Swedenborg 26

Frank and Joe walked to Frank’s car, talking and laughing.

Art watched them from his car.

Stas is not doing his job, he thought.

He watched as Frank and Joe drove off. He followed.

He knew where Joe lived. He was on the list. But he had to be sure that’s where they were going. What if they were meeting up with someone else?

They pulled up in front of Joe’s apartment and went in. Al parked down the street at a pay phone and called Stas.

“Yeah?”

“I’m at Paolotto’s,” Art began.

Stas did not have to be told who was speaking. He was suddenly alert.

“McMann is with him,” Art continued. “You were supposed to prevent this sort of thing.”

“I tried. Hey, I can’t be with him all day.”

“You need to put in more effort. I suspect Frank will be at that party tonight.”

“He didn’t seem interested.”

“He is here now. That is not a good sign. You will be there tonight to make sure it does not go well.”

“The geek fest?” Stas whined. “I’ve got a date.

“Break it. Or bring her. Be there.”

“But …”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

He clicked the phone off.

Stas is not reliable, he thought. I need to find someone else.

…

Joe’s apartment was pretty much what Frank expected: Filled with books and papers, arranged – if that is the right word – in piles. A lap top was propped on top of one of the piles. An open door revealed a similar condition in the bedroom.

Joe smiled guiltily. “I guess I have to do some more cleaning?”

More? Frank shrugged. “I’ll help. But where …”

“There’s a second bedroom,” Joe said brightly. “My roommate is gone. Maybe….”

There was no maybe about it. Frank began gathering piles and shifting them into the roommate’s room. Books. Papers. Notebooks.

Joe also began to pick up, but often got distracted, reading some book or paper he had just picked up.

Frank began to pile the cups and plates in the similarly cluttered kitchen.

“My roommate kind of keeps things tidier,” Joe said, looking up from a book. “This is one of Staples’,” he said, indicating the book.

“You said Staples was coming?”

“I invited him.”

Frank carried another pile of papers into the second bedroom, and then went into Joe’s to tidy it up,

He noticed one spot that was neat. The top of the dresser had a small statue of Mary holding an infant Jesus. There was a rosary in front of it, and two candles.

Frank smiled. His mother had had a similar statue.

“You Catholic?” Joe said, walking the room.

“Yeah, though I’m not active.”

“A FARC.”

“FARC?”

Fallen Away Roman Catholic, The nation’s second largest denomination,” Joe said, grinning.

Frank pointed to the rosary. “You say the rosary?”

“Every day.”

“My mother used to.”

“Not everyone likes it. I do.”

“I tried it a few times. My mind wandered.”

“Mine, too.” He chuckled. “But it tends to wander no matter what I’m doing.”

“I’d rather just go out in nature,” Frank said. “There’s this place near where I live called High Tor. High hills. I still go up there sometimes and just watch. I feel spiritual then.”

“Ah. I love the ocean myself,” Joe said.” My family’s from Massachusetts. As a kid, we used to go up to Cape Cod all the time. I’d go down to the beach and just watch the waves, listen to the surf and the birds.”

“Yeah, I guess if I was from there when I wanted to pray, that’s how I’d do it.”

Joe nodded, thinking. “Ever pray when you are scared?”

Frank thought of the night before. At Liza’s. In the woods.

“Yeah, Sometimes.”

“Or when you’re thankful for something?”

“Never thought of that.”

“Well, I said a prayer just a few minutes ago, thanking God that you were here to help me.” Joe smiled broadly.

“If I’m the answer to a prayer, you’re in trouble.”

‘You never know what God will send your way.”

Frank was beginning to get uncomfortable with all this religious talk. He started to wonder why he had come here in the first place. Joe was not his kind of person. But then he thought: Is Liza?

“I get scared a lot here,” Joe added, looking serious. Seeing Frank’s puzzled look, he added. “Not in this apartment. In Carthage. There’s something about this place. I can’t wait until I finish my degree.”

“The native Americans used to have tales about this valley. When I was a kid my uncle used to scare me with them.”

“Children need to be scared sometimes. It’s good for them. It helps them grow and get stronger. What stories are there?”

“You never heard them? Yeah, I guess not being from around here. Anyway, back when the Great Spirit created the earth, he supposedly rested his hand on this region. The indentations from his fingers became the Finger Lakes.”

“Ah, hence the name.”

“Well, there’s supposedly a second part they usually don’t tell. The Great Spirit fought a battle with an evil spirit and had a small wound on his hand. A scab with infection. That’s what pressed down here. So that scab formed this valley, and the poison of the evil spirit was pressed into the earth.”

“I never heard any of that.”

“My uncle used to warn me all the time that if I came up here that the evil would grab me. Then again, maybe he made up that part of the story just to scare me. Boo!”

Frank chuckled. “We all have crazy uncles.”

Frank looked around.

“We’ll never get this place ready if we sit around here talking.”

“Yes. My mother says I need a wife to take care of me. Maybe to pin notes on me to remind of what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to be.”

He picked up a plate and studied the remains of cake clinging to it. “When did I eat some cheesecake? Oh, two weeks ago.”

When Frank had filled a couple of plastic bags with garbage he dragged them to the side door and out into the walkway that lead from behind the house out to the street. He tossed them into a couple of garbage cans.

He looked up.

Across the street there was a car with someone sitting in it. He had the sense the person in the car was looking at him. He felt uneasy – almost a bit like the way he’d felt during the events Lilly and in the woods.

He went back in and walked to a front window of the apartment. He looked; the car was gone.

Just my imagination, he thought.

But the uneasy feeling did not go away.

And for some reason he thought of chess.

Pax et bonum