Mercury Man Read online

A faint and delicate perfume seemed to invade the room. In the box was a piece of printed paper, stamped with a symbol he vaguely recognized — two snakes twisting around a wand. Beneath this image were some hand-printed words that seemed even more familiar but that he didn’t precisely understand.

  Ad astra per aspera, the words read.

  Tom folded the paper carefully and hid it in one of his dresser drawers. He saw that there was something else in the box, a worn cardboard insert, clipped to which was what looked like an old-fashioned tie pin.

  He pulled it out, only to find it wasn’t a pin but a ring, a gold ring, cheaply made and tarnished a little, with a one-size-fits-all adjustable band. There was a small catch on one side of the ring. Tom flipped the catch and found that the inside was hollow.

  He held the ring up and saw his face in the small convex mirror set inside. As he moved the ring, a few objects in the room were visible around him, but his head appeared oddly distanced and disembodied, like one of those “phantom doubles” of themselves that the heroes of fantasy stories sometimes encountered.

  He was puzzled — and thrilled.

  He hurried to the phone and dialled his grandfather’s number. Jack answered almost immediately.

  “Tom! I was expecting you. Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the apartment, but I’m coming right over. I have to ask you something right away. Do you know what ad astra per aspera means?”

  “Hang on, let me write that down. Hmmm … seems to me you should know what that one means. But if you want an exact translation of the Latin, I can look it up. Why don’t I do that and tell you when you get here? Are you coming now? Have you got the drawing?”

  “I’m bringing it with me, Grandpa.”

  Within minutes, Tom had carefully hidden away the half-torn wrappings and the tiny printed paper with the Latin phrase. He fitted the ring to his finger, squeezing the band a little to get it tight, and then, feeling much better, he began to sketch.

  His hands moved, everything seemed easy and natural, and as he worked he felt the image growing strong and sure at his fingertips. With many deft, bold strokes he slowly evoked on the white page the face of the man who had pursued him.

  After a while he realized that he had finished. He held the sketch at arm’s length. The stranger’s intense gaze seemed to fix on him. He nodded with satisfaction, flipped the pad shut, and found his door key.

  It was well after six. His mother might be home at any minute. He wanted to get out of there, and he wouldn’t bother to leave a message.

  Racing along Morris Street, he was thinking, How did the ring get to me? Mercury Man Comics shut down long ago. The kids would think I’ve lost my mind, but I’ve got the ring — some kind of magic is happening. This is crazy, but at least something’s happening, I’m sure of it! But who sent it? Have I found some kind of porthole at last?

  Arriving at his grandfather’s, he slipped the ring in his pocket before he handed over the sketchbook and listened to Jack sing his praises.

  “Now that’s more like it! I wondered if you were ever going to finish it! But it’s good, Tommy boy, it’s damned good. I never understood why you didn’t keep up with your sketching!”

  Jack slapped him heartily on the back, then held the picture up once again and stared at it.

  “Today I talked to a couple of old buddies down at The Clarion. There’s a cop I know who might help, too. I’m hoping we can pinpoint this guy and find out what his game is. I’m also working on Fabricon’s corporate history. You never got through to them to set up the appointment?”

  “Tomorrow, for sure.”

  “Good! Anyway I found the translation of that Latin for you. Ad astra per aspera. It means, approximately, Along rough paths to the stars. I’m surprised you didn’t remember it. Didn’t you do a prize essay on that theme in first year high?”

  “Oh, I remembered the essay all right, but I forgot the Latin words.”

  “It’s what they call a tag, or saying, I guess. Means that you sometimes have to go through the mill to get a sight of something better. I always regretted I never learned any Latin. Sailed into Pireaus so many times that I picked up quite a bit of Greek, though. Hung out in a taverna or two in my time.”

  Jack sighed. “God! Sometimes I wish I had a deck under my feet again! I’d love to show you some of those great ports of call I used to anchor in. Hobart, Tasmania — now there’s a harbour. Beats Naples any day! You’re coming over here tomorrow afternoon? Good! I may have a few leads by then.”

  Before Tom left, though, he had one more question. He drew a picture for Captain Sandalls: a staff with crossed figures of serpents and wings at the top.

  “Does that remind you of anything, Grandpa? I’ve seen it before in your collection, and other places, too, but I can’t exactly remember what it is. I think you once told me it had something to do with the old Western Union telegraph company.”

  “Heck, that’s an easy one. That’s the staff of the Roman god Mercury. The messenger of the gods, you know. Always around when something new was about to happen. Remember the comics I showed you the other day?”

  “Sure, Mercury Man.”

  “Just one of the cases where the comics used those old Roman gods. Fine fellow, Mercury — I always had a sneaking liking for that thief!”

  “Thief? I thought he was supposed to be a good guy.”

  “Well, he was. But he didn’t care how he made things happen, I guess.”

  Tom walked home slowly, elated by what he had heard. He needed some time to think, and the ring and the Mercury symbol were at the centre of his thoughts.

  As soon as he was out of sight, he slipped the gold band back on his finger, a little ashamed of not telling his grandfather about it, but glad all the same that he hadn’t. Not that the old man wouldn’t have understood — it would have tickled him mightily, almost as if Tom had literally stolen a page from one of his treasured comic books. Yet he knew, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, that telling his grandfather would be a mistake. He needed to sort out his own thoughts, to figure out where the ring had come from and why its arrival made him feel suddenly happy and powerful.

  When he got to his building he stopped at the ground floor and knocked on Mr. Rivera’s door.

  The grizzled old man stumbled into the hallway. He didn’t seem very glad to see him. The air smelled of chillies and Mr. Rivera’s breath reeked of booze.

  “The parcel,” Tom said, “thanks for bringing it up.” He offered him a dollar, but the old man waved his hands violently, as if he had been mortally insulted.

  “You keep your money, I don’t need it. I don’t have to take money from kids. Not yet, anyway!”

  He seemed almost ready to spit in disgust at the thought, but then turned away abruptly, just before Tom got out his question.

  “Sorry, but I wanted to know — I mean you didn’t mention — did the postman bring this today?”

  Mr. Rivera stopped and half-turned. He seemed puzzled by the question.

  “Postman? No, no. Not postman. I don’t touch postman stuff. Girl brought it. Pretty girl. She didn’t say nothing.” He pointed to his lips. “Maybe from drugstore, huh?”

  Before disappearing into his apartment, Mr. Rivera waved his hand in the direction of the corner pharmacy, some three blocks away.

  “Must be from that drugstore. I got to go now.”

  Tom doubted that Mr. Rivera’s guess was right, though. The only pretty “girl” he had ever seen working in the drugstore was older than his mother.

  But now he had at least part of the explanation, for the Mercury Man wrapper he had carefully stashed in his dresser drawer bore just the slightest odour of a delicate and unfamiliar perfume.

  Ad astra per aspera, Tom thought, and climbed the stairs slowly, one by one.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A Shocking Revelation

  Tom opened his eyes, and his sweating body told him that the heat had not abated, although the sunlight suggested i
t was already late morning. He sensed by the hollow silence of the apartment that he was alone. It was Saturday but his mother must have gone out somewhere.

  He dragged himself up and started for the bathroom, but stopped suddenly and slid open the top drawer of his small dresser. The ring was right where he had concealed it, under his spring report card. He smiled to himself — a ridiculous ring, but a real mystery — delivered by some girl and actually for him! He slipped it onto the second finger of his right hand and suddenly felt alive: life had changed, he’d been given sight of a secret — something he couldn’t guess but was surely well worth exploring.

  In the living room he looked around, rubbing his eyes. A sheet of paper had been pinned to the doorway:

  Tom — Going out for breakfast with Chuck. Thought you might like to go with us to a softball game tomorrow. Lots of interesting people there and free eats! How about it? — Love from Mom

  By the way, Dr. Tarn called from Fabricon. Sorry, I almost forgot. I was just going out the door. He wants you to call him right away. I told him you were asleep and he said call when you wake up. Didn’t know you applied for a job there. Good luck!

  In her usual careless way, she had scrawled a barely readable telephone number at the bottom of the paper. Tom shook his head, groaned, crumpled the note, and tossed it on the floor. His mother was priceless! Desperate for him to “do something” but not willing to wake him up when an executive called. She was so out of it! If she didn’t think all the time about Reichert she might notice what was going on around her!

  Tom splashed water in his face, rubbed his eyes with a towel, and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. How was he going to handle the weekend? A series of images flashed through his mind: he saw himself at the company softball game, holding up his ring to make Reichert and the others disappear; he imagined himself and his grandfather trapped in some vault at Fabricon, only he knew that with the ring he would find the way out; he was having coffee at Damato’s and a beautiful girl was quietly explaining to him why she had brought him the ring in the first place …

  Water glugged slowly down the slow drain. Tom stared at the green walls, the cracked plaster of the tiny bathroom. His daydreams vanished suddenly and a terrible thought came into his mind: suppose somebody had sent him the ring as a joke? Maybe the kids were making fun of him? The only beautiful girl he knew was the disgusting Maggie!

  In the morning mirror his face looked white, strained, and ugly. He hated his haircut, almost everything about himself. He felt powerless, retarded: other kids were driving cars and going to casinos and he was frigging around with crackerjack toys.

  He drifted out of the bathroom and flopped on the couch. He sat there a minute, rubbing his eyes, swallowing hard, and thinking, Everything is hopeless. Then suddenly he realized he was starving. In the kitchen, he pulled some bread and bacon from the fridge and began, with a kind of desperation, to make himself a sandwich. The phone rang just as the toast popped and the smoking bacon had begun to crisp and darken in the pan.

  Tom swore and pulled the pan off the heat.

  “Dr. Tarn speaking,” the voice said, after Tom had mumbled a hello. Hearing the voice he stiffened; his fingers tightened around the receiver.

  “Yes, sir. … My mother said you called.”

  “Tom — I need you and your grandfather to come to Fabricon today. I’m sorry, but I have other engagements next week. I hope you can make it at one o’clock this afternoon?”

  “But, Dr. Tarn …”

  “I don’t want to be unpleasant about this, but we’re doing you a favour, you may recall. We have every right to prosecute you for breaking in.”

  Tom pressed the receiver hard against his ear.

  “I’ve already explained the situation to your grandfather. I believe that he’ll be coming to pick you up. I just want to be sure that you wait for him.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m right here.”

  “That’s excellent. See you at one o’clock then.”

  Tom put the receiver down slowly. The smell of bacon filled the apartment. He went into the kitchen and ate the slices from the pan, wiping his greasy fingers on his sleeping shorts.

  The food seemed to quell his panic.

  He tried to call his grandfather, but there was no answer. It was eleven o’clock. He warmed up the toast, buttered it, and ate it. Then he hopped into the shower, towelled himself dry, and changed into his favourite khaki pants and a green T-shirt. He slicked his hair in various unsatisfying ways, his mind racing through what seemed a million difficult questions.

  The man in black had warned them about Tarn. Now Tarn was pressuring them to go over to Fabricon. They would have to be careful, very careful …

  While he was trying to decide whether or not it would be good luck to wear his ring, he heard a knock on the door and opened it to find his grandfather standing in the hallway, shifting his feet and looking uncomfortable.

  “Those stairs get steeper every day,” Jack mumbled, puffing a little and wiping his forehead with a large white handkerchief.

  The old man was jacketless, dressed in khaki slacks and sporting a red T-shirt, decorated all over with green parrots. It seemed to Tom that he wore the expression of a reluctant truant officer.

  “I see you got Tarn’s message,” he said, stepping inside, taking in Tom’s spruced-up look, and heading straight for the kitchen. He poured himself several glasses of water, sniffed at the bacon smells, and wiped his face repeatedly with the handkerchief.

  “He called me, too — this is damned sudden! I wonder why he’s pressuring us right now? I have an eerie feeling he might have guessed I’m checking up on him — or else he assumed I would. Remember what the man in black told us?”

  “To watch out for the Pavlov Room.”

  “Right! And we will. Now let’s get out of here and plan our strategy in a cooler place.”

  Tom ducked into his bedroom, took off his ring, and shoved it back in his dresser drawer. He locked the apartment and they walked along Morris Street toward the Hollis intersection. Tom was relieved to see that no one was around. Could his friends be going to that company softball game tomorrow? In that case they would see his mother with Reichert.

  “What’s the matter, pal? You don’t want to let Tarn get you down. I don’t think he’s going to try to brainwash us in broad daylight, do you? We have to keep our eyes and ears open, that’s all.”

  Jack laughed, coughed a little, and reached into his pocket for his pipe.

  They turned down Hollis and walked toward the harbour.

  “It’s not that, Grandpa …” Tom took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the traffic lined up in the direction of Market Square. “I wanted to ask you … Do you think … Do you think my mother’s going to marry Chuck Reichert?”

  Jack cleared his throat but didn’t answer. They kept on walking. The old man struck a match on his fingernail and got his pipe alight. Tom felt his glance come around slowly.

  “She hasn’t talked to me about it, son. You don’t like Chuck very much, do you?”

  Tom didn’t look at his grandfather. He kept his eyes on a delivery truck from which two men were unloading cases of soda water. “He’s an idiot. I can’t stand the guy. I’m moving out if he hangs around much longer.”

  “Well, I can’t say he’s the catch of the season — but there are worse fish in the pond. Anyway, you have to keep your cool about it. Your mom has a right to lead her own life. She’s taken good care of you for a long time. You ought to give her credit for having some good instincts.”

  “She’s just taken in by that guy! Girls and women sometimes go for guys who are totally creepy, Grandpa, you know that!”

  Jack guffawed so loudly that a few shoppers turned in their direction.

  “Well, I know a few ladies who’ve gone for me, and that sure wasn’t smart! I wouldn’t underestimate any gal’s instincts when it comes to relationships, son. Even their mistakes sometimes have a side to them that makes us guys l
ook like fools and innocents. When you’ve got one of your own you’ll find out all right!”

  Tom felt a kind of fury boiling up inside him. He couldn’t stand it when his mother or grandfather referred to his potential wife or girlfriend. It was as if they were trespassing on the most secret territory of his imagination.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, bent his head toward the pavement, and refused to look at his grandfather all the rest of the way.

  The Fabricon building loomed above them down Harbour Street. Tom was painfully aware of its sunlit tower, reaching up into the blue noon sky. So here was the scene of his crazy antics of a few days before! Fabricon seemed the end point of a series of mistakes, the miserable conclusion to his life in that claustrophobic apartment, where his father had left them to the mercy of people like Reichert.

  They stopped in the little park opposite the company building. It was the place where Tom had first seen the man in black, but today it seemed pleasantly busy, transparent, and innocent. Two shirt-sleeved men occupied one of the large street benches near the bus stop — they might have been on a lunch break from Fabricon.

  Jack bought hot dogs and soft drinks from a vendor who had parked his cart at the fountain, then led the way to a seat underneath the tall poplars that enclosed the place at the rear.

  “Don’t talk too loud here,” the old man cautioned. Tom didn’t want to talk at all; he was busy gulping the delicious food. Not far away, a couple of women had parked their strollers; they sat smoking, in close conversation, watching three small children who were playing in the sandbox beside them.

  When they had finished the hot dogs and had ice cream to boot, Jack lit up his pipe again, looked around the park, and explained, “We have to go in there and I still haven’t got the dope I need. But here’s the game. We stick together. We avoid the Pavlov Room. We don’t breathe a word about our friend in black. After we get out we can compare notes. This should fulfil your obligation to Tarn, and it wouldn’t hurt if you seem to be — if we both seem to be — much happier about Fabricon when we walk out that door. Any questions?”