COMING HOME
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events depicted herein are fictional and any resemblance to any real persons or events is coincidental, except as noted in the Requisite Disclaimer.
© 1989, 1999, 2011 Sarah R. Yoffa. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portions thereof in any format or media, including but not limited to digital, analog, print or audio-visual or any type of graphical representations.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your own exclusive use, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN: 978-1-4580-6273-4
Cover design by Sarah R. Yoffa. All rights reserved.
For reprint permissions or publication rights, email requests to:
For additional content, visit:
Sarah, The Webbiegrrl Writer on Facebook
# # #
Dedication
To my late mother, Muriel Yoffa (1923-2002) for her caring and encouragement to remain my friend through the long years it took to arrive at who I have become. To my late father, Allan M. Yoffa (1914-1973) for his wisdom and courage to try to impart his entire life to me when I was a child, knowing how soon he would be leaving me. To both of my parents, for sharing their 27-year marriage and 56-year love affair with a bunch of impertinent kids, I repeat my prayer of Rosh Hashanah 5760 (1999): Please, L*rd, let my parents dance together forever.
# # #
This is a work of fiction. It might seem, at times, to be very realistic but that’s just because I did a lot of research while writing this book. It’s still just a made-up story. Please don’t think it reflects reality. The “Black Coats” in this book are based on the real life Jewish Chassidim, in existence in the 21st century. However, extensive artistic liberties have been taken for dramatic purposes. Absolutely no Chassidic community in real life would behave exactly the way depicted in this book. I never intended for anyone to think the Black Coats were a realistic view of Jewish Datim. They are fictional characters.
Although the suggestion is made that, in a fictional post-nuclear future, where this story takes place, some humans may have mutated, no suggestion is made that any of the special powers endowed to the Black Coats are a direct result of such a mutation. The actual Chassidic mythologies do not support the belief in any special powers endowed to spiritual leaders (the Koh-hay-neem or Kohainim). This aspect of the story was completely made up by me. However, Chassidic mythologies are very rich in stories of metaphysical and supernatural events, miracles and “magic” perpetrated by G*d for the good of the people. Many such references were used as inspiration for the artistic liberties I took.
The “foreign language” the Black Coats speak is actual Sefardic Hebrew (Eev-reet), presented with contemporary grammar as it is spoken on the streets of Israel, and the dialog is infused with contemporary Israeli colloquialisms and slang. Please note that in real life, “Chabadnicks” actually speak something else, their own flavor of Ashkenazi Hebrew, which is most definitely not Sefardic Hebrew. In fact, the two don’t even sound like related languages half the time. I’ve attempted to keep the foreign language to a minimum but do explain or translate anything you might actually need to know. If I don’t, then I probably intended to confuse Dicky, and it should be confusing you, too, so you can look it up but skipping over it won’t prevent you from following the plot line. It’s possible you’ll learn a little Hebrew before you’re done reading this book! If you already understand Hebrew, enjoy the hidden gems of irony.
Finally, descriptions of Jewish liturgy are actually factual. This is the one area where I strived for accuracy. Partly based on the practices of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement (Chassidic people and Chassidus teachings), I incorporated my personal experiences with Chabad in the U.S. This is different from the Lubavitch practices in Europe or Israel. In fact, Boston and Florida were different from each other, but certain tenets of practice were immutable and are described as accurately as I could manage while maintaining Dicky’s ignorance of the whole thing. Liturgy is taken directly from Artscroll or Merkos Publications daily prayer books. The Scriptural references are literal and taken from the Soncino Press Pentateuch (Bible), as are quotes of reproduced commentaries by the 12th century scholar and Jewish Sage known as Rabbi Moses ben Maimon or Maimonides, usually referred to as “The Rambam.” Any errors in liturgy or references to fundamental practices are my own and I ask only Hashem’s forgiveness, for my heart and soul desired to speak what my mind did not yet know. Baruch Hashem v’todah.
# # #
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Happy Birthday to Me
Chapter 4: To See Into the Soul
Chapter 5: Secrets & Sanctuary
Chapter
8: Train Up a Child in the Way He Should Go and
When He is Old,
He Will Not Depart From It
Chapter 9: When You Call Out to Me, I Will Hear You
Chapter 10: He Will See Into Your Heart and Know You
Chapter 11: He Will Be With You Wherever You Go
Chapter 12: To Paint a Picture of Heaven, One Must Stand in Gan Eden
Chapter 13: Bone of My Bones, Flesh of My Flesh
Chapter 14: A Light Will Shine and You Will Be Judged
Chapter 15: And He Divided the Light from the Darkness
Chapter 16: For I Know the Plans I Have For You
Chapter 17: Darkness is As Light To You
Chapter 18: As a Star in Heaven, To Light My Way
Chapter 19: And They Went Out Into The Land And Saw That It Was Good
Chapter 20: Coming Home, At Last
Chapter 21: Be Fruitful, and Multiply
Chapter 22: When You Come To Me, I Will Speak to You
# # #
Chapter One: Happy Birthday to Me
I never saw it coming. I had no reason to expect anything unusual to happen that day. It was just another Sunday, from the moment I got out of bed—or fell out of bed. And with a thud, I might add. I cursed my bruised ego—and my bruised chin—then washed up, dressed and made the bed. Standing next to my bed, I touched my index and middle fingers of one hand to the old book sitting on my night table, then to my lips and laughed at myself for this odd little ritual I did everyday. I had no idea why I did it really, just something vague from an early childhood memory, and nearly a compulsion for me now, at age thirty-two.
Almost thirty-two, I corrected myself, No need to rush, Dicky. You’ll be an old man of forty before you know it!
To myself, I asked the book lying on the night stand, When is our birthday, anyway? Is it next week?
Silence.
I felt myself smirking down at the battered old book, and realized my friends were right, I have more of a relationship with that damned book than I’ve had with most people. But I’d made an agreement. I protect The Book, and The Book protects me. I’m nothing if not good for my word.
Rubbing at my bruised chin again, I spoke aloud to the book, “Sleeping on the job this morning, weren’t you?”
Still nothing but silence.
I didn’t really expect the pile of mildewy paper to answer me and yet I stood there waiting. Just to be sure. Stranger things had happened, especially where The Book was concered, capital letters when it was Doing Something. Most of the time, though, it was just an old book and did nothing but gather dust and cause me grief.
Well, whether next week or next month, the date we called my birthday wasn’t really my birthday. It was just the day that Jake found me wandering around with that book clutched to my chest and decided to take us in. I would have surely died without Jake and Claire’s help. I’d only been about three years old at the time. I was sure the date was coming up soon, though. Had it come and gone already? You don’t know either, do you? I admonished the book.
Silence.
“Well, be here when I get home tonight,” I told the book, “Maybe one of us can figure out when our birthday is, okay?”
Yet more silence.
Yeah, as relationships went, this one was pretty one-sided, but it was good enough for now. And silence is always better than listening to some whiny woman complaining about...
I shook my head.
“I’m thinking about women again. You’re supposed to stop that from happening, you stupid book. Just you wait! One of these days, I’ll meet some woman who’ll actually move in here, then she’ll take one look at you and—”
I stopped. No woman would ever move in here. Who was I kidding? I’d spent far too long establishing a place of my own and myself as a committed bachelor—and for good reason.
A reason named Claire.
My mother.
Claire may have taught me about all of the wonderful things a woman has to offer a man, but my God, I never want to have to live with someone like that again. Not twenty-four hours a day. Sex is easy enough to get. There’s no need to go all out in a domestic affair where some woman starts running my life for me. I don’t need the help. Besides, I’ve got The Book to watch my back. When it’s not sleeping on the job. As it obviously was today. I glared down at it, accusingly. It went on gathering dust, defiantly calm.
Okay, the book only went so far when it came to making small talk. Small talk was good, right? The women I met and had sex with didn’t do small talk. At least, I don’t think they did. I’d never actually tried that approach with one of them. I should probably try it and see what happens, though I’m not really clear on what the point of it would be. Maybe I should ask the next girl I’m with to explain it. They seem to think they know everything anyway. She’d probably have an answer, and even if it made no sense to me, having asked and listened to the answer would sort of qualify as small talk, wouldn’t it?
I grabbed my long overcoat, pockets still packed from working the night before, and took one last look around my little one-room flat. It wasn’t a luxurious home, to be sure. I didn’t even have a private air-washing system like most of the Level 7 apartments, but the place was all mine. A man like me can’t complain when I’ve got my own place. After all, I’m just a Thief.
I latched the door behind me and set the alarm then went down two Levels and headed over to my favorite ham-and-eggs-stop, Joe’s Diner. The place was dead quiet when I sat down at the counter, and Joe seemed a bit melancholy when I nodded a greeting, but we all have our bad days. He was entitled.
I only minded because he neglected to offer me the paper, as usual, and I noticed the radio was off. I like to know what’s going on in our little world. I was especially interested in a weather report since the gamma levels had been dropping off for the past week. I hoped they were low enough today that I could venture up Topside. It’s a lot easier to access Level 1 from Topside than from the tunnels below the Shelter Level. Level 1 was definitely the place to be on a Sunday, with all the rich people in their sprawling, sterile homes. Yep, that’s where a Thief like me can find a really good take in the few hours while everyone’s out for a Sunday stroll.
But I wasn’t venturing out if the gamma levels weren’t safe. I’d have to get a weather report the hard way: go up to the Topside accessway and check the readouts myself. If there’d been a sunspot or something else making the gammas spike, I could catch a burn just standing inside the door. No thank you. Maybe I’d find somewhere else to work today.
Other than the weather, I always say if something really important happens, I’ll probably hear about it long before the next paper gets out. We only get two newspapers a week now that newsfilm is so hard to reprocess. Besides, the only real news that could affect my work is either a bomb exploding or a cave-in, and what’s the likelihood of either of those on a quiet Sunday? Not much, I decided as I folded my coat neatly over the stool next to me, settling in for a peaceful breakfast.
Joe came back with my usual plate of fried eggs, toast and synthesized mystery meat. He set it down in front of me with a steaming cup of what Joe calls “the only real coffee left in the world” and what I know isn’t even a third cousin twice removed of any real coffee bean, but it tastes good enough for me.
Joe walked away without a word and stopped to chat with his wife, Rosie, in the doorway that led to the diner’s kitchen and their little apartment beyond. They both looked awfully serious and I noticed Rosie dabbing at her eyes, as though she’d been crying. I wanted to ask about it, but decided to wait until Joe came back over alone. Rosie can be quite the wailer once she gets going and it was just too early for me today.
I was surprised at how empty the place was and double-checked my watch. It had stopped at 4:19 this morning. I’d gotten in from work so late last night—or this morning, depending on how you call it—I must have forgotten to wind it again. Automatically, I kept an eye out activity in the seating area behind me, but there was no one to watch. Instead of the usual half a dozen patrons, there was only one other person in the place, and he wasn’t a customer. He was George, the neighborhood drunk, passed out as usual on “his” bench in the corner.
I signalled Joe that I was done eating by pushing my plate away a fraction of an inch and tossing the napkin on top of it. Joe came back with the coffee pot. I covered the top of my cup with my hand and told him, “Today, I think I’ll take the second cup with me, Joe.”
“You’re going to work today?” He seemed surprised.
I checked the calendar in my head for a holiday or other reason not to work on a Sunday, but found none. “Yeah, why not?” I smiled, waiting for the joke.
He looked at me as though I’d just mutated before his eyes, then turned on his heels to fix up my coffee. Now I was worried. Had I missed something important?
As Joe started past his wife, Rosie, he whispered something to her. She wailed before flinging open the kitchen door and throwing herself through it. See? Small talk with women never pays, even after you marry them. Still, I decided to leave a hefty tip under my plate as I buttoned up my overcoat. Joe came back with my coffee and handed it to me with a silent nod.
“Seeya tonight, Rosie!” I called out to the closed kitchen door, then quietly asked Joe, “Is she all right?”
He sobered his face, cleared his throat and said, “She’s not taking it too well, Dicky, but while there’s still air to breathe, this place will be open!”
“Fallen on hard times, have you, Joe?”
He gave me that look again, as though I were sprouting new appendages. “Where’ve you been all night, Dicky, sleeping? Didn’t you hear it?”
“Sure, I was sleeping—or trying to.” I amended, rubbing at my sore chin. “Hear what?”
“Dicky, it’s been,” He pulled on my wrist to consult my watch, “three hours since the blast. How could you possibly sleep through the alarms?”
“What alarms? What blast? What are you talking about? Was there a cave-in?”
“A Cave-in? I guess you could call it that.” He shook his head. I noticed the kitchen door open in my peripheral vision, and Rosie poked her head out. Was she spying on us? Joe went on hurriedly, “You really don’t know, do you, Dicky?” I shrugged and tried to look clueless. Since it’s my natural state, Joe picked it right up and went on, “Dicky, the three silos over by Dearborne went this morning, just after four o’clock. Word is the cave-ins reached the Crossroads Plaza about an hour ago, setting off alarms here. It’ll propagate over to Brentwood in another three or four hours, don’t you think?” I looked at my watch. It had stopped at 4:19 this morning. I just sat there, mouth gaping open, unsure what to say. Had they really gone and done it, at long last? No! It couldn’t have happened, not while I was sound asleep.
Some say it was an accident.” Joe told me now. “I say it was them Right-to-Lifers. They’ve been trying to get us all to repopulate Topside for years, as though the radiation levels up there would just disappear. But hey, ‘more food for the few’ as they say.” He shrugged it off and began wiping at the already-clean countertop with a rag. Joe was taking it pretty calmly, considering, but then again, he’s going on seventy, or close to it I think, so he’s seen more than a few cave-ins. Still, three silos, and at Dearborne, no less!
That was only two junctions away from our little corner of the Colony. It’d take at least a week for the reconstruction droids to rebuild that much of the underground tunnels, flush the air and get the Factory and Farms setup with requisitions for all of us to start over again. A whole week or more in a Shelter—assuming the droids even could make it all right again this time.
Three silos.
Joe reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Dicky, do you want to stay here with me and Rosie until it’s time to go? We’ll walk up with you to Jake and Claire’s in a bit, maybe another hour.”
“No thanks, Joe. I’m not ready to fold just yet.” I laughed nervously. “You know how I am in the Shelter—and a whole week? I think I’ll wander around while I still can. There’s always somewhere to go or someone’s pocket to pick, right?”
Joe muttered something at my back as I left, but I wasn't really listening. How could I? Four or five hours. That’s how much time we had to find a miracle. Not that I believe in miracles. I don’t even believe in God, but we sure could use some kind of intervention right about now.
God save us from ourselves! We’re clearly our own worst enemy, at least the stupid ones who'd blown up silos. Some people are just too stupid to live!
I wandered past the Hollywood Church and was about to turn down the Accessway to Level 10 when I saw an all-too-familiar silhouette approaching me from the other direction.
A pair of Black Coats.
They're called "Black Coats" because of the long black coats they always wear over their black suits, topped off with wide-brimmed black hats. They never cut their beards, which they let grow long and scraggly, and they let their sideburns grow into curls that hang long, past their chins. They all looked the same to me and they made an unmistakable silhouette.
The Black Coats were religious types, always preaching in Joe’s diner, trying to save our souls. Rosie hated them, but Joe seemed to like having them around, as though it would bring him good luck, like me with my book. I didn’t have much of an opinion about them except that they usually annoyed me by wasting ten minutes of my life, telling me how God wanted to know me. God doesn’t want to know the likes of me, who are they kidding?
Anyway, I didn’t want to have to listen to them right now, so I walked quickly back down the Bourne Tunnel. I turned into the Hollywood Church, thinking I’d outsmart them. The Black Coats and Preachers have some kind of holy war going on, something about who did what to whom thousands of years ago. Their difference of opinion was my good fortune as it meant the Black Coats wouldn’t want to follow me inside a church. I'd be safe in enemy territory.
Pleased that I'd outsmarted them, I slid through the shadows along the back wall and watched the Preacher. He was trying to save the souls of the two poor blokes kneeling at the front of the half-full room. Same game, different players, just as annoying no matter who’s dealing the cards. I chuckled to myself in awe of mankind's endless capacity for stupidity.
The door opened, and with it a shard of light sliced across the floor. God help me, but that familiar silhouette was the Black Coats. They walked right in. I couldn’t believe it! According to their own rules and regulations, they’re not supposed to step foot in a place like this. Don’t they know this is the home base of the other team?
Apparently not, since they walked right in, nice as you please, and proceeded straight up the center aisle without missing a beat. Then they actually shook hands with the Preacher! Like old buddies and pals.
Now, that just wasn’t right.
They’re not supposed to be friends. They're supposed to be at war. If the Black Coats and the Preachers are going to make peace and join forces, the millions of us Godless souls haven’t got a chance. I couldn't watch my happy little soulless world crumbling to pieces like this, so I slid back along the wall and slipped out the door while the three of them discussed my whereabouts, no doubt. If I was going to die, I was going to die in Godless peace, thank you.
In my panic to escape the Black Coats, I managed to nearly run right into Lefty Larson. He's more of a pickpocket than a Beggar, ever since an accident Topside left him maimed and looking like some poor cripple. I patted myself down immediately, checking to be sure I hadn't lost a limb or other valuable piece-part in the collision with him. He could lift the freckles right off your nose while he distracted you begging for a credit or two.
The way Lefty tells the story, he was jumped Topside by a gang of Mutants, and flesh-eating Mutants at that! One has to discount the height of Lefty's tall tales sometimes, but in this case, whoever they were, they had maimed him, leaving most of his right side scarred and nearly useless but that wasn’t the end of it. Then, so his story goes, someone else found him and instead of trying to help get back down to where he could get medical attention, they tried to slit his throat, presumably to bleed him out and make a meal of him. So Lefty’s story goes but Lefty isn’t that easy to kill. That cut just pissed him off and gave his voice the now-familiar rasp damning me for nearly knocking him over.
Lefty had learned to compensate for his injuries with ingenuity and sneakiness. I think his mind actually sharpened over the years since his injuries. Regardless, he never missed an opportunity, certainly not when one walked right into him. I finished patting down my pockets and found no missing items. He chuckled and shook his head at me, as if to say he was insulted I thought he'd never steal from me. Right. Then explain how the Saleri lock interface I scored last month disappeared from my inside coat pocket just minutes after Lefty had said hello to me.
I told him what Joe had said, about the silos by Dearborne blowing, and he gave me some song and dance about how he'd been Topside himself just a half hour ago, and there were no cave-ins. He insisted that Joe's story was just so much bullshit, I should check my shoes for residue. I considered this possibility, but remembered how upset Rosie had been. Besides, I was determined not to be proved a sucker again. I'm always falling for every tall tale I hear--half of them from Lefty himself. I insisted once again that the news was true, the silos had blown. So he dared me to prove it.
Now, you have to understand a few things about Lefty. He's a little older than Jake, so logically, I should think of him as a father figure, I suppose, but I don't. He's much more childish and stubborn than I am half the time, not that that's saying much for either of us. And the fact that I couldn't let his dare pass by untaken might not be the best argument in my favor, but I quickly agreed when he insisted we march up to Jake's place to have him settle the matter for us.
As though we couldn't just as easily have marched ourselves over to the Dearborne Junction to settle it with our own eyes. No, Lefty and I brought out the most-childish sides of each other. We needed an adult to mediate.
I followed him up to Level 8, toward my folks' apartment, but as we came out of the stairwell, the lights went out. Figures. It was turning out to be One of Those Days, after all. Someone grabbed me from behind and put a hand over my face. Just what I need. A mugging. Thank God I wasn't carrying any valuables.
The hand over my mouth must have been filthy. The stench filling my nostrils was overwhelming, but somehow familiar. Whoever it was, pushed me along a few paces and then through a doorway. I heard the door close behind me and could see through the cracks of my captor’s fingers. There were lights on in the room. I could also hear that there were a lot of people in the room, and some of them were shuffling around towards me and Lefty. I heard lefty grumbling for his captors to let him go.
Visions of carnivorous Mutants were dancing in my head, but I wasn't scared. I was, in fact, rather pleased with the thought that Lefty was going to go with me, but then, the grips on my arms weakened slightly. We were apparently not to be killed just yet.
I heard someone clear his throat, as though to make a speech then, without explanation, I was freed from my smelly human blindfold. I blinked a few times until my eyes refocused. I was standing just inside Jake’s place with everyone I know in the world shouting at me SURPRISE!! As if that weren't puzzling enough, they started singing Happy Birthday to me.
Now that I could see who was behind me, I was able to identify the smell that still lingered on my upper lip. It was Vinny the Snake and the smell was of his pet Boa, Cleopatra. My stomach definitely demanded an opportunity to do battle with my larynx.
To say the least, I was angry. Sure, I was surprised, but I didn’t like the idea I’d been shanghaied by—of all people—Lefty. And what was that song and dance Joe had given me? Damn, Lefty had been right. I'm just a gullible sucker who'd buy his own left hand if someone tried to sell it to me. Some birthday present. Many of the smiles in the room faded as it became clear I was not enjoying the surprise part of this party.
Joe and Rosie had beaten us there. I figured they'd sent Lefty to take me on that wild goose chase, giving them enough time to arrive first. Joe started towards me, still smiling. Jake came at me from the other side, a drink in either hand, presumably one for me. I didn’t wait to ask. I just took one and tossed it down in a single gulp. Bad move. I don't usually drink at all, but definitely not first thing in the morning. Thankfully, I'd actually eaten something today.
Joe patted my back and told me, “Happy Birthday, Dicky.”
“It’s not my—” I stopped when I realized maybe it was, in fact, my birthday. After all, I knew it was coming up, could be today instead of next week. I really wished it weren't until next week.
I asked Joe, “The whole story about the silos? It was all just a joke?”
“Yeah, well, you may be gullible but we've pulled most of them on you by now, Dicky. Had to get creative this time. There was something over at Dearborne this morning, not” he stifled a laugh, “blown silos. The silos were just for you.” He smiled and lifted his glass, toasting me.
And not funny, Joe.
I heard Rosie wailing again, and turned to see her wiping tears from her eyes. She was laughing, not crying. She apologized to me, at least.
“Oh, Dicky! I couldn’t keep it in. You should'a seen your face when Joey here told you the silos had gone.” She stepped up and patted my cheek. “It was precious. You are just too sweet and gullible to be a Thief, Dicky.”
“Yeah, hah-hah. Very funny. Happy birthday to me.”
I'd definitely been had and I was getting pretty sick of always playing the idiot for this group's amusement. You'd think after thirty years of it, I'd've learned. Apparently not. I took the other drink from Jake and excused myself.
“As much fun as this is, I think I need some air—alone.”
I went into the hall, closing the door behind me. I went back to the stairwell and peered in, checking that there were no more surprises waiting to get me, but it was clear. Safe enough for now, so I tried to relax. No such luck.
That’s when I saw him.
Standing quietly in the hallway in front of Jake's door, watching me, was a little boy. He wore a clean, crisp white shirt that hung loose at the waist over dark slacks with a sharp crease down the middle of each leg. Four little tassels dangled out from under his shirt, two at each hip, and he twirled one around his tiny fingers in an unconscious habit. A lustrous black velvet skullcap flattened his thin, sandy brown hair across the top of his head. The cigar-shaped curls at his sideburns framed his impish round face. Big round, hazel eyes stared up at me from under very long eyelashes.
What a picture. He looked like he might be the model they used in the dictionary, next to the definition of “Black Coat.” They only come down here to preach at us. They live up on Level 2 over near the Chaney Junction, not down here in the Lower Levels with us disreputable types, so this kid was clearly lost.
“Heya, kid.” I started hesitantly, “What’re you doing down here all by your lonesome?” I looked past him, hoping to see one of the Black Coats scurrying like a Penguin down the hall to collect him, but no. We were alone.
He turned his little face up to me and chewed a corner of his lower lip, obviously deciding whether or not to talk to this shady-looking character. Either I don’t look as shady as I did in my younger days, or this kid was scared enough to take help wherever he could get it.
He considered me another moment then started in that gibberish they speak, “Ah-nee loh yoh-day-yah. V'atah?" He waited, as though I was supposed to answer, but when I didn't, he sighed, rather dramatically I thought, and went on as though he were explaining something that made perfect sense, "Hee-nay hah-see-pour. Ee-mah sheh-lee eev-dah bih’derech.” He paused again, then asked in a demanding tone, “Rah-ee-tah oh-tah?” His tone also implied he didn't expect the likes of me to have the answer, whatever he'd asked me. He was downright disdainful of me.
I already felt like an idiot, so I downed the last of the drink I was carrying, knowing that it wouldn’t help, but probably couldn’t hurt more. All I answered was non-committal "Mmm?"
He looked at me sternly, which had to be the oddest sensation I’ve ever experienced. I mean, I’d just turned thirty-two and this kid couldn’t have been more than five or six. Desperate, I sent out a plea in the silence of my mind,
Please don’t let this kid be an orphan. Please let one of those Penguins come down that hall to claim this kid from me!
As the kid’s gaze pierced into me, I wondered if he were reading my mind, but he finally relaxed his gaze and spoke in plain English, his tone clearly puzzled, “Why you speak English? Why you not speak Eev-reet?”
Not what I’d expected him to ask. I snorted and shook my head, put out my arms, hands open, “Do I really look like a Black Coat to you, kid?” I put my shoulders back and puffed out my chest proudly, “I’m a Thief—a Master Thief, in fact, and you are a Black Coat. See?” I reached over to tousle one of the curls at his sideburns. “Why would someone like me speak your language?” More to myself, I added, “Why would I ever want to?”
He dismissed my rudeness and answered me so matter-of-factly, I felt a twinge of shame at insulting a child. “But you are one of us!”
Now why would this kid think I was one of his people? I looked into the bottom of my empty glass and considered just walking away, returning through Jake's door into the safety of my birthday party. Instead, as usual, I did the stupid thing and answered the kid.
“Look, kid, I’m not one of yours and you’re not one of mine. If you want some help, I’ll see what I can do.”
He sighed and said, “Bih'sedder, we start again." He put his hands into his pants pockets and looked down at his feet in a very grownup gesture, then looked up at me and started again, "Ee-mah is lost. I search for her. You help me, yes?”
I had the distinct feeling he was up to something. “I dunno, kid, I see a lot of women. What’s this Eemah gal look like?”
As soon as I asked, I knew it was a silly question. If the kid was up to something, I was clearly playing into his hands. Besides, the Black Coats keep their women folk under tight wraps—to protect them from the likes of me, no doubt. On the rare occasion that you might see one walking around, she’ll be covered from head to toe in a cloak and dress that gives you no clue what’s really in there. Could be a girl of sixteen or a grandmother of sixty. Even in their own neighborhood—closed to outsiders—the women walk around modestly dressed, though not with those cloaks on. At least you can tell they have faces and figures, but there’s no window shopping when it comes to Black Coat women. I’ve seen one, of course, but I’m a Master Thief. I've seen everything and there's nowhere I can't go.
#
It had been a night a few months ago when I'd seen her. I’d still gotten nothing on Level 3 and had gone up to the Black Coat neighborhood on Level 2 in search of food. They aren’t exactly rich, but they always have food and I hadn’t eaten all day. Scavenging a meal wasn’t much of an accomplishment, but it was already after midnight, and a snack sounded like a good idea at the time.
There was a young couple kissing in the shadows of the stairwell, trying to find privacy for their forbidden encounter, and I made sure not to disturb them as I slipped silently past along the opposite wall. I let myself into the next apartment down the hall after confirming there was no light shining under the door. The household was, in fact, asleep when I came in but as I grabbed a few snacks from the icebox, I heard rustlings of someone’s attempt to tip-toe into the kitchen.
I closed the refrigerator gently and backed myself and my armful of snacks towards the wall, discovering a pantry closet this family had built in. I backed into it, pulling the door almost shut in front of me. I had a sliver of space to peer through and watched her glide past me, backlit from the hallway light. What a sight!
She had on a thin, white cotton nightgown that hung loosely from her shoulders down to the floor, but when she walked, it clung to the front of her, outlining every one of her many curves. Her long hair hung loose, in big, soft curls reaching past her waist nearly to her ass—and what an ass! I could just feel it, round in the palm of my hand. I couldn't glimpse her face in the meager light. When she opened the refrigerator door, the light came on. Bless that little light! She glowed in it.
She murmured to herself and hunched over to search through the refrigerator, and her straw-colored curls fell forward over her shoulders, obscuring her face completely from my view. I didn’t care. The rear view was great.
I was chewing on something that tasted like it must have meat in the middle of its pastry shell, and suddenly I had the horrible feeling that I might have taken just exactly what she’d been craving for a midnight snack. After all, it was her food. She ought to get first dibbs on it. She kept picking things up and putting them back, obviously not finding what tickled her fancy. I had visions of tickling a few of her fancies myself but settled in watching her hips shifting her round little bottom about as she searched on.
Suddenly, she straightened and turned to face the pantry door, leaning one hand on the open refrigerator door and resting the other on her hip. She cocked her head to the side and stared intently across the room, eyes landing unmistakably on the pantry door, almost as if she’d heard me chewing.
She couldn’t have! But I froze mid-chew. My heart raced. Would I finally be caught stealing something after all these years and have it be for a simple midnight snack? This tasty treat was good, but not worth getting caught over. Then I realized that the light from the refrigerator was still shining through her nightgown and I could see far more than just a shapely silhouette. Wow!
Her breasts were full and round and the cold from the icebox had made her nipples pop right out so they poked through the thin layer of white cloth in a truly artistic fashion. Now I was drooling with the urge to taste those succulent breasts. I raked my gaze down slowly, not wanting to miss one detail along the way. She had a small waist, with just enough of a tummy to make it look womanly and round and I could imagine having a bit of snack there before moving on.
I was just getting to the good part when she started towards the pantry door and I almost choked on the bite in my mouth. I was so busy ogling her, I hadn’t noticed her intention to move. I kicked myself for being distracted and gently put the food in my hands down on the floor next to my feet. I was prepared to try to sweet talk my way out of this, but she didn’t open the door. Instead, she pushed it hard and if it’d been open more than a few centimeters, it would have slammed shut. As it was, it just made me jump in my skin and wonder if she’d seen me or not.
I heard the refrigerator door slam shut with a “Hmmph!” and mutterings grumbling along with the rustle of her steps receding. Still I didn’t move. I just stood there in the Pantry with a View, a bounty of food about my feet, hungry for something else entirely. Again and again, I fed my craving, playing the scene out in my mind of her fruitless search through that icebox with its blessed little light.
#
I was still lost in that happy little image when I felt the kid tugging on my pants leg. “That’s not my Ee-mah, Dicky, v’zeh loh bi’sedder to watch a woman like that.”
“Hunh? What?” The sound of my name had snapped me out of it, but I didn’t really hear the rest of what he’d said.
“That’s not my Ee-mah, and--"
“Hey!” I cut him off, “Did you just call me ‘Dicky’?”
“This is not how you say it? Your name?”
"Never mind how you say it. How d’you know my name, Kid? And what’s a kid like you doing calling me by name anyway? God, I’m old enough to be your father!"
I don’t know why I lit off on the kid. Maybe it was that he had interrupted my reverie of the Pantry with a View or maybe it was that I realized I actually was old enough to have a kid his age. God, there was a chilling thought. Or maybe it was just plain creepy to have a little kid with his little kid voice calling me by my first name as though we were old buddies and pals.
He apologized with great sincerity for his lack of respect and said he would call me—well, I’m not sure what he actually said. It sounded like he said he’d call me “a dough knee” but I didn’t see how making fun of my knees was respectful, so I figured I must be feeling the effects of the two drinks I’d downed. I tried to regroup.
“Let’s try this another way, Kid. When was the last time you saw your mother and father?”
“At breakfast.” He told me casually.
“Okay, and then what happened?”
“Loud noise. Ee-mah said it was the...”
I groaned. “Back to the Ee-mah gal, are we?”
He ignored me, as he was still searching for the English word. It formed slowly, “sigh...sigh...” he turned his head from side to side as he repeated it and then stomped his foot in frustration. “Oooph! Hard to me to speak this English!” I started to answer when the word came to him. “Silos! Ee-mah said it was the silos.” He nodded his head with finality.
“The—” I stopped short when I recognized the crashing sound growing louder over our heads. I knew it all too well. It was the sound of the level above us caving in.
And now this day was just perfect.
# # #
Instinctively, I scooped up the kid as I threw myself backwards against Jake’s door. I held him tightly, on my lap, as we hit the floor, hard, in the doorway to Jake’s apartment. The hallway where we’d been standing filled with enough rubble we’d have been buried if I hadn’t moved. The grinding sound was still rumbling away, so I scanned the ceiling for damage as the sound moved over us and into Jake’s place. I twisted around just in time to see the ceiling fall on Vinny the Snake and Donny.
Everyone in the room started shouting at once. I can’t imagine how. I felt all the breath go out of me even before the dust cloud hit me in the face. I waved a hand in front of my face and scanned the pile of rubble on top of Vinny and Donny. Nothing moved. I knew that if they weren’t dead already, it’d be a miracle. That was the second time in one day I’d thought about miracles and the thing is, I’m just as far from religious as they come. It was even more absurd that I sat there with a Black Coat kid coughing on my lap while my closest friends were dying, our world was literally falling down around us, and I was hoping for miracles! I had to laugh at myself for it.
Lefty admonished me for laughing at a time like this and told me to get off my ass and help dig through the rubble. Since he was right, I pushed the kid off my lap and against the door frame. I told him not to move from that spot, thinking he’d be safe if he sat still. I’m not even sure he understood me but I had more important things to do than talking slowly for a Black Coat kid.
We found Donny first—unfortunately. His skull was completely crushed, leaving us little hope for Vinny, but when we finally found an arm with a tattoo that belongs to Vinny, we saw it was moving. A flicker of hope surged through the room. “It is a miracle.” I whispered under my breath and felt a chill. When Lefty asked me to repeat my whispered remark, I just shook my head. I didn’t know what was going on today, but this miracle business popping into my head was starting to annoy me.
We dug with new fervor to uncover Vinny’s head and chest. The kid came over and climbed in next to Vinny’s shoulder. I shouted at him, I’m not sure why. Maybe I was worried he’d hurt himself. Maybe just the stress of the situation and he was a convenient place to vent it.
“Kid, I told you to stay over there, by the door.”
He gave me a glance, then dismissed me and focused intently on Vinny as though I weren’t there, let alone speaking to him. He put his little hands out towards Vinny and let his eyelids drop gently shut. His head turned slowly to one side in concentration, and as though he were listening, a knowledgeable but slightly-pained expression washed over the kid’s face, obliterating his youthful countenance. In that moment, he seemed to age a lifetime before our eyes.
Then something happened and I’m not sure how to explain it, but it brought a hushed silence to the room immediately. A tiny little light, like a blue-hot flame the size of a firefly, appeared from nowhere and swirled around the kid’s head, floated down in a spiral like a feather falling, and hovered over Vinny’s face. After a moment or two the little blue light swooped back up in a spiral towards the kid and then just blinked out of sight.
The kid opened his eyes and stated flatly, “It’s too late. He has to go now.” He looked up at me, “But he said, ‘You promised. She’s yours.’ And...” The kid looked around, found Jake and told him, “To you, he said, Thanks for a great party but next year, no...” he paused while his mouth tentatively formed the word as a question, “fireworks? Mah-zeh fireworks, Dicky?”
I didn’t answer the kid. In fact, no one said a word, not about the little blue light, not about what the kid had said. Then Vinny let out a quiet cough that turned into a gagging sound and finally, he was still. We checked for a pulse but he was dead. Two of my best friends, gone in an instant. There was a quiet sobbing behind me from Claire, Jake’s wife, my mother. Vinny had been like a second son to her, a brother to me.
Jake was staring blankly at the kid, probably still trying to absorb why the kid decided to pretend to deliver messages from Vinny’s deathbed, but I knew in my heart, the kid wasn’t pretending anything. It was Vinny’s message. I had made Vinny a promise, so I dug around the rubble next to Vinny, searching for Cleo. I didn’t want the stupid snake, but Vinny had always insisted she was a good friend.
I blinked back the tears welling in my eyes and clawed at the debris, looking for the stupid snake. When I found a stretch of her near his left arm, I wasn’t sure how to check if a cold-blooded thing like that was dead or alive. She was cold and dry, not slimy like she usually was, so I decided she was dead and tried to let go of the twinge of guilt for not checking further. She’d be better to stay in a grave with Vinny, together for eternity, than for me to pretend to care for her. I swiped at my runny nose and could still smell her scent on my skin, left by Vinny’s hand when he’d been my human blindfold. God, how much had happened already today! I took a few deep breaths and shook it off. We didn’t have time to sit and wallow in grief right now.
The kid was sitting on the rubble pile, rocking and muttering to himself, Black Coat style. Lefty sat next to him and watched, a suspicious gleam in his eye. I was going to tell Lefty to cut it out when Jake asked us where Tommy was. Apparently, he’d been in the kitchen when the cave-in had started. Fully-redirected now, Lefty hopped up to start digging through rubble in front of the hallway leading down to the kitchen and bedrooms.
Ultimately, he’s the one who found the third body—the one that meant more to me than the other two combined. It wasn’t Tommy, thankfully. No, it was worse. It was Mattie. I wasn't over her. I'd thought I was, but hearing that she was under the pile of rubble left me speechless, numb. I wanted to ask if she were still alive, but was afraid of the answer. I'd never admitted it even to myself, but I'd loved Mattie. I could see that now that she was gone, assuming she was gone. For some reason, my first instinct was to look to the kid, hoping he’d have some secret message from her for me, but his body language told me she was gone. He made no move to crawl on over to her the way he had with Vinny.
Matilda was never again going to smile or make that lyrical sound of laughter that seemed to lighten my heart even when I knew she wasn’t laughing for me. She’d never stroke my beard again or give me grief over not shaving often enough. She’d never…she’d never do anything again. I’d finally and permanently lost her.
Part of me had somehow hoped in some hidden corner of my heart that I might win her back one day. Tommy had stolen her right out from under me—almost literally as we’d been sharing a flat back then—and they'd been together almost a year now, but I’d never quite let her go. Tommy and I were still friends, of course. I wouldn't let a woman destroy our friendship, but finding her dead now was going to shatter me once it sank in. I held it back. I didn’t want to feel it. I didn't want to imagine how Tommy's grief would compare to my own, either, assuming Tommy was still alive, himself.
I dug half-heartedly near Mattie’s body looking for Tommy, since after all, where Mattie was, Tommy could not be far behind. I didn’t want to find him, but felt almost desperate to do just that. I looked around to check on the kid. He’d gotten up from the rubble pile and was now standing at the remains of the front door, looking out into what used to be the hallway, as though he were expecting someone to arrive. He looked like he had not a care in the world. Didn’t he understand what had happened? I wondered if it were now my responsibility to explain it to him and if so, where would I begin? I could hardly explain it all to myself!
Lefty shoved at me with a long piece of metal and said, “Dicky, didn’t ya’ hear me? Crawl on over and check down the hall. He might’a gone inta’ the kitchen.”
I nodded and made my way across the stable pile of rubble in the entrance of the hallway leading to the kitchen and bedroom. As I inched slowly along, my heart raced with the fear of another impending cave-in. Or maybe it was just all the adrenaline finally winding down. I couldn’t take much more. I just prayed I didn’t find Tommy’s body when I leaned around the doorframe and peeked into the kitchen.
I found Tommy dazed, but alive. There was a hole in the ceiling over the middle of the room and the cave-in had shattered the plastic kitchen table and chairs into a pile of sharp, twisted shapes. Tommy was beyond the pile, on the far side of the room, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the cabinet under the sink. He looked remarkably uninjured for how dazed he was.
“Are you okay?” I asked him. “Can you walk?”
He looked up, took a moment to focus on me and then nodded and put his hand out to me. I crawled on top of what used to be the kitchen table top and steadied myself to get a better view of him. His left pants leg was torn across the shin, exposing a bloody gash. Well, if he’d lost a lot of blood, that would explain his unfocused eyes and slight wavering despite the solid surface he was leaning up against.
“You sure your leg is okay?” My question surprised him, as though he hadn’t noticed the injury until I’d pointed it out to him. He tugged at the hole in his pants leg and then winced. “That’s bad, isn’t it?” He asked me.
How was I supposed to know? I slid myself down the other side of the pile and braced my feet next to him. “Let’s have a look.” I said, trying to sound like I had a clue.
“Where’s Matilda? Is she all right, Dicky?”
He looked up at me, his face full of hope. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be the one to break the news to him. I’d choke on the words if I had to say them out loud.
Instead, I just said, “I don’t know, Tommy. I just came back here and found you. Jake ought to have a look at this.” I gently let the cloth back down on his leg. The gash was deep and bloody but I had no idea how to tell if it was serious or just ugly-looking. “Let’s get you up and out of here.”
“She...she was right out there in the hall, talking to Rosie, when it happened.” He sounded as though he were telling himself more than me.
“Okay, come on, lets get you up.”
“I just came in here to get something to drink and…and…”
“Yeah, I know. Come on.”
I braced my left hand against the edge of the sink and leaned over him, slipping my right arm under his armpit and around his back. I tried to lift him but he’s almost as tall as me—which is pretty tall—and he wasn’t helping at all.
“Look, Tommy, you’re gonna have to help. I can’t lift you up at this angle. Can you put weight on your right leg?”
He refocused on me and nodded, put his left arm over my shoulder and around the back of my neck. He stretched his right arm up to the sink edge next to mine and tried to pull himself up. His right leg had been folded underneath him and started to give out as soon as he put weight on it.
“You got something else going on there?”
“No, I think it just fell asleep.”
We tried again and managed to get him up, but I had to practically drag him over the broken kitchen table. His coordination was off and I figured he must have hit his head somewhere, but there was no blood on his face. It was on the back of his head. When I pushed him ahead of me over the pile of rubble, I saw that near the base of his skull, Tommy’s blond hair was all matted down and dark with the crimson goo.
Joe and Jake had joined Lefty in digging out the pile of rubble in front of the hall doorway but they stopped when I appeared with Tommy. Jake helped to pull Tommy over the debris blocking our way and into the open floor space beyond so he could check the injuries.
I said, “He’s got something on the back of his head, Jake.”
“Okay, I’ll take a look. Let’s see that leg first, shall we?”
Jake helped Tommy settle on the floor, supporting him up against the wall. I’d leave it to Jake to tell Tommy the news about Mattie. He was good at saying hard things like that. I went back down the hall and checked the bedroom but found it empty. No strangers had fallen through the ceiling though Jake and Claire’s bed was pulverized. The rest of the room was oddly pristine though. Cave-in were so unpredictable.
I checked the bathroom, and found someone I didn’t know in a mangled mess in what I thought was the bathtub but they were definitely dead, the pieces of them I found anyway, so I came back and told the room it was all clear. Heads nodded absently, but no one was really listening to me. They were busy licking their own wounds. When I glanced around, I noticed that the kid was gone. Rosie was sitting on the floor near the doorway, so I asked her where he’d gone.