The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

and gazed hard at me. 'Nobody is suggesting that he stop helping people, whether as a policeman or something else. But he must be rescued from this monstrous thing which has grown up around him.'

'He'd still be who he is, Mom. I'm convinced of that. The Garth we knew just doesn't exist anymore.'

I'd replaced him with a messiah.

My mother leaned forward on the sofa and thrust her hands out toward me in a gesture of supplication that I felt like a stab wound in my heart. 'I've prayed, Robby. I know, because God has told me, that my son and your brother is still there in that man in the bathhouse. Destroy the lies.'

'I don't believe that's possible, Mom.'

'You must try; you must find a way to make all those people see that Garth is not what they think he is, and then maybe they'll all go away.'

'Then Garth will be alone, Mom.'

'Garth will never be alone, as long as he has us to love him. But you've lost faith, and your will has weakened. Garth was sick, and he's still sick. If you can destroy the lies around him, maybe he'll finally heal.'

'I'm not sure he hasn't healed all he's going to, Mom.'

My mother shook her head adamantly. 'At the least, you must destroy the lies about his being the Messiah and performing miracles. My son must not be even an unwitting ally to such blasphemy. The Lord will guide and help you.'

'Please, Mom … try to understand something. Even if I could do what you ask, and I don't see how, I'm not sure I have the right to interfere in his life like that. Even if I thought I did have the right, what you're asking me to try and do is impossible.' I paused, touched the scar on my forehead. 'I've already had a sneak preview of what the response to any action I might take would be; the Messiah's dwarf brother has been marked, like Cain, by God in order to warn Garth's People to disregard anything he does or says. It wouldn't work, Mom. All I would manage to do is make more of a mess and get us all a lot of bad publicity-and publicity, good or bad, just wins Garth's People more converts. My orchestrating an attempt to discredit my own brother would have about the same effect that Bartholomew Lash and Timmy Owens had when they picked such lousy times to die.'

Having said my piece, I sat with my parents in uncomfortable silence for long minutes; I was very conscious of the rapid beating of my heart, and I felt short of breath. Very slowly, as if shouldering a weight almost too heavy for him to bear, my father finally rose to his feet. He did not look at me as he removed his wallet from his back pocket, took out some bills, and dropped them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He still would not look at me as he spoke; his voice, filled with hurt, rumbled like distant thunder.

'When your mother and I came to this city, Robert, we feared we had lost one son; but we believed that our other son was doing everything in his power to bring his brother home, or to some place where he could be cared for and healed. Now it appears that we've lost both our sons. We can't do much for you, because you're in your right mind and are capable of making your own choices. But your mother and I must still do whatever we can to help our sick son. Over the years, we came to understand that you're a pretty fine private investigator-or you used to be, before you started drinking in the afternoon. We'd like to hire you to investigate and disprove the lies surrounding your brother. You've made it very clear that you don't want to do this thing, but I'd appreciate it if you'd think of it as a mission of mercy-if not for Garth, then for your mother and me. How much do you charge, Robert?'

I'd uttered probably what were the most hurtful things I could have said to my parents, and so it seemed only fitting that my father should say the most hurtful thing he could to me. I promptly burst into tears. Then it was my mother's turn to start crying. Only my father stood stony-faced and unsmiling-but he, too, softened when, blubbering, I asked them both to forgive me.

After a lot of moist hugging and kissing, my father finally put his money away and we all went out to dinner. Then we came back to the apartment and, after fixing up the guest room for my parents, I went right to bed. I wanted to be well rested; the next day, after taking my parents to the airport, I was going to have to start blasting away, like somebody hunting a whale from a blimp with a peashooter, at my brother's divinity.

17

Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to work we go..

I was well aware that miracle bashing would be a most difficult task, and a thankless one at that. I could waste months speaking to the legions of ex-stutterers, ex-asthma sufferers, and people who now walked without the aid of their wheelchairs and crutches as a result of Garth's messiah-ship, and I would get nowhere. Garth's words and presence generated a kind of holy hysteria in all sorts of people, and it counteracted the not-so-holy hysteria that had afflicted these people in the first place. Consequently, there was no doubt in my mind that a lot of these 'miracle cures' had actually occurred, and there was no way I was going to 'disprove' them-even if I wanted to, which I didn't. However, it seemed to me that there was one glaringly weak link in the chain of events that had launched Garth on his new career as miracle worker, and that was the link I would attack.

Fortunately, Sergeant Alexander Mclntyre was still feeling sufficiently guilty and embarrassed over the fact that The

National Eye had scooped the NYPD on Garth's whereabouts to enable me to prompt him to make good on his initial offer to let me review the file I wanted to see. I looked it over, made a lot of notes, thanked him, and walked out into a bleak, cold winter day to see what might fall out if I managed to shake Harry August's tree.

The middle-aged woman who opened the door of the modest frame house on a quiet residential street in Bayside, Queens, peered at me suspiciously.

'Yes? What is it?'

'My name is Robert Frederickson, Mrs. Daplinger. I wonder if I could-'

The woman gasped, put a hand to her mouth, and took a step backward onto the enclosed porch. 'Oh, Lord.'

'No, Mrs. Daplinger,' I said dryly, reaching out quickly to prevent the door from closing on me. It was obvious that she knew who I was, and she was not at all pleased to find me on her doorstep. 'Just Robert Frederickson.'

'You're Garth's brother-the one who's been marked,' the woman said in a hushed, small voice.

'I'm the only brother my brother's got, Mrs. Daplinger,' I said, and flashed my warmest smile. It seemed the woman had become one of the faithful-which meant that I was going to have to choose all my words very carefully, or I'd find out nothing. 'Would you be kind enough to answer a few questions for me? I'll only take a few minutes of your time.'

'What do you want?' Mrs. Daplinger asked in the same breathless voice. She was obviously afraid of me-and I found that disturbing.

'You were one of the witnesses to the miracle Garth performed when he cured Harry August's blindness. That's what I'd like to talk to you about.'

'How did you get my name and address?'

'I must have seen them in a newspaper article.'

'That happened months ago.'

'Yes, but I've only recently developed a strong interest in what my brother is doing. I think I've had a bad attitude toward him, and I'm trying to set that right by finding out all I can about his mission. May I come in?'

The woman thought about it, finally nodded. 'Just on the porch, though. I'm not sure it would be. . right … to invite you into the house.'

'Thank you,' I said, stepping onto the enclosed porch and shutting the door behind me.

'Garth did restore Mr. August's sight. I was there, and I saw it happen.'

'I understand that someone tried to snatch your purse while Garth was healing Harry August. Is that right?'

'Yes. But the thief was caught almost immediately. I identified him to a policeman; he was arrested, and I got my purse back. But that wasn't important at all. Why do you even ask about it?'