Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 36 - Quo Vadis?

Chapter 36 - “Quo Vadis?”

 By Roseyone

 At his insistence, I’d spent three consecutive afternoons in and around my fathers’ garage where I had embarrassed him with my presence, eavesdropped whenever I could, and studied Monserrat’s novel with greater care than I’d ever mustered for a textbook. When I’d overheard my father offer John a ride to Hillcrest Hall, silence followed, then my father told John to “get a hold of himself.” We drove to a North Muncie boarding house one evening to see Mr. and Mrs. Blodget.

 A woman answered the door, she looked at my father and me through a squint, then peered past us to scan my fathers’ pickup truck near the curb where John waited. She touched her sternum with one stray hand and told us to go around to the back door, supposedly because the floor in the main parlor of the house had only just been waxed. One look at my fathers’ face, however, told me the real reason; this particular door was one of the ones that were closed to us.

 Mrs. Blodget came out onto the back porch, she looked my way and grunted through a stale, wan, smile while color filled her face. My father and Mr. Blodget stood talking a distance away behind a tall row of aloes that must have harkened back to prehistory. Her handshake was a cold, moist, fish fillet, I couldn’t think of anything to say because asking Mrs. Blodget about her health seemed intrusive  given the stitches in her tongue and everything else that had happened.

 “You,” she muttered.

 “Ma’am?”

“We don’t have room for your like.” Surrounded by veiny whites Mrs. Blodgets’ irises touched neither her upper nor lower lids. I backed away. I knew that look and was only surprised to see it under Mrs. Blodgets’ brows.

“He’ll destroy you for bringing him to happen,” she said.

I rummaged through my memory for previous signs, I saw a tapestry of hints and clues, the subtle, the unsubtle weave that when laid out at once pointed to one potential. As if on cue Mrs. Blodget continued.

“You did this to us. Matilda said...she said. My Mary couldn’t…” Mrs. Blodget wanted to point and yell, maybe even kick me if she could have if she’d been less afraid of her perception of me. I watched Mrs. Blodget from where I stood, afraid that she would explode. We weren’t in Assumption, children didn’t play on the streets in this neighborhood, riots never occurred, and people who believed in Matilda’s hoodoo could not show themselves.

“It should have been you…” Mrs. Blodget groaned, she rounded away from me and then very discreetly, she began to weep.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I looked for Freddy at the garage each day, but he was never there. I’d find a way to reach him I vowed, but I couldn’t call him at home, I knew who lurked there, who might listen in, steal. Freddy’s absence, coupled with days of silence between us, felt like an unchallenged slander that couldn’t be true, yet lingered and damaged. While Freddy had often been good for a fight, he’d never stood for savagery, the honor that resided in him, made Freddy a rarity amid his kin.

Twice, I picked up the telephone on my fathers’ desk and started to dial the Abels only to feel a stab of cold, the spread of sweat down my back, revulsion. I’d called that horrible man, asked him for help with the Blodgets, the question of whether I’d done the right thing haunted me. But, Mr. Abel had been right about one thing, I needed to switch bedrooms. Matilda would not be kept away for much longer, contrary to my father’s wishful belief. It would have been self defeating to purchase door locks at McKees Hardware in Assumption.