TO INHERIT YOUR OWN PAST

 

Young Richard Blaine learns there are no safe visitors to St. Marok's.

TO INHERIT YOUR OWN PAST

“The Bible tells us to love our neighbors. Another place to love our enemies...convenient because here at St. Marok's they are usually the samepeople.”

– Richard Blaine

 

The next few days were odd … evenfor St. Marok.

Nothing went as usual. MissMayfair didn’t notice since she was taken from here when just a tiny infant.

Sister Ameal didn’t care since …well, because she was Sister Ameal.

There was a sudden influx ofstudents checking out books. Make that checking out Miss Mayfair. Even thegirls gave her sidelong glances.

I didn’t make judgements on themor why girls would pine for an exotic looking woman. Even with Stearns gone,dreams were few and far between at St. Marok’s.

I prayed they died before theirdreams did.

Life without dreams is like abird with a broken wing – the heart of it has been cut out.

A person without dreams is a personwithout hope . A person without hope is a boat without a rudder. A boat withouta rudder wanders endlessly without meaning.

Hold onto your dreams, for theyare what hold you together.

As I replaced books on a shelf, Iheard a yelp behind me.

I turned.

Bending over a table, MissMayfair had a student by the chin, forcing his head up. “Mr. Romulus, my eyesare six inches higher.”

Headmaster Stearns went through amythology phase for a time when naming babies dumped on the doorsteps.

I felt sorry for the Negro boy henamed Remus. His life was made miserable by Uncle Remus taunts … until Romulussmothered him with a pillow one night. He was fed up with the jokes about himbeing Remus’ brother.

I had been spending that night inthe library. The next night, I painted “Cain” on his forehead in red nailpolish while he slept.

It took ten days for the polishto wear off.

Were the police called? Of coursenot. This was during the tenure of Stearns. Besides, there was no body.Remember the ghouls?

Where life has no meaning, deathsometimes takes on a value all its own.

Yeah. It’s strange thinking of mebeing compassionate, right? It’s a character flaw. I’m working on it, but itstubbornly sticks around … like red nail polish.

The Voice in my head buzzed soloud that I could make out two words: ‘Behind you!”

Having learned the hard way notto ignore the Voice when I could make her out, I ducked and spun, grabbing theknife I kept hidden under every table.

The point of my blade justtouched the crotch of the wizened creature who stiffened at my speed.

I would have been mystified atthe sight of the strange mannish thing if not for Marie Laveau. She had pointedout a specimen of the being she called a Grunch. It was hiding in an alleywayjust beyond the fence that midnight as the Voodoo Queen tried to scare me withfright tales.

As if. I lived a fright tale.

Marie Laveau was not what Iexpected … but hardly anything or anyone was that.

She was tall. Her face was notwhite not black nor even the Indian which was part of her heritage. Her skinwas … golden … or at least it seemed so under the full moon’s caress.

Her eyes, whose color I could notmake out at midnight, were intelligent … but cold, appraising. She looked at meas if I were a piece of meat that was on the verge of turning bad.

Marie was dressed modestly asbefit a free woman of color in the early 1800’s … but without the towering headadornment which would have drawn unwanted attention in 1944.

Now, about the Grunch. It is adeadly beast (often compared to a Chupacabra) in some versions of the story.

However, in Marie’s version, theterm refers to a group of half-humans living outside New Orleans who haveresorted to cannibalism as a result of a deal they made with the Devil.

This was particular one was quitedapper, clad in an all-white suit similar to the one worn by Mark Twain.

I dug the point of my knife a bitinto his crotch and gave it my skull smile. “I really don’t think somethinglike you should procreate. Do you?”

Helen murmured low, “Why do youwork so hard to make yourself disliked? I should think you'd find it happensenough on its own without putting yourself to any extra trouble.”

There was nothing in that for me,so I kept quiet.

For once.

It had a reedy voice. “Actually,I would like to be able to attempt it should the opportunity arise.”

I rose slowly and ready. “Fairenough. What word do you bring from Mr. Morton?”

His jaw dropped. “How did youknow?”

“You smell of brimstone.”

As the students murmuredexcitedly among themselves, Miss Mayfair hushed them. They grew very quiet.

It might have had something to dowith the dainty revolver she held steady, aimed at Dapper Dan.

It’s believed that there was oncea real Grunch Road somewhere in the city of New Orleans. And that it was madeof shells, some from the Mississippi River, some from the Gulf of Mexico, anddirt from nowhere on this earth.

However, there’s been somedispute about where this legendary road was located. Plus, many believe that ithas since been paved over and renamed.

Marie Laveau offered to show methe exact street if only I jumped the fence and accompanied her. I saw how themoonlight struck fire from her filed teeth and politely declined.

In a small, dusty volume inStearn’s library, I read a passage in crimped handwriting that the creature wasactually the child of Marie Laveau and the rest of the tribe are itsdescendants. I cared little for others’ lineage.

I felt that every man was his ownancestor, and every man his own heir.

He devises his own future, and heinherits his own past.

But why wouldn’t I? I was anorphan.

“My master has rescinded hisinvitation to Miss Helen Mayfair and Sister Ameal because of their discourtesyto Madame President Abigail Adams.”

I snorted, “And he doesn’t wantto get sunburned in the presence of Miss Mayfair.”

“You may infer whateverconclusion you wish, The Blaine. You, however, are still invited … though thenight has been changed to next Tuesday.”

I shook my head. “Alone on Halloween,Three Spirit Night? I must respectfully, sanely refuse.”

Dapper Dan worriedly licked his lips.“H-He will grant you your heart’s desire.”

My eyes became Judas and flickedto Miss Mayfair. “Not within his power. Thank him for me … but I must politely,emphatically refuse.”

“But you must!”

I had seen fear often at St.Marok’s. Terror, too, but not as often.

This was terror.

He was terrified of facing Mr.Morton with my refusal.

Helen looked closely at my face.“You owe this one nothing.”

I shook my head.

“I have too good an imagination.I say ‘No’ now, and each night when I close my eyes, I will devise worseand worse fates for Dapper Dan here to unfold before my mind’s eye.”

The Grunch looked at me oddly. “Youare being compassionate … to me?”

“Strange I know. I was justchiding myself about that character flaw. I’ve tried shaking it, but it sticksto me like stubborn cellophane wrap.”

“You will go to face my Master …for me?”

“Of course, not. I am going forme. Selfish bugger, aren’t I?”

“No … no, you are not.”

One heartbeat he was there. Thenext, he was not.

Helen and the other orphanslooked at me like the idiot I felt.

They looked surprised. I thoughtthe fact of my idiocy had already been well established.

Goes to show you: nothing is everas obvious to others as it is to you.