The Guardian and the Farcaller: Find, Flee, Fight

By Chuck Marsters

This book begins when Lee Kaaler returns home from a weekend vacation on the Oregon coast only to find his apartment has been ransacked. He immediately calls the police, who discover there are no spoons in his apartment. They also tell him the burglary appears to have been well planned and professionally done, implying the burglar and his or her bosses thought Lee had something of value. He knows he owns nothing unusual for a bachelor, and certainly nothing valuable.

A week later his parents home is also burgled with the same result: only spoons were taken and all other valuable possessions ignored. When Lee tries to make sense of these events, he remembers that he in fact does own a spoon, a sterling silver spoon he inherited from his grandmother, but it is in his safety deposit box. The more he thinks about the spoon, the more he feels compelled to retrieve it.

After doing so Lee takes it to his place and examines it carefully. While looking at it, he notices the image of a ceiling fan can be seen in its bowl. At first this surprises him; then it frightens him: there is no ceiling fan in his apartment! Quite suddenly, the image of the ceiling fan is replaced by that of a man, a man who speaks with a strange accent and says that he has been trying to contact Lee for many years. Even more distressing, he insists on referring to Lee as the Guardian.

SPOONWORLD: The Guardian and the FarCaller is the first of five books that tell of Lees discovery of the powers of that spoon and of a counterpart whose family has a long history of contact with previous Guardians the last of which was Lees grandmother. As Lee strives to learn more about his heritage, he discovers he is being stalked by the Gerits, a family who learned of the Kaaler spoon through an accident that befell Lees great great uncle. The Gerits already have a massive fortune, but want to use the spoons rumored powers of seeing into the future to add political and commercial power to their holdings. This, the first SPOONWORLD novel, tells how Lee and FarCaller cooperate to harness their powers to battle the Gerits. Surprising Lee even more, he learns FarCaller has enemies on his world the world Lee calls Spoonworld. Lee finds himself helping FarCaller fight against threats to his life. Failure for either man to protect the other could result in losing a war no one besides them and the Gerits know even exists but, with such a loss, disastrous consequences could befall this nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 10, 2007
• ISBN: 9781462832996

Chuck Marsters

SPOONWORLD: The Guardian and the FarCaller AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION Chuck Marsters began reading Science Fiction and Fantasy while attending Junior High School in Dallas, Oregon (yes, Oregon). That fascination has remained strong throughout his life. This, his first book, reflects Chuck’s unusual perspective on fantasy and shows how it could exist and flourish in today’s world with no one the wiser. Chuck lives near St. Paul, Minnesota with his wife, Jeanie, his best critic. He is presently working on the next of the five Spoonworld novels.

Book preview

PART I

MYSTERY

CHAPTER 1

Shock

The Cascades Scenic Highway, Oregon

July 2004

T he beauty of the lush farms of the Willamette Valley and the green canopies of fir and pine trees covering the Santiam Pass over the Cascade Range absorbed Lee Kaaler as he drove from the Oregon coast back toward his apartment in Bend. On weekend outings like this one just ending, he enjoyed going to the Pacific coast more than to Mt. Hood, or Portland, or Crater Lake, or any other places that came to mind. But late this Sunday afternoon his thoughts kept alternating between the fun he had at the beach and memories of his Grandma Mainor. It had been nearly four years since she passed away, and he hadn’t thought about her in a long time. Now thoughts of her seemed to pound away at his mind, accompanied by a sense of approaching trouble. He wasn’t frightened, but the fact that these feelings arose at all was worrisome.

After the 4 1/2 hour drive without a rest stop, Lee parked his minivan in front of his apartment building, a three-story edifice whose eaves and arches reflected a Mexican colonial influence. He grabbed his knapsack and rushed two steps at a time up the single flight of stairs to his apartment, took just one step inside — and, What the —-? His physical needs immediately vanished.

Every piece of living room furniture was overturned, every pillow slashed open, and his lamps were flat on the floor. His books, DVDs and CDs were strewn across the slate blue Berber carpet. The kitchen cabinet doors were agape and most of his stoneware was strewn in pieces on the vinyl tile floor, looking like a mosaic composed by a madman. The tile’s traditional Mexican design complemented the bright, Southwestern motif he loved. The utensil drawers were upside down on the floor, their shiny contents adding to the visual cacophony of bright red, yellow, blue and green shards.

In shock, He looked around at the disaster that struck the first place he could call his own, and remembered how much effort and cash it had taken to furnish it. The small apartment had an unobstructed view of Mirror Pond, a beautiful spot in the center of Bend, a place he’d loved since he first saw it as a child. He recalled his joy from furnishing his place piece by piece with money he saved from his banker’s salary. Now his home, his space — his very self — had been violated.

He picked up his phone off the carpet next to his juniper wood end table and called 911. When he looked down the short hallway to the two small bedrooms and the bathroom, one glance confirmed what he expected: they, too, were ravaged.

Two police cars arrived in less than five minutes. The first officer out was Sergeant Virgil Kinglit, one of Lee’s high school classmates. After explaining what he found, Lee gestured toward the open door on the second floor landing. Do your thing, Virge.

The Crime Scene Investigation team departed several hours later, after which Sgt Kinglit gestured for Lee to join him at his police car.

What’d you find? Lee asked before his friend could say anything.

You didn’t touch anything when you opened the door?

If Virge hadn’t been a good friend, Lee would have been upset at the amount of time it took to get answers. Nevertheless, he accepted that Virge was just doing his job. Before responding, he took a couple of deep breaths and pushed his mussed and sand-filled salt-and-pepper hair back from his forehead. I walked in, saw the damage, called 911, and walked out. That’s all.

That’s what we thought. There were lots of fingerprints, but our tech thinks they’re from the same person, so they’re probably yours. No tool marks, no shoe prints, no strange threads, or pieces of fabric — nothing. A professional job. Can’t prove what I’m about to say, but since we’ve had no other break-ins like this in all of Central Oregon, I’d guess you were a specific target.

Why? I don’t have anything valuable. Just my entertainment stuff, plus an iMac and a printer. But they weren’t taken, were they?

No, but whoever hit your place took their time, because that kind of thorough searching takes a lot of effort. My guess is that the perps knew you were gone. The logical conclusion is that they must have been watching you, maybe saw you pack up for your weekend at the coast. If they did that, they’d assume you wouldn’t be back for at least a day or two. He paused a moment, as if thinking about what next to say, then continued. While you were in your apartment, did you notice anything missing?

Didn’t look around much at all, and haven’t been inside since you and your people arrived.

We found one interesting thing. Virge walked toward the steps leading to Lee’s apartment, gesturing for Lee to follow through the front room into the little kitchen, stepping around the mess on the living room and kitchen floors. Then he pointed to an empty drawer slot next to the small slide-in electric range. What went in here?

Silverware and some cooking utensils.

Let’s pick ’em up and put ’em back.

Lee thought it was ridiculous for a police sergeant to pick up such a mess, but chalked it up to their friendship and began sifting through the rubble. He found forks, knives, kitchen knives, and peelers — doodads found in nearly every kitchen. All but —

Where are the spoons?

Virge nodded and smiled. That’s what we noticed. No spoons. Look around carefully and tell me if anything else is missing. It’s all been checked for prints, so you can touch and move anything.

Twenty minutes later Lee collapsed onto his oak rocker in the living room, ignoring the slashing that had all but emptied out its stuffing. It’s all here, Virge. Everything I own — except spoons. Eight stainless steel teaspoons, eight soup spoons, a couple serving ones, and a few I cook with. Why would anyone in their right mind go to all this work and cause all this damage for about two dozen spoons?

CHAPTER 2

Same Song…

O ne week after Lee returned from the coast, his dad called to tell Lee their home also had been broken into. Only two days earlier, Lee finished putting his apartment in order after the chaos of his own robbery, and clearly remembered how much the break-in had upset him. From that he knew how his parents must feel, so he sped to their home on the southern edge of Bend. For some reason, he thought, I’m again thinking about Grandma Mainor just like when I returned from the beach last week. Wonder why?

His folk’s home decor was quite different from his: almost everything in it was purchased rather than handcrafted. His mom favored bolder colors than either he or his grandmother. As a result, instead of the pastels his grandmother favored, many of the walls in his folks’ home were papered or painted in solid colors: terra cotta in the dining room, deep lustrous red in the living room, and bright yellows and light blues and greens in the bedrooms and bathrooms. The walls had more expensive artwork than family photos, however, giving the place a feeling of expensive comfort. Where his grandmother carefully hoarded her money, and Lee had little to start with, his father and mother tended to spend it on things. Their place was lovely and dramatic; grandma’s was homey and welcoming; his was bright and comfortable.

He began asking questions even before his mother could hug him. Are you both OK? Was anything taken? When do you think this happened? Have you called the police?

His mom’s responses were typical. All in good time, Lee, she said, engrossed in making tea. Whenever anyone visited his folks, his mom prepared a pot of tea brewed from a wide selection she kept in a small sealed glass display case on the counter near the white stove. She was about five feet eight, slender but still curvaceous, with naturally wavy dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a seemingly perfect complexion enhanced with careful use of makeup. Everyone told Lee he had her eyes and personality.

His father, most often calm and collected, immediately began cursing, and with every swear word or expression Lee’s mother would say, Now, Faar, don’t talk that way! Lee understands how you feel without using profanity. Not surprisingly, that made him swear even louder. At six feet even, Lee’s dad was a hand taller than his wife, with a light olive complexion, dark hair, eyes and brows, and strong hands. He looked like a laborer but was a retired civil engineer: smart, respected, and a bit gruff. Where his wife favored clothes that emphasized her femininity without flaunting anything, Lee’s dad most often wore blue jeans and plaid western shirts fastened with snaps.

One quick look convinced Lee the break-in was by the same lowlifes who hit his place. Nothing was in its customary place; cushions and upholstery were ripped or sliced open, stuffing strewn over the floor. His mother had already cleaned up her kitchen and seemed to be working her way out from there to put the rest of the house back into order.

They adjourned to the living room with their tea. Lee sat in his favorite wooden rocker by the fireplace; his dad and mom shared the love seat, as always. Shreds of furniture upholstery and petals from the silk flower arrangements his mother had made and so loved still hadn’t been picked up.

After drinking tea, during which Lee’s mother forbade her husband from swearing, he calmed down enough that Lee felt he could raise the subject of robberies This looks just about like my place did. They went through it like a tornado.

It’s stupid! his father said, his voice just short of a shout. They left our antiques, our oil paintings, and even my first editions, tore the place apart upstairs and down, and took only spoons! The older man, although shorter and wider than Lee, could never have been missed as Lee’s father if seen with his son, but they had completely different temperaments.

The silver and kitchen spoons, and — Lee began.

Every blasted one! his father bellowed, cutting Lee off in mid sentence. It’ll cost ten times more to repair the damage those idiots made than to replace the spoons they stole.

Did the police say anything useful?

Only that it looked like the same guys hit here as hit your place. Big help that was. Before Lee could respond, his dad added, This is more like what should have happened to your grandmother. She was always involved in kooky things: antiques, family heirlooms, family trees, puzzles. When I was a teenager she asked if I’d like to learn about an heirloom spoon. I told her I didn’t want anything to do with any of the crazy things she was involved in. He thought a moment, and then, his voice a bit softer, said, She never brought them up to me again.

Lee excused himself as soon as he gracefully could and headed back to his apartment, thinking about the family heirloom spoon his dad mentioned. That spoon was the only material thing his grandmother bequeathed him. It was sterling silver and wrapped in a small square of blue velvet he’d kept it in a wooden box in his safety deposit box ever since her will was read. He hadn’t seen or thought about the spoon until his dad — not the robberies — reminded him of it.

One thought spiraled through his mind: That has to be the only shiny spoon left in either of our homes. Could that be what they wanted? He thought for another moment, and then added, No way. No one in their right mind would risk prison for a few spoons.

CHAPTER 3

The Fan

July 13, 2004

T he High Desert State Bank was situated along the main highway heading east out of Bend, and was easily accessible. Its simple yet beautiful facade of black lava rocks and desert landscaping attracted many customers. The interior was decorated with art depicting the beauty of the High Desert: fishing on the Deschutes River, deer and elk hunting, skiing, snowmobiling, camping, and wondrous sights like Crater Lake. The staff was young, mostly female, friendly, and gracious.

One of the things Lee liked about starting his career in a small branch bank was that he usually wasn’t terribly busy. That gave him time to ask questions and learn about the real — not theoretical— world of banking. Except for this day. Getting the heirloom silver spoon out of his safety deposit box was easy; finding time to look at it wasn’t. Every time he tried to get a few moments to open the small box and look at the spoon, something interrupted him. Each time he had a moment of peace, he’d take the spoon’s box out of his pants pocket and start to open it. Then he’d have to respond to something demanding his attention, so he’d close the little box, replace the rubber band holding it shut, and put it back in his pants pocket. Making matters worse, thoughts of his grandmother and that spoon kept popping into his mind to the point where sometimes he couldn’t think of anything else.

In mid afternoon Lee finally gave up trying to have a moment’s peace. The bulge in his pocket looked awkward but felt safe. It was also the first time in his life that he wished he could comfortably wear a sport coat in the hot Central Oregon summer. The inside breast coat pockets made much better hiding places for bulky objects than pants pockets. At five thirty, after toiling with the tellers to insure the daily balance sheets and reports were in order, he sped home. His apartment was only a few miles from the bank and, with the rush hour traffic waning: he made it in ten minutes.

Once home, he locked the door, pulled the spoon from his pants pocket, sat in his antique dark wooden rocker, and carefully inspected this forgotten object. Nothing remember anything about it other than its deep silver luster. Its bowl had the normal shape but was slightly wider and longer than most tablespoons. Its handle was fluted, like many old spoons, but otherwise was perfectly plain except for an unrecognizable mark where he expected to see an initial.

Held it at arm’s length, tilting it back and forth and looked for anything of particular note in the bowl: he didn’t. Finally, he gave up and just sat, thinking, staring down into the shiny object that had might have been the target of the break-ins. He expected to see his face reflected in it, but instead there was the image of a ceiling fan slowly turning. It was unexpected, fascinating, and wrong.

Very wrong.

Slowly, apprehensively, fear rising in his chest, he shifted his attention from the image in the spoon to the ceiling of his living room, confirming what he knew. My apartment doesn’t have a ceiling fan!

PART II

THE HERITAGE

CHAPTER 4

The FarCaller

H ow can this —? He peered closely into the spoon, holding it exactly as he had first, hoping he’d dreamed the fan. There, just as before, he could see a ceiling fan turning lazily in a room somewhere — else.

Filled with a combination of curiosity and fear, Lee pulled his handkerchief from his hip pocket and furiously polished the spoon, hoping to somehow erase the image of the ceiling fan. Then he warily looked into it again. The fan’s image was gone, but his pleasure was short-lived: a man’s face replaced the fan. Lee wanted the image to be his face, reversed and upside-down as it was when looking at typical concave surfaces, but it wasn’t. The other man’s image was in full color and right side up. Lee’s hair was salt-and-pepper brown; that other man’s image had black hair. Lee was clean-shaven: the other had a wide black mustache. Lee’s eyes were steel gray; the other’s almost black. Lee had thin, brown, arching eyebrows; the other’s were bushy and black. Before he could make further comparisons, Lee heard an unfamiliar voice say, Guardian?

He nervously looked around the room, trying to locate whoever spoke to him, but couldn’t. Neither had he heard the doorbell, nor any knocks. Slowly, hesitantly, he returned his attention to the spoon, again hoping he’d see only his own face. Those hopes were dashed when the image of the same man remained, only this time he smiled joyously. At long last, the Guardian! the man blurted out. His eyes radiated pleasure and pride, as if he had just accomplished something so wonderful he couldn’t hide his elation.

Feeling foolish and stupid, Lee slowly said — to a face in a spoon? — My name is Lee Kaaler.

The other wasted no time on niceties. Many years for you sought have I, Guardian, he said. My grandfather to speak with a Guardian last was. His Guardian a woman was.

Lee’s eyes widened in surprise. A woman? An old woman?

Yes. Her name Ima was.

Lee couldn’t fathom what was happening. The image in the spoon was clear and undistorted. A spoon seemed a stupid device to use for any kind of contact — let alone audio/visual. But the man he was looking at in the spoon mentioned Lee’s grandmother. That couldn’t be. Unless —-

This man’s words made some seemingly odd and unrelated events begin falling into a pattern. Ima was my grandmother, Lee said. She died four years ago.

Four? The man speaking from the spoon was visibly shaken. To believe that difficult is. Over twenty suncircles ago that my grandfather and Guardian Ima last talked it was.

Once more Lee looked around the room, hoping no one was watching him talking at a spoon, but he knew he was absolutely alone. She willed me this spoon, he said. I’ve never even looked at it before.

Why we before never met clear now is. Much it worried me. He stopped speaking for a moment, then the seriousness of his expression morphed into a grin. "The grandson of the FarCaller who with Guardian Ima closely worked am I. My grandfather FarCaller also gone is. My father, in our family’s secret powers, no interest held, so Grandfather FarCaller of this responsibility told me. Your FarCaller am I."

Lee again looked around his living room, once again trying to find any sign of a television camera or small speakers near his chair or the end table next to it, or some kind of hidden camera whose pictures would be used to embarrass him. Yet he knew the full, realistic sound was somehow coming from the spoon. Or through it, because he both heard FarCaller’s words and felt them in his mind.

FarCaller continued. Our families a long history share. But before that, about something important to you Sense I. Compelled to tell you am I.

Lee was having difficulty following this FarCaller man’s style of speaking, but mostly understood his meaning. What do you mean — ‘Sense’?

FarCaller’s dark eyes widened in surprise. Ignorant of Sensing are you?

I told you, I know nothing about any of this. I’m not even certain I believe what’s happening right now.

FarCaller hesitated a few seconds. Grandfather FarCaller to me several truths about being the FarCaller taught. One was that the Guardian and the FarCaller short distances into the future of the other Sensing can.

Do you really believe that?

Two very slow nods, FarCaller’s eyes never leaving Lee’s. Grandfather FarCaller said it was so, and now just such a Sensing have I. Another short pause. Quite clear my Sensing is: something in writing to you important is. Something to you near. Something about us, perhaps.

Lee stopped looking into the spoon and let his gaze roam mindlessly around the room while he tried to make sense of the man’s words. His mind raced, trying to associate the strange image he saw in his grandmother’s spoon with anything written. Then an idea surfaced. The only written thing that could possibly fit FarCaller’s words is grandma’s will. It said to contact her lawyer if I found something strange about my inheritance. Maybe she was writing about this spoon.

Before Lee could think about what he needed to do next, FarCaller said, Your grandmother’s death sad makes me. Some important things about being Guardian she told you not, believe I.

FarCaller, I’ve been told nothing, I’ve seen nothing at all in writing, and I know no one who knows anything about it. I don’t know enough to talk to anyone about a Guardian, let alone anything about being one. I’m pretty certain not even my dad knows anything about the spoon, or you, or any of this. For just a moment he realized he was comfortable talking to someone he could only see in the bowl of his spoon, but he flushed that thought and continued. I don’t know what a Guardian is, for Pete’s sake, let alone what a Guardian is supposed to be or do. If you have anything that can help, please tell me.

FarCaller’s black eyes blinked in thought and his grin disappeared. "Being Guardian for the Kaalers and for their world very important is, my grandfather to me taught. Also, even about the Guardian knowing, a special secret for Kaalers was, said he."

Just as Lee was going to ask FarCaller a question, one of this odd man’s words stopped Lee in mid-thought. You said your grandfather told you our Challenge is important for ‘their’ world? How is that possible? What other world is there?

Lee’s questions were met with a slow and steady stare, then FarCaller blinked several times, as if thinking deeply. He then spoke very slowly. About that matter never before asked nor thought have I. He paused another moment, then added, But from what my grandfather about your life said and Guardian Ima’s home described he, on our world those things cannot be. He again paused and riveted his attention on Lee. Answers to your questions I know not. He broke his contact with Lee’s eyes, looked down at something and slowly shook his head, then looked up. Perhaps later about these matters talk can we.

You mean I have relatives who know what I’m supposed to do as Guardian?

Not. That a Kaaler Guardian exists, and that they to help him are, would the Kaaler relatives know. Who the Guardian is or what he does always secret would be. Only the Guardian could those secrets tell, and then to another Kaaler only.

Talking to you makes me feel like I know nothing about my own family. I should have been told long before this. After a few moments of intense confusion and being engulfed in ignorance, Lee slowly said, How did all of this ‘Guardian’ stuff start? I mean, if this is so important – for some reason – where’d it all come from? Where do you live, and how does this spoon thing work? Another pause, then, I’m so completely confused I don’t have any idea how to even begin to understand all of this. No sooner had the words left his mouth than Lee recalled the telephone call he received from his grandmother just before finals week, four years earlier. She almost demanded he come home right away to talk about something, but it was finals week of his senior year, and he refused to leave school before he had taken all of them. Was that why she called me? Was she trying tell me about this Guardian thing? He closed his eyes and let his head drop. That makes this whole ignorance mess my own fault.

FarCaller stared back to Lee, his small face immobile in the bowl of the spoon, looking more like a small photo than ever before, almost making Lee forget the spoon was almost alive – certainly not inanimate. The FarCaller nodded, twice, slowly, and softly asked, So then about Hondras nothing know you?

Lee said nothing, simply shaking his head back and forth while blinking in perplexity. I’ve never heard such a person or place.

At that, FarCaller’s broad smile returned. Hondras a woman is – now long dead. The first FarCaller’s mother was she. His expression sobered a bit, then he said, About her later tell you will I. Then perhaps more of our history understand will you. But first, this. One of the things my Grandfather about the Kaalers liked, their way of identifying themselves to each other is. A momentary pause, then, Never of the Challenge heard have you?

Lee didn’t understand FarCaller’s question but he clearly understood that he needed more information about being a Guardian. Since his father thought Lee’s grandmother was eccentric or unbalanced on some matters, Lee knew that he had to see whatever was written for him by his Grandmother — something his father almost certainly had never seen. No, I haven’t, he said. Not yet. He glanced around his apartment for a moment, then said, I need to look for something. I’ll be back in a while, but I don’t know for how long.

Before FarCaller could respond, Lee put the spoon into his shirt pocket and looked around his small apartment, seeing little, thinking much. If FarCaller is right, how can I — He shook his head in disbelief tempered with curiosity and reluctant acceptance, then returned to his initial thought. I have to look at Grandma’s papers. Maybe grandma’s lawyer can help me.

CHAPTER 5

Finding Grandma

D uring a break from work the next morning, Lee called the office of Robert Kravin, his grandmother’s lawyer. When the secretary didn’t mention the lawyer’s name in her standard greeting, Lee immediately sensed trouble. Maybe he changed law firms. May I speak to Mr. Kravin, please?

After a short pause, the secretary said, Sir, Mr. Kravin passed away over two years ago. His cases are being handled by Mr. Kravin’s former partner, Mr. Maestre. Would you like to speak with him?

Now what? I thought Kravin would be my contact with Grandma, and now it’s turned out to be someone I don’t know and who probably didn’t know her. But there’s not much else to do. That would be fine, ma’am.

He heard a click followed by country music. Moments later, a silky baritone voice said, This is Clem Maestre. May Ah help you?

After introducing himself, Lee explained his problem. I think my Grandma, Ima Mainor, may have left some papers with Mr. Kravin for me, and I’d like to look at them. Can you help me?

Mr. Kaaler, Ah know nothin’ about that estate, but Ah’ll be pleased to look into it for y’all. Ah’m busy right now, but Ah’ll get back to y’all later today.

Later was four o’clock that afternoon, six slow hours after an impatient Lee made his telephone call. Clem didn’t apologize for the delay since, Lee reluctantly believed, the lawyer probably had plenty of other clients — paying $185 an hour consulting fee.

After summarizing how case files are split up among partners if one of them leaves or dies, Clem simply said, They’re not here, Mr. Kaaler. As near as Ah can tell, they’re in a secured storage area across town.

Well, then, how soon can I see them? And please call me ‘Lee’.

And I prefer ‘Clem,’ Lee. But the answer to your question depends on several things. Most importantly, y’all must first obtain the approval of the present executor of the estate. That’s your father, not someone in this office. Y’all can see whatever he approves for y’all to see. Y’all’s access is limited by law to what the executor approves.

Meaning I have to get Dad’s approval every time I want to see something?

That’s how it works.

This is going to end up in a fight.

CHAPTER 6

We’re Not Kaalers

L ee loved both his parents very much, but was much closer to his mother than his dad. Now he had to ask his dad to let him see Grandma Mainor’s papers, a subject Lee knew his father wouldn’t want to discuss. He vividly remembered hearing his dad talk about his eccentric mother, and how the robbery at his house would make more sense if had been against hers.

Regardless of these misgivings, Lee went to his parents’ home after dinner that evening to get the permission he needed, and received the exact reaction he had expected. First, a series of questions from his father. Questions like, What’s come up in four plus years after she’s gone that makes you so anxious to look at Mom’s things? Why are you just bringing it up now?

Lee hadn’t put enough thought into his approach on the subject or he would have developed a good set of reasons and explanations. As it was, he could only respond with, I’m just getting interested now, Dad. Or, I looked at that thing she gave me and don’t understand how to use it. I thought there might be some instructions in her papers.

His dad immediately asked, That little box? What was in it, anyway?

Lee ignored the question and returned the conversation to his desire to see if there was anything useful to him in his grandma’s papers. The discussion lasted over two hours, at the end of which Lee’s father said, There’s nothing in her stuff that could do anyone any good, son, and I don’t see any reason for you or anyone else to go pawing through it.

Fortunately for Lee, his mother was able to accomplish miracles where her husband was concerned. She could see Lee’s discomfort at asking his father for anything involving her mother-in-law and, just as Lee was about to leave, intervened. Faar, she said in a smooth, innocent voice, what harm can it do to let Lee just look? Besides, she added sweetly, he might become more interested in our family tree than he has been until now. That would be a real blessing, don’t you think?

When she finished, Lee’s dad gave him a helpless, what-else-can-I-do smile, and shook his head to show resignation at the inevitable. Waving his hand as if sweeping something distasteful away, he said, Go ahead. It’s in East Cascades Storage, off 27th street. I’ll tell the lawyer it’s OK. As Lee rose to leave, his father opened a drawer in the end table next to his chair and pulled out a yellow key-ring from which a single shiny steel key dangled. It’s unit number 636; the gate’s entry code’s on the key ring. On the way out the door, Lee heard his father say to his mother, I think all of this nutty stuff started when Mother paid us $5,000 dollars to take her family’s name of ‘Kaaler’ instead of my father’s family name of ‘Mainor.’ For some reason I can’t define, I think that was a mistake.

On the drive back to his apartment, Lee couldn’t help feeling successful, but his thoughts were tempered with concerns that his grandmother really did some weird things — like the