A Dead Man's Tale (15 page)

A General Sense of Unease

A willful person who has survived to a ripe old age is likely to suffer remorse when remembering errors made along the way. From time to time the more sensitive souls will awaken in the middle of the night to recall a particularly egregious sin of commission or omission, or at the very least regret a wrong turn made along life’s journey.

Daisy Perika, who took pride in being considered exceptional, was an exception to this rule. The tribal elder had blundered along her crooked pathway for decades, hardly ever giving a thought to the harmful effects of her words or deeds. If she woke up worrying about something, it was likely to be an opportunity she had missed to feather her own nest or get even with some pest who had crossed her path. Which was why her recent sleeplessness was so frustrating to the callous old soul.

As Daisy lay in her Columbine four-poster from late Saturday night until Sunday’s first light, she stared at the shadowy beamed ceiling. The insomniac also fretted, fumed, and rationalized.
There wasn’t anything actually wrong with what I did—and I didn’t even mean to do it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a moth shadow flit along the ceiling.
The whole thing was nothing but an accident.
Was that merely a shadow cast by a moth, or was it a huge spider about to drop down besider?
I was just trying to help Sarah.
Preparing herself for an encounter with an oversized arachnid, Daisy reached for a magazine on the bedside table.
If I didn’t lend her a hand from time to time, that silly half-Papago girl wouldn’t know which way to turn
. Hoping that the hideous creature would not fall onto her face, she rolled the magazine into a formidable spider swatter.
I don’t know why I’m letting that silly business with the married woman and her boyfriend bother me so much.

But of course Daisy did know.

What she had done had not helped Sarah Frank. More to the point, the Ute-Papago orphan was unaware of Daisy Perika’s latest mischief, which was labeled
TOP SECRET
for the simple reason that the Ute elder had committed a serious crime—the kind for which a person can do hard time. And the worst was yet to come.

The innocent moth settled lightly on the quilt, just over Daisy’s right knee.

Wham!

“Hah!”
That’s what you get for pretending to be a spider.

Guilty as Charged

After breakfast, when Daisy attended Sunday-morning Mass with Charlie Moon and Sarah Frank, the youthful priest delivered a homily that was deeply painful to the old sinner. His subject was “Why the Ten Commandments Are Relevant Today.”

During her earthly sojourn, this particular pilgrim had dealt frivolously with most of them—with two exceptions. Let it be noted on her behalf that the Ute woman had honored her parents. Moreover, never in all her life had Daisy made an idol to bow down to—not literally. And it would be uncharitable to assert that this apparent virtue was merely an oversight—that fashioning an object of worship from wood or stone had never occurred to a woman who was so busy with other mischief.

What made Daisy cringe with barely concealed shame during the earnest priest’s sermon was not an introspective examination of her many years of missing the mark. The guilty secret that gnawed at her vitals was that very recently she had broken the Eighth Commandment as surely as if she had shattered Moses’s stone tablet personally and with malice aforethought. She was, as a Baptist minister might have said, “convicted of sin.”

Which was an unpleasant and unfamiliar experience. So much so that the lifelong Catholic Christian did not dare approach the altar for Holy Communion.
If I went up there, lightning might come down from heaven, blow a big hole in the church roof, and strike me dead!
Remaining behind in an otherwise empty pew while Charlie and Sarah went to the altar to receive the precious gifts, the backsliding old soul knew what the solution was.
I’ll have to go to Confession.
Daisy groaned.
It’s been so many years since that last time, I don’t know if I’ll remember how to do it.
Surely there must be another way. The optimistic reprobate hoped that she would shed the sense of guilt after leaving church.
What I need to do is get out of here and forget about sins and all that gloomy stuff.

What she got was just the opposite.

Even as they drove though the pleasant suburbs of Granite Creek, the remembrance of many long-forgotten misdeeds came back to haunt her. Like that time when a seven-year-old Daisy used leftover Easter-egg dye to tint her younger brother’s face a fine shade of green and then scared her mother half to death with a story about how the little fellow had eaten half a bar of lye soap. This and many other regrettable instances of misbehavior (too numerous to enumerate) served to put the old woman in a repentant mood. Her maternal grandmother had told her that God kept two books for each of us, a fragrant golden-leafed volume listing our good deeds, a filthy old pulp paperback for recording our sins. The size and heft of the books increased with the entries, and when that Final Day came, one book would be weighed against the other and a fateful decision made.

Having no doubt about the outcome, Daisy decided that she ought to add some weighty stuff to the good side of the balance and…
Considering how close I am to the grave, the sooner I get it done, the better
. She nodded.
First chance I get, I’ll do something nice.
Recalling a favorite proverb (“There is no time like the present”), she beamed a smile at the back of her nephew’s head and tried to think of something sweet to say. It wasn’t easy. What Daisy finally came up with was: “It’s very kind of you to drive me to church this morning.”

Charlie Moon, who took his aunt to church about nine Sundays out of every ten, told her she was welcome.
I wonder what that’s all about.

As well he might.

Astonished to learn that merely
trying
to be nice made a person feel good, Daisy wanted more. “Stop at that nice little candy store, the one on Copper Street where they sell homemade ice cream.”

Moon grinned.
So that’s it.
“You hankering for some butter pecan?”

The old woman nodded. “A half gallon ought to be enough.” Daisy fished around in her purse and found a twenty-dollar bill. “I’m buying.”

When the miserly old soul reached over the front seat to stuff the greenback into her nephew’s shirt pocket, Charlie Moon came very near to arching an eyebrow.

Sarah Frank, who witnessed this unprecedented event from the passenger seat, did not shy away from such a display.

Making Amends

While the senior citizen was waiting in the Expedition for Charlie and Sarah to return from the Copper Street Candy Shop, she could imagine—almost
see
—her pretty little golden-leafed book increasing in volume and heft. The calculating old soul estimated that it should take only two or three more acts of selfless kindness for it to get as big as a battleship and blow the ugly book right out of the water. Above all things, your moral philosopher hates to be interrupted while involved in the happy pastime of self-congratulation, but that is precisely what happened.

Daisy was rudely jarred from her blissful reverie by the appearance of a pimply, unshaven face at the window.

“God bless you,” the young man said—his beer-and-onions breath washing over Daisy’s face.

“Who’re you and what do you want?” the blessed one snapped.

One direct question would have confused the youth; two queries were over the top. The befuddled fellow stared blankly at this testy mark. “Uh…I wondered if you might have some spare change.”

She pointed a crooked finger at his runny nose. “If I did, I’d invest it in U.S. savings bonds. Now hit the road, riffraff—before I jab my thumb in your eye and gouge it out!”

Boy, this is some tough town.
The panhandler backed off and ambled away.
I’d better thumb me a ride up to Boulder.

While the ice cream was being spooned into two quart containers, Charlie Moon happened to notice that Sarah was eyeing a tiny box of chocolates with a big price tag. The tall man with the thin wallet nodded to the clerk, who got the message.

While her nephew was merely doing what came naturally, Daisy was recalling another proverb. Something about how by being kind to strangers, a person might end up doing a favor for an angel in disguise. Not that she thought that the repellent young man could possibly have been concealing wings under his tattered shirt.
But it’d be a smart move to do something nice for a heavenly messenger. Why, that’d be worth giving spare change to a dozen no-good bums.
Deep sigh.
But I’d never be so lucky as to—

What had interrupted Daisy’s thoughts? She had noticed a bewildered-looking woman limping down the sidewalk.
She looks wet as a drowned catfish; probably got drunk on rotgut whiskey and fell into the gutter. I bet she don’t know where her next meal’s coming from.
This was clearly no angel, but a person had to start someplace to have any hope of hitting the big score. Daisy stuck her head halfway through the car window and yelled, “Hey—Boozy Betty.”

The middle-aged woman slowed, stared suspiciously at the wrinkled face in the SUV. “You talking to me?”

“Sure.” Daisy nodded. “Come over here.”

The pathetic figure approached. “What d’you want?”

“Are you one of them homeless persons that wanders around eating out of trash cans?”

“I guess so, but I don’t remember eating anything lately.”

Pitiful little thing.
For the first time in ages, Daisy felt a surge of genuine compassion. “What’s your name, honey?”

A listless shrug. “I don’t remember.”

This was almost too good to be true.
Homeless and a lunatic.
The tribal elder grinned.
I’ll rack up points like Minnesota Fats on a roll.
Saint Daisy assumed an expression that was intended to be beneficent. “I’d like to help you.”

“Oh.” The gray face brightened. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

Damn right it is.
“Now what do you need?”

“A smoke.”

“I don’t have any tobacco.”

“That’s too bad.” The woman got a hard, glittery look in her eye. “I’d
kill
for a cigarette.”

“You look like you need something to eat.” Daisy pointed. “My nephew’s over there in the candy store; his name’s Charlie Moon. Tall galoot, skinny as a garter snake. Tell you what—you go inside and tell Charlie that his aunt Daisy said to buy you a nice big chocolate bar.”

“Chocolate makes my skin break out.”

Daisy sighed.
Being nice is hard work.
But, undaunted, she opted for some cheerful small talk. “Where do you live—in a big cardboard box somewhere?”

“I don’t live anywhere.” Another shrug. “When it’s daytime, I like to hang out here on the street.”

“That’s nice.”
She’s not too bright.
“But where do you
sleep,
dearie?”

The pale, pitiful figure pointed. “You want to see, go around back—in the alley.” Evidently warming to the old lady, the woman leaned closer.

As she did, Daisy caught a whiff.
Oh, my—she smells like she crawled out of a sewer.
That put an end to her experiment in charity. Before closing the car window, the aspiring Good Samaritan gave the unfortunate person directions to the Salvation Army shelter. “You stink like an outhouse in July, so first thing you should do when you get there is take a hot shower. And use a whole bar of soap!”

Without a word, the dismal soul turned away and wandered off as if in a stupor.

Try to be nice to people and what does it get you?
Daisy treated herself to a melancholy sigh.
Not even a thank-you.

By the time Charlie Moon and Sarah Frank returned, the nephew with ice cream and a big smile on his face, Sarah with a little box of chocolates in her hand and a warm feeling in her heart, the tribal elder had reverted to form.

As the amiable man got into the big automobile, Daisy Perika inquired in a peevish tone, “So where’s the change from my twenty-dollar bill?”

The Grim Wages of Sin

As on every evening since Daisy Perika had committed the theft, she entered her bedroom with this thought uppermost in her mind:
I didn’t do anything wrong, because I didn’t actually mean to take it. Before I knew it, there it was in my hand and all I could think of was to hold on to it and hide it.
Desiring a peaceful night’s sleep above all other blessings, the strong-willed woman made herself this firm promise:
Tonight, I won’t look at it.
She jutted her chin.
I won’t even
think
about it.

Her mind was made up.

But the gradual transformation of gray twilight into blackest night began to work its dark magic on the tribal elder’s psyche. Her fingers, which evidently had minds of their own, turned the latch to lock her bedroom door. She sighed.
Now what did I do that for?
Simple privacy, she told herself.
It’s not like I’m afraid that somebody might walk in here and find me with it in my hands.

But one misstep generally leads to another.

I guess it wouldn’t hurt to make sure it’s still where I put it.

Bending her aged back, Daisy grunted and pulled a shoebox from underneath her bed. She seated herself in an armchair and placed the box in her lap.
I know it’s still in there, so there’s no reason to take the top off the box and have a look.

Her fingers removed the cardboard lid.

Her eyes peeked in.

The
thing
was there.

As if it were endowed with eyes, the purloined property seemed to look back at her. As if it had a mouth, it seemed to whisper…
Go ahead—pick me up.

Who could resist such a temptation? Not Miss Daisy.

I’ll check to make sure all the goodies are still inside.

And so Daisy’s evening went, a mix of gloating and fretting over her ill-gotten treasure. Finally, she placed the object back in the shoebox and shoved it under the bed with her foot.

Minutes later, after Daisy had gotten into bed and pulled the quilt up to her chin, she addressed God with this solemn promise:
That’s the very last time. Tomorrow I’ll do something about it.

The grandfather clock in the parlor began to sound the hour, which was a big one.

Daisy Perika counted twelve gongs and two hoots from an owl.
It’s already tomorrow.

Her bedside clock continued to tick and tock.

The owl in the cottonwood continued to announce her presence.

When the sleepless woman heard the gong that announced the half hour, she muttered, “This won’t do.” Foreseeing another sleepless night ahead, Daisy Perika got out of bed, slipped on her house slippers and robe, and dialed a telephone number in Granite Creek. As soon as the sleepy lady on the other end picked up, the Ute elder snapped, “This is Daisy and I know how late it is but I need to talk to you. But not on the phone so I’ll get Sarah to drop me off at your place tomorrow afternoon.”

“Very well, Daisy.” Millicent Muntz yawned. “Good night then, and sweet dreams.”

Daisy Perika did not enjoy a good night and her dreams were anything but sweet. But between brief episodes of fitful sleep, she was comforted by the thought that…
One way or another, I’ll get this business settled.