things to say about many things. I find it interesting that you chose to remember this particular one."

"I remember others, too. This one just came up in the course of conversation."

She chuckled at his choice of words and said; "Well, I like the thought very much, anyway." She picked up the scissors and continued; "Some people inexperienced with weapon handling overuse it. The experienced people use it judiciously."

Zeke's mom had been at the door for the last few seconds. She had been waiting as usual at the gate. When she saw some of the kindergarten kids she knew leaving the schoolyard, she went looking for her baby, now to see unclearly through opaque glass, a leggy teacher holding a knife to her son and talking about judicious weapon usage. She pushed the door open, her sound causing Miss Gracing and Zeke to look her way, the teacher now distractedly pointing the clutched scissors at a somewhat distraught Mom.

"Well," Mom said from a distance; "Was Zeke a bad boy today?" She eyed the scissors and felt somewhat relieved when Miss Gracing lowered them to her side.

"Of course he hasn't been a bad boy. Sorry, I inconvenienced you. Zeke said some interesting things in class today. Does he get his ideas from you and your husband?"

Mom thought that question was a bit too broad, so responded; half-jokingly with "If they're good ideas they probably come from me or my husband. If they're bad ideas, I have no idea where he got them from." She paused for the polite laughter and after being accommodated asked; "What kind of brilliance did he come up with today?"

Zeke made a scrunched face when his "brilliance" was discussed. Miss Gracing answered; "He had an idea about military men being better qualified to be the President and he did some math I consider difficult for someone his age."

"We've always encouraged him to act like an adult. The military comment sounds like something he would get from his father and as I've said, I've shown him a lot of math."

Zeke nodded yes, with his head hung down, somewhat dejected that now it was out in the open that he didn't originate his ideas.

Miss Gracing said; "If he gets too far ahead of his classmates, he'll have to make friends with older children. Who does Zeke play with?"

"Me and his father." Silence persisted for a few seconds, when Zeke blurted out; "I also play with myself," thinking of the baseball games he had at his disposal.

Both adults were again at least temporarily stymied, so Zeke amplified; "I have a few baseball games that don't require another player."

Miss Gracing said; "That sounds like a good idea to me. No one has a playmate at all times." She reached out her right hand, offering a shake to Mom. Mom eyed the scissors in the teacher's left, before gently leaning forward to warily clasp hands. Miss Gracing continued; "I'm sorry. I must be keeping you from something."

Again Mom was at a loss for words. She thought; "The areas covered in their generalities, probably suggest to the teacher things that are not true. Yet how am I to assuage a comment that has not yet been specifically made?" She was a bit annoyed, when she directly replied; "As a matter of fact you are. We're in serious jeopardy of not getting to the grocery store for 'Golden Delicious' apples." Dripping with sarcasm she added; "And thanks for your approval." Zeke was uncomfortable with the tone of the "discussion." It wouldn't be until many years later that he would look back to this day as the first time two women had a catfight over him, which he would come to enjoy very much, but learn to not show it.

Miss Gracing forced a smile and Mom left with Zeke, taking him by the hand and hurrying him a bit. She put her scissors back down on her desk, realizing that she had been unsuccess¬fully trying to break that habit for years. She didn't want others to draw inferences inconvenient to her interests. No one survives a complete past investigation and she knew she would fail more miserably than most.

She gathered her scissors and papers and put them in her shoulder bag and walked home. Zeke was on her mind. She wished she knew more about his home life. She wished that he had some friends. She wondered if Mom realized that she was running the risk of creating a child that didn't fit anywhere. Or, was this precisely what she wanted to do? When she opened the door Simon had another surprise waiting for her. He was leaning on the screened window overlooking the alleyway, across which a female cat was howling in heat on top of a storage building. She immediately got his dinner ready, but had to close the window to get his attention. Simon stared at the unsociable portal. He then pawed it, probably thinking that he could un-do the damage done by his old friend. He alternated his gazes between her and his now sealed-off fascination. He didn't feel hungry, but descended from the ledge and stuck his face in the bowl when she called his name, thinking that this was what she wanted to see.

Zeke was quiet on the way home, but Mom seemed to have a lot to say about things that didn't make much sense to him. "I suppose she thinks that we should stop teaching you things and find some objectionable playmate for you." She was obviously irritated and while Zeke might have been able to correct her perceptions, past experience taught him that it would be severely uphill all the way. She became redundant, which Zeke always hated, she in turn waiting for him to say something that supported her position. He was well aware of the game, having played it before, but stubbornly refused to this time. When he got older and wiser he would discover that it was preferable to say something innocuously untrue to her in private, as the alternative only increased his mother's distaste for Miss Gracing and who could tell where that might lead?
Chapter 6

Jackets and gloves were in order as Halloween got in the air. Miss Gracing and Zeke both passed time, perhaps going out of their ways to avoid any exchange that would be out of the ordinary. When she gave out math questions, she no longer gave Zeke the hardest one, in some cases giving him an extremely easy problem. He, in turn, bit his lip when he had some unconven¬tional observation. Both were bored to death and each wished the other would do something to create a spark.

Dad had been back home for a few weeks now and Zeke had heard the new story about how his softball team messed up at the last minute and came out second again. This year it seems to be a weirder one than usual. The best of five was tied at two apiece and the home plate umpire assigned for the final game was one of the worst. He had absolutely no strike zone. Of course it was an extremely sloppy game no one enjoyed playing and few enjoyed watching. The game slowed down severely in the third with 6-10 walks per inning, as hitters started taking pitches that they would usually have swung at, knowing that there was a ninety percent chance that it would be called a ball. This increased as the game went along, on instructions from the managers given through the third base coaches. No swings until there are two strikes. Dad thought his team had the advantage, being the home team and therefore batting last. He figured they always could get one more run than the opponent and end the game victoriously.

He was almost right. Trailing 20-17 going to bat in the seventh and final inning, Dad's team got the day's usual plethora of walks. The bases were loaded with two out and the score 20-19. A poor hitter, whose name shall live in infamy, was up. The count went 3 and 0, when the lousy hitter must have decided to be a hero. If he hit a single, two runs would score and the next day's papers would probably have headlines saying something like "INFAMOUS' SHOT WINS CHAMPIONSHIP FOR BURRY'S."

Against orders, he swung and missed at the 3-0 pitch which was over his head. Everyone jumped off the bench, groaned and screamed; "What?" or something not repeated in polite company. The third base coach called time out and walked toward the hitter, motioning "come here" with his wagging finger and shocked look on his face. They met halfway up the line, had a short conversation only known to them, but with Infamous coming away with the understanding that under no circumstances was he to swing at the coming 3-1 pitch.

It was called a strike and the elated feeling Dad's team had two pitches ago disappeared. The manager called time out and motioned to the batter and third base coach to meet him halfway up the third base line. His face was already reddened from another season in the sun, but it seemed to have kicked up a few more notches, from an impending blood vessel burst. The manager first addressed his comments to the third base coach, saying; "Did you take off the take sign on 3-0?"

"No, sir." The third base coach almost laughingly replied.

The manager said; "So, why the **** did you swing at it, a**h***?" to Infamous.

Infamous said; "I don't know," but he knew darn well and was actually getting annoyed.

The manager looked squarely into Infamous' eyes and said; "You go back up to the plate and don't swing at the next pitch." When he was answered with staring silence, he added; "Got it?"

Infamous said; "With two strikes the take sign is always off."

The manager said; "I've made my decision. If it is a strike, you won't hit it any ***k**g where anyway."

Infamous nodded his head "Yes," and walked back to the plate insulted and feeling a need to prove himself. He proceeded to swing and miss at another pitch over his head, ending the game.

When he heard the story, Zeke said; "I think I'd of killed him."

Dad said; "Many wanted to. He won't be back next year."

Zeke said; "How come the worst umpire got assigned to home plate for the most important game of the year?"

Dad shook his head side to side and said; "That's a good question. I don't know."

Mom said; "I know why. It gives your father a new long sad story to tell about why he came out second."

Dad had heard commentary in this general direction more than a few times in the past and responded in a staccato voice; "Eighteen teams did worse. Second is not terrible. There's always next year."

That ended this particular conversation, but Zeke did his own silent assessment. He thought; "It's probably harder on the ones who come so close. They can see it. They can smell it. It must be like walking 3,000 miles to the Promised Land and then being stopped at the gate. It seems like it would be easier on the ones who never get near."

Mom again brought up her perceived incident with Miss Gracing's weapon, but Dad laughed it off. He remembered having her in kindergarten himself and liked her a lot. If she was Mack the Knife," he joked, "there would be dead bodies buried all around the school by now."

Mom deadpanned; "Has anyone done any excavation lately? And you know damn well it's not only that. She has the audacity to tell me about the proper parental role, in front of Zeke, mind you. How does she know so much about children without having any of her own?" The diatribe induced Zeke to take out his baseball game and lose himself in the statistics and standings. Dad nodded a lot of yeses and wished the softball season was year round.

Miss Gracing's after school activities continued to be customarily non-existent. Simon was a good silly companion who kept her interest. She spent a lot of time looking out of the window above the candy store, where she could see and hear the activities of people busily paying visits underneath, to the barber shop on her side of the street and to the shoe shine shop and bar across it, the latter being particularly amusing at times. She missed having closer contact with people. It's been a long time and she thought that maybe it would be safe now. On the other hand, she could say something unwise, as the preponderance of her recent conversations had been with five year olds. She sat by the window as much as possible, because it would soon be winter, when the one room she had with a view of the world would be shut off, as the stove could not properly heat it. To make matters worse, the four recurrent dreams reintroduced themselves at a rate she found difficult to handle. She imagined having a little boy like Zeke to take care of.

Chapter 7

Miss Gracing was compelled to try to break the ice, out of sheer boredom. The isolated repetition was getting to her. She decided that in class she would initiate a conversation with the kids, getting them to talk about their impressions of ghosts, monsters, skeletons and the like, which would soon be on display in costume. If Zeke wouldn't volunteer his thoughts, she would call on him.

As she walked to school that day she pondered what questions or thoughts she could throw at the kids that might elicit interesting responses. She started by mentioning the proximity of Halloween and asking if everyone had picked out their costume. Her response came in a generally excited nodding of heads, mostly yeses, but there were some side to side movements, too. Miss Gracing pointed at Jeremiah and said; "What will you be?"

He said; "A cowboy."

Many of the class looked at each other, probably thinking, but not willing to say that; "Every cowboy I've seen in movies and television is white."

Miss Gracing said; "Why do you want to be a cowboy?"

"Because they're heroes."

"Some are bad guys, aren't they?"

Jeremiah was puzzled for a few seconds, then said; "I'll shoot them." Most of the class laughed.

"Which ones will you shoot? How do you know who the bad guys are?"

"They're the ones who steal someone's cattle or water."

"Any others?"

"Not that I can think of now. If we could get a TV in here, I'll point them out to you when I see them."

Everyone, including Miss Gracing, laughed at that one. She said; "Very, very good, Jeremiah. How about you, Emily? What kind of costume do you have?"

A white girl with longish blond hair, dressed in a simple green blouse and a gray skirt with poodles on it answered; "I have a witch costume."

"What do you like about witches?"

"They're powerful."

"Are you a good witch?"

"Sure," Emily must have detected something wrong with her answer, because her eyes riveted on the ceiling and she was compelled to offer a clarification; "Most of the time." She was addressed in the same fashion as Jeremiah. She giggled and Miss Gracing said; "Very good." She then pointed at Zeke and said; "How about you, Zeke?"

He said; "I'm going to be a hobo."

She was mentally stimulated and surprised at numerous levels. She flashed back to her own days of riding railroad cars, which was not a first choice and wondered why anyone would even want to play with the thought. She said; "What do you know about hobos?"

They're free and they don't have to work."

Zeke got his first taste of being a successful comedian without knowing that he said anything funny.

Miss Gracing said; "I can understand wanting to be free, but what's so attractive about not working?"

He thought the answer was so obvious; he paused for a while, trying to think of some other way to answer. He finally did say; "Everyone I know doesn't like their job at all and complain about it all the time."

"I like mine."

"What job is that?"

"This ........... Teaching."

Zeke had a revelation. He said; "No, a job is like going to the factory every day. What you have, I'd call a ..... I don't know what I'd call it ..... No offense intended." He got nervous as his instincts told him that he was again on the verge of trouble. As Miss Gracing opened her mouth to speak Zeke blurted; "What you do is more like being a mother."

She was very flattered at his analogy and did herself sometimes think of her pupils as the children she never had. She said; "No, Zeke, this is a job, too. I get paid for it and I like teaching, or rather I should say, trying to teach you kids."

"Then a job can be fun?" He looked around the room in an attempt to gauge the other kids' reactions.

Emphasizing the first word, she said; "Some of the time." She got the five year olds laughing at the interchange. "Do you think you could enjoy being a teacher?"

"No," his tone indicating that this was the dumbest question he ever answered. He chuckled.

"Why not?"

His laughter stopped and he stared at her seriously questioning face. Zeke was uncomfortable with the persistent quiz, because he thought that his honest answer might be insulting and he didn't want to do that to her. He liked her a lot. He also couldn't logically make a case for it, but he sensed that he was in danger of getting Miss Gracing and his mother into another dispute, so rather than saying that he wasn't comfortable with telling people what to do, he said; "I don't know anything worth teaching."

"Maybe not." She again got the comedy award for that one, but went on to say; "Maybe not yet. But, the bigger point is that even if it isn't teaching, it's possible to have some reasonably enjoyable occupation. Job does not equal misery."

"Unless you pronounce Job with a long 'O.'"

This was too much for Miss Gracing. She had numerous possible thoughts and directions to take this conversation, but of the most significance to her was the realization that it was in her own best interest not to make extensive overt contact with the outside world, when she wasn't able to control a conversation with a baby. Or was he a baby? Maybe he was some weird forty year old midget. When he saw Miss Gracing batting her eyelashes and staring into space, Zeke added; "Seriously, I'm glad that you've taught me that all jobs aren't miserable. I won't mind growing up as much."

Neither realized it, but they were both off on their trip and she asked; "What does your father do for a living?"

"In the summer he plays softball. In the winter he fixes machines in some factory."

Again, she didn't have a single clear path and could have gone in different directions. She also surmised that she may be spending too much time with Zeke, as detected by the other children, so she tried to wrap it up with; "Does he like either of those jobs?"

Zeke said; "I don't think so."

She was very surprised at his response and asked; "What does he dislike about playing softball?"

Zeke answered; "I don't think he dislikes playing softball, but he's dissatisfied with the results."

"He doesn't play well?"

"I really don't know how he plays. The problem is that his team always comes out second and my mother gets on him for it."

"Second isn't too shabby."

"That's what he says, too."

Miss Gracing decided to bite her tongue and quit right there. It seemed as though they could talk forever, but she again saw that she was risking stepping on mama's toes. She pointed at Cheryl, a tall thin black girl with either an angry or a sad face and said; "Cheryl, what are you going to be for Halloween?"

Without any detectable emotion Cheryl answered; "The same thing I am today. My mom tells me we got no money for costumes."

This was proving to be quite a challenging day for Miss Gracing and it was only 10 o'clock. After she offered to help Cheryl make a costume after class, she called on Arnold, a chubby Jewish boy with glasses. He answered the question with "A ghost." Miss Gracing was convinced that she would be better off shying away from the "Why?" questions and as she was fumbling around for a substitute, Arnold anticipated the next question and said; "Because, ghosts can be invisible and hide."

The disbelief, surprise and sadness riveted on her face was unmistakable to the kids. She could feel it herself and abruptly decided not to continue the costume routine, picking up her scissors and saying; "I think today would be a great day to make baskets." Easter was a long way off, but she didn't feel up to singing.

Miss Gracing went home to her nightmares that day and she didn't have to fall asleep to find them. She remembered a pretty, tall, bright young girl of fifteen, who had the prescription for happiness filled out. It seemed a reasonable expectation at the time, as it wouldn't require any good luck or heroics. It just needed a few people to act in their own enlightened self-interest. Of course, she subsequently discovered the flaw in the logic. There is no illumination.

She hoped the attitudes displayed by her students today didn't portend beliefs they would retain. But, how does one even attempt to break the cycle of family re-enforced defeatism. The parents had much more time with the children than she did. She considered it logically possible that Zeke's severe crying on the first two days of school were due to his perceived initiation into adult life, eventually leading to a long procession of drudging to the factory and coming home to a complaining wife. She was particularly drawn to him, finding his crying bittersweet and his commentaries engaging. How could she help him? She had done so poorly with her own life, that she must certainly not know the answer. She derisively laughed to herself. One thing she did seem to know well was how to escape. Maybe she should take him away somewhere. She partially recalled the line from some old song, which said; "Gentleness, her only need. So far beyond her reach. Led her on and endless path of gentleness to teach."

She glanced down at the floor finally hearing the meows of a still unfed Simon. She opened a can of ocean whitefish for him with difficulty, as he was so anxious that he hopped up on the kitchen counter, getting in the way of her every movement. After accidentally clinking Simon on his persistent head three times, she managed to navigate the food into a plastic dish that she put on the floor.

She felt weary, walked into the bedroom and took off all her clothes. In the windowless room she did an extensive evaluation of her 54 year old body, in a six foot mirror on a pedestal, posing in numerous stances. She was far from displeased and she got under the covers, soon joined by a contented cat with a full belly. As the calming darkness started to envelope her mind, she was visualizing a long, interesting train ride with a little boy.

When Zeke got home he excitedly and foolishly talked to his mother about school that day, focusing on the conversation with Miss Gracing that stemmed from his intended hobo costume. It was impossible for him to recount the exact interchange, but he was able to inform his mother that his future didn't have to include being relegated to some dirty, low paying factory job.

Mom was less than enthusiastic to hear the good news and coupling that with her already uneasy feeling toward the teacher, she said; "Don't tell me that someday you are going to be President of the United States. Wait till your father hears that one."

"I didn't say I was going to be President of the United States. I just said that I learned that jobs don't have to be misery. They can be something like play."

"Fat chance on that one. Ask anyone around here."

"I already have and I've told you what Miss Gracing said."

"MISS Gracing knows so much about careers. How come she's not MRS. Gracing?"

Zeke had no idea of what to answer, nor did he understand the insult that his mother thought she was trying to make. The things that he thought he had learned when his mother first met Miss Gracing came back to him in a rudely awakening jolt. He thought; "Sometimes I am just so stupid."

Luckily for him, his father came home from work, opening the door and seeing his wife and son in the middle of some kind of interchange. Zeke's luck proved to be very short lived when his father said; "Is there some kind of a problem?"

Zeke thought; "You don't have to encourage her."

Mom said; "Sure is. That knife wielding teacher of his is telling him he's too good to work in a factory."

Zeke animatedly said; "That's not what she said at all."

Dad said; "Quiet, let your mother speak."

Mom continued; "She's got him thinking that he should be President of the United States."

Zeke again interjected; "That's not true. All she said is that a job doesn't have to be miserable."

Dad showed Zeke his right hand and said; "Don't interrupt your mother again."

Zeke said; "I won't if she tells the truth for a change."

As his father half-heartedly made an attempt to slap him, Zeke ran crying to his bed and jumped on it face first.

Mom said; "I'm going to have to go straighten out Miss Gracing tomorrow."

Dad said; "Sounds like a good idea." He was relieved that he wouldn't be required to wade through any more interpretations of interpretations, after his long day of numbing drudgery. He sprawled out on the couch in front of the television, blaring out something he couldn't comprehend about Russia's space program, while his wife blared on about Miss Gracing. He listened to neither and stared at the concerned commentator.
Chapter 8

When he woke the next morning Zeke had a suspicion that it wasn't going to be a pleasant day, so he stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling cracks. After his mother woke him, he silently dragged his way through breakfast and dressed for school. He went to the door and put his hand on the knob, half hoping he could sort of sneak out and make the trip by himself. His mother saw him and said; "Just a minute," as she put on her shoes, a light jacket and her wedding ring. Zeke plaintively asked; "Mom, are you going to start up with Miss Gracing?"

"Of course I'm not going to 'start up.' We're just going to have to come to some kind of understanding." Her tone was that of someone anxious to get on with something she looked forward to.

Zeke heard the reassuring words, but saw the contradictory anger and determination in his mother's eyes. He trudged off with her to the school yard gate silently. He was thinking of what bad things could happen and why did the whole nonsense have to be, in the first place. Mom was prepared to fence off her territory, which she saw as him.

Mom curtly said; "Where is Miss Gracing?"

"I don't see her."

She pointed at a female teacher in the middle of the school yard, near the building and said; "Is that her?"

It wasn't and he said; "No," at the same time considering saying "No" if and when Miss Gracing did show up, but decided to be truthful primarily because he realized that if his mother couldn't locate Miss Gracing out here, she would probably follow everyone into class and do her routine with his fellow students in the audience. That would be just great. He'd wind up with everyone's sympathy, joking comments, or wryly smiling looks. He hoped that Miss Gracing would make her presence clear and she did. Worst of all, he thought that it seemed inescapable that today's confrontation would drive another wedge between him and his friend, maybe the last one.

Zeke pointed at her coming out of the building and descending the fire escape. Her free gray hair was doing its usual dance in the gentle breeze, as did the lightweight white sheer dress. Her open waist length light blue jacket managed to defy the wind god completely. "That's her now," he said. He started to walk the 50 feet to the fire escape and his mother followed.

"Miss Gracing," he sadly said.

"Good morning, Zeke."

"Here's my mother again and she wants to talk to you about something that she insists you said to me, though I've told her that you didn't."

Miss Gracing immediately knew that something contentious was on the way, but didn't know exactly what that might be, unless Momma could read her thoughts. She extended her right hand to Zeke's mom and said; "Good morning. I should say that I'm Eloise Gracing."

Mom hesitantly shook her hand briefly and said; "I'm Mrs. Carmichael. Zeke, why don't you go play with some of your friends for a while?"

Zeke heard the contradictions, but didn't bother to point out that she was chasing him away from his best friend and that if you eliminated her, the word should be singular, not plural.

Zeke saw Robert and went to him saying; "Robert, I think I'm in trouble today. My mother's talking to my teacher."

Robert said; "Did your teacher call her in?"

"No. I told my mother something Miss Gracing said and she heard it some other way."

"Little man, you are most definitely in trouble. No matter what happens, one of them is going to be very unhappy with you and if you don't have some luck, both of them will be."

Zeke said; "Tell me something I don't know."

Miss Gracing said; "What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Carmichael got right to her point; "Are you encouraging my son to play games, rather than do a real job?"

"I'm encouraging him to do both."

"I think that it's enough for him to be preparing for a paying job. He can think about games and daydreams when he has free time."

"I was merely suggesting that ideally one's game becomes one's job."

"I don't know what you mean. I haven't yet met anyone around here whose job is anything like a game. And I wish that you'd try not to give him unrealistic expectations."

Miss Gracing surmised that there was no point in pursuing this line of conversation because it had been bent into a circle, perhaps one of the circles of hell. She hoped that Zeke was encouraged to think differently, but saw that this was not likely to be generated at home. She again thought about the fun they could have on a long train ride. This had already been dismissed as a possibility, because if they got caught, she'd wind up in a mental institution or perhaps, even jail. She said; "I'll focus on more of the basket making activity. I understand there are a number of employers in the area requiring skills of that sort."

Considering herself properly insulted, Mrs. Carmichael replied; "What do you mean 'of that sort'?"

"Of that type, if you prefer. Or, of that predilection. Or, of that kind. Or, of any other comparable word you feel comfortable with." She reached into her handbag as she felt some kind of anger overtake her and grabbed the handle of her scissors and showed it briefly to Mrs. Carmichael for effect, then moved it away, in order to retrieve her papers and a pen. Mrs. Carmichael flinched, to Miss Gracing's delight. She wrote something on one of her papers and said; "For future reference, I'm making note of your wishes, with the intent of following them to the fullest." She could have added; "Insofar as I understand them, which is nil," but wanted to close off the conversation as soon as possible.

Mrs. Carmichael was intimidated on at least two levels and responded in a way she hoped would not reveal that. She said; "You see to it that you do that." She turned around and briskly walked to the gate, feeling that somehow she had not accomplished her purpose. She thought; "Next time I'll bring a f**k*** pistol; and then we'll find out who's smarter." She didn't realize that, for once, she was absolutely correct.

Zeke saw the end of the joust and said to Robert; "I'll soon find out how much misery I'm going to be getting. I know one thing. I am never again going to tell my parents anything about Miss Gracing and our conversations, assuming she still talks to me."

Robert said; "That's what my big brother tells me. Don't ever tell one female about another."

They both laughed; and Zeke said; "But, what does he mean?"

Robert laughed again and said; "I really don't know."

The bell rang and Zeke went to the front of Miss Gracing's line in an effort to try to gauge her mood. The things he thought he detected were a sad pitying look into his eyes, followed by a very official disinterested posture. The group efficiently marched into the classroom.

"Very curious," he thought as he scooted to his front row seat. However, he quickly forgot what he was curious about, as that curiosity was replaced by a vision of her legs, suggesting something else, that he was not yet sure about.

She took note of the level of her admirer's eyes, liked the feeling and adjusted herself on the seat to be a bit more revealing. This was real power.

The day went on kind of normally, for most of the course. However at 2:15, with only an hour left to the school day, in the middle of the roller ball game, Zeke couldn't contain himself any longer, broke out of the circle and approached Miss Gracing. She was sitting at her desk disinterestedly reading Steinbeck's "East of Eden."

He blurted out; "I'm never again going to tell my mother anything you say."

Somewhat startled, Miss Gracing put down her book, looked curiously at Zeke and said; "I think you're sincere, but I also think that it would be unavoidable to not say some things."

Zeke said; "Betcha."

She replied; "Okay, I'll take your word," though she really knew better. Her dislike of the professional housewife, mother and control freak took over, so she continued; "The only thing I was trying to say, anyway, was that you shouldn't limit yourself to the experiences and opinions of people who live here. There's a gigantic world beyond Bayonne, NJ, with a lot of different interesting things in it."

Zeke said; "A lot of farms and horse manure."

Miss Gracing correctly diagnosed the source of that response and rather than directly arguing the issue said; "Oh, there's plenty of that, but believe it or not, there are a few other things." She got up from her seat and grabbed Zeke by the hand and led him back to his place in the circle and said, laughingly; "Who said you could quit playing ball?"

He liked the conversation and would continue to think about what she said for quite some time, happy that she still chose to talk to him. He took his place as one of the bodies which formed a circle without the ball coming his way the duration of the day.

When he got home, he feigned cheerfulness and when asked about what he did and learned today said; "I learned that I've got to pick a better spot for roller ball." He laughed and so did his mother, though she also wondered if this was the start of some new tactic designed to keep her in the dark.

Miss Gracing also entertained a new mindset. While her heart went out to some of the defeatism she inferred from the kids' commentaries about things, she didn't know how to transform that into a much needed positive for them or herself.

She previously fancied herself an excellent teacher, but now failure was coming to mind. She wondered if she had gotten so old that her knowledge no longer applied to what was most relevant today. She took her own advice and decided, "You can't think like that." As a child she assumed everyone lived more or less like her. She now felt blessed to have been privileged. She was encouraged to go wherever her mind could take her. In 1918, when very few girls did such things she went to college, eventually obtaining degrees in English and Teaching.

She removed her clothes and looked at herself in the mirror, this time taking critical note of the effects of time. She concluded that no disaster had yet occurred and that, at the very least, there was time for another accomplishment. She got into bed and as she drifted off to her customary nap with Simon. She thought of the old days, how much she'd like to go back there and hoped she would dream about it. Maybe she'd find something long forgotten.
Chapter 9

Through Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter Zeke sought out Miss Gracing's counseling in many areas. It seemed that he had a knack for getting involved in contentious situations with some of the other kids. The classmate, with whom he was best friends, surprisingly turned out to be Jeremiah, who made him laugh regularly, with his unique observations on things. They decided that when they grew up they were going to be two gun toting good guy cowboys and would have adventures just like John Wayne in televised movies.

Miss Gracing didn't shy away from potentially provocative conversations with Zeke, continued to enjoy his young insights and trusted that he was motivated not to jeopardize the situation with overly revealing comments to mama. She was pleased that he now fully understood that a wide variety of choices were available to him and was eager to hear the second career possibility he would settle on. Importantly for her, she now saw that she was still able to help some kids. While it bothered her that there now seemed to be a new kind of poverty of the pocketbook and the spirit that she saw as a force more powerful than her words and best intentions, she took some solace in the fact that no one else knew how to address these matters, either, even those thirty years her junior.

Zeke determined that Miss Gracing was appropriately named, as the techniques she suggested to him almost invariably enabled him to conclude a quarrelsome situation rather gracefully, rather than getting into a fight. The one exception to this happened when he thought he had successfully resolved an unexplainable kids' argument with Thomas K. Murtha one Tuesday. On Wednesday Zeke went to the school yard as usual and in complete surprise to him, Thomas K. Murtha, slowly and silently walked up to him and punched him in the stomach. Without having braced himself, Zeke literally got all the air knocked out of him and went to the ground on his knees. Thomas walked away, apparently pleased with his instant effectiveness. When the bell rang for lineup, Zeke was just about able to get up and stumble in the right direction. He recounted the story when Miss Gracing asked what was wrong with him. He added to it that he had to get that Thomas K. Murtha back.

Though he thought that he had, he was surprised and happy to see that he had not yet absorbed all of the meaning in Miss Gracing's repeated words of advice; "You can't think like that."

She said; "Are you going to punch him in his stomach?"

"Yeah, I've got to let him know that I'm not putting up with that stuff."

"What will happen next?"

Zeke pictured a number of possibilities, all of them involving a continued fight and said nothing.

She said; "An endless fight, right?"

He grimaced, smiled and said a long; "Yeah."

"Do you want that?"

Zeke contritely said; "No."

She said; "All right, then. I'll take care of Thomas," and proceeded not to call on him when he raised his hand for the next week. Zeke noticed this and thought his nemesis got the point. It was a real learning experience for him, as his father had told him to hit back anyone who hit him.

Miss Gracing spent the school year much like many of its predecessors and wished that she could have learned to take her own advice, especially in the past. Things could have been so different. At times the dreams prompted her, but often she could, very well, of her own volition conjure up the nightmares that became the determining events of her life. She tried to focus on her job, finding new ways of communicating things to children of a very early age, things she thought were essential for them to know, to have a shot at a good life. Her own dreams relived her first years out of college when she was known as Bonadea Carson; "Bonny." She returned home to a well-tended street in Boston, to quickly get a much desired job teaching second grade nearby.

In her exuberance with things going so well, she fell in love with Marshall Courtney, introduced to her by her parents. He lived in Corpusbury, at that time, a small rural hamlet 20 miles from the city. His tall, thin good looks and laidback rural charm intoxicated her.

As it was getting near Flag Day, Zeke, for the first time had the thought; "Oh, no. Next year I'll have a different teacher." He went to Miss Gracing to see if some other type of arrangement could be worked out. Unfortunately, she knew of no way around the system and just encouraged him not to ruin any of the remaining time. She hoped he wouldn't talk to his mother about that one, as she could easily visualize the gem of a discussion she could have with Mama, who she concluded was an expert at and wallowed in negativity. Her mind was already full of memories, none of which were wanted. Even the good ones.

On Graduation Day, Miss Gracing called Zeke over and told him that he was not required to stay away from her now, that she could be a sort of mentor and that he should feel free to seek her advice whenever no one else had a good answer. And if you forget everything else, she said; "Just remember; You can't think like that."

For some reason the softball season was a short one, at least for Dad. So, he was home to begin Zeke's training as a real baseball player. He saw more opportunity in baseball, as though the games are essentially the same, softball was never a fan knockout because of the supreme dominance of pitching, resulting in a lot of 1-0 and 2-1 games. Fans want to see hitting. Zeke enjoyed it a lot, especially when the first time his Father brought home a wooden bat and threw a ball to him; he smacked the hell out of it.

Miss Gracing improved her day to day life over the summer. Perhaps, her own teaching reached her own unconscious level. She never was fully capable of using it consciously. Whatever the reason, however, her dreams of dead bodies, beatings and psychiatric institutions were replaced by a very recurrent, but tolerable one. In it she became a bird flying on a moonless black night. She was afraid that she would fly straight into a tree. She couldn't tell where she was and whether she was flying up, down, north, south, east or west. Why didn't she just slow down and try to find a friendly tree and wait for sunrise? Maybe she was in a barren area. Maybe no sunrise was expected soon. Maybe she felt that if she continued to go fast she would find it quicker. She didn't think she could count on it to reveal its lazy meanderings in the sky, wherever that was.

Chapter 10

Even though Zeke returned to school the next year as an accomplished baseball player, at least by six year old standards, when it settled in that he wouldn't be in Miss Gracing's class all day, he got a crying fit for a few days. The difference between this year and last, was that this time his crying was done in private. He didn't want anyone to know about it, except his sleeping companion, a furry rabbit he never named.

While he managed to confidently stride to the school yard, he was glad that at least this year it wasn't on his birthday. He saw the new kindergarteners looking around with big eyes, some not particularly dry. He saw his old friend Jeremiah who had a way of standing out in the crowd, at times seeming like a singer surrounded by fans, some approving, some disapproving, but all having interest. It was an unseasonably warm morning with one lone small white cloud giving some shelter from the fierce sun, as it did its best to follow the stationary heat source. Then he saw her for the first time in three months. Her tall thin form emerged from the first floor door and descended the ten fireplace steps to ground level, her long gray hair, parted in the middle, hanging motionless in the still morning. She wore a simple light blue button up one piece dress. She stood still, surveying her domain and easily picked out her new novices.

Zeke ran to her and said; "Hi, Miss Gracing. I missed you."

She said; "Hi, I missed you, too. Tell me, what did you do with your summer vacation?"

"I became a baseball player. How about you?"

"I learned how to fly."

"Have you been watching 'Mighty Mouse?'"

She smiled; "No. I had the television on some other channel."

The lineup bell came much too early and just as Zeke raised his head to find the noisy culprit somewhere above the brick school wall, the little cloud was outmaneuvered by the bright day orb and its light behind Miss Gracing gave her the fleeting look of having a glow around her head. She waved "Bye", wiggling four fingers of her right hand, as she walked away to greet her new line of rookies.

Zeke again quickly located Jeremiah and proceeded to get on the line he already occupied. A short thin black haired woman appeared at the front of the line. Her face looked like it was the victim of severe childhood acne as she moved her pursed thin lips to say; "I'm Mrs. Pavlick and I will not tolerate any talking on line." As his eyes tried, unsuccessfully to find sight of Miss Gracing in the crowd, he felt like crying again, but being a big boy now, he controlled himself. "Let's hope first impressions sometimes lie," he thought.

As the year progressed, things were generally tolerable, but no longer a bit interesting. As Zeke's mother had already taught him most of everything one learns in the first grade, he often passed the class daydreaming. Despite spending the day compacted behind and reading to the class from large books which she set up in front of her face, one day she must have looked at the class enough to detect that Zeke was gazing at the ceiling. She stopped her reading and loudly said; "Zeke, are you paying any attention?"

Zeke was startled out of his reverie, but luckily heard the question. He got nervous and didn't know what to say back and didn't want his parents to be informed of his transgression, so he decided to simply tell the truth and he mumbled, "Yes." It was true that he was paying some attention.

Mrs. Pavlick wasn't satisfied yet, so added; "What did I just read?"

"I didn't hear the last few lines," but then he made the mistake of adding; "But, I'm well aware of the general direction. It's a little like what you were reading to us yesterday."

He noticed some of the other kids snickering, as they all knew that the last thing any of them wanted to do was have an extended discussion with her. The conversation didn't go terribly. Zeke nodded a lot, promising to pay better attention and he pointed out that his physical condition was "out of sorts" today. She concluded that he sounded like a wise guy and told him; "I'll have my eye on you." Zeke spent the day dreaming, though he learned to keep his eyes fixed in the general direction of the new teacher or reader, he wasn't sure which.

When Zeke left school he was more annoyed than afraid. It was bad enough he had to pass her stupid tests, now he was going to be required to focus his eyes and mind in her boring direction all day! He had already found an out. He thought that no one had yet invented a device to detect one's thoughts. Though his mother had told him of the mind police, he didn't see any around. Realizing that his solution may not be the best one, he knew Miss Gracing's route home and after school ran after her and caught up just before she got to her alley.

"Hey, Miss Gracing," he called breathlessly.

She turned and smiled at him, recognizing the voice, though it sounded a bit different from the voice she was accustomed to; "Zeke! What kind of problem did you find today?"

He had to smile back, not fully happy at the inference that he only brings her problems. The smile was caused by the partial, unintentional, joking, truth of it. Trying to catch his breath as quickly as possible, he blurted out; "I don't even know if I can explain this one."

She looked down the street and said; "Is your mother following you?"

"Oh no, she only took me to and from school for a while. No more."

Her right hand clasped his left and she led him through the door and alley, up the stairs and into her apartment, saying; "Let's have a leisurely talk over some tea."

He sat at the kitchen table, while she puttered around the enormous black stove she used to heat up the water. The first item that got his attention was the back of her stockinged, high heeled legs exposed tastefully below the knee. The one window had a view unusual to him. It was just the sky over the storage building in the alleyway but this time he noted a pink tone, nowhere in his memory. It looked as if someone had painted the canvas entirely pink and then covered most of it over with a rather deep blue, allowing only touches of the first coat to make its presence known.

Zeke didn't know what to think about the art deco and art nouveau furniture and decorations, never having seen the like before. The item that caught his attention was a statuette of a reclining, nude, alabaster skinned woman, holding her dog's collar with her left hand.

She brought over two cups and saucers, sat at the table and said; "So tell me all about it."

"Well, let me think of a good place to start."

"Try the beginning."

"Okay. Mrs. Pavlick doesn't like me."

"How do you know that?"

"She singled me out in class today to see if I was paying attention."

She smiled; "Were you?"

He smiled back; "No." He thought a bit and added; "But, I don't think anyone else was either.

She chose to ignore the intended justification and said; "You have to pay attention."

"Why? I know all this stuff already and all she does is read from some book."

Miss Gracing was far from a devotee of Mrs. Pavlick's teaching skills, but answered; "I don't know why. It just sort of goes that way with everything. You can misunderstand. You can argue. But, it really upsets people when you don't pay attention at all."

They sat in silence for a while, each sipping their tea. She continued; "They take it personally. When you don't pay attention it's like you don't recognize their existence."

"I'd be glad to pay attention if they said something interesting."

"I'm flattered. You must find me interesting."

"I never thought of it that way, but, yeah, I guess so."

"All right. Now, I'm going to tell you something you don't want to hear. My advice is that you should pay attention to Mrs. Pavlick at all times; or at least look as though you are."

Zeke was tempted to repeat what he had previously said, but thought better of it, glad that she added the "Look as though you are." commentary, which he was already practicing and cheerfully said; "I'll try."

"Now that that is settled, what do you think of my apartment?" Up until now Simon was hiding from the unusual visitor and must have finally felt comfortable, as he walked into the kitchen howling for his food.

"Thank you, Simon," thought Zeke as he got down on the floor to pet the loud furry thing. He didn't know what to answer Miss Gracing with and Simon bought him time to make sure what he said was not unintentionally insulting. He got one little grab rather than anything that could be called a pet as Simon whisked past him, heading for his food source.

"He doesn't like me," said Zeke.

"Of course he does. He's just hungry."

As she got up to satisfy Simon's demands, Zeke had collected his thoughts enough to venture a reply; "It's nothing like I've ever seen before. I like all the colors and the long haired girls. There are things I'm curious about. Why are some things full of angles and others full of curves?"

She laughed with surprise at the response. "They're just different styles, that's all. The ones with sharp lines are called art deco and the curvy ones art nouveau."

He had no further questions, so he again tried to pet Simon as he was eating his fish dinner. Success. He stayed with Simon a few minutes gently rubbing his soft fur with the grain. He was a bit afraid that Simon might scratch him as he had not yet had any experience with a pet, but expected that a cat couldn't do much damage.

Miss Gracing said; "I hate to ask you to leave so early, but I'm feeling awfully tired. I usually nap now."

"Sorry," he said as he got up, "Thanks for the advice."

As he walked to the door, she said; "You'll remember to pay attention to Mrs. Pavlick now, won't you?" and made a wry smile.

"Yes," he answered, doing his best imitation of her facial expression.

There weren't many people on the street as he walked the three blocks home, so he used this opportunity to gaze at the sky. He could still see the pink trying to protrude from the deep blue, but this wider view showed two large cotton-like white clouds with ominous dark borders.

Her nap with Simon produced a new dream. She had no reaction to it at all, because all she remembered when she woke up were the amorphous, moving deep green and deep blue colored shapes constantly changing patterns. Sometimes it looked ominous. Sometimes it looked friendly.
Chapter 11

When Zeke got home his father suggested that after an early dinner, they would take advantage of the nice day to get in some more baseball practice. They drove to a place Zeke would come to know very well. At the end of a large park harboring swimming pools, wading pools, monkey bars, swings and much more, they drove over a steep drop off to an area containing four baseball fields, bordering the river. No one was playing this time of year, so they had their choice of fields, the only company, or so they thought, being a few picnickers.

After getting into the first routine of batting practice, while his father was running down the six balls he had hit to various places, Zeke noticed a 200 foot piece of land nobody had maintained in years. It started at the end of the baseball fields and seemed to go on forever. It contained discarded refrigerators, washers and the like. He saw the bent tin remainder of someone's shed, once yellow and now faded to a peeling cream. She stepped out the door of it. Miss Gracing, wearing purple pants and blouse topped off with a gray jacket, was walking very slowly, trying her best to view the river while having to watch where she stepped with all the debris around. She seemed to settle into a slow glide over the land, allowing her to stare at the polluted boatless water.

"Hey," said Dad, "Ready?" He had retrieved the six balls and was ready to pitch them again. Zeke put the bat over his shoulder and stepped up to the plate. He was half trying to watch the pitcher and half trying to follow Miss Gracing's movements. Dad noticed and stopped his pitch, looked in the direction Zeke seemed distracted to, saw nothing unusual and turned back to him and again said; "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"You know, the most important thing to know about this game is that you have to pay attention to it."

"Sounds familiar."

"What?"

"Nothing. Throw the ball."

His father threw it, but Zeke couldn't keep one corner of one eye's attention off Miss Gracing. He started hitting some weak grounders, fouled some off and even completely missed one. Dad said; "What happened?"

"I don't know. I'm the player, not the analyst. Maybe you're throwing it so slow it doesn't keep my attention."

His father shrugged at him as if to say; "Okay, you asked for it." Zeke already had the general idea of Miss Gracing's movements and focused back on his father and the ball. It came hard and inside and Zeke smacked a line drive of about 100 feet down the left field line. They both took a long look in that direction, because it was the furthest Zeke had ever hit the ball up to that point.

The rest of the practice session went well, not however, equaling the first fast pitch. When his father was giving signs that he was getting ready to go, Zeke said; "How about letting me try some pitching. His father looked skeptically at him and said; "I don't think you're ready for that, yet."

"Oh, come on."

"Okay, just for a little while." He threw one ball to Zeke and squatted down behind the plate.

Zeke walked out to the mound and eyed the slab in the middle of it. His father called out; "Hey, where are you going?"

He didn't know where he was going, so he kept alternating his gaze between the slab and his father. Dad said; "Kids don't throw from that far away."

The distance did appear to Zeke as if it would take a gun to reach home plate. So, he started to walk closer to his father.

"Okay, stop there," Dad said. "That's about where the little league mound is. Give that a try." He slapped his clenched right fist into his gloved hand.

Slightly unsettled that there was no slab for a starting place, he took a big windup and let it go. It bounced twice before getting to home plate and was about three feet to the left of it. His father competently blocked the ball in front of him and threw it back. Zeke made some adjustments, improving that first throw, but after about twenty pitches, he had not yet thrown a strike. He had already made the conclusion that this was the harder part of the game when his father said; "Let's call it quits. It'll be dark soon." Zeke took a long look in the direction where Miss Gracing was walking, but couldn't find her again, so he hopped in the car and went home.

On foot, Miss Gracing got home a little later than Zeke, after sunset. Her kitchen window revealed a one quarter red orange moon in the cloudless sky. She was surprised she didn't notice it when outside, as she reached for her collection of "Boston" magazines which resided inside one of the built in cabinets. She remembered the early days of her marriage. Though she thought that he was the greatest guy she ever met, before they were even married, a hint of caution started to pop up. She liked teaching and wanted to keep her job in Boston, while he wanted her to relocate to his rural hamlet twenty miles away.

She took the June 1923 issue to the kitchen table and sat. The magazine was well maintained, some edges yellowing, its only defect. The three tone cover had a picture of Bonadea Courtney, handcuffed in a gray prison dress, being escorted to the courthouse by two armed cops. Seven other cameramen were popping their light bulbs at her. She looked at the ground, appearing somewhat wild with her disheveled long black hair. The headline was "Husband Killer on Trial." She flipped through the magazine to find the six page cover story with more pictures, all taken inside the courthouse. She noticed the general pattern of the pictures. No matter what else may have been going on at the moment, all eyes, including that of an all- male jury, were on her. She returned no eye contact and stared at the wooden table she was seated behind. Her bruised skin and one swollen shut eye made their presence known on a hanging, lifeless face. The article said that Marshall Courtney's wife pleaded guilty to his murder. There was an outburst in the courthouse by the victim's 23 year old younger brother, Castor, who had to be removed by police when he left his seat and tried to get to Mrs. Courtney.

In Corpusbury, Massachusetts, a still rural hamlet 20 miles from Boston, now 55 year old Castor Courtney was looking at the same magazine. This wasn't unusual for him. He had been dwelling on the early loss of his big brother for thirty-three years. He lived alone in the white clapboard Cape Cod styled house, that he knew all his life and inherited from his parents five years ago, when his mother succumbed to a chronic kidney problem. The cape sat on two heavily wooded acres, contiguous to the cemetery, the oldest resident of Corpusbury. It was a convenient location for him; as it facilitated solitary walks Castor would take to visit his brother's remains. During these treks he always looked at the other gravestones, noticing how many women died early, in childbirth, during the nineteenth century. He wondered why it couldn't have happened to Bonadea Carson. He always called her by her maiden name, denying her the status of having been married to a Courtney, with all its attendant honors. He hoped that she had died a long painful death.

When he wasn't sharing his thoughts with the wall, he spent his isolated day investigating. It was a cumbersome process as he had no idea what name she might be using. Carson, Courtney, or something else. He had been spending his days writing letters to newspapers, operators of cemeteries, churches, schools, police departments and anything else that might have information about deaths throughout the United States and Western Europe. So far the process had not yielded any concrete results. On three occasions, he traveled to other areas to get more information when something piqued his interest. Up until now he could not confirm her death and it killed him to think that she might still be walking the same earth as he did and his brother didn't.

He didn't consider his lifelong obsession strange, even though he and his brother weren't especially fond of each other. Marshall often chided Castor about his name's slimy relationship to oil and being a general creep. However, Castor knew that when a brother is slain, one is expected to seek revenge. What would the people he didn't know, anyway, say if he were complacent?

It was a more than full time job, preventing him from doing much maintenance or cleaning of his solitary six room home. The peeling white paint complemented the dust covered "country" versions of early American furniture his parents spent so much time acquiring, fixing up and cleaning. The only items getting any attention at all were the metal filing cabinets which overflowed with his letters and their replies. In an effort to enhance his efficiency, he had a filing system which took into consideration the date, location, school, cemetery, newspaper, other source, answered, unanswered, answered vaguely, on and on. As a consequence, 95% of the time he went looking for something, he couldn't find it. The cabinets stood six drawers high and four wide and were finished in a light green, so tepid a color, that the only place it existed in nature was in half dead plants.

He took out his copy of the July 1923 "Boston" magazine, his closet brush with lasting fame and his proudest moment. There was a close up of him, with his contorted face screaming something and being grabbed by two cops in the court room, as he attempted to reach the judge. The article's headline said, "Spouse Slaying Sister Sentenced to Psychiatric Sanctuary."

The article explained that during the sentencing hearing the prosecution was allowed to flood the court with character witnesses, who described the deceased as one of the greatest guys ever to walk these parts of the earth and how much his family and community would miss his presence, often tearfully. When the defense tried to introduce court records of three teenage violent crimes involving the dearly departed, it was ruled inadmissible due to his tender years at the time. When they tried to present character witnesses for Bonadea they were disallowed as they didn't know her "long enough." Despite having to go against the huge wave intent on punishing the wicked husband killer, the defense was successful in introducing the nude photographs of Bonadea's severely bruised face and body taken by the male police officers on the night of her arrest.

The people in the court room couldn't help but notice the shock on the judge's face while viewing the photos. Not a young man by any means the only time the judge could remember seeing anything worse than this was when a doctor friend of his had shown him a book of war wounds.

The judge's decision was given after an hour's recess. When he reconvened court, he basically said that considering Bonadea was not a likely menace to the public, the atrocity evidenced in the photos which never became public and the fact that a person suffering this type of trauma needed special care, he sentenced her to life imprisonment in the state psychiatric facility for the criminally insane.

All hell broke loose. Castor led the angry death sentence devotees to the front of the room, breaking through the front line police guards, who chose to protect Bonadea, leading her out a side entrance to the safety of a jail cell, while two others stationed near the judge held onto the marauding brother, at the head of the group. The cops who led Bonadea out of harm's way came back, used their bodies as shields for the judge and tried to calm the riot, guns drawn and threatening arrests. The cops' efforts were successful in preventing human injury, the only victims being tables, chairs, bannisters and American flags, but the angry demonstrators came from so many blood hungry directions that it was more like watching a wildfire burn itself out. Smiling cameramen had a field day and Castor loved it all.

His theatrics demonstrated to the world how much he supported the brother he never liked. Marshall had gotten all the family had to give in looks, charm and had a way with women. Castor always thought that Marshall lorded it over him and every time he saw his face in the bathroom mirror his jealousy raged. He was one of those people who looked forty by the age of fifteen. His receding hairline, bulbous nose, thin lips and squinty eyes were unfixable tragedies, at least in his mind, which also didn't work as well as his brother's. He had often thought of killing Marshall, himself, but now could be sure that anyone who had previously detected his feelings would see that his "heart" was in the right place. He did what he thought was the right thing in a very public arena.
Chapter 12

Now that he knew he was welcome, Zeke decided that after school he would pay another visit to Miss Gracing. He didn't have any particu¬lar problem to ask her about, but he had a gnawing feeling of some kind of concern for her, after seeing her walking in the junkyard by the river. She answered his knock immediately.

He said; "What were you doing in the junkyard?"

Surprised, she said: "I go there to be alone," taking a seat and offering him one.

"But, you're alone here," he said.

"No, I'm not. Look at Simon," who was sitting in her lap after eating. "It's different to be alone outside. Everything is new and you never know what might happen. Happiness could be waiting for you right around the next bend."

"Or rats. Have you ever seen anything there?"

"Sure, but I've never seen any people or animals, if that's what you mean. The junk that's there must be dumped in the middle of the night."

"I think I'm going to go there sometimes."

"Be careful. There are a lot of things with jagged metal edges. And maybe rats adept at hiding."

A few days later it was too cold to practice baseball, so Zeke took an early evening walk to the river. During the ten minute sojourn he passed through the busy street where he lived, full of apartments, businesses and all types of people going about or looking for something to fill the evening soon to come. When he turned the corner he saw a string of two-family houses with a few people in front trimming bushes. Some were idling away the evening, beer in hand, probably laughing about the absurdities they had recently encountered. Crossing the busy street he passed through a development of brick ranch style houses. The narrow alleys through which he meandered afforded a close up look at the immaculately maintained beauties. Everyone must have been inside having dinner. Crossing another somewhat busy street, he entered the playground part of the park, sparsely occupied by teenagers sitting on top of concrete and wood park benches, or generally milling about with one always apparently having something important to tell the group nearby. He went down a gradual hundred foot drop off and through the middle of the four baseball fields seeing no one. After reaching the river, he soon found the refrigerator graveyard. He got the feeling that this could be his private spot, as who in their right mind would want to be seen there. After navigating all types of debris he saw someone familiar he considered to be very much in her right mind. Like him, Miss Gracing had an attraction to this place, but in her case, it was obvious that she didn't want company. Dragging out the words, she said; "Hi, Zeke," but obviously really didn't mean it, irked with the intrusion.

"Hi, Miss Gracing."

"Want to walk with me a while?" She pointed at some spot up river from them and continued; "We can diverge up there."

"Sure."

"Have you been listening to Mrs. Pavlick?"

He laughed; "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"I have been listening more, but when she's really uninteresting, I don't."

"Zeke!"

"Oh, she doesn't catch me anymore. I quit staring at the ceiling or out the windows. My eyes are on the book in front of her pockmarked face but my mind is elsewhere."

She laughed and said; "Where is it?"

"Lots of places. Sometimes nowhere. Sometimes on you."

"On me? I'm flattered. Why?"

"I wish you were there teaching. Everyone else tells me what I should be thinking and I resist it. You ask questions and when I hear my own answers, I know what I should be thinking."

"Stubborn little brat, aren't you?"

"I think everyone is. I just admit it."

"You sound a lot older than you are."

"You sound a lot younger than you are. Who were your teachers?"

"I've had many. I haven't thought about them recently. My mind's been on other things."

Zeke said; "Like what?"

"Persistent little boys, for one thing." She pointed at what must have been an invisible path going uphill and said; "I'm going this way, BY MYSELF, all right?"

Though he would have loved to continue the conversation, he dejectedly said; "All right."

She silently continued to walk through the hidden path. He watched her back for a few seconds, before turning around. This time he walked right at the river's edge, noting the black oil stains on the rocks where the river had once been and the red sky at the horizon as the sun neared going out of sight, casting long black shadows over the already dark and murky, ominous water.

He heard a loud bang, turned in Miss Gracing's direction and saw the luminous shine of the scissors in her hand as a cat screamed and bolted from a door-less refrigerator. He was impressed that she was prepared for danger, but hoped she would never consider him one.

When she got home Miss Gracing took out her copy of the August 1923 "Boston" magazine and sat at the kitchen table.

She turned to a small article in the back of it titled "Wild Women Won't Willfully Wilt." The succeeding three paragraphs chronicled that there was so much anger at the judge's light sentencing of the killer wife, Bonadea Marshall, in Corpusbury, that the judge was compelled to make a limited release of photos taken of the murderess the night of her arrest. Apparently, the local head of the Daughters of the American Revolution saw them and her group staged an angry protest at the courthouse, demanding freedom for the widow. Local cops had difficulty getting the twenty women to disburse, even after contacting their husbands, who attempted to assist. The townspeople were generally not happy with the group's tolerance of a killer, though amused that the participants were of Corpusbury's elite.

It was not yet known that two years later the same group would hold a celebration at the courthouse, when it was learned that "Bonnie" had escaped the mental institution, though this would not appear in any newspaper or magazine.

She remained sitting on the kitchen table chair, moving it to a position accommodating a window view of the increasing darkness. She could see her own reflection and got fascinated by it. In the minimal illumination she could see the twenty-two year old girl she once was. As the sky darkened the picture became more clear. That twenty-two year old girl was being transported in handcuffs. She was tired and afraid. She saw the armed guard at the entrance gate to the treeless area. A slight improvement to her outlook took place at the main entry door to the five story gray stuccoed building, as when her captors entered by key no greeter was waiting there. They walked twenty feet into the structure before encountering a large desk currently being manned by a forty year old black man, who started looking through his stacks of papers when he saw the intrusion.

"New one for ya," called out Captor #1.

The deskman replied; "All set for ya. I just have to collect a few papers..."

Captor #1 pulled out a few of his own and dropped them on the desk.

The deskman said; "What did this one do?"

In filling out his papers he answered his own question, raising his voice to say; "Oh, this is Bonadea, the murderess." He seemed impressed.

She was exchanged and led down a hall by two armed attendants, getting her first view of the occupants of the iron-barred cages. A few made loud and rude announcements to her that she couldn't decipher. She only remembered them for the contorted agony in their faces and their screaming attempts at body sarcasm.

Her journey ended at an eight by eight cell with a toilet and sink in one corner and a wooden bench bolted to the wall. Her new captors removed her handcuffs, pushing her in, one "accidentally" grabbing her by the breast. Her dead eyes stared at him. He let go and turned to his partner. Both appeared bewildered.

She sat on the bench and got her first view of what would be her primary window. Right across from her was a fifty year old white guy with a full view of her cage from his. He leered at her, tested to see if he could make his tongue reach his chin and laughingly said; "My friend down the hall is sweet on you."

Much of the stay was blocked from her memory, so today she was only able to visualize her best two days at the institution. She was a model inmate, not giving the lazy guards any reason to exert themselves for two years. They started to pay no attention to her in the lunchroom, recreation room or library. They paid some attention when she was at the shower facility. Bonnie had noticed that the guards often took cigarette breaks and left the front door unlocked to more easily facilitate their exits. She knew that if she made it through the door there was still another five hundred foot dash to the road, an iron gate to climb and possibly an armed guard, who also liked to take breaks with his buddies. She considered making her exit when she and others were outside, but that was always in the company of two other armed guards. She knew it was quite a risk, as an unsuccessful attempt would result in a bullet or two in her back. She decided to think things over in her miserable cell one more night. After listening to the banshees, hearing more obscenities, being gawked at by the man speaking for his friend down the hall and just happening to be in the company of patrolling guards whenever she had to use the toilet, she decided there was only one choice available to her.

The next day, during the usual socializing period when the good prisoners were allowed to mingle and walk in the hall, she waited until the deskman and guards went somewhere for one of their cigarette breaks and went for it.

The door seemed very heavy to her and for a second she thought that she might not be able to get it open and wind up shot for trying. A burst of panic strength enabled her to push it. She went out, closing it as gently and soundlessly as she could and ran like hell. The interwoven iron bars at the gate provided ladder steps for her. She easily went over it in her state of desperation and excitement and never physically looked back.

Chapter 13

The years went by slowly for Zeke, like everyone his age. Without consciously thinking about it he thought that he would be about this age in grammar school forever. He was continuing to improve as a baseball player and at age eight added basketball to his repertoire. He was tricked into it. While he liked just fooling around playing in the schoolyard, he didn't like the game enough to want to devote the time necessary for serious training. After about a year of hounding by his father, he exhausted all of his objections and finally succumbed to his father's statement that he'd be playing with the same people he played baseball with. He found that nothing could have been further from the truth, but he learned to enjoy the game most of the time after playing it a while.

Miss Gracing had a few interesting pupils in her classes. In particular she liked one little girl she had the year after Zeke. She had a stoic face, which was the initial hint that her outlook was disdainful and resolute. At times she would fold her arms over her chest and give an askance look when one of her classmates said something she considered stupid. She also occasionally would laugh uproariously when no one else heard anything particularly funny. A few times Miss Gracing called on Morrigan Dempsey to explain her feelings of frivolity. Morrigan could never stop laughing long enough to say any coherent words, waving her arms back and forth across her chest, finally saying; "I can't explain," and then resorting to her doubled-over convulsions.

This made many of the other kids uneasy or derisive. Perhaps it was her fair skinned Irish beauty and long flipping black hair that made her feel impervious to anyone's remarks. Perhaps she merely thought that they were somewhat retarded. She interested Miss Gracing enough that she became a not infrequent visitor whom Simon would come to know very well.

Morrigan's conversations were extremely interesting but followed a different pattern than that of Zeke. While he would very directly say what his problem was, she would be vague and effluent with her manner of conversation, somehow incorporating happiness, sadness, curiosity and disinterest all at the same time. Miss Gracing thought she understood and decided that she would like to see how Zeke and Morrigan would get along. They had two very big things in common; an unusual view of the world and she was each one's only real friend.

During their first joint visit they both sat very controlled at Miss Gracing's table, who led the disjointed non-conversation as best she could. She broke away to take care of Simon, leaving them alone at the table. Both fidgeted and looked around the room wishing Miss Gracing would hurry back. Zeke finally said; "I'm beginning to play baseball well this year."

Morrigan said; "So what?"

"So nothing."

They still sat there nervously fidgeting, but now they were also annoyed.

Zeke said; "What do you do that's so special?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I bet I would. It's probably nothing at all."

"You wouldn't know."

"That's why I asked, stupid. Tell me what's so wonderful about you."

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not yet."

"Well, give it time. What's so fascinating about baseball, anyway?"

Zeke had no easy answer, but wanted to pursue the only opening he had gotten, so he started an essay answer. "You get to stand around in the warm sun and still look like you're doing something, even though you're staring into space. If you weren't "playing" baseball and stood in the sun staring into space, people would start asking if you were all right."

She made one of her patented doubled over laughs, which went on for ten seconds.

Zeke said; "What's so funny?"

She made one of her non-responses, but in a few seconds, added to it: "I think I'd like to learn how to play baseball, too. Can you show me?"

This proved to be the beginning of an on again, briefly off again long term relationship, wherein no matter how vexed one could be at the other, they could always trust the honesty of the other's responses. They found that they were continually drawn back.

Zeke would continue to drop in on Miss Gracing bringing with him some complaint or other, expecting that she would somehow resolve it and was never disappointed. By the third grade he was getting exposed to subjects with which his mother had not acquainted him, so more concentration became necessary at school. However, he didn't let that deter him from frequent¬ly seeing Morrigan at Miss Gracing's apartment. Morrigan forgot about her interest in learning baseball, as she decided that if she felt like being in the sun staring into space, she didn't need a subterfuge to do it. Zeke would still see Miss Gracing walking at the river, sometimes and would approach with trepidation, respecting her desire to be allowed some alone time outdoors. His grades dropped off, but that didn't give him any problem as his mother thought that the only subjects that mattered were reading, writing and arithmetic and his father shared the opinion of his wife, as usual. Morrigan excelled at all subjects, as it was her way of proving to her detractors that she was superior. Zeke probably got the same thing out of baseball. Miss Gracing enjoyed their periodic spats wherein Morrigan would say that she was smarter than Zeke and he would invariably stick his tongue out at her, make a stupid face and then seriously say; "There are things to be learned from sports that you'll never know anything about."

Morrigan would always say something like; "Such as?" or "Pray tell, what?" Zeke's response would invariably be some derivation of; "The value of teamwork and also its limitations."

Miss Gracing often thought happily about her successful kiddie intro¬duction and would always further that thought with a part of her own life. When she escaped the institution she found her way to the freight yards and headed west. The trip was long and hard without regular access to food or water, but it was her only option. As a young woman, she had heard numerous references to people, many criminals, hiding out in Albuquerque, New Mexico, so this became her destination.

When Bonnie got there she made regular use of the public showers and found that she could get some shelter and regular food at the churches. Checking the local papers, she soon found out that there were numerous openings for grammar school teachers who didn't get paid much anything. But, under the circumstances, she was practical. Bonnie had a friend in college named Eloise Gracing who was killed in a car accident a year after graduation. Bonadea Carson died and Eloise Gracing was reborn, with the necessary teaching credentials.

She rented a three room adobe casita from the Gutierrez Family who lived in an eight room adobe great house on the same property. She started to relax after a few months of this existence not thinking of anyone looking for her.

She met the Gutierrez family's oldest son, 30 year old Hector. Initially he was sent over by his family to perform various maintenance chores on the 50 year old structure and Eloise was more than a bit nervous, like when he asked her where were pictures of her family. When he didn't push she relaxed again, enjoying his company. She liked the way he pronounced certain words differently than her and especially liked his calm, genial ease. She needed that after Marshall.

She got pickier about the condition of her casita, necessi¬tating more and more trips from Hector. They fell in love, married and both lived in the little oasis. After a long honeymoon in the sun, Hector started having some kind of problem, though and maybe parti¬cularly because she didn't complain. Hector thought he should be supporting his bride much better than he was. He often looked at the old wooden cross he borrowed from his parents, that was now on their wall. The simple graying wood contained old inscriptions, a yellow reflecting material in five small sections at the top and most significantly to him, glued on coins of antiquity which contained the heads of various popes. He resolutely said; "I'm going to get a job working on the tram."

She said, "Don't be silly. We'll be fine." She had heard of a few deaths of workers falling off the rocky mountain. The tram was under construction for two years already, the promoters trying to establish a ride vacationers would enjoy at the peak of the 8,000 foot rock. Their marriage coincided with the dangerous project; two years.

"I'm not being silly," he responded. "It pays very well and I'll be all right. Those guys who fell off were probably drunk."

To no avail she caressed his cheek and said; "You're drunk in love, my brave angel."

Words of prophecy were never better said. Eloise got a message one day that said some people from the job were going to pick her up. As she feared, there, 200 feet from the mountain top lay Hector's broken body, motionless in a deep crevice. After the funeral she didn't want to stay in Albuquerque. There were too many good memories. She was also very uncomfortable with the statement, made one day by Hector's mother. She had a few drinks and was wiping her eyes when she looked directly at Eloise and said; "If my son didn't marry he'd still be here with me." She effect¬ively blamed Eloise for the dangerous job and Eloise realized that the thought contained a certain amount of truth. So, she headed back east, this time as a paying passenger.

Her destination this time was a kindergarten teaching job in Bayonne, New Jersey. The job came relatively easily, all arrangements handled by mail. The town had a growing population of immigrants of all sorts and their children, born here, required an education.

Checking out the school, she walked around and saw the "Apartment for Rent" sign and got a new roof over her head. The rest is history. Her only surprise was that, despite the geographical change, she could not stop thinking about Hector or the possibility of being caught. It could have been her now closer proximity to the "crime," but more likely, it was that she lost the feeling she had in Albuquerque. There she felt like she was in another world.

At nine years of age, Zeke frequented the baseball fields and the strip of land on the river regularly. He was always tempted to rush over to Miss Gracing and tell of all his great accomplishments and failures, seeking her advice in the latter cases. There were also some things he didn't want to discuss in the presence of Morrigan. Though she couldn't always address specific problems, as in baseball, she could always provide some generality that applied. Zeke didn't understand them all at first, some bringing meaning only with the passage of time. He'd have liked to have told her more about his passion, baseball, but didn't think she had any interest.

At one meeting in her apartment sans Morrigan he ventured; "Miss Gracing, I batted .292 this year. That's the highest average ever hit by a nine year old."

"That sounds very good, Zeke. What's the highest average ever hit by a ten year old?"

Zeke found the question surprising and not what he had hoped for. He wanted a venue to say how wonderful he was. Consequently he said; "I don't know. Probably whatever I hit next year."

There was a cessation of the mild southerly wind, which mimicked the pause in conversation.

Zeke finally said; "You don't know much about baseball, do you, Miss Gracing?"

"Frankly, no. I'm sorry."

"Would you like to learn about it?"

She gave him a discerning look, then mildly laughed and said; "Not really." She paused again, before adding; "All right?"

Zeke noted the reluctant acquiescence, didn't want to "torture" his friend, even though he was dying to tell her of his heroics and said; "Never mind, it takes forever to explain that stupid game anyway. You know, Morrigan and I are very good friends."

She just looked at him, questioningly.

He added; "Most of the time."

She smiled and asked; "Do you know what's going on when you don't get along?"

"No. I've thought about it lots of times, but I can't be certain of anything. She's weird, sometimes."

"Weird?"

"Yeah, weird sometimes and interesting always."

In 1962 Castor Courtney's routine hadn't changed much, except that one thought fixed in his mind. Pushing into his sixties he realized he didn't have all the time in the world left to fulfill his life's mission. Since he hadn't accomplished it yet he concluded that whatever approaches he used in the past were useless and that a new one was called for. But what? What could he guess at? If she wasn't dead somewhere, she would most likely be doing what she was trained to do; teaching school. She couldn't be using her own credentials or else he would have found her already. Maybe she's using the credentials of a dead person. He could use the rest of his life and another few years after that, to send inquiries to every U.S. college and ask them for a list of all their dead teaching graduates.

He needed to cut some corners and get lucky, so he made the further guess that Bonnie probably assumed the new name as quickly as possible, so she would have had to pick someone who died a long time ago. He knew of one local woman, an Eloise something that died right after college. He wished he knew what college she attended or her last name, as the family was now long gone from Corpusbury. Now he had to retrieve all the mailing addresses of every school in the country and ask them if they had ever employed a Miss Eloise something, who was probably born in 1900. His filing system added weeks to the project and curtailed his other favorite pastime; visiting the cemetery.

Chapter 14

With no warning eleven year old Zeke discovered that he had reached puberty while taking a bath. He thought he had outdone Einstein's discoveries. He did a lot of thinking about Morrigan's and Miss Gracing's legs, sometimes both at once.

In a short time, he gathered from some conversations he was having with other boys, that there were a number of geniuses out there.

When some things made little sense to him, he learned enough of the available intelligence, to determine that he could make an overall categorization of "sex," and ask his parents about it.

They never heard the word. So, there was only one other person he could possibly ask. This seemed to be a very important topic today and he didn't want to risk saying anything stupid.

When Zeke got to her apartment, Miss Gracing came slowly to the door, first having to shut off her record player. Zeke politely waited. She said; "Zeke! Don't tell me. You've found something else imperfect in your world."

"It's far from an imperfection this time. This is more like a severe need for good information."

"Come on in and have a seat. I'll fix us some tea. Let's see now. You're twelve years old now, right?"

"Almost."

"So, I'm going to take a wild guess that the information you need is related to a recent discovery and some commentaries you have heard."

Zeke snorted and said; "Yes."

"You have no problem. When you hear something that doesn't sound right, it probably isn't and remember; 'You can't think like that.'" She hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but had a suspicion it wasn't.

She got the tea heating and went back to her stereo. She put on the song she was just listening to, wanting him to hear it, because it was one of her favorites and possibly a good diversion.

I remember you.

You're the one who made my dreams come true

A few kisses ago.

I remember you.

You're the one who said "I love you, too.

Yes, I do. Didn't you know?"

I remember too a distant bell

And stars that fell

Just like the rain out of the blue.

When my life is through

And the angels ask me to recall

The thrill of it all.

I will tell them "I remember you."

When it ended, she again shut off the stereo and brought two teacups to the table. Upon sitting, she said; "What did you think of it?"

"I liked it a lot. I'm a real sucker for that sentimental stuff. Gets me every time. You, too?"

"Yes, obviously," she laughed.

He was nervous about what he really wanted to ask, so sidestepped saying that he gets that reaction often while watching movies, hoping she would volunteer something. "In one, some guy was very much in love with his wife and she died when she was like 25. He talks to her spirit and takes care of the kid. It made me cry."

"I've seen that movie, too. The name escapes me."

Not getting his hoped for break, Zeke said; "Good. Well, let me ask my questions slightly differently."

Miss Gracing grudgingly said "Okay."

"I need to know about, like the parts and what you do with them."

Miss Gracing's eyes fluttered. She took a deep breath and said; "You really should ask your parents."

"They say they don't know anything about it. They tell me it's because they're Catholic."

She laughed at the sincerity on his eager face and his correct information, though she knew he would only know how correct it was years from now. She said; "This wouldn't be comfortable for me."

"You can't think that way."

After a bit more of chit-chat about the movie with the forgotten name, she became annoyed with her own evasiveness and saw Zeke's disappointment. She decided that she would tell Zeke what he so desperately needed to know. She surmised he already knew half of the parts side and she could provide the other half with a ten inch Art Deco statue. The bronze naked body, sitting in the closet exhibited what it needed to exhibit and she held a sword.

The session went well with few questions asked. When it was obvious that she concluded, he said; "Is that all there is to it?"

She very adamantly said; "No. That's not all there is to it. You asked for the physical part. There's a mental part, too."

"Well, tell me about that."

"It would go on forever. There's no short answer. There are countless books, movies and songs dealing with the subject and none of them have a complete answer necessitating more books, movies and songs." She paused and saws that Zeke was very confused, his eyes wide, probably thinking a number of different thoughts at once, so she added; "I can say this unequivocally. It has everything to do with putting the other first."

Zeke continued his blank stare, cocked his head to his left side and still retained his questioning look. So she smiled and coyly said; "Would you like to tell me what's in your horrible little mind, when you keep re-discovering the wonders of nature?"

His eyebrows went up and he started laughing, thinking of Morrigan and her legs; "No."

"Fine then, session over." She put her record back on and they sat silently during their tea. When it ended; she got up, led him to the door and said; "Okay, Zeke, are you ready to take on the world now?"

"I'm not so sure. But, I know I've had the best teacher anyone ever did."

When he was walking home oblivious to his environment and daydreaming more than before, he wondered if Morrigan had been having similar conversations with Miss Gracing. She had been saying some strange things recently.

The next day Zeke "just happened" to get behind Morrigan when they both walked to school. He ran to catch up with her and reached for her books.

"That's not necessary," she said, moving her books away.

"Look, I've got gym and shop this morning, so I don't have any. Besides, it's traditional."

He again reached for her books, this time successfully.

He said; "I had a strange talk with Miss Gracing yesterday. Have you been having any?"

"What do you mean, strange?"

"Strange, you know." He grimaced, looked into her eyes and cocked his head to one side.

She giggled, looked at him and said; "Maybe I'd use the description "out of the ordinary."

Zeke's eyes momentarily eyed the blue sky. When he looked back at Morrigan, he grinned and said; "Tell me, have you made some new discoveries of late?"

She giggled again, looked at the ground and said; "Yes."

"I made mine while taking a bath."

She looked at him eyes wide and laughed out the words; "Me, too."

Miss Gracing was slightly uncomfortable while walking to school the next day. For some reason she was rather confident yesterday and maybe said some things she wouldn't have in a quieter mood. She also felt silly and amused and didn't think that was the appropriate attitude at work. She hoped that since the parents often do such a bad job of it, that someday it would be handled in the schools, but by some other teacher. Then she saw Zeke and Morrigan together fifty feet in front of her, laughing, walking cockeyed and bumping each other. Maybe she did the right thing after all.

Chapter 15

Morrigan and Zeke were always together the next years and through high school, though she didn't follow up on her stated early interest in learning baseball. Zeke got to display his physical acumen on the diamond and to a lesser extent on the basketball court. Morrigan had more of a penchant for joining clubs, none of which had any interest in sports. She regularly attended meetings of the high school book club, glee club and birdwatchers' society.

It gave them an advantage. Neither really understood what the other was saying, so arguments became scarcities. They both enjoyed movies and saw more than their share of Alfred Hitchcock. He read Hitchcock's magazine, too, but that seemed not to catch her interest, being too simple. Most of all they cared about music, books and each other.

They continued to see Miss Gracing at her apartment and at the river, sometimes together, sometimes apart. The Beatles landed in America in 1964 and after that the conversations centered around the ideas in the new music, the rapidly changing and improving world, what the wonderful future would be like and of course the sexual revolution. Zeke and Morrigan were now doing almost all of the talking and Miss Gracing liked hearing their stories and never told them that many similar things were going on during the Roaring Twenties, when she was young.

At work Miss Gracing met a few particularly interesting new students and her dream repertoire took a general turn for the pleasant. She visualized her early years in Boston, when everything seemed to be going her way with no end in sight. She remembered many days with Hector in Albuquerque, even some that probably never happened. Once in a while she would get a shock when she dreamed of something, someone, or a presence rattling around in her hallway. In different episodes she saw the ominous thing as an angry ghost, a devil, a professional man with a gun, or a crazed old man with bulging eyes, messy sparse white hair and a determined look on his contorted face. She always woke up in a sweat to find that Simon had left her bed and was rattling around in something.

She was happy for the young lovers she had known for over a decade. She wished she could be more a part of it. She was never told that Zeke's ideal version of a woman was a young Miss Gracing and that Morrigan's ideal man was a young male version of her, as neither could articulate that.

1972 was an eventful year for everyone. Zeke was still in college, taking the minimum number of courses to avoid the draft. He had no particular major and took all kinds of courses in philosophy, theology, business, math and anything else that fit into his schedule. Zeke and Morrigan married and mostly at her insistence headed for New Mexico. They liked the climate, prices, diversity of cultures and what some called the spirituality of the place. Hippy communes were interesting experiments to them, but both had the observation that a few did all the work or supplied all the money, while the majority was content to grace the rest with their idle presence. The fact that it was not within driving distance from any parent was an added attraction. They expected to and did meet many other young people like themselves, with no big interest in anything except doing what they felt like, their "manana" and "siesta" customs proved seductive and intoxicating. She taught grammar school six hours a day, nine months of the year and he tried a number of things and succeeded at none. Forays into roofing, banking, landscaping and carpentry all proved to be disasters, one way or another. He started writing stories. Most were for magazines, didn't pay much, but at least provided something while he worked on his novels that he knew would eventually be movies. They made at least monthly phone calls to their matchmaker, mostly telling her of the marvels in their new environment. Miss Gracing bit her tongue when she heard something that didn't sound right to her primarily, because she didn't want to sound too knowledgeable of the place, but also considered that it had been quite a while since she was there and the world was rapidly changing.

Miss Gracing retired at 72, after insisting on hanging around past the normal 65. She was still in good health, Simon wasn't around anymore and she really didn't want to hang around the house all day remembering things. But, the kids were different, perhaps less polite and she became more and more aware that she was referred to as "Old Miss Gracing," even among the teachers. She wasn't the least bit comfortable with being constantly reminded that she was the oldest soul in the house and that probably was the biggest factor in the decision. She thought; "It's horrible when they look at you like you're going to keel over at any moment." She decided that she would spend her days volunteering her time to work with homeless dogs and cats. The "work" was more akin to keeping each other company.

Castor Courtney of Corpusbury had the high point of his adult existence. His correspondence had succeeded in deter-mining that "Eloise Gracing" had been employed by a certain Albuquerque school district for a short time in 1925, three years after the real Eloise Gracing died. He was sure that he was on the right path. He took a trip to see if he could find any other information and was unsuccessful at that, but got to see a part of the country that looked more like Greece or the southern part of France, than anything he'd yet gleaned on his trips to the cemetery and post office. All he had to do is get more letters out to the rest of the country's school districts and find out where Eloise Gracing shows up next. He thought; "Maybe this won't be a wasted life, after all."

1973, 1974 and 1975 went by with no huge surprises. Morrigan still had her teaching job, but was thinking more and more about how much fun it would be to have her own little girl to take care of. Zeke saw that the magazine writing he was doing wasn't enough to support one person, never mind two or three, so he increasingly focused on the novels as the only possible solution, feeling guilty as a consequence. Morrigan wasn't pushing him in any direction. She just seemed to be continuing her philosophy of doing as you please and that the good universe would provide. Zeke had his reservations and didn't know that his gnawing compulsion to take better care of his family paralleled that of Hector, who he had no knowledge of, first or second hand.

Miss Gracing made many new dog and cat friends, but chose not to bring any home, perhaps not wanting to risk leaving them behind, with no one to take care of them. She found that she slept less now, leaving more time for music, memories and dreams of all varieties. She missed the visits from her favorite pupils, not having found any new ones the last few working years and the others, were now young adults with millions of things to do.

1976 was a watershed year. Morrigan announced that she was pregnant and Zeke had not yet sold a novel. They did have a few bucks laying around, however, due to an out of court settlement reached with the police department, over the psychological and physical damage incurred, when, without a warrant, the cops kicked in the door of their three room adobe casita, weapons drawn, looking for marijuana and not finding it in the airtight glass under one of the floor bricks.

Zeke became interested in old magazines. He'd purchase old issues of Mad Magazine, Life Magazine, Look Magazine and "Boston." He seemed to have an interest in what went on in antiquity, not history as it is taught, but how the people really lived. He was particularly drawn to the 1923 stories about a woman who stabbed her husband to death in a grisly fashion. The less than clear black and white photos bore a resemblance to Miss Gracing. When he read the articles he made special note of the fact that she was so horribly abused. He was truly shocked as he had not heard of anything like it in his lifetime.

Then he read the following issue covering the sentencing, when the judge took the photos into strong consideration, giving her life in a mental prison. He supposed that the judge would have done better to include a period, after which, under good behavior, she would not be considered a menace to anyone and be released.

Her lawyer could have done a better job. He could have pleaded her "Not guilty, self-defense" and introduced the photos as evidence. He would also have done well to get a few women on the jury. The pictures again bore a disturbing uncanny likeness between Bonadea Carson and Miss Gracing. In rational moments he dismissed the thought and the passing time precluded any concrete way of comparing the faces. He also thought it possible that he merely missed his old friend, seeing her likeness in cloud formations and the patterns in floor bricks. Morrigan merely found him overly imaginative.

As far as he knew, she had been teaching in Bayonne at least as far back as the 1930s. He dismissed the similarities as coincidences, until a few months later when he was perusing "Boston" issues of a few years later. Bonnie was on the loose again. The pictures included in this issue made him stop using the word "coincidence." Nine different photos were shown and each looked like his old friend. He'd like to know, but how could he ask her that? Then one day Morrigan informed him that she thought it was a good idea if she took a leave of absence from work when the baby was born. And worse, she also thought that she'd like to stay home with the baby during its first few years of life.

He said; "I don't make enough money to even cover the rent."

"Since when do you worry about money?" she said, very surprised.

He laughed; "Believe it or not, always and especially now."

She laughed, too; "We'll be all right. I'll hit my parents up for that wedding gift we never got."

"I wouldn't count on that one."

"Do you really think they would take the chance of not being allowed to see their first and possibly only, grandchild?"

"You're wicked, Morrigan."

She put her hands around his waist and looked in his eyes, saying, "Want to see more?"

In a while Zeke was seeing things her way. Later he remembered that this could be a critical moment in at least three lives and he said; "I've been thinking about paying a call on Miss Gracing."

"I miss her, too."

"Want to come?"

"One of us is working, if you've forgotten."

"Oh, yeah. Details, details, details."

"Why don't you go yourself? I wouldn't mind having this place to myself for a week."

He decided to surprise Miss Gracing with his new problem, a well-established precedent in place. He packed a few things and got a flight out of Albuquerque early the next day, landing at Newark International Airport. Old memories came back. When he left, Albuquerque was 76 degrees and sunny. Newark was 45 and drizzling off and on. He couldn't remember the last time he saw a sky so close to the ground. He got a light jacket out of his bag and put it on. He kept looking at the clouds, drizzle and sky, not being able to tell where one ended and the other began. It was almost like one gigantic, gray, layered, wet blob. His ruminations ended when he heard; "Cab?"

A sixty year old black guy in a beat up yellow car and a silly hat stopped near him.

Zeke said; "Yeah."

"Where you going?"

"Bayonne."

"Hop in. That's my home."

Zeke put his small bag in the back seat and followed it in. He said; "I grew up there. This is the first time back in about five years."

With an entertaining lilt in his voice, the cabbie said;

"You're in for a surprise, my friend. Some changes have been made."

"What?" Zeke's voice and expression were far from lilting, as he didn't want to hear that his place of origin was no more.

"I'm not gonna tell ya. You'll see it for yourself soon enough." As they passed through the bridge, back highways connecting Newark, Jersey City and Bayonne, Zeke saw the bay alongside, but again couldn't see where the bay concluded its destination and the clouds, drizzle and sky began and hoped that this was not a portent of the sameness new "improvements" generally bestow.

The cabbie interrupted his viewing of the low path to the heavens, looking in the rearview mirror and saying; "Where should I leave ya?"

"Twentieth Street and Avenue C."

Upon reaching his destination, he saw the candy store and the weathered gray clapboard apartment above it. But, right across the street, heading downtown toward the old school, he saw some of the changes the cabbie was talking about and decided to see what went on in Miss Gracing's world before he stopped in. What he remembered being there was gone and in its place was small new single family houses on 50 x 100 lots.

He was shocked and walked slowly downtown, wondering where the devastation ended. When he got to 17th Street, site of the old school and schoolyard, faux clapboard metal sided condos now prevailed. Unlike old times, he was the only one walking on the street. Like old times he was in a bit of a trance, visually remembering what the place used to look like, the old family furniture and toy stores with apartments above, the ice cream shop operated by one family in the basement of their row house and the shoe shine shop. He continued walking to 15th Street and when he could still not see any end to the new expensive looking lack of character, he turned back uptown to get back to Miss Gracing's.

There were more cars on the road than he previously recalled. Maybe Bayonne had gone the way of the suburbs; no one walking to local shops, as they no longer existed, necessitating car trips to the malls. He was to learn that in the early days of "urban renewal" the authorities had the right to condemn and demolish substandard structures and replace them with new standard ones, at the same time replacing the old substandard people with new standard models. The process became commonly known as progress, gentrification, civic improvement and a host of other euphemisms connoting something good. An end to neighborhoods was not an acceptable description. It seemed to Zeke that it was something more akin to the purging of the Indians. Brave new world.

Chapter 16

Zeke went through the alley, up the wooden stairs and knocked twice on Miss Gracing's door. He heard no sound and feared that she might no longer be there. He knocked again, four times and harder. In an instant the door flew open and a disheveled 76 year old lady with long, wild gray hair and five strange red cuts on her face appeared with a very sharp and shiny pair of scissors in her right hand at head level ready to bring them down.

1976 was also a banner year for Castor of Corpusbury. A few days prior to Zeke's trip, his lifelong campaign of letter writing reached its zenith when the public school system of population 70,000 Bayonne, New Jersey, wrote back to him saying that they had employed Eloise Gracing as a teacher until 1972, when she retired.

He had been waiting for this day for so long, he had two suitcases perennially packed with the special items he needed. He packed another bag, this one of clothes and drove to Bayonne. Suffice to say, he was more used to "rural" areas and cemeteries and this was a city. He didn't find it ominous, though he felt strange. All these people of different heritages busily on their way somewhere, with one curious trait in common; no one paid any attention to him. He was a far cry from the safety of the cemetery, but after his lifelong wait, he was not going to be deterred from his forever and a day revenge mission. He took a room at the "Esquire Hotel" on Twenty Third Street, a neighborhood which remained as it was when Zeke was a kid.

The graying red and green velvet walls of the lobby were reminiscent of an old movie theatre, with a musky odor, as if the hidden walls had been leaking for years. The couches in the sitting area were occupied by seven or eight "old" men, but they were probably younger than Castor. They held newspapers and magazines, a few telling a compatriot what they had just read. They looked up at Castor, but quickly went back to their business, when he gruffly walked by looking at no one, obviously disdainful of their idleness.

Considering himself one of those with a proper work ethic, Castor carried his two bags to the clerk's desk toward the back of the room, his straggly gray hair askew and his baggy green cuffed pants hanging low on his protruding stomach. The young black man behind the desk looked somewhat amusedly at him and said; "Having a rough one?"

Castor put his bags on the ground and used his now free hands to brush back his hair and pull up his pants. He took the clerk's opening remark as uncalled for mocking and replied, "Meet your high standards now?"

The clerk rolled his eyes and said; "What can I do for you?"

"What do you think? I want a room, chief."

Unflustered the clerk said; "What kind of room and for how long?"

Castor replied, "One single room with a bath for a week."

"You're in luck. I have one on the first floor, Number 103. Can I see your credit card?"

Castor took the wallet out of his pants pocket and retrieved a wad of twenties saying; "I got cash."

The clerk looked at him suspiciously and replied, "That's unusual."

Castor fixed his eyes right on the clerk's, his somber red face demonstrating annoyance and said, "Is cash good here or not?"

"Relax, my man. Yes, it's good here. Give me two hundred eighty."

Castor silently counted out the amount and dropped it on the desk. The clerk picked it up and slowly recounted it, then said; "Name?"

"Alexander Hamilton."

The clerk scratched the back of his neck, but merely wrote it down, then said; "Address?"

"123 Washington Street, Lincoln, Virginia."

"Okay, here are the keys. Checkout time is 10AM."

Castor put the keys in his pocket, picked up his bags and started to walk away.

The clerk rang his bell and said; "Need any help with that."

Castor flatly said; "I got it all the way here. I'll make it a few more feet," and kept moving.

The clerk laughingly said; "Looking for any girls?"

"Castor bristled, but kept moving, calling out; "No."

"Didn't' think so."

Castor turned down the first hallway he saw, found number 103 and entered, seeing the windowless white painted walls and ceiling. The matted orange brown shag carpet gave off the musky smell he noticed in the lobby, this time possibly mixed with vomit. A simple bed, chair, table and chest rounded out the room. The thought passed through his mind that this must be what it's like in a mental institution, not aware that this was luxury in comparison.

He put his clothes in the white painted chest, having some difficulty with the loose handles.

As it was already evening, he just wanted to bring back some food, eat and sleep. He was glad to find a back door.

The next overcast morning he walked five blocks to the local public high school, where all teaching records were maintained. Without much difficulty at all he found out again that Eloise Gracing retired as a teacher in 1972 and obtained her last address, saying he was a former pupil who had not aged well. He knew exactly which way to go because the streets are all numbered and the avenues go by letters.

It was an eight block walk to the apartment over the candy store. He was continually disturbed by the urban noises; cars blowing horns, people jabbering, kids yelling and bouncing balls and garbage men using foul language as their tin receptacles clanged. Used to the quiet of his cemetery the sounds were magnified in his ears and it took him some time to again realize that no one was talking to him or trying to get his attention. Still, worried that someone would notice him; he put a hand up to his face, pretending to be wiping his eyes, whenever he passed anybody, the perceived cacophony ringing in his ears, almost unbearably. He found his way through the alley and up the stairs to the apartment door and knocked. Miss Gracing answered in a bulky blue bathrobe, scissors in the pocket. She didn't recognize the odd man standing there; perhaps his spending so much time in or near a cemetery had a strange effect on his growth. She said; "Yes, may I help you?"

Extending his right hand to shake, not taken, he said; "I'm Sam McGonigle of the Acme Insurance Company. Do you have a few moments?"

"No, I don't want any kind of insurance." She re-closed the door saying; "Aren't you a little old for that job?"

Castor got what he wished for. It was indeed Bonadea. He happily left and went back to his hotel, considering getting ear plugs, but not wanting to comb the dirty streets looking for a store which sold them.

Up until now Bonadea was in good condition and settled into her retirement existence contentedly; playing music, reading and walking at her favorite place. For the first few years she was regularly visited by former students, but that dropped to near zero when they demolished the old neighborhood. Still it was a rather luxurious life with no worries, no illnesses and minimal "chores" to do. She looked forward to the infrequent calls from Zeke and Morrigan. She considered taking up painting. Bad dreams became minimal, replaced by ones of her teaching years.

Then the gods in charge must have felt remiss and decided to obliterate the good situation. Bonadea was visited one early evening by some kind of apparition in her hallway. The strangled voice yelled as best it could; "I........ know........ what....... you........ did." She heard persistent slow steps coming to the door. It didn't knock but said; "You....... will........ pay........ for........ your....... sins."

Given her past, Bonnie thought this sounded so ominous, it frightened her in a few ways; they could know of her half cen¬tury earlier escape, or they could be nuts enough to do physical harm, or both. She went one room away to her bedroom and grabbed her trusty old scissors. She peered through the adjoining door hearing no further useful information. Eventually, she got the nerve to go to the front door and see if her visitor had left. She walked down the hallway, down the stairs, through the alley and looked out the wooden door to the street, seeing nothing except a declining sun, bestowing its last few rays on the new condos across the street.

She went back upstairs and made herself tea. She didn't want any music, television, or books. She had a problem and needed to think it through. If it was some kind of nut, the situation was out of her control. If it's some sort of message from God, she was in worse trouble. The judgment alluded to did not sound kindly. On the other hand, it could be taken as a mere statement of fact. She thought; "God knows what we do and we will all, pay for our sins. Given that, why would he make a special trip to tell me what I already know, especially in so scary a fashion?"

She pragmatically decided that she really couldn't be 100% sure of the correctness of what she had just thought and that it didn't matter, anyway. If God was after her, she had no doubts he was going to get her. So, she focused on the concrete possibility that it was some human or humans who were potentially dangerous to her and what she could do about that. Not much came to mind.

She again heard the hallway footsteps and assumed the scissors in hand in the doorway position. The fear on her pale face dismissed any thoughts except, "What can I do if something comes through that door?" Stab it?"

The steps seemed to stop somewhere near the door. She heard a slow growl; "Bonadea." He paused; "You know why I'm here. You've been a very bad girl."

He called her "Bonadea." She concluded that this must be a voice from the distant past. It sounded like one. If it's human, she was in more trouble than she had been in 54 years. She was helplessly alone, the candy store having closed an hour ago. If she could have seen the apparition at the other side of the door, she would have been even more worried. Castor brought one of his costumes with him and changed into it in her hallway. He was wearing an "improved" version of a skeleton outfit and mask. He had been collecting animal bones over the years, meticulously sewing them on the costume, front and back, some with a portion of dried meat left on. The hood was done in a similar fashion with special attention paid to the large grinning mouth, comprised of many smaller bones containing maximum amounts of dry meat painted over in bright red, forming lips four times normal size.

Castor's plan of attack was not to kill Bonadea right away. He could have done that when he posed as the insurance salesman, if he wanted to. No, she would suffer the pangs of conscience, feel the fear of knowing that she might be tortured to death at any time and suffer the psychological torment of not knowing why this was happening before she experienced the mercy of death. He stuffed a fake dead rat in the mouthpiece and said; "Bonadea. Open the door and kiss Marshall."

She considered dialing 911, but the fact that he knew her birth given name and that of her dead former husband meant that a successful police intervention would result in her status of an escaped convict being revealed. For whatever it was worth, this demented person had conveyed to her that he knew a lot of information a half century old. She quickly thought that this really didn't matter right now, as the task at hand was to somehow try to single handedly take care of what was at her door. Besides, her story was so well published that a lot of people probably knew it.

"Bonadea. Open the door or I'll kick it in."

She was trembling and tears started to find paths down her white cheeks. She held the scissors in her right hand and put it under her heavy turquoise full length robe. With her shaking left hand she undid the door latches. Before she could step back, he pushed the door in, knocking her to the floor, on her back, scissors exposed. Rather than come in he stood at the door staring silently at her. She was petrified at the very real bones the freak wore. She wondered how many animals or people he had to kill to get his wardrobe. She was still on the floor five feet from him, when she cried out, "Please stop. Please." He took the fake dead rat from his mouth and threw it on her. She screamed, trying to get it off her, without having to touch it. When her gyrations were able to remove it from her torso, he turned and left, saying; "This is the beginning of your end."

Castor changed back to his "normal" outfit at the foot of the stairs and calmly walked back to his hotel.

Bonnie shut the door and crawled into her bed, face down in the pillow and cried to anyone who might be listening; "Why does everything have to happen to me?"

She had a new dream that night. In it she was a very detailed white porcelain sparrow, wings extended, claws anchored to the base, surrounded by books. Inside the glass fronted cabinet she could see most of the room, a library with a solitary desk and chair in the center. There were others like her in other cabinets unable to hear her when she called out; "Open the door. I can fly." A man and woman, each about thirty, entered the room, walked over to her and opened the door. The woman picked her up, admiring her and she again called out; "Let go. Let me fly." Oblivious to her cries the woman handed her to the man, whose dirty hands smudged her body. This didn't bother her, but she again called out; "Let me fly."

Maybe he heard her, maybe not, but she slipped from his grip and tried to flap her wings. The weight of the base held her claws and she was pulled straight down to the wooden floor and shattered into a hundred pieces. The man left the room and came back with a whisk broom, pan and garbage can. He swept up her pieces and dropped them into the can. As the lid closed over her she called out; "No, no. I'm still alive." No one reacted to her pleas and the next morning a truck showed up and carried her to the junkyard.

Chapter 17

That put an end to sleep for the night. She spent the darkness alternating between lying on the bed crying "Why, why, why?" nervously drinking tea at the kitchen table and scrutinizing her possessions. She had most of them for decades and wondered if any of them would reveal some long guarded secret. She knew that prophecy can work in strange ways and could have been set in place many years ago, patterns repeating and repeating. She saw nothing except hard colorful geometric forms, long haired solemn women and flowers on long stems. Her attention finally settled on a painting; an old still life she couldn't remember acquiring. It was sitting with three other framed pictures on a simple oak table at the side of the bed. The table was done in the simple Arts and Crafts style and its only decoration was green circular tiling in the center of the top. It had something drawn or written on it that had gone the way of time. The still life was of one cut red rose, perched in a clear dry vase. She thought she could see the petals just beginning to curl, the dying prisoner in its place of honor.

The first sunlight of the next morning made her a bit more relieved and she was finally able to enjoy the rest and comfort of sleep.

Soon she was walking down the hallway in her black hooded cloak. She opened the door at its end and saw Marshall sleeping alone in their queen sized bed. She withdrew the hunting knife from under the cloak and started to slash. The first three stabs roused him and he put up both his hands in an effort to block the next thrust. He said; "Stop. Stop. I'll kill you." She put the next puncture in the middle of his neck and ripped her way out the side. He was attempting to say more words when the last wound made a gurgling sound swallowing them. She woke up trembling and sweating. Was there no escape? She found perverse humor in this new version of the old dream, this time ending up clean of blood and being more efficient in putting the last thrust into his neck, rather than his already dead heart.

She decided to make some breakfast and tea and tried to find something good to think about. She considered the possibility that she had survived the onslaught. "That's a good one," she thought sarcastically as she watched the north wind push some dark gray bulbous clouds into her sky. The friendly little puffy white clouds made their escape as quickly as possible. She thought; "Alright, I don't believe in 'signs from the heavens.' Let's focus elsewhere. That's giving the idiot wind too much power." She stared right at the sky and said; "Do your worst. I don't think you can top your previous efforts, anyway."

She ate her eggs at the counter, defiantly watching the afternoon show, in fact being critical to some extent, noting how the presentation could have been more ominous, with a few minor technical changes. If the dark clouds lowered themselves closer to the earth and produced thunder, she might have been duly impressed.

After getting bored with that she turned on her circa 1952 television. It had been set to a public broadcasting station, which was right now playing some Fellini film. In a minute she recognized that it was "La Strada." She hadn't seen it since it came out in 1954 and was interested to re-see the parts she had forgotten. There were many. She had forgotten how often the circus strong man, Anthony Quinn, was in chains, not fully responsible for his actions. She had forgotten how Giulieta Masina approached him with timidity, her own actions restrained by her status of a slave. She enjoyed it and when it was over she was sorry she missed some of the beginning. She was hungry and followed up her breakfast with an immediate lunch, as PBS played some kind of science show.

She could no longer fully relax as the dark approached. She didn't feel safe at home and was also afraid of going outside, fearing she might run into the demented fantasy of some crazed killer, who possessed potentially damaging information about her.

As the sun fell below the western blue horizon, she put on a few lamps and sat down in front of the persistent television. It was prime news time, so she switched channels, to find out what kind of misery happened to others today. She found out that Charlie Manson was continuing his heroics by announcing, through his attorney, that he had significant information about other "families," and their plans to do the same things he had done. He was willing to help out the police in return for a sentence reduction. The "X" that he had carved into the bridge between his eyes, on his now bald head seemed self-aggrandizing. "It must be a light news day," she thought, "if they need the bizarre features." As the airline advertisement full of smiley, happy, busy people took over the airwaves, she was returned to her own bizarre event when she heard the slow persistent footsteps in her hallway. "I..... am..... your...... judge..... Confess..... your..... wickedness," the ponderous voice demanded. She really didn't feel like volunteering anything that could be used against her, so she stood resolute, scissors in hand. "I..... know..... you're..... in..... there," came the voice again. It then shrieked; "Answer me."

She had heard and seen better psychotic acts while she was institutionalized and was not very impressed. Her mood changed to one of annoyance at having her evening again disturbed. She chose to answer saying; "You..... have..... no..... business..... here..... Go..... back.... where..... you..... came..... from," and laughed derisively. She was greeted with silence, so she bluffed and added; "I just called 911 and the cops are on their way." The hall light shined through the keyhole. Whatever was near the door must have moved back. When the silence persisted a few minutes, she got the courage to open the door and peer into the lighted hallway. It was gone, unless it existed only in spirit. She checked the stairs and alley way, opening the door to view only cars parked in the unpopulated street. She walked confidently back in and again sat in front of the TV. She started shaking, realizing that she may have antagonized the nut. Maybe next time he would be better prepared. She turned her attention back to the news. It seemed there were new developments in the Middle East turmoil. She had been hearing the same story since 1948 and didn't feel the least bit surprised or interested. She stared blankly, not listening to "news" for someone somewhere.

Castor was in the alleyway changing into his evening's attire. He became a large, mostly orange serpent or snake, with yellow tattoos for decoration. His orange head looked much like a dolphin in structure, its oblong black eyes stared blindly and its frozen smiling open mouth seemed about to talk or bite. The two tiny arms emanating from the head tapered to the ends, so that rather than fingers, two sharp blades protruded. He had to crawl down the hall as the outfit extended another five feet below him, in an attempt to maximize the snake like appearance. He brushed up against her door and forcefully said; "Open up, Bonnie. Tuoni demands your presence."

She was flustered as she fully expected whatever was there to have left for the evening. Fear took over when she realized that her bluff was called and that "whatever" now knew she did not engage any possible help. It knew she was completely alone. She froze and ignored the demand. She had the presence of mind to grab her scissors and turn out the lights. The keyhole was again a source of light, suggesting to her that Tuoni was either very short or wasn't near the door anymore. She crawled over to the door and tried to get a glimpse through the keyhole. Through it came a stream of black slime, shot from Castor's water pistol. As it hit her eye and ran down her face she was revolted and scared. Tuoni opened the door, as she remembered that in the short lived confidence she had in expelling the nut earlier she had forgotten to lock it. The force of the thrust again knocked her on her back, somewhat dazed. The snake crawled up her prostrate body. When his dolphin face was over hers, his bladed protrusions cut five slashes to her face and neck. She screamed. He said; "Shut up or I'll kill you right now." She quietly stared at the blank eyes and open mouth. He said; "Open wide. I have a present for you from Marshall."

She did as she was told and bloody animal entrails rolled out of the smiling dolphin's mouth into hers. She started to choke trying to spit it out, but he placed one of his blades on her neck and said; "Eat it, pig." Her face was now not only host to black slime, but her own blood, animal blood and the remnants of entrails.

She followed orders as he watched, saying; "Marshall has commanded; 'Take and eat of me, for this is my body and this is my blood." When she swallowed the morsel, he squirted more slime in her face, through the smiling dolphin mouth. She turned her head to the left side, her cheek on the floor. He crawled off her the same way he had gotten on, giving his final message; "Bonadea, judgment has come. You will suffer for seven days and then you will die a slow painful death."

As he left Bonnie was motionless on the floor. She lay there crying violently for about ten minutes. She screamed at her silent god; "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why me?"

When she got up she showered, put on pajamas and a clean robe. The bleeding from the five gashes he gave her had stopped, but made their two inch red presences obvious. The vanity mirror reflected the lines in her face, taking her attention away from today's wounds, but also bringing back the sad thought of; "Why now? Why me? Haven't I suffered enough yet? Where are the golden years? Goddammit, does this vicious God, the majority worship and love, get his amusement watching this misery?" Just as many previous times, when she was ready to turn away from her long held beliefs, she recalled the counterveiling thought; "Like Job, maybe if I'm able to retain my ideals in the face of this, there will be some eternal reward." Pragmatically, she thought; "Who knows, but it's a better bet to accept the earthly fate as the bulk of the road has already been traveled, anyway."

The logical side of her mind continued to dominate her thoughts as she again tried to come up with some non-divine plan. Outside help was out of the question. The only safe way out of the current mess was for her to kill the intruder. It probably wouldn't be hard to convince the authorities that she acted in self-defense when they saw a corpse with knives dressed as a snake with a dolphin head. She laughed.

She put Vaseline on her facial wounds and got under the covers, imagining a happier time, being joined by Simon. "I know he's with me in spirit, but I wish I could feel his furry body purring next to me." Like the previous evening, sleep eluded her as the vivid thoughts of her earthly sacrifice, her Christian concept of God, his possible non-existence or perverse sense of humor, her best play and her rational plan kept circling in her mind.

She was surprised that the night passed quickly, as her exhaustion produced dreamless sleep at some point she couldn't recall and the next thing she knew she saw what passed for sunlight and the clock said 10AM. She quickly got out of bed, not wanting to be caught unprepared and went about her daily kitchen routines. Her brother-in-law, Castor, popped into her mind as a possible suspect. She decided that the thought was irrelevant, not the least bit useful and also unlikely as if the authorities could not find her, how could stupid Castor.

She spent the day eating and formulating a plan. She was in no condition to survive a protracted fight, nor did her circumstances allow her the luxury of some type of draw or truce. She would have to take him out as quickly as possible.

She heard two knocks at the door, turning her boldness into timidity. She hoped she had heard incorrectly. Four louder knocks came, pounding logic into her brain. "What the hell?" she thought, "Maybe he'll kill me, but at least all this garbage will be over." She grabbed her trusty scissors, holding them over her head in her right hand and swung open the door with her left.

Chapter 18

Zeke was able to grab her right hand with both of his and said; "Miss Gracing, it's Zeke! What's wrong?" She dropped the scissors to the floor and threw her arms around him, holding him and weeping.

She pulled him inside and said; "I'm so glad you're here. I need an angel."

He half joked; "Did you want to kill him?"

"You know I'm sorry. Someone has been coming to the door saying he was going to kill me slowly."

Zeke was astounded and silent for a while, then said; "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said loudly, a bit annoyed that he questioned her testimony. "I've seen him twice."

"Did you call the police?"

"I can't. He knows something about me that could cause me a lot of trouble."

"Do you want to tell me what?" Zeke suspected that he might know the answer.

"Maybe later. He has been here four times that I know of. The two times I saw him he was wearing a skeleton and a snake costume."

"And he said he was going to kill you?"

In a raised, distraught voice she said; "Yes, among other things."

"Did he do that to your face?"

"Yes, last visit."

"He's a nut."

"Tell me about it."

Calmer now with one of her best friends, she went to the stove to make tea and said; "You've had a long trip. So what's new and interesting in your life?", then laughed at the absurdity of her commentary. She decided to continue on the unusual direction feeling that she needed a subject change.

Zeke felt silly talking about himself under the circum-stances. After some thought he said; "I've learned that I should call ahead for appointments. Surprises can be dan-gerous." He gave her a genuine laugh, paused again, then added; "I don't know. The same old stuff everybody goes through, most likely." Then he got more animated and said; "Oh, yeah. The big thing is that Morrigan is pregnant."

"Great. Are you ready to be a good father?"

"Oh, sure." He paused, still uncomfortable talking about himself, then added; "Well, yes and no. I'm not making any kind of money from writing."

"Have you received an eviction notice?"

"No."

"Does Morrigan mind?"

"No, she's so sweet. That's the biggest reason I feel guilty."

"Well, maybe you ought to take a note from her."

"That's the easy way. I want to do something for her."

She said; "Do you enjoy writing?"

"Yes."

"Don't you remember what I taught you in kindergarten? Keep writing if you like it. Besides, there's more potential with that than digging fence posts in New Mexico."

He smiled. "You always make it so simple."

She held up her right index finger saying; "But, get me a copy of some of your stuff. You can get a free near-professional critique."

Zeke again felt selfish and absurd talking about himself and being given help, when she was the one with the real problem. He took her hand, looked into her eyes and plaintively said; "Thanks, I look forward to it. But, what are we going to do about you right now?"

"If I knew I'd have done it already. Wait a minute. Now that you're added to the equation, the possibilities increase. This person knows things about me from a half century ago. It could mean that he's as old as I am and no match for you." Zeke felt flattered but also afraid that the nut might not be a feeble old man. Regardless, he knew he had to help the person who had done so much for him, so he tried to forget that he had not had a fight since he was five years old. He flexed his right arm and said; "I'm your man," hoping that she wouldn't detect any doubt in his voice. She looked out her lone window to see a black starless sky. She put on a few more lights and just looked at Zeke. She remembered the crying five year old she first met. "Tell me, are you still a crybaby?"

"Only when I get sent to school."

"Well, after I read some of your works, you might be required to attend some classes."

He laughed, reached out and he held the fingers of her left hand with those of his right, looked into her eyes and then broke away saying; "I make exceptions for classes held by you."

She put on the television. Neither noticed what was on. She was proudly reflecting on the memories she had acquired over the years with Zeke and Morrigan. He was thinking about how one goes about getting rid of a dangerous nut, without involving the police. "Miss Gracing, please tell me why you don't want police involvement."

She decided to tell a short version of the story. "I was in a psychiatric institution many years ago and I escaped." The "Boston" magazine story went through his mind, but seeing this woman he loved so much, coupled with the many years of pleasant memories, he couldn't picture her a murderess or a psychiatric case. Incredulous, he said; "When was that?"

"About 53 or 54 years ago."

He said; "What can they do about it now?" As soon as he said it, he hoped it didn't sound as if he were having second thoughts about being her white knight.

She sensed what he hoped she didn't and said; "I killed my first husband. He was extremely abusive and I thought that he might kill me. I was sentenced to life in the 'Salem Institution for the Criminally Insane.' I escaped in two years."

Even though he heard it directly from her, in her presence and looking at her, he still had trouble believing what he wondered about back in New Mexico. He certainly didn't want to visualize her suffering. Zeke forced himself to accept that he had the answer to the question he had brought with him which he expected to have difficulty bringing up. He said; "Miss Gracing, I've read the old 'Boston' magazines. I collect them. I saw that story and thought she looked a lot like you."

"You may as well forget the Miss Gracing stuff and call me 'Bonnie.' I'm Bonadea Carson."

Everything fell right in place for him and he was solidified in the course of action she needed and focused on a modus operandi. If someone had information about and a grudge against Bonnie he's likely to be her age and if not he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. I can surprise whoever it is, as he now assumes Bonnie is alone. He said; "Bonnie, I think that the nut is someone your age and so, hey, I'm 26 and I should be able to take him out easily." He hoped his voice exuded the confidence he thought she needed to hear.

"What if he's armed, like with knives?" and she pointed at her face. She continued; "Or a gun."

Zeke didn't have time to think about it, as they heard a noise in the hallway. She grabbed her scissors. He put his hand on hers and said; "Gimme."

Castor had already changed into his sad-faced clown jersey, consisting of a red and white checkerboard pattern on the bulky shirt and pants, not realizing how apropos it was. His yellow plushy boots did not copy the blackness of his long gloves, one holding a hunting knife. His plastic motionless white plastic mask exhibited the usual pasty white clown face decorated with black paint for eyes, each crossed by black vertical lines, suggesting tears. His four inch thick bright red lips were curved into an absurd demonic smile. The shocks of green hair of different lengths that protruded from the top of his head concluded this evening's uniform.

He called out; "Bonadea, tonight you will see the humor in it all." He screamed in a falsetto voice; "Time for Milton Berle. Time for well-deserved torture."

Zeke peeked through the keyhole and quickly noticed the knife. He thought; "No gun. No problem." He stood by the door and gave the scissors back to Bonnie saying; "If I don't put him out of his misery quickly, you do it with these while we're fighting."

The crying clown got to the door and said; "Open up Mrs. Courtney and receive your funny message." Zeke pulled the door open and used his left hand to grab the clown's right, the knife hand. As the crying, surprised dichotomy pushed the knife forward from a waist position he put a deep cut between Zeke's thumb and forefinger. Zeke's right fist bounced off his inflated head, knocking him back. Zeke then used both hands to twist the clown's right arm, forcing him to drop the blade. He landed his fist on the huge red lips and the amusing one landed on his back. He was motionless, but the bleeding knight landed another right to the ridiculous lips and said; "Bonnie, get me some rope."

Zeke tightly tied his nemesis' hands and feet and then made two further attachments to the hallway's wooden banister, at the neck and stomach levels, leaving Lips in a sitting position. He threw the hunting knife into the apartment and said; "Call 911."

Bonnie said; "You're bleeding badly. Let me find you something for it." She went into the bathroom and retrieved some gauze pads. Zeke jammed them into the cut and held it tightly with his right hand. He said; "Bonnie, come on. Call 911. Say there's an armed robbery in progress." Bonnie went to make the call as she saw no alternative. She didn't have the heart to stab the helpless enemy and certainly couldn't ask Zeke to do it. However, if the cops find out who she is, this could be the end of life as she knew it. She decided to buy time, whatever that was worth, by pretending to make the call, keeping a finger on the phone's cradle.

Zeke stood near the bound intruder, who eventually roused and surveyed his situation. The current master of absurdity said; "Who are you?"

Zeke said; "None of your business. The cops are on the way." He took off the clown's head covering revealing a very unfunny ancient face, which looked more pathetic than ominous, especially with the bloody mouth and bruised cheek. Pathetic, apparently still thought he was in a demanding position and said; "Why are you helping that old witch? She killed my brother."

Bonnie, only then, knew it was Castor, mostly remembering him for his courtroom antics. Zeke answered him with; "What costume was your brother wearing at the time?"

Castor correctly thought that he would get nowhere with Zeke and did not want to be introduced to the policemen in the inappropriate attire. He jerked and twisted at the ropes and succeeded in cracking through the 80 year old dry wood of the bannisters and fell back. The fall happened in two steps. At first the ropes around his neck hooked on one of the broken bannisters, hanging him as he fell. As the wood again gave way, he went into free-fall, his feet hitting a storage box, which flipped him back over again, his head shattering like a melon on the concrete ground.

No longer fearing the dissemination of deleterious information, Bonnie said; "Make sure he's dead." Zeke went down the steps, Bonnie remaining near the top of the stairs and she called out; "Dead?"

"No doubt."

She then made a real 911 call, while Zeke surveyed the smashed pumpkin, feeling victorious and curious rather than remorseful. He thought; "This one's departure from the world makes it a better place."

They heard the sirens of two cop cars, as they double parked on the street in front of the entrance to the alley way. Bonnie hurried down the steps, so that she could greet the police and hopefully set a tone that Zeke could easily follow. She brushed by Zeke and opened the door to be met by four cops crouched behind parked cars pointing guns at her.

She said; "I'm Miss Gracing. I'm the one who called."

One of the cops, Bob Driscoll, recognized her as his former kindergarten teacher and called out; "She's okay." The other cops turned their guns down and Bob said; "Miss Gracing, who else is in there?"

"My friend, Zeke and some creep who has been terrorizing me. I think he's dead."

Bob said; "Zeke, come on out slowly with your hands up."

Zeke did as he was told, thinking about how well Bonnie had communicated her story to him, greatly lessening the chance of contradictions when questioned. One of the cops went over and frisked Zeke, found nothing and said; "Okay, stand next to Miss Gracing." Bonnie and Zeke looked at each other as he went to her side. She gave him a slightly questioning raised eyebrow look, which he returned with a slight bobbing of his head in a "Yes" manner. One of the cops stood by the two of them while the three others slowly worked their way into the alley, seeing the obviously dead clown's body and continued on up the stairs and into the apartment. When they found nothing of further interest except the knife and scissors on the floor, someone said; "Call the coroner."

Zeke and Bonnie (Eloise) were escorted to one of the police cars and taken to headquarters for questioning. The residents of the condos across the street were in their windows, most being annoyed or embarrassed at the dirty doings going on in the old part of town, right in proximity of their gentrification.

Chapter 19

Arriving at the same time the two possible culprits were led to private accommodations and their very own interrogator, equipped with a tape recorder. No problem. Each simply told the true story. Zeke, an old pupil of Miss Gracing, came from New Mexico to see her. "She was being terrorized by someone she didn't know and I clobbered him because he came at me with a knife. By the way, can I get some medical attention? This isn't a surface wound."

"It's on the way, believe me. You'll be all right. So, tell me, how the body wound up dead?"

"He was knocked out. I tied him up and to the bannister rails. When he woke up he started to fidget around and broke through them. You saw the results."

A single knock came to the door and another cop entered and said; "We got on ID on the victim, excuse me, corpse, clown, whatever. He's Castor Courtney of Corpusbury, Connecticut." He smirked, then continued, "No lie. The local cops say he's quite a bird. Doesn't work. Lives alone. Goes for long walks in the cemetery. Apparently, he's been doing this for decades. I hope they're going to dig up the place."

The interrogators agreed and said; "Thank you, Sergeant." And then proceeded to ask one more question; "Do you know a Castor Courtney?" to which Zeke simply said, "No."

Bonnie (Eloise) went through similar questions and answers. They were thanked, dismissed and offered a ride home after Zeke got to see the medic, receiving a few stitches. They said they wanted to walk. Bonnie liked being outside, but hadn't been there much lately. Now, she had the benefit of a killer of a protector. Street lamps fifty feet apart lighted their way. Most of the trip was through old residential sections and a short spell in the main shopping area. Houses were mostly two stories and ten feet apart. In the artificial light they all were partially visible and looked gray, except the one that was painted an unmistakable bright yellow.

Zeke said; "Okay, now that your problems are taken care of, let's talk about mine."

"I thought we did that already."

"Kind of, but I forgot something. What am I going to do if I never make any money from writing and Morrigan, the baby and I go broke?"

"You know the answer, silly," she said as she slapped his left hand gently with her right.

He jumped; "Hey, that's the wounded spot." He intended that to be half a joke; it was taken that way and they both laughed. He continued; "No, I really don't know the answer."

She looked at him, widened her radiant blue eyes and smiled as she shook her head from side to side and said; "You should be embarrassed. It's the same old story you've heard countless times, just in a hypothetical situation. Remember, 'You can't think like that.'"

He laughed seeing the truth to that and wondered why he constantly had to be reminded. Then she laughed, too. He said; "That's a great one. I ought to say it a hundred times a day or so, until it is seared in my brain."

She said; "It always works. My mother taught that to me."

They passed into the commercial area around 10:00 o'clock. Most stores were already closed and a few people lingered in the street, some standing still talking and others busily off to some destination.

Zeke said; "A lot of these stores are new."

Bonnie said; "Not so new. You've been away a long time."

He somehow felt guilty for that and answered by sticking out his tongue at her. He then sighed and gently said; "Much too long and all the way to New Mexico. I've really missed seeing you."

When they got to her open alley door they saw the new civic improvement; a red painted outline of a funny looking corpse on the ground. At least the body was long gone. The artwork depicted a bulbous person with no head. As they passed it Zeke pointed at the clean wall and said; "Look, Bonnie. I think they missed some of the splatter," attempting gross humor. She laughed, but again "accidentally" touched Zeke's wounded left hand and watched him flinch. They reached the foot of the stairs and she said; "Oh, damn it. There's more over here," pointing at some imaginary brain tissue. Being around little kids for so long probably made her impervious to such matter of fact observations and she wanted to see his reaction to her blasé statement. Zeke extended his right leg and feigned a slip on the non-existent slimy substance, grabbing her arm for support. She said; "Careful. If you get any of Castor's brains on you, you'll come up with worms." Zeke bugged out his eyes, said; "Whooo," and held her hand as they climbed the stairs.

They were both exhausted and flopped on the couch in front of the television, watching the end of "Lost Horizon," where Ronald Colman, alone, in the middle of nowhere, desperately tries to re-find the entrance to Shangri-La.

The kids across the street were still wide awake after the night's festivities. Some parents were still outside pointing at and discussing the type of people they had the misfortune to share the road with. Encouraged by the overall tone of the pieces of conversation they picked up, the kids held their own meeting.

The smug chubby fourteen year old boy said; "I think we can have some more fun tomorrow."

The smaller twelve year old boy sarcastically answered; "Sure thing, Ace. That way the cops can arrest us."

"And if they do, so what?"

"So nothing. I don't want any jail time."

"Our parents will bail us right out. And what can they charge us with anyway?"

"Trespassing, making threats, being nitwits. Should I go on?"

"You know, you're a real chicken. I'm telling you that, worst case, we'll spend a few hours at police headquarters and our parents will not dislike us for it."

Bonnie and Zeke woke up to the pre-dawn "Early Report with Jane Wiggins." After she breezed through the weather, headlines and market reports, the camera pulled back to reveal that she had a guest at her table, French author Jean Baptiste. His last book, "The Last Days of Planet Earth" was in the top ten for about a year, curiously classified as non-fiction. "'The Book of Revelation' is playing out right in front of your face and you don't see it clearly. You must repent. The end is upon us," Baptiste chastised with a straight face.

Jane wasn't sure if he was serious, joking, acting the crazy artist, promoting his book, or a combination of ideas and simply said; "How can you be so sure?"

"Because the Bible clearly says so. Don't you good Americans still love all that judgment and punishment stuff?"

Now she was very confused. He was not saying what he was supposed to. Embarrassed at not knowing an immediate good answer she decided to chide saying; "Of course we do. We, perhaps, don't see it as well as the FOREIGN interpreters." She looked at him and forced a grimacing smile. She took out her note cards and put them prominently on the table. "And now let's hear some questions that our viewers have. In Chapter 7 you state that the incidence of earthquakes have risen dramatically over the past two years. According to the National Weather Bureau..........."

Bonnie looked Zeke's way, smiled and said; "Don't worry. The National Weather Bureau is going to save us."

Zeke said; "I don't understand why people listen to this kind of stuff."

"Just like us, some laugh at it."

Zeke said; "I've just thought of another possibility. Some are very serious about it and they think that if they can find the flaw in the particular argument the whole hypothesis is dismissed. They then think that they have nothing to worry about, not knowing that Armageddon is coming from a different direction, not yet detected."

Bonnie was surprised and recalled how Zeke always had the knack of doing that to her. She slapped his knee and with wide pupils, said; "What a bleak outlook."

"I didn't say when. It might be eight million years from now."

"Why is it inevitable?"

Zeke, not having any better answers than Jane Wiggins, paused, laughed and finally said; "Because the Bible says so."

Bonnie blinked her eyes, smiled and said; "Did you forget 'World without end. Amen.'"

They both continued to be genially amused. She said; "I used to get a real kick out of you, way back when. Even when you were five years old you'd say something weird and I'd laugh about it."

"You know, I think I remember every day I spent in your class, everything you said and all the songs you sang."

"You seem to have a problem remembering at least one thing I said during many classes."

Zeke knew exactly what she meant and said; "I might have you on a technicality there. I'm not sure that you ever said it during class."

He didn't have any plans about how long he was staying. He couldn't ever remember wanting to leave Bonnie. It usually took her ushering him out the door, to get rid of him. So he decided to set a departure date now, saying; "Bonnie, you know I don't have any money, so is it all right if I stay here until the day after tomorrow?"

"At the very least," was her reply. Since Bonnie had been tied to the house for a few days, Zeke offered to go food shopping for her and remembered the grocery store at the opposite end of the block. She said; "I'm going, too. I want to get out of here and you'll probably buy all the wrong stuff, anyway."

"Do you really want to be stared at? Those cuts on your face are pretty bad."

"I can pretty much cover them over with makeup."

Walking down the block was the strangest experience. It was like being in the middle of an earth about to quake, or being in the middle of a two-way street, or standing at the very spot where the rain ends. Their side of the road was as Zeke remembered with the old functional structures, while the other side was new and attempted to maximize design with noticeably artificial, though colorful materials. The kids no longer played on the street. For some reason the little ones on the old side found a more comfortable playing spot by retreating to their back yards, perhaps seeking to avoid the constant stare of stoic lifeless windows.

They spent the remainder of the evening catching each other up with all their interesting activities of the past few years, sitting and drinking wine, in front of an unwatched television. Zeke went into the kitchen to refresh his glass and looked out the window as the sun neared the very end of its visibility. Perhaps he hadn't noticed earlier in the day, but now that it had so little time remaining, the blue sky was now mixed with emerging light pink irregular tones, half and half, at the horizon. As the sun continued to set, it appeared as though the pleasant light blue and pink parts of the sky were being swallowed by the black night. He said; "You've got quite a window view here. It's better than a bunch of paintings."

They spent more time leisurely drinking and joking, when a noise was heard in the hallway. She turned off the television. They heard another bump, something like a footstep and a shuffle. Bonnie's eyes lit up with fear. She thought; "Bonnie, Bonnie. You forgot your own advice. You can't think like that." Zeke gave her hand a squeeze, took the scissors from the table and stood to the side of the door.

As she watched she wondered what else she could think. If it wasn't a spirit, the other alternative was another nut in the flesh. She couldn't think that way, either. She settled on "Maybe it's a friend," but couldn't feel convinced.

The banging became louder and they heard something say in a deep hoarse voice; "I know who you are and I know what you did." Bonnie dived head first into the couch crying out; "Please, please go away. I'm innocent. I'm sorry."

Zeke then yelled out; "Are you talking to me or her?"

Not expecting to hear a male voice, the knowing ones were quiet. Zeke got bolder and said; "Do you even know who you're talking to?" as he pulled the door wide open. He saw two early teenaged boys nearby, dressed in unmasked Halloween skeleton outfits. One took off down the stairs. The larger stood there and said; "Why are you defending this old witch?"

Zeke said; "Yesterday somebody called her an old witch, too. He's now at the morgue." He moved quickly at the child, scissors extended. He stopped when the fat kid decided to follow his friend.

Zeke went back in the apartment and found Bonnie crying face down on the couch. He sat near her back and put his right hand gently on her neck and shoulders.

She sat up and said; "I can't stay here anymore. Take me back to New Mexico with you. I've been there before. After I escaped the institution, I spent the best years of my life married to a guy named Hector Guiterrez. He didn't think he was supporting me well enough, so he took a dangerous high paying job and died falling off the top of the highest mountain. I couldn't stay there and came here." She managed a laugh through the tears and added; "Now I can't stay here and I think I can handle there."

Zeke felt like everything inside him dropped to the floor. He wondered what calamity didn't happen to this wonderful woman. Realizing that Bonnie was never one desiring pity, he showed none and softly said; "Sure, I'll take you back to New Mexico. I'd be honored."

He looked at her distraught marked face and successfully held back the tears. She was so helpful and important in his life and countless others, despite her unfair suffering. He had seen so many others turn bitter in the face of less, while she proceeded to do good, as if she had decided; "I don't want anyone to have to feel this badly again. At the very least I won't contribute to the tragedy."

She said; "Let's go now."

He choked out; "Now?" wanting to keep his conversation short, thereby not openly crying.

"Yes, now. If I think about it long enough I might change my mind and wind up staying in this battle zone. Next time I might not be so lucky. Come on, crybaby." Zeke thought; "Damn, she noticed." They looked into each other's eyes and each thought that they detected some wetness. Each sighed and closed their eyes for a second. Zeke put his right hand over her left.

Chapter 20

Bonnie continued on; "We can rent a car. I'll take the things I need every day and I'll send for the rest."

Zeke suddenly realized that all memorable moments come as a surprise and just said; "Okay." She put her necessary stuff in a carrying bag. At the last moment she eyed her sword dancer statue and decided that it was something she didn't want to have handled by anyone else. It had too many memories and she found a comfortable seat for it mixed in with her soft clothes. She took one long last look at the place, remembering Simon and her many young friends and they walked to the auto rental place.

They started the four day trip with the longer version of her New Mexico story, started an hour prior. She was excited and told him of the home she used to know. It wasn't very developed in the 1920's and she always saw it as a good hideout. She spoke of Hector and the funny things that he did. He was always trying his best to please her and make sure that she was happy. She'd have to tell him to "Stop it already. I'm fine. You're making me nervous."

They reached Pennsylvania that night and quit driving when Zeke became tired and hungry. When they saw a motel, they first stopped at a nearby fast food place and then checked in. The functional sparse room had a television and she turned it on, saying; "Let's see if it's any better over here." They got a late night talk show, wherein the host and the celebrity guests made the laugh machine work regularly. When they finished eating they fell asleep in their clothes.

During the superhighway drive they saw the same man made things every day; three lanes in each direction, a divider, storage buildings and truck stops. The natural topography varied and displayed trees, fields, hills, valleys or water. She asked him his impressions of the New Mexico he lived in half a decade after her. He hesitated answering as he had been in this conversation before and knew a short answer would be misleading and the full story would take a book. He said; "It's completely different from New Jersey; the people, the weather, the land and customs. One or the other is Superman's world of Bizarro and I don't know which one. We went there because it's cheap and we like the sun and heat. It's been built up some, of course. I wouldn't consider most parts of Albuquerque a place to hide anymore. Some natural places people used to walk have been bulldozed, "improving" the resulting flattened land with the same type of houses that grow anywhere in the union."

"You don't like it much, do you?"

"No, I do. It's hard to describe my feelings properly. Morrigan and I have a three room adobe casita. Right next to us is an eight room manor house. I like the mix of everything. Our area is still pretty rural, with horses, pigs, chickens and goats. The best part, though, is that when we go out our back gate, it's a short walk on a ditch path to the river."

"I'd like that too."

"Well, you WILL like it. Don't give me any nonsense about staying at a motel. You're staying with us." Not wanting to make it sound like a huge favor he added; "I know Morrigan will need help with the baby."

She laughed; "The three of us, soon four, will share three rooms?"

"It's almost four if you count the small kitchen. Why not?"

He asked her more about her life, especially the early part. He tried to be careful not to bring up any sensitive subject, but sometimes managed to anyway. She answered as she saw fit and he understood the occasional non-answers as sensi-tive territory and never repeated the question. After filling in some details, he said; "I think I'm going to completely forget about commerciality for a while and write a story that should be heard. Yours."

She said; "I'm flattered. But you have to let me be the editor."

Zeke laughed and said; "I hoped you'd say that. Maybe this one will come out better.

When they got to Albuquerque, he turned down a single lane dirt road and into a gravel driveway. Morrigan, who was out in front watering plants near the house, had a very noticeable belly and turned to look at the strange car coming.

When he got near her Zeke yelled through the open window; "Look who I have with me."

Zeke and Morrigan somehow convinced her to stay. It was tight in the three rooms, plus a small kitchen, but with nobody on a schedule, it wasn't hard to work out the details and Morrigan desperately needed a "woman's viewpoint" at this time of her life. When they got alone in the bedroom, Zeke told Morrigan of Bonnie's story and that she wasn't born Miss Gracing. Surprisingly to Zeke, Morrigan didn't act all that astonished. Of course, the specifics of the story were things new to her, but Morrigan said; "I always found it strange that so good looking a woman wasn't married and kept so much to herself. I often wondered if there was some kind of tragedy. I'll like having her here. Does she smoke pot?"

Zeke never had the thought previously, paused and looked up at the beamed ceiling, finally saying; "The subject never came up. She grew up during the Roaring Twenties, when people were experimenting with a lot of things. I think you were able to buy it in drug stores then; as well as morphine and cocaine."

Morrigan clucked her lips, shook her head and sarcastically said; "Ah, the wonders of progress."

Bonnie's worldly goods arrived at a storage facility in Albuquerque and the group quickly settled into agreeable patterns with Bonnie taking over the living room and its television set. Morrigan did a lot of reading in the bedroom. Bonnie regularly went for morning walks at the river, often getting back before the other two woke up. Depending on the weather, she'd often also go in the afternoon and early evening, saying; "You have to keep old bones moving," but she also liked the solitude. She never told Zeke and Morrigan the latter part, as these types of statements so often get misunderstood. The couple knew anyway. It was only natural.

Zeke commandeered the kitchen to work on his new project which he titled "Bonadea Carson - A Life to Remember." Bonnie had a habit of editing by objecting to certain parts, insisting on their removal, but not saying what should go in their place. After many growling and smiling sessions, Zeke completed a book that she said she "liked with reservations."

The odd surprise was that this book was more interesting to the publishers than anything else Zeke had previously written. He considered that this may be due to his unwittingly changing his category from fiction to non-fiction, but he also knew that he had a great person to write about. Whatever the reason, he wound up with an advance against sales, hefty enough to buy his little family a four room adobe casita, with a small kitchen and a heated one room separate structure, with easy access to the river.

While Bonnie liked her present accommodations, the idea of again having her own place made her as happy as she had been only a few times in her life. She made arrangements to have her things delivered from storage on the closing date and antici¬pated the fond re-kindling of memories attached to the items.

The dreams she encountered sleeping on the couch in front of the television were produced by a new programmer. The old repeats disappeared and were replaced by visions of the near two thousand children she had taught over the years. Sometimes she saw actual events, sometimes imagined ones and sometimes she saw them in their adult lives. Whichever, they all seemed real and possible to her.

Despite her disdain for repeats, her favorite was one that played a number of times, precisely the same way each showing. She wished she could see it on demand.

It was a warm summer evening, the sun having long ago retired behind the New Mexico Sangre De Cristos. The stars in the clear black sky provided the only ungenerous illumination as the moon must have followed her brother. Castor of Corpusbury walked in the dark wearing a hooded black one piece cloak with a huge hunting knife glistening at stomach level. The king sized hood concealed all of his head, allowing the vision of his unsmiling, resolute, determined eyes, long pointy nose and thin-lipped mouth only from certain angles. He moved quickly, on invisible feet, to a huge, barren, clay planting pot, climbed in and sank into the dirt.

As the sun rose over the mountain Bonnie and Hector emerged, hand in hand, from their front door. Hector immediately went to a new bag of fertilizer, cut it open with a pen-knife he had in his pants pocket, poured one-quarter of it into the pot and used his hands to spread it around evenly.

Propelled by a warm southern zephyr, fluffy white clouds rolled in covering the entirety of the mountain. A gentle warm rain commenced as the sun effortlessly retained its place and generated heat, radiating high in the sky. Simon came out of the trees and after rubbing against Bonnie's legs perched the front paws of his furry orange body on the lip of the pot and peered in. A single red rose with abundant green foliage pushed its way out of the dirt and quickly reached a height of ten inches.

As Simon sniffed the fragrance of the beauty, another emerged; then another, then another, then another, each taller than its predecessor. When they were too numerous to count and still coming, Bonnie and Hector put their arms around each other and kissed, as the engineer pulled the handles announcing the train's unseen presence somewhere in the distance.

As they were moving in, Morrigan was very, very near giving birth and maybe all the commotion hastened things a bit, but before they were the least bit settled, Morrigan went over to Zeke, grabbed his hand and said; "Take me to the hospital now." Bonnie heard the comment and said; "Me, too." She sat in the back seat trying to comfort Morrigan as Zeke wildly drove through streets he didn't know, trying to get there as quickly as possible. Zeke managed to unnerve only himself as the two women in the backseat were occupied with more pressing matters.

Morrigan named the little blond crying girl Bonadea Virginia Carmichael, quite a mouthful for anyone, especially one so tiny. Little Bonadea came to know Bonnie as gramma. Old Bonnie liked that a lot and felt good getting an experience she thought she had missed. She spent plenty of enjoyable time with the little girl, teaching her about Art Deco and Art Nouveau design, as well as everything about the river and all the things that live and fly there.

The four also spent a lot of time together, Morrigan and Zeke playing their Beatles, Doors and Blind Faith records for gramma and she returning the favor with Bix Biederbecke and Louis Armstrong. When alone in her colorful cabin, she'd often stare out a window at the purple mountain. She had a view of the rocky side and would spend hours following the shadows, lines and dark spots, in an attempt at seeing if there was any clear path or series of close paths leading from bottom to top. The fact that she continued doing this for so long suggests what she found; a lot of interesting possibilities, but nothing clear.
Chapter 21

Since Bonnie was always there to dispense good advice, ask the right questions and help with little Bonnie the others unconsciously took the blessing somewhat for granted, until 1981, when five year old Bonnie came running back to the main house screaming, "Mommy, daddy. Gramma fell to the floor and I can't get her up."

She was diagnosed as having inoperable lymphoma at the age of 81. Never one who felt at ease with sympathy, the first thing she said, when the three Carmichaels visited her at the hospital, was; "I can't stand this idiot Reagan and really don't want to see the rest of the garbage he's bringing with him anyway."

They brought her back home and many days she was perfectly fine. They'd use the opportunity to ask her everything they could think of and everything they could anticipate encountering in the future. She quickly noticed what they were doing and felt very warm and flattered, but often tried to divert the conversation to music, things about everyday life and Bonadea's progress in kindergarten.

Bonnie struggled to give every outward appearance of being in good health for some time. She took little Bonadea on many of her river walks, which became shorter by the week. On one trip, gramma said; "Do you like school?"

Little Bonadea emphatically said; "Yes," as if it were the silliest question she ever heard.

"What do you like about it?"

"Everything," she paused a few seconds and added; "I like the teacher. I like the kids...... just everything."

They walked in silence a few minutes, when little Bonadea got another insight. "I like to hear the other kids' thoughts about things."

With tongue somewhat in cheek, gramma said; "I can see that you're not going to need as much instruction as some I have known."

"You mean Mom and Dad?"

Gramma laughed, felt a direct answer was inappropriate and for the first time told her little friend; "You can't think like that."

Bonnie didn't know exactly what that meant, but couldn't come up with a question, either. So, she stuck it in her mind and saved it for future reference.

Zeke and Morrigan saw Bonnie revert to childhood. A few times, she seemed to think that she was about ten years old talking to her mommy and daddy, telling them about all the exciting things that happened at school that day, sometime in 1910 and telling them all the new things she had learned that day. This would abruptly end when she got the presence of mind back, to realize what she had been doing. She would laugh, somewhat embarrassed and follow it with; "I guess I liked school."

The inevitable happened on a mild winter day.

It was a bright pretty morning. Zeke was staring at the mountain, probably in an effort to get some kind of idea. Morrigan had taken little Bonadea to do the weekly shopping. Zeke noticed that it was already noon and he has not yet seen any signs of Bonnie. Suddenly he was certain. He walked 50 feet to Bonnie's bright red door and knocked. He knocked again, getting no answer. He used his key to open the door slightly and called out "Bonnie". When he again got no response he opened the door fully and he saw her lying on the couch in front of her television, which played nothing. Her right hand was on her stomach holding her picture of the wilting cut red rose in a waterless clear jar. He went numb. He didn't feel shocked, but he was. He didn't feel sad, but he was. He knew that today was coming, but he didn't know when that would be, maybe unconsciously hoping that tomorrow would never come. He wondered how painful it was for her and if she knew a bit beforehand. What would she have been doing and thinking about if she knew it was her last few hours? He had no clue. He closed her big blue eyes, which were moist, with the pupils gazing as highly upward as they could. He was surprised that they looked curious and anticipatory. He saw no fear. He held her still warm hand against his cheek. His numbness left and he cried, thinking of all the good things he wished for her. He regretted not having taken more pictures and then smiled at the inconsequentiality of that, as all her pictures were burned into his memory.

He remembered their first meeting, the tea he shared at her apartment and the walks through the debris by the river in Bayonne. He pictured himself alone there, looking over the flowing water and in his head Bobby Darrin sang; "Somewhere Beyond the Sea."

Funeral arrangements were made. As far as the coroner and funeral director were concerned her legal name was Eloise Gracing. Morrigan and Zeke put up no argument.

Her body was on view all day Friday and was to be buried Saturday morning. The place was empty and that made the family of three decide to spend the entirety of the day there. They'd periodically walk over to the coffin and look at Bonnie's face; taking something they'd see in her expression to ignite an old memory. Zeke kissed her cold cheek and put the small cut rose picture in her hand. The trio went home for the night.

The burial was scheduled for 10:00 AM and the family arrived at seven, unable to pull themselves away from the coffin, touching Bonnie's face and hands, unsuccessfully trying to keep their composure.

Someone entered the room and said, "Time to go." Zeke started to cry uncontrollably and he infested his two companions. He remembered Miss Gracing reassuring the five year old crybaby and how, now, 27 years later, he still was the same, but without her. Morrigan and Bonadea kissed her cheek, touched her hand and said; "Bye."

Zeke touched the picture of the cut rose in her hands. He kissed her cheek, forehead and lips, finding difficulty letting go of the hand she extended to him a million years ago. He'd never remember how he was eventually taken away from Bonnie and had no memories of the rest of the day. Maybe he was with her in some other time.

Bonnie's cabin was kept as it was naked sword dancer and all. It became little Bonadea's play house, which was con-venient for Zeke and Morrigan, as the child became responsible for keeping the place clean. The two adults regarded the little house as more of a museum, always seeing it in good order and spending time there looking at objects that previously had escaped their attention, often picturing and talking about what they guessed the day and Bonnie's situation was like when the artifact was acquired.

One sunny afternoon the trio came across a black and white photograph, hidden in the space between the wall and a lighting fixture. It was of young Bonnie and Hector, sitting on a simple wooden bench in front of an adobe house, on a bright, cloudless warm day. She wore a sheer, ruffled, white, ankle length summer dress. Her long black hair was partially covered with a gigantic, silly straw hat and her feet were bare. Hector was even more casual in a probably red, button-up "work" shirt, open to the lower chest and jeans that looked like he was recently playing in the mud. She had her mouth open saying something and her left arm was pushing his right shoulder. Each was laughing uproariously at something only they will ever know. This was the way Zeke, Morrigan and little Bonnie all wanted to remember her. They had the photo enclosed in a simple, unstained wooden frame and hung it over a kiva in their living room.

Chapter 22

Some days just mark themselves in history. Six years later not so little Bonadea reached puberty. Uh oh. Morrigan had her ideas about things and rightly took charge of the home based education course, now necessary. Zeke didn't always agree with her approach and was regularly told that when she had a boy, he could take the front line.

None of the books Zeke had written after the one about Bonnie were well received. After one night's discussion about their teenager, he said; "I'm probably just feeling old. But, would it be all right with you if I took a week's trip back to Bayonne by myself."

Morrigan's reply was; "It would be fine with me. It might do both of us some good."

When he arrived on the polluted peninsula, the first place he went was to 17th Street, site of the old grammar school. He knew it was gone, but thought that if he sat there a while he might be able to conjure up some old thoughts and visions. It didn't work. The colorful cheery tin and plastic of the condos overwhelmed any other possible reverie.

He tried Bonnie's old apartment, where she spent so much of her life. It was still there and it looked occupied. He opened the door to the alleyway and saw three small black boys playing some game with baseball cards. They were discussing something in an animated manner and then got quiet when they turned to see Zeke, their eyes looking up into his.

Zeke said, "What's the argument about?"

One little boy said; "Stupid Gary, over here," pointing at "stupid Gary", "says that Reggie Jackson was a better hitter than Ken Griffey, Jr." He pointed at "stupid Gary" and made a forced derisive laugh.

Zeke was pleased with hearing the same type of argument he had with many other kids years ago, still going on. He could have answered a number of ways, all empirically inconclusive and chose to say; "That's a good one. You can keep it going for a few years because Ken Griffey, Jr. isn't finished playing yet." The three just looked at him with a bit of a frown on their faces, because he took no side. He left the alleyway saying; "Have a good time."

He slowly walked to the area which once housed the four baseball fields where he had spent so much time with his father and Bonnie. He really wasn't surprised that they, too, were now gone, replaced by 3,500 sq. ft. houses with black water views. In the distance was what he desperately wanted to see; the junk strewn strip of land where he used to see Bonnie.

He walked through the housing development, careful not to encroach on any of the meticulously maintained front lawns. His focus changed, of necessity, when he reached the strip. He didn't want to risk falling into garbage now, after having come so far. He found the remnants of the old tin shed where he had seen Bonnie, ages ago, when he was first being taught baseball by his father. On the floor was the remnant of a teenage liaison and he thought of not so little Bonnie. "Do your own thing" sounded like a great idea when he first heard it, way back when. But, incidents publicized over the ensuing years, now suggested to him a more judicious use of the thought. Whoever invented it didn't completely envision what some people's "things" would be. Charlie Manson and Richard Ramirez had not yet crawled out from under their rocks.

He sat down, stared at the slow but steadily flowing water and cried like he hadn't since his first day of school. Only this time there was no one around to reassure him. He'd have to go the rest of the way without his best friend.

Zeke's outlook improved when he thought; "If I can't handle it, nobody can, as I was blessed with the best teacher the world has ever known."

His pessimistic side surfaced and his mind changed from that thought to; "Indeed, maybe no one will." He succeeded in completely disturbing himself. Then he heard Bonnie's voice say; "You can't think like that."

He immediately knew that little Bonnie would be all right with Morrigan to teach her, for Morrigan, too, despite retaining most of the "Do your own thing" philosophy had the privilege of having known the most wonderful teacher.

He looked at the debris on the ground around him, remembering some from decades prior. He wondered why beautiful, useful things passed out of existence, but garbage seemed to have achieved immortality. He was again saved by Bonnie's voice, which in a very exasperated tone said; "How many times and how often do I have to remind you that you can't think like that, crybaby."

He saw an old sealed paint can. He opened it to find that some of it was still usable. As he stirred it, the color became a deep purple. He found what was once a realtor's "For Sale" sign, now with the lettering completely faded. He used the stick he stirred with to write something on it and hammered it into the ground with a large rock.

He wondered if anyone would notice that this was "Old Miss Gracing's Sanctuary."

THE END
