Granpa Rodney's mission by Albert Russo (books to read to get smarter .txt) 📕

GRANPA RODNEY’S MISSION


Taking advantage of the doctor's presence, I looked up and said with a feigned innocence: "You know, Mom, what would make me happy? spend some time with Granpa Rodney. He told me over the phone that I could stay at his place whenever, and for as long as I wished.
Mom looked flabbergasted then after holding her breath she said in a tone which betrayed her disappointment, "It isn't that I don't want you to go to Granpa Rodney's, but I have to warn you - he's become a little strange. Especially since Grandma and Daddy passed away. He lives in nother world."
"Oh, mom, do let me go!" I pleaded, and turned toward the doctor.
"Okay," she agreed with a certain reluctance, "though I have to insist, Granpa sometimes rambles on and tells all kindso f weird stories. Just be on your guard and don't believe everything he says, for he tends to daydream aloud these days."
Were it not for the accident, Mom would have had it her way, doctor or no doctor. The reason she gave in to me was that she too was under shock - the shock of losing me.
I loved Granpa Rodney's old house. The sitting room had stained glass windows, letting in a warm yellow light which gave the impression (even when it rained outside) that the sun pierced through the clouds. Some of the carpets were threadare, and the leather couch was so worn at the back and the armrests, that it looked like a patchwork of browns and cinnamon. The sideboard in the adjoining dining room was one of my favorite pieces of furniture, for the moment you opened it a strong whiff of mint toffee and fudge tickled your nostrils. On the upper shelf was the tin box of candies which only grown-ups couldreach - unless l climbed up on a stool. But I preferred to ask Granpa, as it seemed so much more a treat. I still remembered Granny Lee the way she was before her long and painful illness - a sprightly little lady who always busied herself, knitting a jersey for one of us, embroidering napkins, or baking the most delicious shortcakes. Her mission in life was to please her family and friends. Yet, nowhere in the house did Granpa keep pictures of her, or of Daddy for that matter. On the other hand there were photographs of himself with Mom, aunt Mary, Uncle Bob, my two cousins and me.
The stairs that led to the bedrooms creaked to the point that you'd think each one of them concealed a ghost. Kindly ghosts, mind you, not those who chill your bones. The funny thing about Granpa's room was that it still contained Granny Lee's personal effects. One wardrobe was full of her clothes and on the dressing table her hairbrushes, combs, powder boxes, and dainty bottles of perfume were laid out as if she'd never left. Granpa wouldn't let the maid touch them. He'd be the one to take care of Granny Lee's objects, and in the reclining oval mirror you could appreciate how meticulously they were placed. Not a speck of dust was to be seen, and every piece shined.
That first evening, Granpa Rodney made us scrambled eggs with toasted buns and margarine. Then for dessert I had cream cheese and gooseberry jam spread on whole wheat crackers. As I was drinking my tea, Granpa said: "Don't worry if in the middle of the night I leave the house. It sometimes happens that my partners require my presence for an urgent matter. It's very safe around here and in any case, should anything happen in the meantime, which I very much doubt, you can call on my neighbors. They know about you. But you're a brave girl, you take after both your daddy and Granny Lee. They're afraid of nothing."
I found two things quite intriguing in what granpa had just told me, but l thought it improper to ask him why he spoke of Daddy and Granny Lee in the present tense.
"Do you still work Granpa?" I ventured. "What sort of job is it?"
He stroked his gray mustache and gave me one of his irresistible smiles, then said: "It's a very special kind of work. And since you're my favorite grandchild, I'll explain it to you. But sh-sh-sh, it's a secret, so promise you won't repeat it to anyone."
Gaping with expectation, I crossed my hands over my chest.
"Ordinary people wouldn't understand anyway, not even family," began Granpa Rodney and he winked. "When you watch the news on television, what do you see?" he then asked.
"Mostly bad things," I answered, "like the wars in the Middle East, the hungry children of Ethiopia with their swollen tummies, terrorism and plane accidents, or else boring politicians."
"So very right you are," approved Granpa Rodney with a glint of earnestness in his pale blue eyes. "The key words are wars, every type of war, whether they occur on a grandscale or within the confines of one's own environment. And politicians - they bear the responsibility for much of the havoc which is wrought on this planet."
For some odd reason I expected Granpa Rodney to argue about the nuclear threat and Star Wars, but to my astonishment, he said: "Those who make others suffer are influenced by evil souls."
"You mean they are born evil? Or is it because they were ill-treated by their parents?”
"No, no one is born evil," he replied, raising his bushy brows. "Evil is something which is brought upon us by demonic forces. Some, of course, do go through a miserable childhood, but that in itself doesn't lead to malevolence, nor does it justify bad behavior."
"Is it then the work of the devil?" I probed, somewhat embarrassed by the boldness of my question. I had passed the stage of believing in demons, sorcerers and fairy tales.
Granpa Rodney paused and took a sip of tea. He stared at me as though he were reading my mind, and l caught myself blushing. He cleared his throat and said in a hushed voice, scanning the windows to make sure no one was listening, "I'm referring to the departed souls."
I started to sweat and put down the cracker back on my plate. "Are you talking about the souls of Daddy and Granny Lee?" I queried huskily. Then at once I remembered Mom's warning. I had already been stung by the curiosity bug and the conversation had gone too far anyway for Granpa Rodney to retract. He looked very grave now.
"No, Daddy and Granny Lee are not involved," he said, a bit annoyed. "I'll discuss them another time. It's the bad souls of those who have left their bodies that worry me and my partners. They're the ones who give us a hard time."
"But Granpa," I stammered. "Once these ... these people are dead, isn't it over?"
"The flesh decomposes, but the soul lives on," he explained. "Haven't you heard about the ozone? Well, imagine that above it, beyond the stratosphere, billions of souls roam about - those who have been liberated ever since the first humans appeared on our planet.
"So, what is the work you do with your ... partners?" I asked, swallowing hard.
“Our job is to recuperate these evil souls by converting them, so that they stop harming the people on earth. In other words, we are missionaries, more like a Peace Corps than a religious group or sect," he said with a mysterious grin.
"How do you go about finding them?" I went on, feverish.
"We convene initially to propose the name of a soul each of us is familiar with, or that of a well known public figure whose deeds were particularly nefarious and corrupt. Then we cast our votes in a round ballot box, and after having shaken it, the Master of Ceremony draws a name." There was gravity in Granpa Rodney's tone and he appeared to be elsewhere - probably with a specific soul. "The Master of Ceremony who also is the medium enters a trance and gets in touch with the sound through a phenomenon called channeling," he pursued, his eyelids dropping. "Then each of us in turn reaches for the personality, explaining to him or her how privileged he or she is to have been seIected for our task, and the long delicate work commences.”
"Granpa, what happens if this ... person ... soul ... refuses to be redeemee? Do you ... er ... force him?" I half whispered.
"That's part of our job. And we do get into terrible fights, but don't leave the soul in peace. That is not until he or she is convinced of the necessity of our mission. It is very exhausting, I assure you, for some of them can be mightily recalcitrant. Which is why there are at least thirteen of us during the sessions - they may last a whole night, depending on the subject who is treated. There are moments that are more propitious than others, and whenever the Master of Ceremony feels the subject is ready, he calls us all. The sessions always take place after unset, but we never know when we could be summoned. After many trials and tribulations - it sometimes takes months before a conversion succeeds, even a year. We all meet in Chichen Itza, Yucatan, for the 'releasing' of the soul whom we now consider a friend, and whom we visit occasionally. This is what we call the Ascension Ceremony." Granpa Rodney sighed, visibly tired.
"One last question," I ventured. "Who is it you are currently trying to save? Is it anyone Mom or I know?"
He suddenly opened his eyes wide, then sketched his first smile in a long while. "Young girl, I've already told you much more than any outsider ought to hear. Now is the time for both of us to go to bed." He kissed my forehead, wishing me sweet dreams.
Oddly enough, Granpa Rodney's extraordinary revelation did not stir in me any fearful or negative sentiments, in spite of the fact that I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. My thought kept oscillating from his words to Mom's warning. "Take whatever he says with a pinch of salt ... he tends to daydream aloud nowadays ... weird, farfetched stories...
No sooner had I muffled myself up under the cozy eiderdown than I fell into a deep nebulous sleep, deep and serene. It must have been quite a few hours later when I heard a thump-like sound, so near that when I woke up, I was certain it wasn't a dream, and, looking at my fluorescent quartz clock which read 3:30, I suddenly realized something was missing. Next to the alarm clock I usually keep a glass of water two-thirds full, whether I'm at home or on vacation, and I never, ever place it on the edge of the bedside table. More accustomed now to the room's obscurity, I recognized the shape of the glass etched against the wall. It was standing at the far end of the rug which I could not possibly reach. Though this discovery intrigued me, I felt not the