Good Vibrations?

Originally written Saturday, December 17, 2005

“Sure, whatever. Anyway, I just thought this would be a good step to take. And I thought that after all these years you’d be able to trust me with this. I mean, who knows more about the story behind it than me? And maybe now el jefe Moshe.”

“The chief?”

“Huh?”

“Chief Moshe?”

“Oops. I thought ‘jefe’ meant ‘thief.’”

“El bandito. El criminal.”

“Well, I got the ‘el’ right. Anyway, I feel like you’re not giving me enough credit. But if you want to go out there with me, then I understand.”

He was definitely trying to guilt-trip me into giving up the goods. Maybe he had a good reason to want it, and maybe he had a good reason not to tell me what that reason was. In any case, Patrick had given me exactly the way out that I needed. I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried. If he wanted a visual aid, he’d get one. And if and when he found out on his own that he wouldn’t be able to destroy it without the other two, he might not make the attempt and thereby discover it was only a cheap clay replica. All of this, of course, hinged on the assumption that he was telling the truth. And if he wasn’t, the consequences, whatever they might be, would be no worse than if I’d given him the original.

My coat was hanging on the back of my chair. Both charms were in the same pocket, balancing out the weight of my wallet on the other side (you only need to rely on coin-op laundry for ten years to be primed for hoarding quarters for the rest of your life). I hoped I’d be able to tell them apart by touch, perhaps by changing the real one’s temperature. When I reached in, however, it was easier than I’d expected. One of the two rough, round objects was not only already warm but was vibrating rapidly like a tuning fork. This was new. As I squeezed my fingers around it, it came to a rest, much like a small animal needing to be calmed by its mother. When I loosened my grip, the vibrating resumed. It was a silent vibration, but it was distinct. I grabbed the other crescent, the non-magical one, and made a miniature production of pausing to look at it, glancing up at Richard and back again, exhaling deeply to express my acquiescence, and finally placing it in Richard's hand, all the while watching for his reaction.

Despite the fact that he’d been needling me for it for five minutes, he actually seemed stunned that I gave in. He even began to backpedal (or pretend to). “Really? Are you sure?”

“No. I’m really not. You absolutely, positively have to be careful with this. And bring it back to me as soon as you’re done with it. Don't hang onto it.”

His expression was all gratitude and appreciation. “Thank you,” he said. “This is—thank you.” He picked it up, cradling it for a moment in his palm. His forehead creased slightly in consternation. “But isn’t it supposed to…” he stopped himself before completing the sentence.

“Supposed to what?”

“Um… I thought it was supposed to be bigger.” I had the feeling that’s not what he’d begun to say. What did he already know about it?

“Nope. That’s the same size it’s always been.” It was true: as I mentioned earlier, Patrick’s counterfeit was perfectly sized. He even did the inner curve of the crescent particularly accurately for someone working from memory: the angles at the points and the depth of the body had matched up when I held them together. Short term memory is quickly developed early in the curriculum, and he must have sketched the outline as soon as he’d left the restaurant after brunch, but I’m so verbally-minded that Patrick’s visual memory seemed especially impressive so soon. In any case, I wondered momentarily if I should simply tell Richard that I was giving him a phony. After all, if he needed it in good faith, he’d be upset if he found out it was the wrong one. My gut was telling me, however, that if he knew it wasn’t the original, he’d continue to badger me and accuse me of not trusting him… which was true, of course, but he hadn’t given me a reason to trust him lately.

We conversed casually for a little while longer and paid the check. I picked up my box with the leftover angel hair. As we stepped out of the restaurant, I looped the plastic bag around my wrist and plunged my hands inside my pockets. As I headed toward my car, I was able to feel the charm’s vibrations subside. Why it vibrated and why it stopped, I have no idea; I'll just add it to the list of mysteries.

And that’s part one of what happened yesterday, the 16th. I’m going to have to go into part two tomorrow. Hopefully there won’t be too much more happening in the meantime. These overly eventful days are difficult to relate all in one sitting. And who’d have guessed? It’s only taken me a month and already I feel a sense of responsibility for keeping up with what I know readers want to hear.