Everyday Ghosts (4 page)

A little water was left in the bucket. Pete poured it over her. It trickled across her wounds. Pete wiped the blood away. It covered his own hands. He sat in the straw and wept. Neb stirred and tried to twist her neck so she could see him behind her, but she was tied to a beam, and it was impossible. He needed comfort, but she could not turn. There were so many things a donkey's body could not do. She lowered her head.

A shadow loomed over Pete and he looked up to see the stranger standing
in the doorway. “What are you crying for?” the stranger asked.

Pete wiped his eyes, smearing blood across his face. “Brother Louis beat Neb,” he said.

“Tough world,” said the stranger. He coughed against the back of his fist. “Don't sound like no brother of mine.” With a slight stagger, he crossed the barn to a stool against the wall. He sank down onto the stool so heavily it nearly tipped over.

Pete had been the first to see him the night he came. He had not been this close until now. Now the man looked small and harmless, crouched on his stool with tired eyes. “I feel like I've seen you somewhere,” said Pete.

“Some say I look like Santy Claus in reverse,” said the stranger. “Makes me real proud. Mind if I light up?”

“You'll set the barn on fire.”

He struck a match and lit the cigarette. “I don't really need permission,” he said. “I was only asking to be polite.” He dropped the match in the hay and stomped on it with the toe of his sneaker.

“What are you doing here?” asked Pete.

The stranger shrugged. “Biding my time. I go here and there. Where I'm called. I'm on a mission.”

“What mission is that?”

“Upheaval.” He grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth. “An enemy shall
surround the land and strip you of your strengths.”

“Are you a prophet?”

“Depends how you mean. Do I know what's what? Yeah, I know what's what. I seen some things. I've lived a life that would break most people in two. I know which end is up.”

“You told them there were three crimes and a fourth would be in fire.”

The stranger inhaled the cigarette's smoke. Then he blew it out. It formed a cloud in front of his face. He leaned forward and breathed in the cloud, a long, rasping breath. Only then did he speak. “Bunch of bull,” he said. “Make it up as you go along and it sounds as good as the book.”

“They believe you,” said Pete.

“These chumps will believe anything. Until they don't.”

“But why? Why us?”

“I like to mess with people. And let's just say like a lot of people I got a little grudge against your outfit. Plus I'm, you know, evil.” He grinned the yellow- toothed smile again.

That was when Pete knew why he looked familiar. He was one of the lost, akin to those people Pete had watched helplessly all those years, straggling across the video screens in the back of the shopping mall. “You're a criminal,” said Pete. “You're just a common criminal.”

The stranger rose to his feet so fast that this time the stool did fall over. “I'm not common,” he said. Neb stepped forward,
between him and Pete, and gave a warning snuffle. The stranger looked at her and then patted her head to calm her. “Or what the hell, maybe I am. Truth is, I'm just a middleman. I got my higher-ups just like you got yours, and they don't give me the time of day, just like yours. I put in my time on the streets, sure. You want to know what I do when I can get body and soul together? I deal in bliss. I sell bliss, on behalf of those higher-ups I mentioned. I sell it to the ones that don't want to put up with a lot of crap to get it. The thing about bliss is it comes in these tiny little white grains. Put them all together and they add up to the most beautiful heaps of white powder. Pure as the driven snow. A little bit of that shit and you're face
to face with the frickin divine, without any of the baloney.”

“I'll go to Father Gabriel,” said Pete.

The stranger threw back his head and laughed. The locks of his beard shook.

“Then I'll go to the police.”

“The
po-
lice! You're a funny kid with that little moral thing of yours that's worth about a plug nickel. Speaking of the
po-
lice, they could have found themselves a whole shitload of bliss around here if they knew their elbows from their assholes. Trouble with them is they're always casing out the nooks when they should be scoping out the crannies, and vice versa. But those chumps could have died and gone to copper heaven, if only they knew where to look. This place here, see,
is lousy with those beautiful little heaps of pure white. One of your guys been meeting up with one of my guys—and I don't mean to dance the tango. So let's not go getting up on our high horse so right quick.”

“I don't believe it,” said Pete.

“That's how I come to learn about your cozy little setup out here. And then I just had to come have a look-see for myself. Didn't take long to get the lay of the land. I'm not saying your good brothers don't get some of their own now and then but mostly they been slipping it to the old geezer. Who, alas and alack, is beyond bliss, if you know what I mean.”

Pete looked down at his hands, where the blood had dried. He shook his head.
It was so much worse than he had feared that he was dazed. “Why have you told me this?” he asked.

“Maybe because I got it figured they don't listen to you. Like I said, I like to mess with people.” He patted Neb on the head again. “Or maybe it's because you like the mule. And now if you will excuse me, I got my mission to attend to.”

The walls around him looked barer than ever. They were huge and thick, made of stone. They were meant to hold in the warmth of a living flame and to close out the corruptions of the world. Pete had spent his life praying for grace. He saw that this amounted to one long plea for help that never came, and might have been of little use to him if it had. Now he did not know what to pray for. The thought that he could ever have left the world behind seemed like the vainest of hopes.

When Louis came to take Neb into the valley to bring back the wood, Pete was waiting. He was hiding in the loft. Neb knew he was up there, but she was frightened
all the same. Pete could tell by the way she drew back. The barn door was kept open because it jammed if it was shut, so they could both see him coming. Louis was rough in harnessing her. She wouldn't budge at first, and Louis pulled with more force. The bridle pressed hard against her jaw. She brayed a little but stepped forward. Pete watched as Louis led her from the barn. She moved with halting steps. Pete climbed out of the loft and watched from the doorway as he led her down the hill.

Louis set to work on a tree that was already fallen. He chopped the wood in hard, clean strokes and stacked the split logs in the wheelbarrow. Pete watched from behind a tree. He was surprised when he heard Louis begin to sing a hymn,
the same one over and over as he worked. “I rest my weary soul in thee,” he sang. “I give thee back the life I owe, that in thine ocean depths it flow, may richer, fuller be.” The notes he sang heaved as he swung the axe, but the hymn was slow and peaceful. The longer he worked, the quieter his song grew.

By the time he was finished, the cart was overflowing. It was a great burden. Neb took a few steps, then stopped. The load was too heavy. She needed water to go on. She planted her hooves on the ground. The dark look came to Louis's eyes then, and the trace of a mean smile quivered his mouth. “You wicked creature,” he said under his breath. “God damn you.”

It was the first time Pete had heard
him speak. It was different from his singing voice, with its clear, pure tones. In speech, his voice was husky and hoarse.

Seething, Louis bent to snatch a thick branch from the ground, but by the time he stood up again, Pete was there, between him and Neb. Pete grabbed the stick from him and threw it far away into the woods. They faced each other. Then Louis turned to where the axe lay nearby. Neb let out a little whinny. Louis hoisted the axe over his shoulder and turned back to Pete.

“You broke your vow,” said Pete. “I heard you.”

“You lead the damned thing back then,” said Louis. “It does what you tell it.”

“I wouldn't beat her, even if she didn't.”

“And you can store the wood too, while you're at it. Earn your keep.”

“I do my work,” answered Pete.

“But you don't do it for God. My work is part of my holy calling. That is why I am on this earth. I have never doubted it for an instant. I came here to find the silence that fits our souls for the divine union. At every turn something stands between me and my redeemer. I know my soul is being tested. I love God more for it. But you make a mockery of all that holds my spirit up, and that cursed animal loves you for it.”

Pete cast his eyes down. There was some truth in what Louis said. Pete had seen him at work. He saw that work was,
for Louis, a part of something sacred. “It's only that I'm kind to her,” he said.

“God wills us to be kind when we see His spirit in the world. But woe to those who turn judgment to wormwood. In every street they shall cry. I am condemned to live this life among fools and sinners. A silly old goat who drowns himself in drink. A lot of rogues who do dirt on all the hosts of heaven but throw themselves at the feet of false idols. And I am bitter. I am sorely bitter in my thoughts.”

“Be bitter then,” said Pete. “But this is the last time you will ever lay a hand on Neb.”

“I am bitter in my thoughts. But I am not bitter in my soul. And it is from my soul that I act. All that I do is in the
name of God, who made the dawn and the darkness. This is nothing you can understand—you, with your blubbering doubts that you've tried to weave into a faith. I am not so afflicted.” Louis went to the cart and dropped the axe on top of the stacked wood. “What I do is good because I do it.” Then he wiped his hands together and started up the hill.

Pete stood at Father Gabriel's door. This time he would not be put off. He heard Father Gabriel moaning from within. Then he heard the bolt turn. As Pete entered, he saw Father Gabriel climbing back into bed. He burrowed under the covers, head first, his bare feet sticking out. “Oh, my tooth is killing me,” he said.

“We are in crisis, Father,” said Pete. “You have to do something.”

“I'm being punished,” said Father Gabriel. “This is my punishment, and I deserve it.”

“A toothache is a very small thing, Father.”

“Don't lecture me, you knave. I'm not talking about my toothache. That is bad enough, and you are in no position to speak of it.” Kicking his legs, he crawled forward until his head poked out from under the blankets. His hair was gnarled and matted, and his eyes were watery. “I have heard from the superiors. They are not pleased. They found out the police were called, and they don't like it. All these years they paid no attention. They forgot we were here. That was our only hope. Now they are coming to see the state of things, and that will be the end of it. They'll shut us down.”

Pete sat at the foot of the bed. “Maybe they won't,” he said. But maybe it would be for the best, he thought.

“That's not the worst of it.” Father
Gabriel pulled a pillow out from under him and hugged it, squeezing it to his chest. “They have given me a task. I am to preside at the funeral of the unknowns.” He shuddered. “It's a burial service for those whose remains have not been claimed. Everyone lines up at the graveside, one poor sod from each church just to be on the safe side because they don't know what the dead people were. Probably they were heathen but never mind. Then you mutter a few words while they put the ashes in the ground. Oh, how depressing it all is. I'll have to stand there like a muggins, alongside a Protestant and who knows what else. Probably a Hindu for all I know.”

“Won't it be a comfort?” Pete suggested.
“To go back to doing good works, I mean.”

“Good works,” Father Gabriel scoffed. He flung the pillow against the wall. “It is not an honor. Far from it. They only make the flunkies do it—the ones who are on their way out. It's the last stop on the crap-out train, and I've got a one-way ticket.”

“If it won't comfort you, won't it help to know that it might comfort others?”

Father Gabriel glared at him. “I don't know why you go on like this. It only makes you ridiculous.” He drew himself up. “Oh well, if it's not one kind of poison it's another. I had better gird my loins. Bring the car around.”

The old Jeep made its way down the mountain toward the village, with Pete at the wheel and Father Gabriel beside him. The engine made terrible grinding noises and the seats creaked as the truck bumped along. The sun was brilliant and the sky a deep, deep blue. It had been a long time since Pete had gone this far into the world, and everything looked strange and dazzling. He was afraid he would not remember how to drive and was pleased at how it all came back to him. Father Gabriel pulled a flask from out of his vest and took a swig from it. “My tooth is killing me,” he said. “This is for the pain. After this is over I will
never have another drop. So don't say a word.”

“I won't,” said Pete.

They drove through the village with its large frame houses and its tree-shaded roads, nearer to the city, where the sun was harsher and the streets were wide and cracked, skirted with liquor stores and pawnshops and bail bonds offices. The graveyard was just off a busy avenue. The plot they were directed to was in a far corner on a little rise backed up against a high fence. Beyond the fence was a tall concrete wall. It was a highway overpass. Traffic rasped and bleated above. The grave lay under a stand of sickly palm trees. A few people in black stood around it. “This is grim,” said Father Gabriel, hunching down in the creaking seat as
Pete parked the Jeep. “Oh, it's worse than my worst nightmares.”