a GRAM OF TRUTH . . . is worth a pound of insight!

(cont’d from the Living Dead)

‘Hullo,’ said the sleepy voice.

‘Chris, it’s me.’

‘Anna Marie, what’s wrong? What time is it?’ Chris said, sounding alarmed.

‘Sweetheart, who is calling us at this hour?’ said Jean who I could hear in the background.

‘It’s a quarter to five,’ I said. ‘Sorry, Chris, but I have a situation or should I say we have a problem.

‘What kind of problem?’ I could sense the legal-eagle rising in him. Then he must have cupped the phone with his hand to tell Jean who was calling them at this rude hour.

‘Chris . . . Frank is alive –- he called me at four this morning.’

‘Jesus H Christ!’ he said, voicing incredulity as I had anticipated he’d do with the blood probably rushing to his head. Then there was air silence at the other end of the phone.

‘Hello, hello, Chris.’

‘What did the bastard have to say?’ he said in a cold, steely tone.

‘Don’t be that way, Chris. I know you’ve never forgiven him, but he’s still our father.’ I suspected that years of resentment wanted to pour out of Chris but he refrained from doing so. I could hear him take in a deep breath.

‘All right, what did Frank have to say?’

I told Christopher about the brief, yet urgent message, stressing the part about the formula. My brother was never privy to the formula that Frank had shared with me, and had never shown interest in Dad’s fantasy adventures. He was telling me to stay out of Frank’s business altogether because he didn’t want to see me get hurt again.

‘Look, sis, he’s been gone for over two decades. Bloody hell, we all thought he was dead or very well should be. Especially, if he didn’t even have the decency to show up at our mother’s, his wife’s, funeral. Come on, you know how dramatic he can be? I think he’s just trying to con his way back into your life. Stay away from him and from that warehouse — he’s bad news.’

I let out a huge sigh. I could hear Jean in the background agreeing with what Christopher had just said. It was easy enough for her to do so because Frank wasn’t her father. ‘You’re probably right. But aren’t you the least bit interested in what has happened to him for all these years?’

‘Frank gave up whatever rights he had as a father to make me feel concerned. And it would behoove you to let the past remain where it belongs, in the graveyard.’

A chill ran up my spine when Chris said those words. ‘But what if he calls again, and asks if I’ve done what he requested?’

‘Tell him to call me — I’ll set him straight. I will also tell him that we should have sold that barn of a building he’d strapped us with long ago, and that our mother had to keep up the tax payments on it, thinking he would return one day. She was too good for that prat!’

Chris sounded harsh and angry right now and I regretted having called him. ‘Sorry I woke you and Jean, I just thought you’d like to know that Frank is alive.’

‘It’s OK, A-M. Try not to let this upset you — you’ll see that I’m right about him. Tell you what, why don’t you drive over this weekend? We’ll go out on the boat and forget about all of this.’ Chris knew I had taken two weeks off from work because of over-exhaustion and stress. I think it was fair to say that he was a bit concerned about my mental state.

‘Thanks, but I need to concentrate on the shop,’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘Maddy has been a saint and I’ve been away too long.’

‘Very well, you know we’d love to see you (pause). Anna Marie, I don’t mean to sound like such a cold fish. I know that hearing from Frank is a shock to you — it’s a shock to me. But we have to remain detached from him. He could cause more damage than good, especially to you. He’ll take advantage of your current situation. You know what I am talking about, now that you’re living alone again.’

I’m sure he could feel the icy vibes coming through the phone. He knew he’d hit a raw nerve with me, as I haven’t divulged too much information about my breakup with David. It was a taboo subject and the fact that I was almost forty, still unmarried and living alone was another sensitive subject whenever it had to do with my brother’s concern for me.

‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll talk to you later,’ I tried not to sound too offended by his tactless comment. ‘Please apologize to Jean for me, for waking you both up at this hour.

We both said our good-byes. I sat at my desk fretting over the conversation I’d just had with my brother. Who could blame him for feeling the way he did about our father? After all, he did leave us high and dry.

(to be continued next week)

copyright by Adele L Nieto
April 2010

Continued from The Mysterious Caller

Like a zombie I slowly arose out of bed, went to the bathroom and then stood facing the mirror. The reflection showed another woman’s face. Surely that ghastly image couldn’t be me? It looked too frightening! I was supposed to have come back from a two-week respite in the tranquility of the Lake District feeling relaxed and looking rejuvenated. Instead, I could be a poster ad for the living dead. Dark circles had formed under my eyes. My face was sallow and my long, dark hair looked greasy and dull. Then to add insult to injury, the obvious strands of gray sprouting at the sides of my temples stood out even more so, reminding me of what time and age could do to a person’s appearance.

When I was at the Lake District, in the sanctuary of my hotel room, I had managed not to look at myself in the mirror. I went there to heal and to un-celebrate my thirty-ninth birthday. For two weeks I had spent every day inside my room in my pajamas scanning through self-help books. I had ordered room-service meals that I barely touched, and only ventured out at night to sit by the lake — that was because I couldn’t sleep. I could say that my physical and mental deterioration were caused by two major events: my beloved mother died nine months ago, and my five year relationship with David had ended less than two months ago (the wounds were still fresh). And now I can add more salt to the wounds – my dad had come back from the dead. Or I could admit that I am a very fucked up person ergo having caused my own suffering. I didn’t know whether to feel angry and resentful, or elated and relieved by Frank’s phone call. Why now after all of these years had he resurfaced?

Repeating the words “F-A-P SIX” in my mind made me wonder why he was asking me to use the formula? And why was it a matter of life and death? I needed to sort this mess out, which required a substantial dose of caffeine. I went into the kitchen to make coffee. I could barely walk without feeling the tension in my solar plexus.

Staring at the coffee machine and willing it to hurry was making me more anxious. Can’t wait. Need caffeine right now. I removed the glass pot and placed my cup under the filter. Then I sat on the barstool and held the cup to my mouth recalling the many years it had taken me to get over my “anger-denial” issues, which I usually blamed on my father’s strange disappearance. I completely adored him and had an immature notion that he would always be there for us. After all, it was because of him that I had become interested in antiquities. From the time I could remember, we always had an agreement that I would join him in his antiquarian business after graduating from college. Well, it’s my own fault for having any expectations of anything or anyone. It always ended up in disappointment.

Whilst sipping my coffee I sat staring through the kitchen window. It was dark and dreary outside. The weather had been cloudy and gray since the middle of May. The forecast was more of the same for June. People were calling it “June Gloom” — I called it “typical English weather”. Considering the way I have been feeling lately the gloominess matched my emotional and mental state.

It was going on 4:30 a.m. and the rubbish collectors were out in their lorries conducting their routine. Living up in the loft of an enormous three-storied house allowed me to see farther out and not directly into the window of the neighbor’s loo. I gazed through the window for a few minutes longer until I became too overwhelmed with agitation. I needed to talk to someone. I wanted to call Maddy but she’d chew me up and spit me out if I messed with her beauty sleep. I also knew I should call my brother but felt reluctant to do so. What I needed to do was to find out what Frank was up to?

I decided to go along with his little charade about using the formula. I sat down on the sofa with my laptop. I typed in “FA Premiership UK” in Google search. I clicked on the first site at the top of the list. I then scrolled down to see the final standings of the Premiership. I jotted down the last letters from the names of each of these six teams and assigned each letter a designated number from the formula. I multiplied it by nine, which was the “key” number, and then subtracted it by three. I hadn’t used the formula for donkeys’ years, and was amazed that I could still work it out. When I was around twelve years old Frank had devised the formula. He’d explained to me that it was necessary to have a secret code for important things like combinations to locks. He used the formula whenever he would store valuable merchandise inside his fireproof safety vault. One system was for the combination to a metal case and the other was for a combination to the vault. I used to think that he had a vault stuffed full of money. What else could be more valuable than that?

Now that I had the combination to the metal case I was ready to figure out the one to the vault. The procedure would be the same, except I would use the first letters of the names of the teams and their corresponding numbers. It was easy enough. All you needed was the sporting event and the statistics for the month or week. For example, one month it could be Rugby; another month it could be Cricket. In this situation, it was the top six teams in the Football Premiership. I thought the formula was an ingenious system. I entered the combinations into my Palm organizer. I folded the scratch paper I had written on and stuffed it inside the top drawer of my desk. Then a wave of anger washed over me. What in the world was I doing playing cloak and dagger with Frank? Was I actually going to forget about the years of anger and pain he had caused all of us, and how he had lied to us, to me? I needed to get a grip on things so I decided to have a bath.

Whilst soaking in the tub I was thinking about how all through my adolescent years I used to spend my free time in Frank’s warehouse, helping him catalogue books and manuscripts, clean up the store, and read through the countless vintage periodicals he’d collected. Christopher, on the other hand, would be at home reading history books and doing his homework. Eventually, he would go on to graduate from Oxford Law School and I would go on to start an antique business with my old college chum, Madeline Hightower. We called our store “Keys to the Past”.

With so many thoughts whirling around in my head I needed to sort them out. First of all Frank must have been here very recently in order to have reset the combinations which meant he would’ve been here in the past two weeks, because the FAP Finals were just played at the end of May. Was he still here or had he made the call on his way out? And if he were here, where was he hiding? Was he at the warehouse?
I thought the time had come to call Christopher even if it would mean waking him up and having his wife complain — he would know what to do about the situation.

(to be continued)

copyright by Adele L Nieto
April 2010

It seemed like I had just sunk into a deep sleep when the sound of the phone ringing woke me up. Who in bloody hell could be calling in the middle of the night? Reaching over to answer the phone, I accidentally knocked it off the nightstand. Muttering a few choice words under my breath I grabbed it and quickly pressed the answer button.

‘Hello,’ I said, sounding agitated but there was no response at the other end.

‘Hello,’ and still no response.

Switching on the lamp I squinted at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. Feeling extremely annoyed at this point I was about to hang up when I heard a voice coming through the phone: ‘Hello, Anna Marie, it’s been a long time.’

‘Who is this?’ I said indignantly.

‘It’s Frank.’

I let out a loud gasp, ‘Look is this some kind of a sick joke?’

‘I know it’s hard to believe and I’m so sorry for calling at this late hour,’ said the man in a deliberate yet urgent tone, ‘But this is an emergency. I can’t go into any explanations right now — there isn’t enough time for that. Please listen carefully, little bug, use the formula, F-A-P SIX, F-A-P SIX.’

A chill shot up my spine whilst listening to the man enunciate every letter clearly with special emphasis on the number “six”. I took in a deep breath, ‘Frank . . . is that really you?’ I could barely breathe from the shockwave. Then an automated voice chimed in informing the caller that there was one minute remaining.

‘Anna Marie, we’re running out of time. I know I don’t have any right to ask you to trust me, but I’m begging you to trust me just one more time — use the formula–F-A-P SIX! Please do it, little bug.’

I could hear traffic noise in the background. He must be calling from a phone box but from where? Saliva slipped through the corners of my mouth. A voice inside my head was telling me not to believe what I was hearing.

‘No way, my father is dead. Who the bloody hell is this?’

‘Little bug, it is me…you’ve got to believe me, this is a matter of life and death, please use the formula…F-A-P Six!’ Then the phone line went dead.

‘HELLO…HELLO!’

My hands were shaking. I felt like vomiting. For a second this seemed like one of those surreal experiences when you think you are dreaming that you’re awake. But this was no dream – I was awake. Sitting up with my back against the wall and the phone still in my hand I gazed at the pattern of Egyptian hieroglyphics stenciled around the borders of the bedroom ceiling. Being woken up at four in the morning was disturbing enough, but hearing the voice of my long, lost father was outright shocking. After all these years of not knowing whether he was dead or alive, I get a phone call from a man claiming to be Frank and who sounded barking mad. To make matters worse the only thing he had to say was “F-A-P Six” – not something like, “Hello Anna Marie, I know this might come as a shock, but I’m not dead. I’ve just been too preoccupied for the past two decades so I decided to give you a bell. And by the way, could you use the formula?” Then “puff” like a cloud of smoke he was gone again.

My mind was riddled with confusing thoughts and painful memories all at once. That man had to be Frank. No one else knew about the formula. And no one has ever called me “Little Bug” except for dad — of this I was certain. It was his silly pet name for me when I was a young girl.

‘Frank is alive,’ I whispered.

We had all presumed that my father, Franklin Patakis, died long ago, rotting away in some desolate, hostile land stricken down by some dreadful disease. Or perhaps even murdered by thugs. It all began in the early 1970’s when Dad had purchased a derelict warehouse in Whitechapel on the east side of London. Mum was the only one to have known about the purchase at the time. Several years later, he tendered his resignation as a Professor of Philosophy at Oxford University. After leaving his successful career at one of the world’s oldest educational institutions he then devoted all his free time in converting the warehouse into an antiquarian bookstore he called “Words of Yore”.

The store slowly flourished and Words of Yore had generated enough business (mostly through mail-order and word-of-mouth) to halfway support a wife and two growing adolescents. Most of our relatives and friends of the family had thought Dad’s quixotic behavior was due to a mid-life crisis. They had urged him to seek psychological help. Even his own parents were upset with him, especially after Mum had taken a position as a secretary in a law firm to help sustain our middle-class lifestyle. Then a few years later everything for the Patakis family started to go awry when Frank had become interested in collecting rare artifacts and ancient Egyptian texts. His avid enthusiasm for these antiquities would soon develop into an obsession. He would act strangely keeping odd hours at the warehouse, making impromptu trips to God knows where, and he had often changed the combinations to the vault room. And there were times when he was talking on the phone and would hang up quickly whenever I entered his office.

Then on March 18th, 1984 (a day that had been branded in my memory forever) when Mum, Christopher and I were sitting at the dinner table Frank announced to us that he was going away and he would be gone for no more than a year. He had a lead on something big in Egypt and needed to investigate it — he wanted our blessing to pursue this endeavour. Of course this news had knocked the breath out of me. I had asked him what it was that he was going in search of, and at the same time had tried like hell to mask my shock. The only reply he had given was, “it’s top secret — but suffice it to say we will become millionaires”.

‘Millionaires’ I had said, practically spitting out my food thinking that he was joking. I pleaded with him for more details. Even begged him to take me with him and used every wile a person of my age knew in order to persuade him to do so. But all he had said was that where he was going was not a place for young girls. But not to worry, he’d be back before Christmas.

I had thought for sure Dad had lost it big time, and that any day we would have to commit him. But eventually I would figure out that his sudden trip had to do with all the secretive phone conversations and clandestine meetings he had been involved with for those past several months. I had refused to believe that he would actually go ahead with this absurd idea of finding something “big” as he had deemed it. But when he did leave, I actually thought he would walk back through the front door and tell us that it was all just a big joke. But he didn’t. I can still remember counting the days marking them on the calendar till Christmas. And, when Christmas had come and gone he didn’t show up as promised. Nor did he come home the following Christmases.

(to be continued)

copyright by Adele L Nieto
April 2010

With a standing ovation on one side of the aisle to dreaded silence on the other, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) stated just before the vote: “It is with great humility and with great pride that we tonight will make history for our country and progress for the American people. Just think–we will be joining those who established Social Security, Medicare, and now tonight, health care for all Americans.”

On Sunday, March 21st, Health Care reform was passed by a vote of 219-212. A momentous day in history for sure, especially after decades of many failed attempts at reformation. We now have some of that “change” we voted for in the 2008 presidential election. Thank you, Mr. President, your staff and especially the congressional democrats who chose to do the right thing on behalf of the American people. It was a proud moment to see the majority of our Congressional leaders put people first, and their political careers second. As for the republican constituency who consider this bill to be un-American — guess what? You, too, will receive the benefits of HR 3590.

This is a turning point for our country. Health care no longer remains a luxury that is only for those who can afford it. Health care is a necessity for all people — shame on those who believe otherwise. Now we can begin the process of building on something that needed to be reformed decades ago. God Bless Our Country!

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