"Paul."
I watched as my digital recorder counted up the seconds. I had my LHPS vest on, but hadn't bothered zipping it up. Next to me, Paul sat with his tie-dyed shirt and black tights.
"Is there anyone here?" I asked.
"Is Ida here?" Paul asked.
We waited as the recorder counted off three seconds. Paul had been interested in doing an EVP session today---For some reason, he'd begun to take an interest in Ida, our ghost.
"Where did you drink the poison?" Paul asked.
We heard a small noise. Could have been anything, but his face lit up. "Did you hear that? That was Ida!"
"Should we play it back?" I asked, reaching for the recorder.
"Yeah. And then let's do another."
"We're going to dig up the backyard," I announced to my wife. I've learned the best way to reveal these plans is to just rip off the Band-Aid.
"Uh-huh," she said. "Instead of that, you could always try cutting back some of that brush while we're on lockdown."
"Yeah, you know all those times I said I was going to do home maintenance when I had the time?" I asked her. "Turns out that wasn't the issue. During the week, I figure we'll do an archaeological dig in the backyard."
"You're going to fill it in eventually, though, right?"
"What do you care? You never go back there. A few years ago, Barb found an article about a homeowner on our street who found a secret root cellar for bootleg whiskey under his property. That was George Yost, Ida's father. This whole area was big for stills, because before it was settled, there were a lot of springs up here. It's why everyone's basement always floods immediately."
"You and Paul?"
"And Tif. I know there's something under there---A few years ago, when some guys came to install a new pipe next door, they dug up traces of an old wall or foundation---I can see where it runs under there. We're gonna spend the week digging it up."
"You've gotten sort of more interesting since you've been so bored," said Tif. "Which is really saying something."
"Not my fault I live in a fascinating area," I said.
We were out in the backyard, digging. I'd marked off a grid area about eight feet long, about where I thought the old wall was. I was working in my Zombie Response Team T-shirt. Tif was digging more or less randomly in holes, and I was working slowly in the precise squares I'd learned to do. Paul was popping in and out, in between playing in his sand pit and swinging.
"So far, I found two rusty nails and a razor blade," I said. "Not bad for surface area."
"Does Mom know we're doing this?" Tif asked.
"I told her," I said. "I'm not above just doing it without informing her, but I had the time, so...."
"I found an old pocketknife," she said.
"We'll clean it off and put it in the can." I was keeping the finds in a coffee can I'd filched from my own recycling. Stuck at home, with the local recycling services cancelled, I'd found ways to put a lot of that stuff to use. I was beginning to understand my grandmother's love for reusing junk after the Great Depression.
"How far down are we going?" Tif asked.
"Until we hit the wall I think is there. Or until we get bored. Worst case, it keeps me busy a while. Best case, it'll give me some aged whiskey and a new Batcave."
"You're wearing a ghost shirt on Easter," Tif said.
I looked down at my grey sweatshirt with the ghost on it. "You're right. Totally inappropriate. Easter is no time for things that come back from the dead."
She was sitting on the porch steps. I was putting in a couple of hours working on the dig. Paul was flitting back and forth between us, mostly playing on his swing. I held a piece of glass up to the light. "Bottle. Definitely. Looks like probably medicine."
"How can you tell?"
"Got this ridge here. Rules out windows and lenses. Could have been the bottle Ida drank acid from."
"You had to get macabre, didn't you?"
"I mean, I doubt it. Not old enough." I pulled a large, rusty nail out of the sifter. "Old nail. If I had to guess, I'd say I'm down to about 1945 now."
"That's weirdly specific. You know this how?"
"Well, sort of an educated wild guess. The house was refurbished in 1942, after Ida's family sold it. They collapsed the back wall right over into this yard---Because of the war, they couldn't tear it down and rebuild, so they built another house inside the first and tore the old one down around it. This is an old nail, but not square-nail old. I'd guess this in the forties, maybe from the new construction."
I was somewhere around eight inches down, where the good stuff was beginning to show up. "What's this? Ceramic?" I tapped the piece against my teeth.
"Hey! Does Mom know you do that?! We're trying to avoid a virus here and you're sticking things in your mouth?"
"It's an old trick. You can't identify the substance, you tap it on your front teeth. A little practice, you can feel the difference between wood, stone, glass. Yep. It's ceramic."
"So what are you hoping to find?"
"Well, whatever's there. I know there's the stone foundation down there, and I'm hoping to get down to that. It's not like I don't have the time. Before Ida's grandfather built the house, the property belonged to a woman named Ellen Curts and her husband George. He built the plain-looking house on the corner of Water and Vesper. If there were old hiding places for alcohol up here, woulda been during their time. We'll see."
"Can you put an alien patch on my mask?" I asked Michelle.
Sitting at her sewing machine, she said,"If you have an alien patch available, sure."
"I usually keep a ten-pack around."
"Once I'm done making yours, I'll make one for Paul, and then Biz," she said. "We can drive it up to her."
I walked into the TV room, where Tif and Paul were getting rowdy. I said,"Paul, I have a question for you, and I'm not sure I want a straight answer. A lie will be fine. How did toothpaste get all over the wall of the bathroom?"
Paul looked at me, and very seriously said,"I don't know, Daddy."
He's getting better.
"I'm gonna go outside for a while," I said.
I walked outside and lit a cigar. I'd cut way back on cigars since Paul was born, mainly because I didn't have the time anymore. I didn't usually smoke around him, but he was in the TV room, playing with Tif. I walked out to the garage.
Months ago, when I'd begun cleaning the garage, I'd built myself a little concealed space. I had a couple of chairs, a small shelf, and the walls were made of boxed-up crap. I sat down on a chair that had once belonged to my grandmother, smoking my cigar, surrounded by my camping equipment. Fortress of Solitude. I could use a little solitude right now.
I've lived here a long time. I've always tried to help my city....Protect it where I could. But I never envisioned anything like this.
It took me maybe a minute and a half to begin getting bored. How the hell did Superman ever do this at the North Pole? I walked back out and pulled the tarp off the dig.
Long ago, I'd gotten good at digging and smoking a cigar at the same time. I did some work on it, digging out a few more squares, going down a few more inches. I let myself get lost in the sifting and digging---There's something oddly relaxing about archaeology, for me, at least.
Two rusty nails. I like rusty nails. I found a white ceramic bead, from before they were all plastic---Paul would love that. And in the sifter, I pulled a stone, but one that had obviously been worked.
It was jagged, chipped into the shape of a rough lightning bolt. About two inches long. When I washed it off, I realized that it was slightly sparkling---Sandstone, maybe. I took it inside.
Tif and Paul were playing some game that seemed to require Paul leaping off the couch in his underwear. I held up my find. "What's this look like to you?"
"I mean, a rock," said Tif.
"Harry Potter's lightning bolt," Paul said immediately.
"That's it," I said. "A lightning bolt. Pretty sure this was worked; it didn't form like this by accident. This looks Native American to me. And it seems to be sandstone, I think, which means it's not original to this exact property."
"What do you think it is?" Tif asked.
"Something Native American. An amulet, an effigy. Without falling into the religious fallacy, I'd guess at some sort of decorative amulet. This far from the river, I'm a little surprised. It's a find."
Paul was looking in the mirror, smearing makeup on his face. He announced,"I'm trying to make myself all white, like a ghost."
"Wait here a minute," I said. I walked upstairs to the bathroom, where I remembered a long-unused tube of white makeup. I went downstairs with it. "Here, little man. Sit down."
Paul sat on my lap, and in a few minutes I had him made up pale white, with black circles around his eyes. He looked in the mirror and squealed.
"I'm a ghost now! Oooooh!"
"Yeah, little guy, you're a ghost." I walked into the kitchen. Paul followed me, and put on my alien hat, then picked up my whip.
"Now I'm Daddy!" he declared. "I have a whip and I'm white!"
Also he had dark circles under his eyes. I laughed. "Yes, little man. You're just like Daddy. What are you going to do?"
Paul looked at the back door.
"I'm gonna go outside and dig."
No comments:
Post a Comment