The Digger's Rest (15 page)

The next morning, Christmas Day, he woke up
to find Jack standing over him dressed in his flannel pajamas, robe
and slippers, a large cup of steaming coffee in one hand and four
Advil in the other.

“
Okay, what did you do now? And more to
the point, were the police called?” Jack asked him in a soothing
tone of voice, knowing after twenty years of this ritual how to
handle him. “You didn’t hurt anyone this time, did you?” he asked,
knowing from experience that there was a fifty-fifty chance Mitch
had gotten himself into a fight and beaten someone senseless for
saying something he didn’t like about his mother’s song.

“
Nope, no police, no fighting this
time,” Mitch rasped, raising himself to sit and take the coffee and
Advil, his head screaming with blinding pain and suddenly
remembering that he hadn’t eaten all the day before. “But I did do
something… different.”

Jack was already walking away toward the
kitchen. He held his breath waiting for the other shoe to fall,
knowing full well how volatile and unpredictable Mitch could be at
that time of year.

“
Okay, let’s have it…” Jack said
patiently, searching in his mind for all the possibilities, but not
really caring. Whatever it was…short of murder…he knew he could,
and would, get him out of it, so he didn’t trouble himself too much
over it. After all, he’d had over twenty years of experience in
doing exactly that. “Okay, so what didja do?”

Mitch paused for a moment, not quite knowing
how to break it to him. “I adopted a brilliant teenage boy, an
orphan from a Catholic foster home downtown. He’s kind of…crippled,
Jack, and I need your help. Will you help me?” Mitch said and
waited, his intellect telling him he’d probably overstepped even
Jack’s seemingly endless well of patience with him, but in his
heart somehow knowing that Jack’s own brilliant mind couldn’t help
but see the parallels with what he’d done himself those many years
ago and understand, maybe even better than Mitch did, the whys and
the wherefors of what he’d done.

Jack stopped in his tracks. Of all
things, this was out of the realm of even what he might have
expected. Mitch got up and handed him the crumpled letter. Jack
read it and smiled, shaking his head, thinking,
That’s my boy,
then without turning around to
face him, said, “So what’s he like?” Mitch let out a deep sigh of
relief.

“
He’s from one of my lectures. He’s got
a bum leg. He’s really a sweet kid and he’s had a terrible life,
abused and abandoned. I couldn’t leave him there, Jack. I just
couldn’t, so I promised we’d get him into Columbia and that I’d
take care of him,” he rattled in nervous rapid shots. “I’ll use the
Bramson money my mother left me. I’ve never touched it. I’ve only
ever used what she left me that was her own, so it’s got to have at
least doubled over all this time. He’s got top grades and’ll be
graduating as valedictorian in June. We’ll have to pull in all the
strings we have. Can we do it?” he asked, worrying that he might be
pressing Jack for more than he had a right to. Jack laughed out
loud making Mitch’s head hurt.

“
I’ll start making calls first thing in
the morning. Don’t worry. I think I can handle that,” he said as he
went into the kitchen to make breakfast. He also knew Mitch well
enough to know he probably hadn’t eaten in a while.

As the door closed behind him, Jack’s
heart fairly burst with pride. He’d been wondering if the old boy
would ever make him a grandfather. He just hadn’t expected it to
come the way it had. He’d always expected something along the lines
of a process server and a law suit. “Yes, I think we can handle
that,” he said to himself chuckling as he reached for some
plates.
Ah, responsibility at last! Atta
boy!

From there on it was easy, Simon showed
himself to be more than capable of handling the intense curriculum
of an Ivy League school. He flew immediately to the top of his
class and stayed there with very little real tutoring from Mitch.
They spent a full day together every week so Mitch could keep track
of his progress and make sure he had everything he needed to be the
best he could. Then once every semester, where appropriate, Mitch
would go and lecture in his classes on ancient art, medieval art
preservation and the like, more to help build Simon’s self-esteem
than for any academic reason. Nothing could have impressed his
professors and the other serious students more than to have the
‘Bayeux man’ come in to speak, and he made sure everyone knew that
he’d come in because of his close association with Simon, making
Simon feel connected and seem, in their eyes, like a campus
celebrity in his own right.

The only time Simon ever came to Mitch for
any real help was when he went into his fourth year. He remembered
like it was yesterday; Simon coming to his apartment at the Dakota
in a panic. For the first time in his college career, he had some
competition, a rival for his highest honors spot; a transfer from
Stamford nipping at his heels since she’d arrived a year earlier.
The time had come for them to declare the topic for their theses
and Simon was at a loss as to what he could do to assure his
position.

Mitch would never forget the look on Simon’s
face when he opened the door, anxious, nervous and…lost. “Dr.
Bramson, I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this, but I really
need your help,” he’d said shyly before he’d even come in. “I’m
afraid this girl is going to beat me and I can’t seem to come up
with a topic different enough, or interesting enough, or
challenging enough to make the kind of impression I need to keep my
place.”

“
Come on in, Simon, and have a seat.
Let’s talk this thing through and see what we can come up with.”
Simon came in and started pacing, the limp in his leg made worse
from the fatigue of pacing most of the day.

“
I can’t seem to get my head around it,
Dr. Bramson, and the more stressed I get, the less I can think.
What do I do?” he asked, pacing and pulling nervously at his curls
as if it might help the ideas just pop out of his head. His eyes
looked tired and had the beginnings of dark circles coming up
around them. Mitch knew that look all too well. He was pulling all
nighters studying, trying to keep his edge. He probably wasn’t
eating as well as he should have been either.

“
First of all, I want you to stop
pacing and sit down, take a deep breath and stay there,” he
ordered. Simon did as he was told and took a seat opposite Mitch’s
computer chair. Mitch went into the kitchen, coming out a few
minutes later with a big plate of left-over Chinese food and a big
glass of soda on a tray. “Eat this,” he said to Simon.

“
But, I’m not…”

Mitch cut him off. “Eat this!” he commanded
and pointed at the plate.

“
Yes, sir,” Simon said, taking the tray
on his lap and beginning to eat. “But this…is so…important,” Simon
said, speaking with his mouth full.

“
Sssshhhht!” Mitch said, putting his
finger up to his mouth. “You eat and listen. I’ll do the talking.”
Simon nodded with his mouth full. “Right now, you’re your own worst
enemy. You’ve got yourself so worked up, you can’t think straight.
You’re tired, stressed and working against yourself. I’m glad you
came to me.” He stopped and went to his bathroom. When he came out
he put out his hand for Simon to take something. Simon put out his
hand, palm up.

“
What’s this?” he asked, his mouth full
again.

“
It’s a mild tranquilizer. It won’t
hurt you,” Mitch said firmly. “Take it.”

“
Yes, sir,” Simon said and swallowed
the tiny blue pill with a long slug of soda. By then, his plate was
empty.

“
So, do you know this girl’s topic?”
Mitch asked.

“
Well, not officially, but I hear
through the underground that it’s the art and history surrounding
the Devils of Loudon,” Simon said, sounding worried.

“
Damn!” Mitch said out loud. It was a
fucking good topic. Simon’s eyes started to bulge.

“
I knew it! I knew it. She’s gonna beat
me,” he said getting himself all hitched up again.

“
Stop, stop,” Mitch said waving his
hand. “Yeah. it’s good, but you don’t really think that some
undergrad chick could ever beat me. Do ya?” Mitch said
confidently.

“
No, sir. That’s why I came to you. I
need you to help me, please,” Simon pleaded.

“…
and I’m glad you did. Now the first
thing I want you to do is go back to the dorm and GO TO
SLEEP!

“
But…but…”

Mitch held up his hand again in a ‘halt’
motion. Simon swallowed his words.

“
Do you trust me, Simon?” Mitch asked
the panicked boy.

“
Yes, sir. Absolutely,” Simon answered
nodding, a renewed confidence in his voice.

“
Good,” Mitch said and took out his
wallet, handing Simon a ten dollar bill. “Take a cab and go home
and go to sleep. Your problem will be solved by the time you wake
up in the morning. You have my word on it,” Mitch told him. A look
of relief came over Simon’s eyes, probably brought on both by
Mitch’s assurance and the effect of the pill.

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Good,’ Mitch said, putting his hand on
the boy’s back as he walked him to the door, giving him a further
sense of peace.

“
Your problem will be solved by the
morning. Do not worry about it any further. Do you understand me?”
Mitch said firmly as he watched the boy limp into the
elevator.

“
Yes, sir,” Simon said smiling and
blushing as the elevator door shut.

As soon as Mitch shut the door, he went over
to his computer and turned it on, smiling to himself. “You’re gonna
have your fucking hands full now, you little bitch. I’ll make your
fucking head spin.”

Once his computer was geared up, he went to
work. It didn’t take long before he had his answer and shot off an
email to Simon to greet him when he woke up the next day. It
read:

Simon, your topic will be
the art and history surrounding King Charles V of Spain’s 1550
trials held at Valladolid to determine whether the natives from the
new world were possessed of human souls. Get this approved and run
with it the way I know you can and you’ll be A STAR!
Mitch
”

P.S: The Devils of Loudon! Hahahahaha. A
bunch of sexually repressed hysterical nuns thinking they were
possessed by demons. Haahaahah. Aldous Huxley wrote the seminal
book on that in the 1930s, not particularly original in
2003.Hahahahahahha! MWB

And Simon did, he ran with it like the
Olympic athlete he could never physically be, and he was a star,
graduating at the top of his class with the highest honors.

When his graduation ceremony came around that
summer, they were all there, Mitch, Jack, Father Perez and Sister
Mary Immaculata; all overflowing with enormous pride at Simon’s
accomplishment, and when the dean of his school called out Simon’s
name, they all went wild, clapping and cheering, hugging each
other.

Sister Mary was the first to let the water
works loose. Father Perez was next to start wiping his eyes. Mitch
took him by the arm and pulled him up with him to stand on their
chairs to howl, wolf whistle and chant. “Simon! Simon! Simon!” so
loud they sounded like a dozen people. Even Jack with his usually
reserved demeanor got into the act and stood on his chair, clapping
loudly, and saying to himself, “Well done, my boy, well done.” Then
just as he was limping across the stage and was about to take his
diploma from the dean’s hand, Simon turned to the crowd, smiling as
brilliantly as he was, his face crimson from blushing, and gave a
small wave to his people. They’d done it! They’d all done it,
together.

After the ceremony was over, Jack took them
all to Carmine’s, probably the best Italian restaurant in New York,
as his gift. After dinner Jack presented Simon with a letter from
the Museum offering him a job as Mitch’s assistant while he went on
to get his doctorate. Mitch gave him a small envelope with a set of
keys to a small studio apartment between school and the Museum, not
accidentally right next to a subway stop so he wouldn’t have to
walk too far.

When it came to Father Perez and Sister
Mary’s turn, Sister Mary handed Simon a small box. In it was a
beautiful solid gold crucifix on a fine gold chain, and a jet
rosary with a matching solid gold crucifix on the end. “We love
you, Simon, and you’ve made us so proud” she said crying and kissed
his cheek.

“
I love you, too, Sister…Father. I
can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me,” he said,
his eyes getting teary as he hugged them both.

While this was going on, Father Perez sought
Mitch’s hand under the table and slipped something in it.
Surprised, Mitch looked down and saw it was an antique looking gold
St. Christopher’s medal on a chain. He looked at Father Perez
curiously, who leaned into him and said, “As he did with our Lord,
you have given this child safe passage in your arms across
dangerous water, leading him into a good life, and no matter what
the modern church says about St. Chris, we who have faith
understand what that can mean to a boy like Simon and a man like
you.”

***

The train jerked bringing Mitch back to
the present, a train headed for Exeter with Simon still sleeping
peacefully opposite him. A coachman was standing outside of the
door. He knocked, then slid the door open. “Next stop is Salisbury,
sir, about half past eleven. Mitch looked at his watch. It was ten
forty-five. Without knowing it, the coachman had given him a
brilliant idea.
Salisbury Plain, huh?
Brilliant! I should have thought of it myself,
Mitch
thought and smiled to himself. This one will definitely send Simon
over the edge.