.. OF AN INWARD AND SPIRITUAL GRACE.
1
On the day Anne Marie Hannaford was executed for the murder of her father, Gregor Demarkian spent the afternoon in Father Tibor Kasparian's apartment, looking through the stacks of paperbacks on the kitchen table for something he might actually be able to read. Aristotle's
Nichomachean Ethics
wasn't going to do it, especially since it was in the original Greek. On the other hand, Jackie Collins's
Lucky
wasn't going to do it either. He was a little surprised that Tibor had so few of what had come to be called “serial killer novels,” the kind of thing where dismembered bodies turn up every fifteen pages and the object is to see if the detective can catch the murderer before his haul reaches three figures. In a way, it was rather comforting. There were times when Gregor looked at what was on offer at the movie theaters and thought that Americans had become drunk on blood. What other explanation could there be for the popularity of films that seemed to be about nothing but people getting stabbed, often with ice picks? Then again, the movies that weren't about people getting stabbed with ice picks weren't very interesting, either. He had taken Bennis to see
Titanic
, and he couldn't remember being so bored in his life.
I'm trying to avoid the television, Gregor told himself. That's what I'm trying to do. The television was in the living room, and he hadn't been there once since he first came in. For a while, he had had hopes that the murders at St. Stephen's and St. Anselm's would knock the execution out of the headlines, but it had been more than a week since Dan Burdock had been arrested. The newspapers were looking for copy
again, and, of course, Anne Marie Hannaford was copy. “The Society Slaughterer,” one of them had called her, but it hadn't stuck. It was too clumsy. These days, they stayed with the conventional angle. No matter what she had done, Anne Marie Hannaford was a woman. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania almost never executed women. Did they really want to start now?
Gregor would have been with Bennis if he could have been, but Bennis had gone off with Christopher right after breakfast. Gregor didn't know where to. He was sure they hadn't gone to witness the execution. Father Tibor was sitting at his computer, clicking through a website called Books ân' Bytes, and stopping periodically to type furiously, Gregor didn't know why. He didn't understand how Father Tibor could have gotten so addicted to the computer so quickly. He was even in the process of getting his own Web page.
“So,” Gregor said, pulling up a chair and sitting down just behind Tibor's left shoulder, “what is it you're doing, exactly?”
“You said that.”
“It is a website devoted to mystery novels, Krekor. It is very useful. Vicki, who has put it up, has taste very much like mine. She has descriptions, so I am sure not to buy the things I do not like. Also she has links to
Amazon.com
.”
“We must be grateful for even small signs of progress, Krekor.”
Tibor bent over and began to type furiously. Gregor leaned forward and tried to see what he was typing.
“So what's this?” he said. “You're writing to this Vicki who owns the web-site?”
“No, Krekor. When I write Vicki, I use e-mail. Except this Christmas I sent her one of Lida and Hannah's honey cakes that they made for me especially to send, and then I used snail mail. This is a newsgroup.”
“Ah,” Gregor said. “So what are you having a conversation about?”
“The Monophysite heresy,” Tibor said. He had turned around again and was typing furiously.
Gregor nodded. “So, this is a newsgroup whose theme is religion.”
“No, Krekor. This is rec.arts.mystery. It is a newsgroup whose theme is detective novels.”
“You're having an argument about the Monophysite heresy on a newsgroup dedicated to the discussion of detective novels?”
Tibor stopped typing and turned around. “Find something to do with yourself,” he said. “You are making me crazy. I know you are worried for Bennis, and this is a good thing, but you are not helping her by coming here and being dense about the Internet.”
“Old fart. Dense. You've been talking to Tommy Moradanyan.”
“Tommy Donahue. You must remember to call him Tommy Donahue. The adoption went through. We had a party. You were there. This woman is so annoying. She thinks she knows everything. She will not admit she is wrong. It is incredible, what you learn about people on the Internet, Krekor. This woman, when she was shown to be wrong and could not deny it, disappeared for a month instead of apologizing. I could write a book about defensiveness, except that I could not write a book. Why are you still sitting there?”
“I still want to know why you're having an argument about the Monophysite heresy on a newsgroup dedicated to the discussion of detective novels.”
“It is because this silly woman calls herself a pagan and doesn't know what a pagan is. Go down to Ohanian's and buy me some Pringles, Krekor. At least that way you will be useful.”
“What worries me,” Gregor said, “is that she's going to blame me for it. I mean, in a sense, I am to blame for it. If I hadn't come along, Anne Marie might never have been caught.”
Tibor stopped typing again and turned all the way around. “If you hadn't come along, she would have been dead, and Anne Marie would have been caught anyway. The woman was not behaving sanely. It is unfortunate that Pennsylvania uses the death penalty. I do not support the death penalty. But Krekor, there is no question that Anne Marie is a murderer or that
she would have gone on murdering if she had been given the opportunity.”
“I know, Tibor. I didn't say I was being sensible.”
“You would not feel this way in another case,” Tibor said. “You will not feel this way about Father Burdock, if he is executed. This is true even though you do not approve of the death penalty any more than I do.”
“I said I wasn't being sensible. I know I'm not making any sense. But this thing with Bennis and me is so new, and so fragileâ”
“Nonsense. It's been going on from the very day you met her. You were only not aware of it. She was aware of it, though.”
“When we met, she was living with someone in Boston. And right after she left him, she started going out with one of the Rolling Stones.”
“So this is supposed to mean something? It does not mean something. She moved here into that apartment right over your head. She did not last very long with the rock star. I do not think he was a member of the Rolling Stones, though, Krekor. I think the Rolling Stones are perhaps too out-of-date.”
“Right,” Gregor said.
“There is another thing,” Tibor said. “Bennis is not blaming you, because she is blaming herself. None of you are acting like sensible people at the moment, which is perhaps inevitable. Go to Ohanian's and get me some Pringles, before they all come back and start worrying about my diet. I have to post a message on the difference between latae sententiae and ferendae sententiae excommunications, because this fool woman thinks that Christian churches excommunicate people right and left and keep it secret. Why is it that people find it so difficult to check their facts before they give their lectures?”
“Are you still on that newsgroup about detective novels?”
“Go to Ohanian's, Krekor. It will be good for the both of us. I need to e-mail Vicki at Books ân' Bytes about this new writer Karen Sturges. She has written a novel about musical people.”
“Right,” Gregor said.
He meant to say something else, but Tibor was bent over his keyboard, typing away industriously again. Gregor wondered what Vicki was going to say about Karen Sturgesâand
then he felt like an even bigger fool than he had all morning. Sane people did not take Internet relationships as if they were real.
Or, at least, he didn't think they did.
2
Half an hour later, Gregor came out of Ohanian's Middle Eastern Food Store with two large brown paper grocery bags. One of them had not only Pringles, but Marshmallow Fluff, Skippy Superchunk peanut butter, Cheez Whiz, Goldfish crackers, six Slim Jims, two cans of Durkee Fried Onions, and six packages of Twinkies.
“He comes down here for one thing and then he goes home and remembers something he forgot and then he comes back here again and it goes on all day,” Mary Ohanian said. “It's crazy. Take it all, and that way he'll be able to pig out in peace. How that man manages to eat like this without gaining a ton of weight, I'll never know.”
“Fifteen years of starving in Soviet gulags,” Gregor said blandly. “It changed his metabolism.”
“Well, maybe I'll try that next. Nothing else has ever worked on me.”
“Well,” Gregor said. “You're a little late. There is no more Soviet Union, soâ”
“Bennis told me that the next time I saw you I should make you buy a whole stack of
loukoumia
so she'd have something to snack on when she couldn't sleep. Give me a minute and I'll package it up. She'd better watch herself, though. I mean, I know it's usual for people who quit smoking to eat a lot, but she'sâ”
“Mary.”
“I've got the
loukoumia
. Also a little of the marble
halvah
. She likes that, too.”
Now Gregor was standing on Cavanaugh Street, wondering where he ought to go first. The food in the bag meant for his own apartment didn't need to be refrigerated. On the other hand, Tibor had probably forgotten all about asking for Pringles and called for takeout to the one Kentucky Fried Chicken place that deigned to deliver.
He went down the street as slowly as he could without feeling silly, and as he passed the Ararat he looked into the big plate-glass windows, to see if anybody he knew was there. Nobody was. It was the wrong time of day. People were at work, or at home cooking, or off to some other part of the city to get library books or birthday presents or something else they couldn't find right on the street. Lately, Gregor had been realizing more and more that work was necessary to him. Without it, he felt too much at loose ends. He didn't vacation well.
He was just thinking that it would have been easier on his nerves if Pennsylvania had stuck to the practice of holding executions only at midnight, when a cab pulled up in front of his own building a block and a half away and he saw Christopher and Bennis get out. Christopher seemed to be layered into near immobilityâhe was now, Gregor thought, wearing three sweaters under his sports jacket, and it was a new sports jacket, made of wool. Gregor wondered where he had gotten itâbut Bennis barely seemed to be wearing clothes at all. A turtleneck. A single sweater. A pair of jeans. Maybe she was being kept warm by her own anxieties.
Christopher leaned over and paid the cab. Bennis looked up the street and saw Gregor standing there, holding grocery bags. She called over her shoulder to Christopher and headed up the street.
“What have you got?” she asked, when she finally reached him.
Gregor looked into the bag with the
loukoumia
in it. “Some things for Tibor. And some
loukoumia
for you. Mary said you wanted it.”
“I did want it,” Bennis said.
Christopher came up, too. “God, it's cold in this state. How do you people stand it?”
“Most of us wear more clothes than Bennis does,” Gregor said.
Bennis was rummaging around in the other grocery bag. “Cheez Whiz,” she said. “Pringles. For God's sake. He can't eat this stuff.”
“He usually does. You want to tell me how you are, or am I supposed to guess?”
Bennis dropped the Cheez Whiz back in the bag. “It's over,” she said finally. “It was over an hour ago.”
“Pronounced dead at 11:46 A.M.,” Christopher said. “I thought Pennsylvania always executed people at midnight. I'm feeling a little disoriented.”
“They used to,” Gregor said.
Bennis wrapped her arms around her body. “I know I said I wasn't going to watch, but we went into this bar and they had the television on and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't drink, either. Do you know what, Gregor? Drinks taste really awful when you're not smoking. Even wine tastes really awful.”
“She's okay with champagne,” Christopher said, “but, under the circumstancesâ”
“It was a zoo,” Bennis said. “There were those people from the Seamless Garment Network, carrying signs. And there were other people carrying signs, which wereâI mean. Well. They were in favor of the death penalty. Let's put it that way. And then Teddy came on, pompous as hellâ”
“He's turned it into an art form,” Christopher said. “I usually think Bennis is exaggerating when it comes to Teddy, but in this caseâ”
“Anyway. Here we are. I wanted to walk around some after it was over, so we went to see the Liberty Bell. I don't know why. I never want to see the Liberty Bell. But we went.”
“And you're back.” Gregor shifted the bags from one arm to the other. His movement brought Bennis's attention back to them, and she leaned over to see what was under the Cheez Whiz.
“Pringles,” she said. “Goldfish. Skippyâwell, Skippy's all right.”
“That means she eats it,” Christopher said blandly.
“It's like the man is trying to poison himself deliberately. Is that Twinkies?”
“Don't blame me for the Twinkies,” Gregor said. “I just shopped for him. I'm not responsible for feeding him. Why don't you come back to the apartment?”
“Why don't I meet you two for dinner later?” Christopher said. “I've got somewhere I need to go.”
Gregor watched as Christopher hiked determinedly down the street, then turned to Bennis again.
“Where's he going?”
“To a Gambler's Anonymous meeting. This thing made me want to go back to smoking, it made him want to go back to gambling, so he found a meeting. They've got them practically around the clock or something these days. He says it's because of the lottery. I feel sick to my stomach. Is that crazy? Even when I'm not thinking about it, I'm sick to my stomach.”
“It's not crazy. She was your sister, no matter what she'd done.”
“Right.”
“You want to go back to the apartment? I've got
loukoumia
and
halvah
and there are grape leaves in the refrigerator that Lida brought. And there's liquor. Maybe if you get worked up enough, it won't matter how bad it tastes.”
“What's Tibor doing?”
“He's on the Internet, having an argument about the Monophysite heresy.”
“Oh. He's on rec.arts.mystery. Gregor, do you know what I want to do?”
“No.”
“I want to go back to the apartment, but I don't want to eat. And I don't want to drink. I want toâwell, look, let's go and I'll show you. It's like, I feel like, somebody died and it could have been me, or something weird like that, and soâ”
“Soâwhat?”
“Let's just drop this stuff off at Tibor's so he doesn't come looking for it. And then we can bolt the doors as well as lock them, and that will take care of that.”
“That will take care of what?” Gregor asked.
Bennis took one of the bags of groceries out of his arms and cast a long-suffering look at the stratosphere.
“I'm not going to go blurting it all out in the middle of Cavanaugh Street,” she said. “Come on home and lock up with me, and I'll tell you all about it.”
Then she went marching off down the street in the direction of Holy Trinity Armenian Christian Church, and Tibor's apartment, and the building they had shared now for almost six years.
She was just turning in to the alley that led around the side of the church to Tibor's place when Gregor finally realized what she'd meant.
“Clueless,” she called out to him, stopping in the alleyway to let him catch up.
It was true, too.
In some ways, he was embarrassingly clueless.