The Harried Mystic

“Maybe the world fits into a magical snow globe, and every so often somebody comes along and shakes it up and that’s why we get storms,” thought young Anthony.

He liked just hanging around the house and imagining possibilities. There was nothing better than to wear warm pajamas as the weather outside got cooler in the mid-Fall.  He wondered what the rest of his day would bring.

Well, he knew he would be going to see his grandmother’s house for a great feast on the weekend: endless pasta, meatballs, a little Gallo wine from Grandpa’s large walk-in closet set behind shoes and all the coats and shirts, staying cool in the dark in large jugs. There’d be lots of fresh-baked bread, made from scratch of course, and left to rise overnight on clean sheets in Grandma’s bedroom, and delicious fresh salad. He looked forward to seeing grandma, and the image and fragrance of sweet zeppoles leaped into his head. And, probably, he would sleep over.

“I think I’ll get dressed and go outside to play now.”

Anthony lived in a quiet suburban town in southern New York, but his home sat on a peculiar lot of land. His backyard wasn’t very large, but just behind that, just beyond a broken-down fence, was his favorite place to play and imagine: a graveyard.

The site was already pretty much all full, not a large gravesite at all like so many others in the region. It was almost like a private gravesite, very old, maybe with space for no more than a couple hundred or so graves. Every weekday morning, Anthony would walk to school by cutting through the graveyard, and ,then, hop over the train tracks. Only problem with his path was that he did so by jumping the third rail on route. Of course, his parents had no idea this was the way he got there.

Like so many families, his parents, while loving and good people, had a lot going on. His dad worked several jobs to make ends meet, and so was often not home, and his mom was distracted with her many chores. Grandma kept a bit of an eye out but, she too, had a lot on her hands with a husband who was missing a few “marbles” ( if you know what I mean).

So, anyway, this was his usual routine. Not once did he think about the strange path he took through the graveyard and the daily Russian roulette he played with the third rail of the train tracks. But, as younger boys are want to do, he saw no danger, nothing to worry about, and he was always very careful.

Young Anthony had no real, at least close, friends. Oh, there were a few equally awkward local boys he played with from time to time, but he was mostly pretty solitary. He was a very imaginative young man interested in many things and with many lives to live out in his fantasies: professions to explore, and worlds to travel.

He wasn’t at all unhappy with his young life. In fact, quite the contrary, he felt lucky to have the freedom to spend time alone, and wonder about possibilities. There was nothing whatsoever to do most days but go to school, and then rush back home to resume his wild journeys of discovery. Of course, the way back home after school was a replay in the opposite direction of the third rail and the graveyard.

On this particular afternoon in late October, with thick clouds hanging heavily overhead, a cool mist of rain began falling. It was not unpleasant so long as he had on a jacket. He actually enjoyed the rain, the feel of  light misting on his face and the mysterious look of the sky when it seemed filled with uncertainty. In no rush to  get back to his small room, he decided to hop the tracks, get to the graveyard, and spend a little more time than usual walking through it and looking at the graves.

Once there, he started reading the tombstones; “Helen, Beloved Mother. Paul, Beloved Father. Captain John Henry Philips, Lieutenant, Hero, Son,  Gustavo and Victoria, Beloved Grandparents.” On and on they went. Rows and rows of tombstones with names followed by short phrases of longing and remembrance. He started wondering about the families of each person buried there.

“Where did they live and what did they do for a living? Who still comes around to visit the grave?” It crossed his mind that it was possible that there were no longer relatives alive in the area?

The heavier rain, while threatening,  was holding off and, feeling a bit tired, he sat down on a small concrete bench. The dark day, the time of year, and the rainy weather all put him in a strange and pensive mood.

He started to imagine what it would be like being buried. “Why be buried at all? Got to be a better way to handle this than dig a hole and get covered up like that.” Well, his sitting lasted only a few minutes when he decided to walk around again and continue his explorations.

He imagined himself an archaeologist at a dig, piecing together all the little fragments of evidence to help tell a bigger story. He made his way from the regular graves to the little odd houses, the crypts, where whole families were buried.

” Now, these are cool. You can go inside even,” he thought to himself. “There even seems to be small altars in some of them. Do people actually go in and hold meetings or something? I would hope so. Seems pretty silly to build a house you don’t intend to use.”

Suddenly, as he stood there lost in archaeological thought, he was startled by an old, wrinkled, hunched over, pudgy man with a large shovel who stepped out from behind the crypt in front of him. “Oh, hi, mister. You scared me. I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone was here. I never see anybody here actually.” ” No problem little man,” he said. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. Just came from school and had nothing to do, so I thought I’d look around, that’s all.”

” Pretty odd place to hang out don’t you think,” the old man asked? “No, not really, I really like it here. It’s quiet. Nobody bugs me, and I think it’s pretty interesting. I was just checking out these small buildings.”

“Well, alright. They are pretty interesting, and you’re certainly right about the quiet. I kinda like it too. So where do you live?”

“Just over there. That’s my house. See the fence there where it’s broken. I just climb through it and I’m home. So, it kinda feels like it’s our own graveyard sort of. You know?”

“Yeah, well sure. Pretty much your back yard isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

The weather began to get worse. The sky became very dark and looked forbidding, and the rain started coming down a little harder now. “Well, I really should be getting home before my mom starts to worry. She worries a lot you know. It’s also getting pretty cold too isn’t it?” “O.k., then,” said the old man.”You’d better run off before it really starts to pour and you catch your death.” “Nice meeting you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, young man. Take care of yourself.”

“Oh, what’s your name, Sir? Mine is Anthony.”

“Hello, Anthony. A real pleasure making your acquaintance. And my name is Mr. Samuel, but please call me Thomas. I am the groundskeeper here.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Mr. Samuel, I mean Thomas.”

” I am sure we’ll bump into one another again Anthony, since you come through here almost every day. Well, run along now. It’s getting nasty out here.” ” O.k., bye- bye.”

The wind grew very strong and Anthony started running for home. Even the trees were bending from the force of it, and seagulls flying high were moving swiftly on the currents of air without any need to flap their wings. There was an impressive bolt of lightning, and then thunder just a second or two later. The heaviest part of the storm was just about over the yard. He made it to his back door just in time before the sky opened up in a torrent. Sheets of rain fell suddenly like a cascading waterfall.

Inside the house, not a peep. No one was home yet. So, with nothing to do, Anthony went to the “cold room” ( at least that’s what he and his sister called the room that was now enclosed but that used to be a porch). They loved it there. With large windows all around, they had a panoramic view of the front yard and the whole neighborhood. They watched Hurricane Donna rage on right from this same room. The only real problem with it is that it was drafty and the heat didn’t work well so you had to bundle up in the Fall and winter months. So, he watched out the picture windows as the leaves blew all around, and he fell back into day-dreaming.

When Anthony awoke, (he had clearly dozed off), he couldn’t believe how much time had passed. At least it seemed like quite a while. The sky was still grey, but the rain had stopped. “What time is it,” he said to himself aloud. Judging by the light, he had pretty much slept the night in the cold room. The clock on the kitchen wall wasn’t working either. “Mom probably forgot to change the batteries again.” He took a quick shower and decided to just go out back to play. He wasn’t hungry at all but, then again, he wasn’t a big eater. His mother usually had to insist that he come to dinner and, even then, he ate like a small bird. He was pretty finicky.

Through the broken fence, he saw Thomas in the distance already busy at work in the graveyard. He ran over to him. “Good morning, Thomas. How are you today.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t young Anthony. Doing fine. How about you?”

“I’m good. Slept through the whole rainstorm though.”

“I see. Well, it made a big mess for me to clean up I can tell you that.”

Anthony was in a particularly talkative mood this morning. He explained to Thomas how he used the graveyard path every morning to get to school. “Really?” Thomas said. “So, you come right on through here, and then how do you get over to the school. That’s a pretty long way around to the main road isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that way’s too long. I just cut through here and hop over the railroad tracks. The school is just a few blocks from there. Goes pretty quick.”

“Well, I guess, but you have to be so careful since that’s an active train line you know. Takes lots of people every day to and from work in the city.”

“I know. I always look both ways.”

” Yeah, but Anthony, it’s not just the trains, it’s the tracks…”  Anthony interrupted, ” No, it’s o.k., Thomas. I am very careful. I’ve done it all year now.”

“I am going to just walk around the graveyard some more today. Got nothing else to do. That o.k.?”

“Sure Anthony. I have plenty to keep me busy. Just be careful.”

“Alright. Thanks Thomas. You know, Thomas?”

” Hmm?”

“You really look so familiar to me. I know I’ve never seen you before yesterday but, I don’t know, seems like we’ve met.”

” Well, you know, Anthony, I have one of those kinds of faces. I guess I look like any number of folks’ old uncles.”

“It’s funny,” Anthony said.

“Well, got to get back to my work Anthony. Have a good time now.”

“Thanks.”

So, off Anthony went on another grand adventure. Today, his world was especially full of intrigue. He was imagining himself a spy for the NSA being chased by foreign spies out to kill him. Maybe he wasn’t 007, but he was certainly an under-study, and soon he’d be recognized for his rare spying skills.

“What’s that,” he asked himself. “A twig braking. Someone walking this way? Could be Agent 10 of the KGB. Got to hide –  and fast.” There was a crypt tucked away over in a corner of the graveyard that he had never seen before. It was all covered with vines. This looked very cool. Like a fort. A secret hide-away, a place to go where those menacing foreign agents couldn’t find him. He went there and pulled away some of the vines.

Suddenly, everything got very strange and started moving as if in slow motion. An eerie pall came over the yard.

The whole spy scene dissolved in his mind, and he went back instead to explorer. On the headstone, well faded but unmistakable, there was some very hard to make out writing.  He brushed it off with his hand and shirt sleeve to see it better, but it was still hard to make out.

” Wow, a real mystery,” he thought. It read  “An***** Bene* de**o”. There was a small can, an old Campbell soup can, in fact, lying nearby. It  had a fair bit of water in it from last night’s rain. So, he poured it over the soiled stone and then saw it  more plainly.

” Ant*ony Bened*tto,” he said out loud.

“What? …. What? ….Hey, what’s this? That’s my name?!”

“Hey,” he yelled out pretty loudly.

Thomas, the groundskeeper, hearing Anthony’s now fearful tone of voice, came quickly to see what was wrong.

“Hey, Thomas, look at this. It’s my name. That makes no sense. I didn’t have anyone in my family with my name. Could it be a distant cousin, you think?”

“I see,” Thomas said.

“I know this grave, Anthony. There was a boy, just about your age, who lived nearby. He went to school every day by cutting through the graveyard also. Like you, he went straight over the tracks over there. One terrible day, he tripped you see,  and his foot touched the third rail. The poor boy was electrocuted.”

Suddenly, Anthony felt scared and all alone, and a chill came over him. Thomas reached around his shoulders and embraced him.

“It’s o.k., Anthony. Unlike that little boy, you’re always careful. This whole yard is your’s to play in and explore remember. Like you said, it’s like your own. All the adventures you want are right here. And I am here to. You are never, ever alone.”

Old groundskeeper Thomas asked Anthony if he would help him pick up some of the fallen branches from the night’s storm. Anthony calmed down, still feeling sick to his stomach and confused by it all.  “You and I will figure all of this out together Anthony,” Thomas said, ” I promise.” ” This is a mystery but you’re good at them and I think we can get to the botttom of it.  Don’t you think?”

Together now, Thomas and Anthony began bundling broken tree branches. There was a lot of work to do after the storm as Thomas said. So, he went about his work caring for the graves, the stones, the grass, ……..and one very special little boy.

© Brother Anton, TSSF, and The Harried Mystic, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.