Chapter #43Meeting Dad by: Seuzz   "I think I need to meet your Dad," you say, "much as I'd like to settle a few things with Blackwell first."
Frank noticeably relaxes, and Joe punches you in the shoulder. "It's not gonna be the same without you. Oh, what am I saying, you'll still be here, and just as dopey as ever."
"We'll make that the last business for tonight," Frank says, "then we'll set off for Dad's."
* * * * *
The "last business" consists in calling your own replacement out to the boys' house, where you charge the mask with your latest memories--and yourself with its latest set of crises--and put it back upon the golem. You've set a new golem shell within the mask that puts it under your control, and you order it to work closely with Joe in your absence: orders that it cheerfully accepts, as it has now been synchronized closely with yourself. You don't even have to give it explicit instructions on what to do if Blackwell tries contacting it.
"Yeah yeah," it says impatiently. "Play along with him, get him someplace quiet, don't let him get his hands near my face, call Joe." He cocks his head mischievously. "Maybe golden boy can put this mask on for a little while, learn how the other half live."
Joe bends it over in a headlock. "Fun thing about golems is you can molest them without it bothering your conscience." He laughs as he releases it, and laughs as Prescott gives him the finger, and laughs again as he tucks his arm in its and gently leads it out to the truck, chatting gaily all the way.
Finally, it comes time to finish off the new mask that you've been working on all week in your spare time. It has been nicely burnished and already has Joe's image inside it; now Frank meekly submits to having it placed upon him. It's very hard to make out the resulting image that floats inside the mask's surface, and you don't seal it; not yet. "Are you sure your Dad will be okay with us doing this?" you ask.
"If he's not, we can destroy it," Frank says. "Or erase the images, put new ones in." He cocks his head. "In fact, he'll probably leave the choice up to you. That's his style."
* * * * *
"What's he like?" you ask as the endless empty miles pass in the darkness. It's well past midnight, and you're nearly two hundred miles outside of Saratoga Falls, but you're not sleepy.
"Dad? You were inside Joe's mask. Don't you remember?"
"That's all faded. All the memories, anyway. I still remember what it was like being him, though."
"'What it was like'?" Frank echoes in a curious tone. "What do you mean by that?"
"You know," you say helplessly, even though you're pretty sure you yourself don't. "The feeling of being him. It's not like the feeling of being me."
"Really? How so?"
"Well, being me is kind of boring--"
Frank surprises you with a sharp, barking laugh--maybe the first time you've heard anything more than a soft chuckle from him. "Being you is kind of boring?" he gasps. "After the past few weeks, I'd think you have one of the more exciting lives I know of."
"Well, maybe that's how come I went out looking for some excitement," you retort, ducking your head in some embarrassment. "I mean, my life was just school and goofing off. Go to school, hang out with Caleb and Keith, do shit. Rinse and repeat."
"And being Joe gave you a purpose?" he asks. "You had things to do even when you weren't being him. And if you don't mind the compliment, you did them pretty well."
You blush, a little. "Thanks. But it wasn't having a purpose. Even that felt like something I drifted into. No, being Joe was like-- There was stuff bursting out of me. I felt like running, jumping, talking, reading, learning, sharing. Being me, it's--" You tap at the truck window. "It's like this. Just driving off into nothingness and hoping something turns up."
"Hmm. Dad's gonna have his work cut out, dealing with you, I can tell."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Dad gives people jobs, but he gives them jobs they're suited for." He runs his hand restlessly over the steering wheel. "Well, that's his special talent. I'll leave it to him to figure out what a wanderer is suited for."
"So you're saying I'm part of the Stellae now?"
"Not officially. And even after it's official--but you don't have to join, of course--but even after it's official there will have to be a period of apprenticeship. You'll have more talent than just reading that damnable book." You are suddenly conscious of the overnight case at your feet, which contains the Libra. "But what you said it was like, being Joe? You didn't have his talents, but you had the memory of them. You'll have your own. Right now they're just latent, and apprenticeship will help you bring them out."
"What kind of talents would those be?" You feel embarrassed even asking--you don't want to sound greedy--but can't help asking.
He just shrugs. "You got me. Joe is pretty sure your connection is to Sulva--that's the Moon--and I think you'll be the first Stellae with that connection in a long time. I don't know any other members who have it."
"How many are there?"
"Me and Joe know a dozen more, but there are more than that. Dad only brings us together when we need to be together." His voice tightens. "You'll meet one more, at least, when we get to Dad's. I talked to him last night, gave him notice I'd be out and what I'd have to report, so Father Ed will be on hand."
"Who's he?"
"Spiritual counselor. Confessor." He pauses. "Asshole."
Well, that sounds like fun.
* * * * *
Frank drives all night, and you doze for a few hours, then take over driving in the morning. It's late afternoon before your destination comes into view: a small town nestled high in the Rockies. The house turns out to be a modest little tract house behind a chain-link fence. The name "Brennan" is stenciled on a mailbox by the gate. A big, friendly dog greets you and Frank, and after a perfunctory knock Frank leads you in. "Sir?" he calls.
"Kitchen!" a voice calls back. Frank leads you through a small sitting room and under a short archway into another room that combines a small kitchen with an eating nook. Its sole occupant is a small man in gray slacks and a white, short-sleeved dress shirt, standing with his back to you as he faces the stove. "You still like grilled cheese, don't you, Frank?" He turns a twinkling eye on your companion. "I don't think you'll ever outgrow them, however tall you get."
"No sir," Frank replies with a shy smile. "But I don't want to take your dinner from you."
"Bullshit. I knew you were coming, and Laverne will be back shortly with a cake." He turns fully around, to show a ruddy face covered by short, white whiskers: that and the small but noticeable paunch give you the vivid impression of a department store Santa caught out of wardrobe. He opens his arms. "I missed you, lad."
"I missed you too, sir," Frank says, and his voice breaks slightly as he and the old man embrace, holding each other for an improbably long time.
His adoptive father grips and rubs Frank's arm as he releases him, then turns his attention to you. "And this must be Will Prescott. How do you do, son?" He holds out his hand, and you take it. His grip is firm. More than that, you feel a rippling strength running down it, into your own arm thence into your own core. "You like grilled cheese too?"
"Yes sir," you stammer, for you're trying to connect that vibrating thrill to this very shabby kitchen and its small occupant. "That is, I like 'em just fine." You feel your face color, for it sounds like a very backhanded compliment.
But Dad just laughs. "We'll have a proper dinner tomorrow night. But a big meal doesn't sit well after a long trip." He turns back to the stove.
Frank motions you to follow him, and leads you out and down a short hall to a small bedroom. It's very neat but very crowded, with a bunk bed, a writing desk, and lots of shelves stacked with books, model airplanes, and scientific instruments. He sets the overnight cases on the floor and turns a quizzical glance at you. "What is it? Dad?"
"Huh?" You start a little. "Oh. Uh, I guess." You shrug. "He's not exactly who I was expecting. Not that I knew what to expect. But the way you and Joe talked about him--"
"Dad's-- Well, he's complex," Frank says. He rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe 'complex' is the wrong word. Joe can describe him better than me."
You turn to look at some of the books, and you're amused to see a long line of Hardy Boys titles among them. But Frank is still preoccupied with the subject of his adoptive father. "He's just too big to see all at once," he says abruptly, and you turn back to find him staring through one of the walls. "It's like, he can seem very small, and then you get close and you realize he is actually very big. And then you realize you're looking at him through a telescope--" Maybe it's the telescope on one of the shelves that's suggested the metaphor to him. "You're looking at him through a telescope, and you realize he's millions of miles away, and is so much bigger even than that."
He mulls this a bit, then shakes himself. "Well, you've just gotten to know him. If you're lucky, you'll get to know him a lot better." He smiles. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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