"Friend, well met here at libation before going to sea.
I pray you by the wine you spend, and by
Your god, your own life, and your company;
Enlighten me, and let the truth be known."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 15, Lines 325-328.
Used without permission.
 

BYERS:

We needed to get away from it all this weekend. In a few weeks, there will be no opportunities for a quick escape. We close on the house in two weeks, move into it in three, and then there's but five weeks till the wedding. In the meantime, I have a full load of administrative and teaching tasks that will occupy most of my time, work on TMB, and whatever else comes up. And something always comes up. It's the way our lives work.

But not this weekend.

We had nothing planned, of course, and we're not what you'd call impulsive people, but on Friday night, I kept thinking how nice it would be to get away from everyday life. We have many bed and breakfasts that dot the coastline and inland waterways of Maryland and Virginia, and we've not explored them. I suggested this to Juliet, who looked at me and said,  well, what are we waiting for?

Of course, getting a reservation at a bed and breakfast in late August isn't all that simple. Many places are booked months in advance. A quick web search revealed that our choices were somewhat limited.

We ended up at one in rural Maryland, a few miles from Chesapeake Bay. We telephoned the proprietress, who informed us that she had received a last minute cancellation and would be delighted to have us join her this weekend.

She also said she was wondering when we were going to get around to calling. This struck me as a bit strange-of course owners want your business, but it seemed an odd thing to say.

Still, she was a delightful woman on the phone, rich Appalachian accent, oozing warmth and hospitality. Juliet and I packed what we needed, including the cat-the proprietress said that the cat would be fine, although it would not be free to roam the house simply because it would upset HER cats. I was grateful for this; attempts to reach Michael for cat-sitting proved fruitless. I also tried to contact Ally, but all I received was her voice mail.

People are making themselves scarce this weekend, and we're no exception. This is what happens when it's Monday-for an entire week.

This particular bed and breakfast looked rather commonplace from the outside-a large, old rural Maryland home-but inside, it was anything but. It was packed with antiques, and they were the genuine article, not replicas. They had all been magnificently restored, and the house was beautiful, comfortable-and oddly serene. I can't describe it any other way. There was such a calmness to it. We both perceived it instantly when we walked in. I could feel the knots in my back and neck and shoulders loosen.

Of course, I'm not going to tell this to Juliet; why should I pass up on a perfectly marvelous backrub? Not that I need to plead tension to get one, but I've been eagerly anticipating one.

It's Saturday afternoon, we've just woken up, and I'm not disappointed. She works the muscles and tendons of my back like a professional masseuse, and I find myself turning to warm liquid under her hands.

Do we really have to go home tomorrow?

The house is quiet right now; most likely the other guests are touring the area. The other license plates were all out of state, and chances are some sightseeing is in order.

I don't need any public sightseeing, thank you very much. The only exploring I care to do this weekend is every crack and crevice of Juliet's body. So what if I've gone there many times before? Every time I visit, I find something new, a little different than it was before.

We're of course too late for breakfast and lunch, just as we missed dinner the night before, but this doesn't seem to bother our hostess in the least. She has ready for us fresh fruit and bagels and coffee and juice. Everything is at the peak of freshness, the perfect temperature, and tastes so wonderful, I'm wondering what sort of magic potion she inserts into her preparation to make it this way.

Maybe it's her. We haven't talked much with her, as she's been busy with all of the guests until now, but she seems very happy to have us here.

"Been hoping you'd come by," she says as she serves us.

I need to find out who her strawberry and melon supplier is. This is to die for. I didn't realize I was hungry for anything other than Juliet until we sat down.

Juliet passes her a curious look. "You've said that a few times-I'm sorry, your name again is?"

The woman smiles. "Imogene, but you call me Genie. Ever'body does."

"Do you know us from somewhere?" I ask her quizzically, when I can put down my spoon long enough to not be talking with my mouth full.

"Course I do. And you knows me. I's Mitch's mama. You knows Mitch."

Of course we know Mitch. Only the best bartender in the world, if you don't mind the atmosphere. I confess to a small degree of nervousness when the signs over the entry way read: "In God we trust-all others pay cash," and "Please check all weapons at the door." Mitch runs a biker bar about 5 miles from his mother's establishment. It's the preferred watering hole for Frohike, Langly and myself, particularly during the playoffs. Mulder of course adores the place, and we can take the women there and never worry about them being hassled. Mitch does not appreciate that sort of behavior, and he's big enough that his customers don't screw around with him. And I notice that Langly and Michael never seem to have trouble getting a pool table in short order, regardless of crowd size and interest in other clients in doing the same. The drinks are honest, and when you're hungry, the food is magnificent, if not exactly heart-friendly. If it doesn't send your cholesterol count off the charts, Mitch's doesn't prepare it.

And it's Mitch's fault that I'm addicted to fried chicken. I wonder if he learned his technique from his mother. Although we missed dinner last night, when we arrived, there was a marvelous Caesar salad, hot French bread and sweet butter, and fresh raspberries waiting for us. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

Genie briefly explained how she'd been the chef for three presidents, that she'd been cooking since she was four years old, and she felt it was one of the gifts the Lord had given her, and she says you don't waste what the Lord bestows on you.

I am not normally comfortable with someone who is of such a deep religious persuasion, particularly in the current day and age, where it is taking on oppressive proportions in every day existence. But there is something about this woman's spirituality which is so profound and deep and sincere, and she is so lulling with that musical voice, you can't help but pay attention-and be comfortable with her at the same time.

"I's remember the day you pr'posed to this here lady," Genie smiles at me. "I was there, y'know."

That's right. The day of Joan Langly's funeral. We went out for drinks afterwards. And I managed to make a public fool of myself.

This makes Juliet smile. She can wear her ring again. I see her admire it often.

Which reminds me, when we get back, we need to pick up our wedding rings. They're being sized. They're very simple, plain platinum bands. I admire the ones that Langly and Ally have-and they are beautiful and unique, but for us, simplicity is more our taste.

It will be strange to have one on again-and I look forward to it. Mine was removed during my illness a little over a year ago, and Frohike's been keeping it in custody since then. I'd been wearing my ring from Susanne for nearly ten years since her death.

It's strange how certain events push you into the future, whether you want to go there or not.

I wasn't sure I did, but once it happened, I was glad I got there.

"I gots your menu all figgered out," she tells us. Nicole, our planner, said she had a caterer of high repute, but we failed to ask who it was. Now we know. "Now don't you worry none 'bout the eatin.' I knows what you like. I never did figger it out, people go to weddin's, they always think they's gonna get food that you wouldn't give your dog, I think that's just plain wrong. Good food, brings people t'gether. Got to have good food."

She is a tall woman, with a weathered face, gray hair worn in a bun-I think it's still long, silver-framed glasses, and she chain-smokes Camels. The eyes are very blue and very calm.

I'm guessing that in her youth, she was quite a looker. And that voice. That in itself is a seduction. She just draws you in with it.

I can see a little bit of her when I try to visualize Mitch's face, but I imagine he favors his father.

"Mitch, he looks more like his daddy," Genie says, and I nearly drop my spoon. It's as if she could see right into my head. As if my skull had become transparent. "My other boy, they both look more like their daddy. Good thing. He was a fine-lookin' one."

She studies Juliet carefully while I try to regain my equilibrium. I think she knows she startled me, and she's determined to let me get my own bearings back.

"You. Virgo. Aquarius moon, Capricorn rising. You'll be a good mama."

Juliet's eyes widen in surprise, but she just nods. "I hope so," she finally says. "I do want kids."

"I knows that," Genie says tenderly. She looks at me. "Born on the cusp o' Sag'tarius and Scorpio, right when it moved. Aquarius moon, too. Both yous, Aquarius moons. You understand each others. You rises in Cancer. And that's when you get your little one, in the sign of Cancer."

"Uh, when is that?" Juliet asks.

Genie smiles. "Don't knows much about your stars, does ya? Cancer, it's in the summertime, right at the b'ginin'. Your friend, Langly, he's born that time. And the little boy."

If there is any truth to this-and somehow, I hope, I pray, I doubt it-we are in for a challenge.

"What year?" I ask curiously.

She throws back her head and laughs as she takes in a lungful of unfiltered Camel smoke. "Nex' year, this time, you be visitin' me with your new one."

I look at Juliet. She looks over at me.

"You's gonna be a good mama and daddy, don't you worry none 'bout that. But we gots to be real extra careful with the little ones these days. Dang'rous times for the little ones."

Juliet's eyes take on a look of mild alarm. "Why do you say?"

"Y'see, I gots a gift. Two of 'em. Only two, and what the Lord gives, you don't wastes. One's cookin.' Other one, I sees things. Not all the time, not all clear all the time. But I knows about the little ones. And I's warnin' you. But I's especially warnin' your friend there Mulder. And your friend Langly, his wife, she's a Jewess, they don't take so kindly to them these days."

Well, anyone with any awareness is cognizant of that...but what does she mean by this?

"Gots to be real careful, sendin' the little ones to school. Sendin' them anywheres. Gots to watch 'em real close."

I'm totally confused. "Genie, are you saying that the children of Mulder and Langly are in danger? And if so, why?"

She closes her eyes and lights another Camel. "John, you knows they don't like no Jews these days. They's doin' all they can, keep them from havin' jobs, doin' what they needs to do, keepin' 'em from bein' part of things. And they's gonna get to 'em by the kids. I don't tells you this to scares you. I does this b'cause I wants you all bein' careful."

"We're not Jewish," Juliet says, a little anxiously.

"But you's Catholic, and they's not so awful 'bout them, but you's gots to be careful. They wants kids raised up one way, and they's gonna go for the ones that's Jews first, but you still gots to be careful."

How did she know that? We said nothing about it...unless, of course, Nicole revealed the name of the church we are being married in. That would be a dead giveaway.

"You knows what's goin' on. You works in a college. You knows that people who don't sees it like they wants them to, they's got no jobs now. They's bringin' in who they wants runnin' things. Tellin' yous what you can and cain't teach."

My skin is crawling now. How does she know about my employment? I have told Mitch, but not much. He knows I'm a professor, and that's about it. I don't think I ever even told him which university.

I'm used to being the tracker, not the tracked. This role makes me acutely uncomfortable.

Genie smiles gently again and opens those clear, still eyes. "Now don't you be worryin' none. I ain't no gossip. Y'see, I gots two gifts. One's cookin,' like I telled you. Other one's, I sees things. I only says things to the folks it concerns, not to nobody else, not ever. It ain't right. I only says your friends' names b'cause I know you knows them, and yous cares about them, you's all lookin' out for one 'nother. And that's a good thing. Best thing yous can do for each others. You's lucky that way. You's  lucky in lots a ways. You get bad things comin' to you sometimes, like this here what happened to the purty lady-" she points to Juliet's walking stick-"but you gets good things, too. And you's has to find out why's she gots hurt like she did. Important. Gots to do that."

I feel like I've just been given a homework assignment.

"That ain't no acc'dent happened to her," Genie says, and she loses her smile. The eyes grow dark.

"So if you have visions," I challenge her, "why can't you tell us who did it to her? And why?" I'm sorry, but I have to be skeptical of this woman.

I keep wondering if she's a CIA plant.

She shakes her head. "Not ever'thing comes clear all the time, I don't gets to see ever'thing. Sometimes, I knows, it's real clear, other times, like mud."

Well, so much for consistency. As much as I am enjoying this woman's presence, which, in spite of her words, is oddly soothing, I am intensely mistrustful of her. I doubt her 'gift' would stand up to scientific scrutiny.

It's one of the hazards of being trained as a researcher. You fall without even realizing it into a mindset where everything has to be proven, substantiated, quantified, replicated. Experience in and of itself, per se, is not valuable because you can't quantitate it.

I need to change that. I've already been going through a huge personal crisis on that score, and I have no easy way to mitigate it.

"You's thinkin' I's some sort a crazy woman, a fraud," she says, but there's no malice in her voice.

"I admit...I'm having a hard time taking all this in."

I look to Juliet, who is equally entranced, but I do believe her own natural skepticism shines through.

"That's okay. Good to not take ever'thing at face value. You needs to ask the questions. It's your job. Both a yous, you been trained for doin' this."

Obviously our lack of faith has created no affront. Perhaps a lifetime of behavior such as ours has made her immune to such querying.

"You's good people, I can tells. You cares 'bout each other and all your friends 'n' family. And you's'll be good to your young'uns."

"Is that plural?" Juliet asks, a smile curving her lips.

"You's not gonna get just one, y'know," Genie smiles back. "I thinks the Lord plans three for yous, but I know he gots more than one for yous."

Three. Oh my god. The idea of even one is, while desirable, more than a little overwhelming.

Then again, she's probably making this up as she goes.

Juliet sighs. "Right now, I'd be happy just to find a job. It's hard."

"That's 'cause they don't wants mamas out there tryin' to make no livin.' I 'member, I had my young'uns, and no daddy takin' care of us, I had to goes out and do what I knows how to do. And I gots all kinds a looks and re-marks like you wouldn't be b'lievin.' You gots to fight back."

"How, when no one will hire me?"

This is not entirely true. Luanne Russell would take her back in a second...but the prospect of that makes me terribly uncomfortable. I've expressed this to Juliet.

Genie gives her a calm, steady gaze. "You's do it yourselfs, that's whats you do. Just like I did."

Self-employment. But of what type? Juliet has very little business experience. She's spent nearly all her adult life in academia, which is a poor training ground for life in the outside world. Academic life is cloistered and circumscribed, and while there is brutality in it, it's not the same as dealing with a profit-making venture.

"Don't you be worryin' none. You's'll find a way." Genie waves her hand, then lights another Camel. I can't believe how much this woman smokes.

All of a sudden, she looks as though a sharp pain took her. I wonder if she's having a heart attack-with the amount she smokes, and her age, I'd be surprised if she hadn't had one already.

She holds up one hand. "It ain't like what you's thinkin.' I just...you know, your friend, Malvin?"

Malvin?

Melvin? As in Frohike?

"Melvin Frohike? Do you know him?"

"We knows each other a long time, from way back. Malvin. Somethin's wrong. He ain't well."

"He was fine when we left."

"Well, he ain't now."

I think she's trying to kick us out, perhaps...but then again, we are paying customers. I did give her my Visa number when we arrived.

"'Scuse me, gots to make a call." She disappears into the kitchen, where she's gone for about ten or fifteen minutes.

Juliet raises her dark brows at me. "So what do you think of her?"

"I don't know what to think." I still maintain that she might not be all there.

"She's insane...but I like her. I could listen to that voice for hours."

"I think the religious aspects of her make me uneasy," I'm trying to place my finger on what it is about this woman that unnerves me. "And that she knows so much about us. I wonder where she's keeping her files."

Juliet shakes her head. "John, this woman sounds as if she never finished high school. She's obviously intelligent, but poorly educated. I doubt she has any sort of elaborate network on people, other than a strong intuition and being very observant."

"Too observant. I feel exposed in front of her."

"I know. But I think her intentions are good ones. She seems to like us being here. And she acts as if she's been expecting us all along."

"I think she probably does that to all the guests to make them feel welcome."

"John, your paranoia is usually well-placed...but I don't have a bad feeling about her. She seems to be very kind. And the food here...well, she makes me embarrassed to cook."

"It has been really good, hasn't it?" I suddenly wonder, out of nowhere, if she has any chocolate cake...for some reason, something chocolate sounds really good right now...

Of course, for me, John Byers, chocoholic, something chocolate always sounds good.

I'm tempted to ask her, but I don't when I see her face.

"Malvin's okay," she says when she comes out of the kitchen. "Consid'rin' what he's goin' through. You knows he's got ulcers, right?"

"Yes." With a son like Michael, it's no wonder...I like Michael very much, but he is not an easy child to care for, and I think Frohike worries over him constantly.

"Well, he went, eatin' pizza like he knows he oughtn't t'be, and beers, and then he gets real bad, ulcer starts to bleedin', lucky he's with someone, he's been moved out a ICU, but he was lookin' real bad. And he ain't out a the woods yet."

"Where is he?"

"VA Hospital, Fairfax."

That would make sense...and I feel myself grow cold.

Not Frohike. God, I depend on him so much. We all do.

I stand up and take Juliet's hand. "I'm sorry, we need to go."

Genie holds out her hand. "You sits right back down, young man. Malvin ain't feelin' like no comp'ny right now. He needs t'be sleepin', and that's what he's doin.' He gots his boy there, and he don't even want the boy bein' 'round right now. Malvin's real private that way."

This is true. Frohike is truly one who prefers his sufferings not to be a public affair.

"Gonna be hard for him. Malvin, he don't like nobody havin' to do things for him, but he ain't gonna be on his feets for a while, he's gonna have to be gettin' some help. And he won't let his boy be doin' it. Boy needs to be goin' to school. And Malvin and he, they be around each others that much, they's gonna murder the other."

I wonder if Ally and Langly know. They headed for the shoreline to go camping. Ally took her phone, I'm sure of it, but chances are she turned it off. The point of these expeditions is to get away from pressure, not take it with you.

"That's fine while he's in the hospital, with a full staff to look after him, but what happens when he's discharged?" I ask anxiously. We can't have Frohike running himself into the ground. We'd like to keep him around for a while.

Genie smiles softly. "Don't you be worryin' none. The Lord provides."

Oh, really?

END OF PART 15