The Kaleidoscope (8 page)

“I didn’t tell you to look in it,” he said to the closed door, and glared at the ’scope. It had rolled in between the salt and pepper shakers. He lifted it to the light streaming through the blinds. The same swirly colored glass chips floated and fell into a random pattern.

Still nothing.

Associate names with something concrete you will recall easily
, the book advised.

“Pepper,” he repeated, replacing the ’scope next to the crystal shakers on his table next to the salt. “Pepper and spice. Pretty, perfect Pepper.”

****

Walter pulled the hoe through the hard earth pocked with weeds, turning the dense soil. He’d worked all morning, hand-plowing the thawing soil enough to plant the tomatoes he’d coaxed to sprout inside the shack. Drifts of gray ice and snow still huddled next to the cabin walls, but the sun had appeared for three afternoons in a row, and he was anxious to get his vegetables planted from the seeds he’d brought along.

He’d managed the past few weeks by hiking into town and rummaging through the town dumpsters, but as the weather changed and the flies buzzed, he found it more and more difficult to find anything edible in the rotting slop. And his body craved fresh food, no more leftovers from skiers’ hasty lunches purchased at the deli on their way back to the flatlands.

Walter straightened, then twisted at the waist until his spine popped. The sun’s afternoon rays penetrated through to his stiff muscles. He headed inside, leaving the gardening. Before it grew too dark to see, he wanted to read over the material he’d carried up the mountain. He knew buried in there somewhere were clues that would prove his innocence.

With the ’scope finished, he had time now to work on the ciphers and figure out who wanted him dead.

****

The next day at lunch, Pepper floated into the courtyard, and saw Harold, her mouth forming an “oh.” He didn’t know how to accept the smile that bloomed as she crossed over and plopped down on the bench next to him. Her nose had a tiny bump, but was otherwise as refined and balanced as her other features.

“What a fantastic day.” She faced the opposite wall, her shoulder to his, and lifted her face to the sun. “Sorry I was so short with you last night, Harry.” Her scarf had slipped back, and a tuft of springy dark hair peeked out. A ragdoll losing her stuffing.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Harold worked open a plastic lid to free his bologna sandwich. If the images were going to continue upsetting people, he would have to keep the ’scope hidden. “You work in this building?”

“Yep. I was at a firm across town until my chemo kicked me to the curb. They didn’t exactly let me go, but when I went back they’d hired someone else. I’m a legal secretary.”

“That must be interesting.”

“Can be. This firm’s a lot bigger. They have more cases, more than just divorces and child custody like the last one I was with. Depressing.” She’d removed a tub of something gray-ish and stuck a carrot stick into its center. “Hummus?”

He declined. “Mind if I ask what you saw? In the Kaleidoscope?”

“My grave.”

Harold spit out his mouthful of V-8. Without hesitation, Pepper reached over to wipe his chin for him. “How do you know it was yours?” His back tingled.

“Pretty obvious.” She traced letters in the air with the soiled napkin, spelling out imaginary words. “Suzanne Morton Eubanks.” She cocked her head in his direction. “It’s hard to believe it was someone else’s tombstone with my name on it.”

The “S” on the mailbox was for Suzanne. “It would be quite a shock to see your own name on a headstone.” When his Uncle Ricky had died, Grandma had dragged Harold to the funeral, but he hid behind a potted plant while everyone talked about the tragic death. “I’m not surprised you were upset. That must have been… upsetting.”

“I went home and had a long talk with myself.” Pepper’s sandaled feet swung back and forth, making her thin body rock. “I said, ‘Self, you can choose to dwell on death for the rest of whatever life you have left, or you can get up and live life.’” She bumped his shoulder. “And guess what, Harry. I choose life!” She yanked off the scarf and dropped it into his lap, climbed up on the bench and began leaping from one bench to the next, her sandals slapping the concrete.

Harold was afraid she would slip and fall, and wondered whether he should first call someone, or check her for ABC’s if she did. But she jumped lightly, a sprite among the forest of potted birds of paradise. Airway, breathing, c…what was the C for?

“I’ve always wanted to do this! Haven’t you?” Where the benches were too far apart, Pepper scissor-kicked to the ground and danced. Harold could breathe as long as she was safely on the ground, her arms aloft, her body swaying. Then she would leap up again, the sun reflecting off bald spots between shags of spirally hair. And she laughed. Not a scary, maniacal sound, but a child-like whiffle that whisked Harold back to the elementary school when Edna Velasquez had tried to jump around the lunchroom but fell and broke her arm when she slipped in pudding. Harold was the only one Edna didn’t pester to sign her cast. Circulation. That was what C stood for.

Pepper collapsed next to him, panting, her caramel skin aglow. She was a china doll with kewpie lips and taffy-pulled earlobes. “That felt good, Harry.” She dabbed at her upper lip with the scarf, a tiny rattle in her breath. “You should dance more. We should all dance more.”

The warmth from her body awoke something in him that had long been dormant. Confused emotions tangled somewhere in his soul, and he met her gaze.

“What makes you dance, Harry? What stirs your soul?”

She’d dared to pull at the thread he’d buried underneath years of proving himself worthy, smart. Sane. “I find satisfaction in my work.”

“And what is that? No, wait. Let me guess. You’re a Pez-head designer. No, a sign spinner for discount plastic surgeons. I could use one of those by the way.”

He knew better than to acknowledge her cosmetic surgery remark. Honest answers to conversations beginning with “Am I pretty enough?” and “I’m thinking of getting work done” had never gone well with Georgia. “I’m a fraud investigator.” There was a more complicated title, and his job went beyond the scope of that, but this answer usually earned him a less puzzled reaction. “It’s no big deal.”

“Like a cop?”

“Sort of. More like a private eye. Loss prevention, things like that.”

“It sounds very important, Harry. You must be very brilliant.”

The door opened, and some people stepped outside. Harold turned toward the noise, glad she didn’t see his face. He was surprised at his own reaction to her praise. Ruddy complexions were like skywriting, a girl in high school had told him once. The message may appear slowly, but everyone can see it for miles around and remember it for days. “I have to get back to work.” He gathered up his trash and headed for the can. When he turned around, Pepper was standing close, nose to his chin. “Tell Glenda hello.” Before he could go, she grabbed his arm.

“Harry, I really mean it. I am glad I saw…what I saw. Where did you get it again? Could I get one like it, or is that a one-of-a-kind thing?”

He told her about the encounter in the park with the homeless man. “It’s a mystery why he picked me.” He pictured the day of the handoff, the police hurrying the old guy away before he could explain himself. The police responding to his own complaint about the vagrants camping out. She was the first person he shared this with.

“You have been given much responsibility in many areas.” With that, she stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. “You have been given a gift. Thank you for sharing your magical looking-piece with me.”

“Um. You’re welcome. And thanks.” He demurred, dropping his hand from her grip. “But I don’t believe in magic.”

“A man of science and numbers, I get it.” She tipped her head sideways, considering him. “The mysteries of the universe reveal more than we see with our eyes or hear with our ears. If we slow down and really absorb what it’s trying to teach us, we might be surprised and delighted.” She poked a slender finger at his chest. “I choose to keep my mind open to the possibilities. What about you, Harry?”

****

The next morning, Harold defied tradition and passed the coffee cart in the park without stopping, eliciting a surprised glance from Morrie. He stepped around a mud puddle, then cut a beeline for the oak tree. Harold was done with whatever game this guy was playing with him. He had lost sleep and fallen behind on work. He had to know more about it, and why he was supposed to be in charge of its powers. Or curse. Whatever it held. It was time to get rid of the thing so he could concentrate on preparing for the interview.

He stopped short. The ground beneath the oak tree was raked clean, no bodies lined up swaddled in hills and valleys of cast-off blankets. Even their hijacked market carts weren’t around. A police chopper whumped the sky, crisscrossing the park’s valley set in the midst of the high rise buildings.

“They’re gone,” Morrie told Harold when he wandered over, confused what to do next. “Remember, they were carted off?”

“Where did they go?”

“I heard they were taken downtown. St. Bartholomew’s has some rooms.” Morrie pulled back the handle to fill a cup. “Local church only offers free meals. Besides, it’s going to be torn down.”

“Where is St. Bart’s?”

“Heck if I know.” Morrie accepted Harold’s coins and studied his face. “Why?”

It would take two bus rides for Harold to get all the way downtown, or he could splurge on a cab. He’d had little trouble adjusting to the pedestrian lifestyle when Georgia drove away in their car. He even prided himself on the money he saved, as well as the reduced carbon footprint. “I wanted to talk to one of them.”

“The guy you gave the bagel to? A new friend?” Morrie addressed Harold as if he’d lost a pet kitten. Morrie had been pretty much the only friend Harold had. They had taken in a couple of movies, and once, Morrie had grilled burgers for them on the patio of his rented bungalow in Glendora. When he asked Harold if he wanted to watch porn with him, Harold demurred. He wasn’t sure what that implied about their friendship, but Morrie never mentioned it again. He didn’t know much about the man’s past. But that had never bothered Harold.

“Not exactly a friend. I want to ask him something.” That gave Harold an idea. “He wanted me to hold onto this.” He set down his cup, and snapped the Kaleidoscope from his shirt pocket. “I was going to give it back to him. Do you think you could keep it here and give it to him if you see him?”

A rapt expression swam across Morrie’s face. “My nonna, she had one of these. But not this beautiful. Such talent created this. I admire so much the copper, the gold.”

Harold knew he should stop him, but it was no use, he’d look as soon as Harold turned his back, so he just shrugged. Turns out no one could resist peering into a kaleidoscope. Especially this one.

Morrie held it gingerly, measuring the weight in his palm, and slowly raised it until the eyepiece hovered inches from his face. He had to step off his platform to find an open spot to the bright sky through the trees. By now, Harold knew to expect some kind of reaction.

“Ahh…” Morrie lowered the ’scope, rubbed his hand across his forehead.

There it was, but more dramatic than the others.

Harold rushed to catch Morrie before he fell backwards over a concrete retaining wall. “Whoa, there.” He helped the man steady himself, then sit on a ledge that ran around the flowerbeds. He held onto his shoulder to keep him from rolling off into the rose bushes. His legs dangled, and he rocked forward, arms stiff, palms on his knees.

For several moments, Morrie sat with his head bowed. Harold was beginning to understand the process. First the sighting, then shock. The next reaction would be…revelation? Morrie began to stir. He had that stunned, distant expression the others wore. Like a numbness brought on by shock after a car wreck. Harold let go his grip on Morrie’s shoulder to pick up the ’scope from the concrete. It appeared unharmed.

“Where did you get that thing?” Morrie’s finger jabbed at it accusingly. “I suggest you dispose of it!” He shifted backward again, and Harold lunged to catch him before he fell into the thorns, but Morrie pushed him away. He was surprisingly dense and strong for such a short man. He stood, teetering on his huaraches, and took the kaleidoscope from Harold.

“I have heard many stories of things like this; it’s cursed.” He swung wide of Harold and flung the ’scope into a waste can.

“No!” Harold lunged for the device, but it clunked against the metal and dropped.

Morrie returned to his cart and climbed up to serve a growing number of impatient customers.

Something inside Harold prompted him to retrieve the ’scope. He held his breath and stuck his arm in the bin, fishing among fast food wrappings, empty coffee cups and pet waste bags for the metal cylinder.

He pulled it out, and went back to the cart, flicking out napkin after napkin to wipe it down, and did his best to clean his arm and hands.

“If you value our friendship, you will get rid of it.” Morrie delivered the warning from his perch.

This was getting ridiculous. This inanimate object could not possibly have the power, even though he had the feeling it mocked him with its blues and greens, spinning and stopping in random shapes. Could it possibly reveal images? Why hadn’t he left it in the trash can and gone on with his life?

A woman standing in line looked back and forth at them and made Harold hurry to slide the ’scope in his pocket. Out of sight.

All the customers were staring now, phones poised midair, forgotten for the moment. Morrie beckoned Harold to come closer. “Tonight after work, I will tell you stories from the old country my nonna told me. Things that will make your fillings rattle loose in your head. You will get rid of that thing when you learn what danger it holds.”

****

Morrie followed Harold home from work that afternoon, and now the apartment smelled like Arabica and Old Spice.

“What did you see in it? What makes you think it’s so dangerous?” Harold had already planned to go to St. Bart’s on Saturday to find the giver. He had to know more about this mysterious man, and the object he’d been given. “You never even told me what you saw.”