Strings Attached (16 page)

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I just wanted to give you back the uniform.”

“Sure, come in. I was just wasting time online. And your sweats are over there.” He hitched a thumb toward his crisply made-up bed. “I washed them for you.” He sat back down at the desk and focused his attention on the computer.

Jeremy pushed the door halfway shut and unbuttoned the coat, then slipped off the pants, not bothering this time to sequester himself in the bathroom. “So what is it you’re looking for?”

“Nothing that would interest you.” His hand made figure eights with the mouse. “It’s a chat room for ex-military personnel who’ve been discharged because of sexual orientation. We discuss legal issues and court decisions.”

“Hmm. Listen, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could look something up for me? My computer’s not set up.”

“Sure,” he replied absently. “What do you need?”

“I had this sort of crazy dream last night, Arthur.” He began pulling his sweats on. “I can’t remember a whole lot about it, except that my dad and I were walking along a beach together and he was telling me to wish on a star.”

“Sounds interesting.” He yawned. “Tell me more.”

“Some of the dream made sense, and some of it didn’t. But there was this thing in the dream called the ‘Father’s Star.’ And he told me to make a wish, but I don’t remember what it was. So I was wondering if you could try and look it up.”

“You’re asking me to search for information about something that came to you in a dream at—” he squinted at his clock radio “—a quarter past midnight?” He frowned. “Jeremy, tiny little children all over the world learn about making a wish on the first star they see at night. It’s nothing novel.”

“Yeah. I know it sounds crazy. It’s just that this all seemed so realistic. And I’ve never heard about a ‘Father’s Star’ before.”

Arthur yawned again. “No, I guess it doesn’t sound ‘crazy.’ Just give me a sec to log off.” He tapped his fingers on the keyboard. “OK.” He straightened his back. “So I’m looking for anything having to do with the ‘Father’s Star.’”

“Yep.” Jeremy looked over his shoulders as the search engine shuffled through its trillions of information bits.

Zero results.

“Let me try another search: ‘Star of the Father.’” The keyboard clicked under his hands. “By the way, how was the party?”

“It was great, Arthur. I’m actually making some friends here.”

“You’ll have to tell me when I’m not about to collapse into a coma. Oops, no results again. I don’t know what to tell you, old buddy.” He shook his head.

“What about wishing on a star, Arthur? Could you try that?”

“Sure, hold on.” Jeremy watched as the screen lit up with page after page of potential sites. “What does it say about that?”

“Let me see…there are lots of pages here about silly movie songs…but let me check…no…no…no…ah!” The page loaded, and Jeremy saw rows and rows of writing. “This site says that wishing on a star originated with the Greeks and Romans, who believed that their deities existed in the skies and answered the requests of the righteous.” Arthur’s and Jeremy’s faces glowed the same pale blue as the boy craned his neck to read over the man’s shoulder. “And when Christianity came along, the Church forbade worship of the old gods, so people began referring to looking skyward as
wishing for something
instead of
praying to someone.
”

“So what were some of the names of the gods they used to pray to? Were any of them fathers?”

“There are almost too many here to investigate: Hercules, Cassiopeia, Orion, Perseus, Cepheus, Castor, and Pollux. The list goes on and on. You’d have to research each one.”

“So they were all Greek or Roman names?”

“Like I said. But maybe we could do this some other time. It’s late.”

“I know, but maybe you could try doing a search on the Father’s Star in Greek or Roman?”

“You mean Greek or Latin.”

“Yeah.”

“Well Greek has its own alphabet, so that won’t work. But I think I remember a little bit of Latin from Catholic school: the Father’s Star would translate into
Stellae Patriae,
or would it be
Stella Patris
? Let me try both.” He keyed the words into the computer and hit return. “Not one result, Jeremy. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go to bed. Your aunt has a list of demands for me to do tomorrow as long as a toilet paper roll.”

“Thanks anyway.” He stood and then turned for the door, shoes in hand. “And I really appreciate your letting me use your uniform tonight. It got me a lot of attention. Good attention, I mean.”

“I’m sure what was
in
the uniform was what got the attention, you bum. But you’re welcome anyhow. It brought back some good memories seeing it on someone again. I can’t bear to wear it myself.”

Jeremy put his hand on the doorknob. “Just one more thing,” he hesitated, then turned to face him. “Does Danny ever show up in your dreams?”

“From time to time,” he replied quietly. “Why?”

“Does he ever tell you things you didn’t know before. I mean, things that might be true?”

“There’s really no way to know if what he ‘says’ to me is true, Jeremy. But usually he seems so real, like he’s never left or been gone, and a lot of the times he seems confused, even shocked, that I thought he was dead. Then he tells me that he’ll never leave me, that he’ll always love me. And sometimes I just sob and wail and I can’t breathe because he’s there again smiling, and I can hold him—I mean actually feel him, his shoulders and all—and then I wake up.” Jeremy saw that Arthur was seeing some faraway picture, but then he focused back on him. “So what you’re really asking me is if any of what your father told you in your dream might be true, would this mean he’s still around somewhere and he’s communicating with you? Am I right?”

Jeremy nodded, his eyes glistening.

Arthur pushed himself up from the chair and approached him, then wrapped his arms around the boy, drawing their bodies together. “Of course it’s true, old buddy,” he whispered, his breath warming his ear. “Your dad’s out there somewhere, in the same place where Danny is. And sometimes they come to us…to let us know everything’s going to be OK.”

Jeremy had never been held by a man before and was stunned by the unyielding solidity of Arthur’s body, as well as the vulnerability and heat he radiated. And at once he felt some parts of himself getting squished just as others were stretching, as if he were being remolded, after all these years, from the outside in. He wanted to squeeze him back with strength equal to the exhilaration he felt but was afraid the volume of his yearning would scare away this moment and leave him, once again, half finished. So he stood impassively, his arms limp at his sides.

Arthur reached up a hand and smoothed the top of Jeremy’s head, and Jeremy remembered Jonathan’s hand doing the same in his dream. His father’s words echoed in his memory as loud as if they were coming from a bullhorn:
Mr. Blauefee. Talk to him. He’ll help you make your dreams come true. Arthur knows all about the magic.

Haltingly but steadily, Jeremy lifted his arms and squeezed him back while burying his bursting smile in the rocklike shoulder. Then their hands smoothed each other’s backs, and they rocked gently from side to side like long-lost brothers, or soldiers from a long-forgotten war.

“Wake up, ya bum, I think I found something.” Arthur, in his knee-length terry-cloth robe, stood over Jeremy’s bed clutching twin steaming mugs of coffee.

“Huh?” Through slitted eyes, he saw the sky beyond his windows glowed Easter egg lavender. He figured it wasn’t even 6 a.m. yet. “Something about what?”

“About that silly ‘Father’s Star.’” He placed one mug on the nightstand and slurped noisily from the other. “Get dressed and come down to my room. But hurry. I’ve got to be at the flower mart by seven.” He turned and disappeared.

Minutes later, Jeremy shuffled into the man’s bedroom where he found him hunched over his monitor scanning thin lines of text. “What did you find?” He leaned tightly over him, breathing coffee fumes.

“Sit down, please. I hate it when someone reads over my shoulder.”

Jeremy sat.

The mouse tick-tucked, and the text on the screen rolled up like movie credits. “Just let me paraphrase this, and I can print it out for you later. By the way, it was my conjugation that was wrong last night; I had forgotten that
pater
is an atypical masculine noun, and the genitive, or possessive case, translates correctly into
Stella Patrim.
So once I resolved that, I was able to sort through about a dozen different search engines and finally found this reference. And it’s a legitimate one, originating from some brainiac at Oxford. It might not mean anything at all, but I thought it would interest you. Ready?”

Jeremy nodded and yawned in spite of himself.

“It seems the
Stella Patrim,
or ‘Father’s Star,’ is an ancient myth, one that is much older than the most recent Greek and Roman version, which we know today as the story of the constellation of the Gemini twins, Castor and Pollux. In the nighttime spring sky, the Gemini constellation looks like two stick figures holding hands, and one is taller than the other. See?”

Jeremy examined the screen. The connect-the-dots figures did, in fact, look that way.

“But they weren’t originally twins. In fact, the earlier versions of the Greek myth, from about 1050
B.C.
, suggest they were only half brothers from the same mother. Castor was reportedly born of two mortals, while Pollux was half mortal and half god, and his father was Zeus. The young men were great warriors ‘known for their devotion to each other,’ which strongly implies they were lovers. Castor was killed suddenly in battle by a traitor, thus Pollux begged Zeus to let them be joined together for eternity in the heavens. The two were honored by generations of Greek as well as Roman soldiers and even sailors, who sought their protection and guidance during especially fierce battles.

“But here’s more: this source goes on to cite a recently translated text that suggests that in the fourth century
B.C.
, Alexander the Great, after losing his beloved Hephaestion in battle, and as he himself lay dying of grief three weeks later, declared that upon his imminent death, both he and his deceased lover would rise up and become this same constellation, the twin warriors of the
Dioskouroi,
enjoying each others’ company forever in the sky. And since then, subsequent cultures have added even more to this story.”

“So what does it have to do with fathers?”

“I’m getting to that. But one thing you need to understand, Jeremy, is that the example of Alexander the Great demonstrates how the Greeks altered their mythology to suit their changing political climate, as well as their own evolving customs. And then the Romans altered them further after conquering the Greeks.”

“Sort of like propaganda?”

“Exactly. So now I’ll read you the oldest recorded interpretation, from the time of Eratosthenes at around 2020
B.C.
You’ll see how the earliest Greeks, the Helenes, believed that Pollux and Castor were a father and son who reigned as king and prince. Listen to this:

“King Pollux, the son of Apollo and a mortal queen, was a man in the fullest bloom of life, magnificent in all capacities. His fairness as a ruler and grace as a warrior were second only to Apollo’s, and his strength and courage, like Mars himself, bellowed with the ferocity of twenty lions on the battlefield. Prince Castor was the younger image of his glorious father, having the transient beauty of one between boyhood and manhood, and whose virtue had not yet known the pleasures of Eros.

“Because their kingdom enjoyed years of felicitous peace and bountiful harvests, the troublesome gods (with naught better to do) bickered with the restless mortals over who might entice the pleasures of the king’s virile prowess, and who among them was most worthy to relieve the boy of his ripe virginity. A great disagreement arose, and a prize was agreed upon for the one, mortal or immortal, who could accomplish both.

“Queen Terpsia, the king’s wife and Castor’s mother, upon learning of the contest, vowed that she would sooner see her husband dead than unfaithful to her. As a result, she plotted with his own best friend and highest general to murder him in his sleep, and in return promised to make the assassin her lover and the kingdom’s royal advisor.

“But as the murderous plot unfolded and the king was being slain in his bed, the virtuous Castor ran unarmed to his father’s aid and was struck down as well, and woe befell the wretched woman upon seeing the lifeless body of her fallen son beside her husband. She drew the assassin’s own sword and sliced her promised lover’s head from his body, then threw it and herself from the highest cliff in the land.

“Then Apollo himself, so distraught over the treacherous deaths of the king and the prince, caused the sun to descend to Hades while the heavens rained a thousand leagues for one year.

“Jupiter, to comfort the distraught Apollo and to restore the flooded lands to the miserable mortals, lifted Pollux and Castor from Hades into the heavens, where they might rejoice in well-deserved immortality for eternity, enjoying each other’s company while providing protection from treachery to fathers and their sons everywhere.

“Finally, Jupiter cast the queen and the dreadful assassin into Hades, where they wander for eternity feasting ravenously on the putrefying flesh of the other.”

Jeremy’s brows knitted. “That’s a pretty sad story. I can see why the Greeks thought they needed to change it around,” Jeremy said. “But at least it kind of had a happy ending; the queen and the other guy got what they deserved.”

“Actually, the Greeks loved tragedies, especially the ones where greedy rulers met grisly endings,” Arthur added. “But the core myth even today retains the idea that the constellation of Gemini consists of two noble male family members who were greatly devoted to each other, and who died before their times because of betrayal and treachery.”

“That’s tragic.”

“That’s nothing. You haven’t read Oedipus, have you?”

“No. Why?”

“Never mind. Anyway, here’s the part that I thought you’d find especially interesting, the elements that relate to your dream: for thousands of years, whenever a Greek or Roman father sent his son to war, he would look at the stars and pray to Castor and Pollux for his boy’s victorious return. And likewise, before a father left for battle, he would show his young son this very constellation and teach him the sacred, ancient prayer, telling him that wherever he was at night and no matter how far away they were from each other, they would still be close enough together to see these stars. And even if the worst happened and one was killed, like Castor and Pollux they would someday be together again, side by side for eternity. Hence the name
Stella Patrim,
the ‘Father’s Star’ that you say your dad told you to wish upon in your dream.” He glared suspiciously at the boy. “Are you sure you’d never heard of this before?”

Jeremy shook his head deliberately. “No, Arthur, at least I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. It’s very interesting, if nothing else. I have a celestial map somewhere. We could try to find the constellation on another night when the sky’s clearer. I’ll print all of this out for you, if you want it.”

“Sure I want it.”

“OK. Now, I’ve got to get moving; your aunt is having a brunch reception at her gallery at noon today and needs a truckload of burnt-orange chrysanthemums that are ‘not too red and not too yellow.’ I’ll have the papers for you later.”

Jeremy climbed the stairs to his room and fell backward onto his bed. Had he heard about this tale before? If not, how could he have fabricated it all on his own? Could it be that his father was telling him something from beyond? And if so, what? He’d remembered something about courage and making a wish in his dream, but the story Arthur just read to him was really about praying for protection in battle from the enemy.
And betrayal.

He had no opinions about the afterlife one way or the other, so there just didn’t seem to be any use getting worked up over heaven or God or Jesus or the devil himself; he figured that like every other breathing creature, he’d find out when his time came and not a moment before.

But then again, maybe the Greeks had been onto something.

With a groan, he heaved himself up off the bed and made his way across the bedroom to the French doors, then stepped out onto the balcony where he braced himself, elbows locked, against the chilly metal railing. The morning sun ducked behind a splotch of pewter clouds gathered in the east, while frigid winds skated in from the western sea to herd the devilish Santa Anas back to the desert, where they’d conspire until next autumn. His arms erupted into goose bumps, so he rubbed his hands together and was about to go inside when he heard a chorus of squawking overhead. He looked skyward and saw that a flock of white gulls dove and banged against one of their own who’d been fortunate enough to have found some leftover morsel. But after only a few moments, the battered bird dropped his treasure and flew off, causing a new battle to begin. And Jeremy came to the conclusion that Darwin had been wrong—it wasn’t the fittest who survived, but the greediest.

He went inside and shut the doors.