Devil or No Devil, madmilt [libby ebook reader .TXT] 📗

seen again. We don't know whether Vladimir had anything to do with it, but he couldn't take the questioning and publicity. He retired to the nursing home almost at once. Hasn't been back here since."
Jason again tugged at my arm. "Daddy, did you like my performance?"
"You bet I did. We all did. Let's go home and I'll tell Mommy how well you performed."
Art gently clasped Jason's hand. "Goodbye Jason – and Joe. Remember I'm counting on you and Laura to spot and handle anything that might interfere with Jason's recital. Between Vladimir and the faculty I'll have my own hands full, and I also intend to do all I can to handle the reporters myself"
"Depend on us. Goodbye for now."
On the way home the mystery began to nag at me. Had Jason lived a previous life? Since he hadn't been Vladimir, could he have been someone close to Vladimir, perhaps Vladimir's own instructor? Is he possessed? Who says that only evil entities ever possess? I kept speculating all the way home. Most of my speculations I threw out as too wild, but I was convinced of one thing: The answer was not unknowable.

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One look at Laura, and I knew that I would have to be the one to take Jason to the music center this evening. "What happened?" I asked.
"Right after school Jason got beaten up by those little ruffians again. I've been patching him up."
I shook my head sadly. "No serious injuries I trust."
"Not physically," Laura answered, "But I'm sure we're in for another round of his trying to look and act just like the ruffians with their old, torn jeans and shirts, and he'll be pestering us again for pointed toe boots. I won't have his feet misshapen."
I knew very well Jason's tendency to copy the ways of those who had overpowered him. Last time he even had copied their tough-sounding language and their faulty grammar. "Laura," I said, "We'll have to divert some of his energy to his own self-defense, and soon."
"But not until after the recital," Laura stated firmly.
I nodded agreement. Sometimes I wonder if this savage society wants any artists at all. That grade-school faculty is more than loath to handle that bullying, even as close as the school is to the University. "For now maybe we can dig up some big friends for him at school. Meanwhile, don't let those ruffians catch him in his performance shirt."
Laura glared at me. "Joe, you take me for a fool. In any event tomorrow will be another rough day for me. I'll have to work the psychiatric department."
By now my face must have been dead serious. "Yes, that would be rough. Those patients could use some big friends too. Hon, you get some sleep tonight. I'll handle everything."

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The walk to the music center proved uneventful, and the lesson went quite smoothly. On the way home Jason spotted one of the ruffians who had beaten him up, but he wasn't close enough to be caught. "Why can't I have boots with sharp toes like his?" Jason asked.
"So that you won't grow up with deformed feet! That would hurt, and it would keep right on hurting."
Jason responded with fear in his raised voice. "Will they let me grow up at all if I ain't got sharp toes?" Clearly I would have to show Jason some prizefighters with good grammar.

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The lunch wagon arrived with its cellular phone already ringing. That phone was our only communication link to the outside world. The driver answered and handed the phone to me.
It was Laura, and already, with half the day still ahead of her, she sounded a bit upset. "Thank heaven I could get free at lunchtime!"
I tried to sound encouraging. "How are you holding out Hon?"
"I hate this psyche department!" she almost screamed. "You must know the hopelessness I see here. We have two Julius Caesars and three Napoleons."
Clearly for the third evening in a row I would be the one to escort Jason.

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I did not speculate further on where Jason got his training until that evening when I again saw him at the piano. Jason certainly had taken on the attributes of winners who had gone before him. He also tended to copy the ways of those who had overpowered him physically. Maybe we all do this. I myself certainly had tried to copy those who bullied me when I was his age. How many thousands had Caesar and Napoleon overpowered? Possibly enough to fill all the asylums in the world.

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The recital was only three hours away. Laura had prepared a home-cooked lunch for the family and Art. Art had been showing Vladimir around the campus and was very happy to turn Vladimir over to some senior members of the music department. Now it was Art who needed a break and a chance to talk.
"Yes, it did Vladimir good to get back to the campus. I saw him smile, probably for the first time in six years. But he's scared of something, and he doesn't want anyone to know it. He uses anger to cover up his fear, but he turned positively pale when he saw that the old music building had been torn down. At least he brightened up a bit when he saw the new music center and his old colleagues.
"We're very well prepared for the recital. The main thing I need from you folks is alertness. Keep Jason's space safe. Watch for upsets; handle them promptly but gently; but don't make

any upsets, and don't imagine any. Most likely there won't be any. Plan to arrive about fifteen minutes early – no more."
"Thank you Art," said Laura, "Thank you for all you've done. We have everything well in hand, and we'll see you at the music center."

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"Daddy, why is there a police car at the old music building?" I did not know why, but there was also a man taking notes, probably a reporter. I was a bit too concerned myself, and Laura had to be the one to answer.
"We don't know, Jason, but we can't stop now. Your recital is only twenty minutes away. This is your big day." That got us moving again.
We arrived in plenty of time, but when the lights came up to reveal the stage fully set, I noticed that Jason and Vladimir looked apprehensive the moment their eyes met. Art and Laura also looked apprehensive. Apparently they noticed the same thing.
The dean stepped to the lectern and intoned, "Ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we are most fortunate to present the most extraordinary young musical talent this campus has ever known. Let's welcome Jason Blount!"
Applause erupted. The dean went to the empty chair near the lectern but remained standing and looked at Jason.
Laura supplied the necessary prompting. "It's your show, Jason."
Jason strode to the piano but stopped momentarily. Then he rolled up his sleeves; tried to crack his knuckles; shook out his arms and hands; ran his fingers once through his hair; looked regally at the audience and began. He was scared, but not too

scared.
If there was a flaw in Jason's playing, I couldn't hear it. He brought the crowd to its feet; then made a pleasant bow; said, "Thank you, thank you, all of you;" and strode back to his seat between Laura and me.
The lights dimmed. By the time they brightened again, most of the crowd was preparing to leave. Art was doing an exceptional job of intercepting reporters. Laura noticed where Jason's attention was directed. "That's Vladimir in the wheelchair Son. He won't hurt you. In fact he looks more scared than you." And indeed he did. My next move was to take Jason, Laura, Art, Vladimir, and the dean all out to dinner, but the dean declined. There was no telling how many immediate duties this recital generated for him.
The five of us headed for the faculty lounge at the end of campus. The food always was very good, and, for honored guests and their entourage, so was the service. At the entrance I stopped to pick up a newspaper, even though I knew Laura would consider it a gross action, and she didn't hesitate to chide me.
"Sorry Hon, this headline caught my eye. Battered Body Pulled from Campus Excavation. Jason you were right! Those men did find bones at the old music building."
"Excuse me," announced Vladimir, and he steered his wheelchair toward the men's room.
Laura poked me. "Maybe you'd better help him."
But Vladimir responded hostilely, "No, I don't need any help in the men's room. I'm not that crippled." And we watched the door close behind him.
I turned to the hostess and said, "Table for five please: four adults and one star performer."
But just then the sound of a shot reverberated from the men's room. Art made a dash for the room, followed by me and then two unknown customers.

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I phoned the police and campus security. A single campus guard arrived first, followed by the city's conspicuous waste of taxpayers' funds, then the first wave of reporters with cameras, etc. Additional waves followed over the next few days – such things as in-depth interviews and human-interest writers. As of today everything has calmed down from that event except my own speculations.
Did Vladimir destroy a body that once had belonged to Jason?
If so, would Vladimir not have seemed a winner to Jason? – a winner that must be emulated if one is to survive?
What if we all should live again? Then, devil or no devil, not even death would relieve us of responsibility for our own actions. Our world would be just the mess we had left behind. The Vladimirs among us would have to gain control of their tempers or face an endless hell right here on Earth.
The end.

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Publication Date: 10-10-2010

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