William Krueger - Ordinary Grace

Brandt said to Ariel, “This will be an interesting chapter in my memoir, don’t you think?”

“Please don’t joke about it, Emil,” Ariel replied.

He reached out and when she took his hand he said gently, “It was an accident. A terrible accident that’s all. It’s finished. Now you should go home. You’ve done enough for me here.”

“No,” Ariel said. “I’d like to stay.”

He nodded and his eyes though sightless settled on her face in a way that made me believe he saw her perfectly. “Very well,” he said. “There’s work to be transcribed.”

Ariel left and a few minutes later from the window of the study came the sound of her fingers dancing over the keys of the typewriter.

My father and Emil set about their game and my father asked me to go inside and see if Lise needed my help.

“Jake’s helping her,” I said.

“I’m sure there’s something you can do,” he replied and it was clear my presence was not wanted.

I went inside and stood in the kitchen doorway. Jake and Lise were busy pulling things from shelves. I offered to help but Jake said they were fine and Lise, when she saw me, made a peeved shooing gesture with her hands and I left. I wandered to the living room and stood looking at a fancy plaque hanging on the wall. It was from a music festival in Vienna and Emil Brandt’s name was inlaid in silver in the center. Through the living room window that overlooked the front porch came Brandt’s voice delivering a chess move which my father countered. Then Dad said, “Not long ago you told me you were happy, Emil. What happened?”

“Happened? I drank too much scotch and ingested too many sleeping pills. An accident, I swear.”

“I don’t believe that. Nobody believes that, Emil.”

“What you or anybody else believes, Nathan, troubles me very little.”

“We’re people who care about you.”

“If that’s true then you’ll let the issue drop.”

“And if you accidentally ingest too many sleeping pills again?”

Brandt was silent for a long time and all I could hear was the sound of Jake laughing in the kitchen and Ariel’s fingers on the typewriter keys and in the distance the deep rising rumble of a train approaching on the tracks along the river. The train came and the house shook just a little with its passing and when it was gone Emil Brandt said, “I don’t have the courage to try again, Nathan.”

“But why, Emil? Why try at all?”

Brandt laughed bitterly. “You have such a rich life. How can you possibly understand?”

“You have your own riches, Emil. Your music for example. Isn’t that a great blessing?”

“In the balance it has come to have little weight.”

“And what is it that weighs so heavily on the other side of the scales?”

Brandt didn’t reply. Instead he said, “I’ve had enough chess for today. I want to rest now.”

“Emil, talk to me.”

“I said I’ve had enough.”

I heard Brandt rise and move toward the door.

Quickly I went to the kitchen and found Jake covered in flour and Lise rolling out dough on a large breadboard. From the living room came my father’s voice calling to us, “Boys, it’s time to go home.”

Jake gestured to Lise and she looked disappointed but she nodded that she understood and accepted. He brushed the flour from his clothing and joined me at the kitchen door.

Emil Brandt stood in the living room with his arms crossed over his chest, looking eager to be free from us all. Jake and I bid him good-bye and in return he offered only a terse nod. We walked to my father who stood holding the screen door open.

“I’ll pray for you, Emil,” he said.

“About as useful as throwing a penny down a wishing well, Nathan.”

We all trudged to the Packard where I said, “Dad, is it okay if Jake and I walk home?”

Jake shot me a questioning look but kept quiet.

“All right,” my father said in a distracted way. He was gazing back at the Brandt house and I’m sure he was thinking hard about the disturbing conversation he’d just had with his good friend. “Don’t dawdle,” he said and got into the car and drove away.

“Why are we walking?” Jake complained.

“Something on the river I’ve been wanting to look at. Come on.”

The day was hot already and humid and as we kicked through the weeds on our way down the slope toward the railroad tracks the grasshoppers flew up before us in a buzz of complaint. Jake complained too. “Where are we going, Frank?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

“This better be good.”

We crossed the tracks and slipped through the cottonwoods and hit the river and started toward the Flats. When we came in sight of the stretch of sand covered with bulrushes Jake began to angle toward the riverbank. I kept walking straight ahead.

Jake said, “Where are you going?”

“I told you, you’ll see.”

Jake suddenly understood my destination and he shook his head feverishly. “Frank, we shouldn’t go there.”

I put my finger to my lips to signal silence and began as quietly as possible to thread my way through the bulrushes. Jake hesitated and started for the riverbank, paused again, and finally followed me. Near the clearing I went down on all fours and approached in the creep of an animal stalking and Jake did the same. The clearing was empty and the lean-to deserted. For a full minute I watched and waited while dragonflies shot through the heavy morning air around us. At last I stood.

Jake said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Quiet,” I said.

At the lean-to I knelt and crawled into the shade inside. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for and at first there seemed to be nothing to see. Then I spotted a slight mounding of the sand in one corner and began to dig and quickly uncovered a large tin can that stood a foot high and was maybe eight inches in diameter. It was covered with a white rag that was secured with a rubber band. I pulled the can from the sand and brought it into the sunlight where Jake stood looking on unhappily. I popped the rubber band free and drew off the rag and peered inside. In the can were many items. The first thing I pulled out was a rolled-up magazine. Playboy. I knew about this publication but I’d never seen a real issue. I spent a few minutes going through it with my mouth wide open and Jake leaning over my shoulder so he could see too. Finally I laid it aside and dug in the can again. There was a Mickey Mouse wristwatch with one of Mickey’s hands missing. There was a ceramic frog no larger than my thumb. There was a little Indian doll dressed in buckskin and a comb that was carved from ivory and decorated with scrimshaw and a military medal, a Purple Heart. Among these and the many other small items were the glasses that had once been Bobby Cole’s and the photograph that had belonged to the dead man. I didn’t understand the importance of most of these things but to Danny’s uncle they clearly held value. I wondered what interest Doyle had in the contents of the can.

“What is all that stuff?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Did he find those things, you think?”

“Or stole them, maybe. Get me some of those reeds,” I said nodding toward the bulrushes.

“What for?”

“Just get them.”

While Jake did as I’d asked I put everything back in the can, returning the Playboy with great reluctance, and lidded the tin with the rag and slipped the rubber band into place and set it all back in the hole in the corner of the lean-to and covered it with sand just as I’d found it. Jake brought me half a dozen reeds which I clumped together so their bushy ends formed the kind of broom I’d seen Doyle create many days earlier.

I said to Jake, “Follow our tracks back the way we came.”