Read Larry and the Meaning of Life Online
Authors: Janet Tashjian
Larry and the Meaning of Life (10 page)
Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays,
88
but it's the time of year Peter truly shines. He spends days working on his “turducken”âa chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. We've had many discussions over the years about such a gluttonous meat-fest, but I finally realized this extravagant, overblown fowl lies at the heart of Peter enjoying Thanksgiving. As he spent hours deboning and restuffing all three birds, I hid in the living room to escape the carcasses.
88
but it's the time of year Peter truly shines. He spends days working on his “turducken”âa chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. We've had many discussions over the years about such a gluttonous meat-fest, but I finally realized this extravagant, overblown fowl lies at the heart of Peter enjoying Thanksgiving. As he spent hours deboning and restuffing all three birds, I hid in the living room to escape the carcasses.
Katie had called to wish me a happy holiday and to tell me that betagold was spending the day with her grandchildren, thanks to me. I still didn't like betagoldâespecially after seeing the vanload of fraudulent art.
Janine and I had spent the past two days trying to track down Gus after seeing those canvases; whether it was the holiday or another excuse, he was nowhere to be found. Beth insisted he'd flown the coop, but I thought, naively or not, that he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. I'd already decided to devote the rest of the long weekend to looking for him.
Peter stuck his head into the room waving the cleaver. “You sure you don't want to see this? It's a work of art, if I do say so myself.”
For the hundredth time, I politely declined.
“No offense, but that tofurkey you're planning on eating doesn't hold a candle to this thing.” He asked if I'd help him crisp the skin the way I always did. It took the two of us to carry the roasting pan into the backyard. We placed the turducken skin side down on the grate of the gas grill.
“The broiler is fine for most birds but not for this bad boy,” he said.
I ran inside for my homemade gizmoâa combination of the old ignition from Peter's Jeep, a television remote, and a few odds and ends from Radio Shack. We both took cover behind the picnic table. I aimed the device at the gas grill and hit “enter.” The flames rose more than three feet in the air.
“Even higher than last year,” Peter cried.
I lowered the “volume” of the flame, then, when Peter gave the sign several minutes later, remotely shut off the grill. We approached the bird carefully.
“I could never get a fire that hot without singeing myself into the next county,” Peter said. He used a long fork to turn the bird over. The skin had formed a mahogany crust. Peter wouldn't let us bring it inside until I'd taken a photograph of him with his culinary creation.
As we ate together in the dining room,
89
I wondered if a two-person Thanksgiving was intimate or pathetic. But Peter
was so animated and funny that I felt bad for even thinking such a thing. I also felt sorry I'd invested so much time trying to find out if Gus was my biological father. The one sitting right here in front of me didn't need much improvement at all.
89
I wondered if a two-person Thanksgiving was intimate or pathetic. But Peter
was so animated and funny that I felt bad for even thinking such a thing. I also felt sorry I'd invested so much time trying to find out if Gus was my biological father. The one sitting right here in front of me didn't need much improvement at all.
When we cleaned up afterward, I couldn't help but notice the animal parts strewn across the counter. The tableau seemed almost violent, not the homey Thanksgiving that Norman Rockwell had envisioned. In his famous work,
Freedom from Want,
a loving grandmother places a large turkey in front of happy family and friends.
90
The response to Rockwell's Freedom series was so great the paintings ended up on national tour, raising morale and $130 million in war bonds.
Freedom from Want,
a loving grandmother places a large turkey in front of happy family and friends.
90
The response to Rockwell's Freedom series was so great the paintings ended up on national tour, raising morale and $130 million in war bonds.
But just as the Rockwell painting didn't show the family dysfunction behind the holiday, the paintings we did for Gus had untold stories too. Rockwell had raised money for the troops in World War II. What cause was Gus raising money for?
In between looking for Gus at Victopia and Walden on Saturday, I killed some time at the Concord Free Library. Down in the Special Collections room, I stood in awe of Thoreau's own compass. With its heavy wooden tripod and large brass face, it was no wonder it took two people to carry. The compass was understandably encased in Plexiglas, but I longed to touch it. Instead, I thumbed through Thoreau's copy of Charles Davies's
Elements of Surveying and Navigation.
Although the book had been written more than a hundred sixty years ago, the logarithms and formulas popped right off the page.
91
Holding the same volume Thoreau had used to check his calculations humbled me to the core. The librarian even showed me Thoreau's original survey maps. Similar to the copies Gus had printed online, these somehow seemed simpler, more workmanlike. Getting to hold these sacred manuscripts in my hands offset the fact that I still hadn't located Gus.
Elements of Surveying and Navigation.
Although the book had been written more than a hundred sixty years ago, the logarithms and formulas popped right off the page.
91
Holding the same volume Thoreau had used to check his calculations humbled me to the core. The librarian even showed me Thoreau's original survey maps. Similar to the copies Gus had printed online, these somehow seemed simpler, more workmanlike. Getting to hold these sacred manuscripts in my hands offset the fact that I still hadn't located Gus.
On my way out of the library, I grabbed flyers for a local yoga class, a writing workshop,
92
and a seminar on nonviolence.
92
and a seminar on nonviolence.
I finally found Gus sitting atop the pile of devotional stones at Thoreau's house site.
93
He sat in full lotus position; even with his eyes closed, he knew I was the one standing before him.
93
He sat in full lotus position; even with his eyes closed, he knew I was the one standing before him.
“You're here about the paintings, aren't you? Just because I burned the first one doesn't mean I burned the rest.”
“You're lying about who painted them and profiting from the proceeds,” I said. “Hardly a lesson in impermanence.”
“You painted them, and they're gone,” he said. “Seems pretty impermanent to me.”
I asked how much money he'd made selling our paintings and possessions, then nearly fell over when he told me twelve thousand dollars.
“If you add in your two-thousand-dollar tuition plus Ms. Hawthorne's three thousand for me to stay away from Janine, that's a lot of cash,” he said.
I felt like playing King of the Hill
94
and knocking him off his exalted position on the cairn. Instead, I asked him what he planned on doing with the money.
94
and knocking him off his exalted position on the cairn. Instead, I asked him what he planned on doing with the money.
“Drinking heavily.” He finally opened his eyes. “Didn't you say that was one of the things your father and I had in common?”
I was in no mood for jokes and asked him again what he was planning. He told me he was financing a pet projectânothing I needed to worry about. From atop his perch, Gus surveyed the
woods and pond below. “I'm expanding my views on Thoreau. Interpreting the texts a bit differently.”
woods and pond below. “I'm expanding my views on Thoreau. Interpreting the texts a bit differently.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Take âA Plea for Captain John Brown.' In that famous speech, Thoreau said, âI do not wish to kill nor to be killed, but I can foresee circumstances in which both these things would be by me unavoidable.'”
“He was saying maybe he could understand using violence to abolish slavery,” I said. “He never
acted
on it.”
acted
on it.”
“Maybe that was his weakness,” Gus suggested. “Take you, for exampleâyou acted on your belief that people should help others. You didn't just talk or write about it, you
did
something about it. At the end of his life, even Thoreau realized sometimes you might have to use violence to make a point.”
did
something about it. At the end of his life, even Thoreau realized sometimes you might have to use violence to make a point.”
When Gus put his hand on my shoulder, all the thoughts that he could be my biological father flooded in. As if he could read my mind, he told me not to ask him about it again. Then he picked up the shovel leaning against the tree and headed down the path. “You need to stop worrying so much,” he called over his shoulder. “Life's just a game, remember?”
He walked down the hill. Then I watched him dig a hole on the narrow path while betagold measured the depth with a stick. She'd certainly made a nice recovery from the transplant. Since the operation, I found myself getting tired more often and having to stop and catch my breath. After all I'd gone through for her, maybe she could tell me what Gus was up to.
Gus's truck was parked in the back row of the parking lot. Knowing Gus, I figured it would be unlocked; it was. Coffee cups, candy wrappers, and envelopes tumbled to the ground
when I opened the door. The mail was addressed to Doug Crimini. How many aliases did Gus have? A twin mattress covered with books and clothes was sandwiched in the corner of the van. A miner's helmet, caked with dirt, sat on the front seat. I hit the power switch and light filled the back of the truck. Tucked behind the front seat was a large box. It seemed to be the only thing in the truck with any sense of order. The box was filled with three large canisters that looked similar to metal canteens. I picked one up and looked for markings but couldn't find any. I put the cylinders back and closed up the truck.
when I opened the door. The mail was addressed to Doug Crimini. How many aliases did Gus have? A twin mattress covered with books and clothes was sandwiched in the corner of the van. A miner's helmet, caked with dirt, sat on the front seat. I hit the power switch and light filled the back of the truck. Tucked behind the front seat was a large box. It seemed to be the only thing in the truck with any sense of order. The box was filled with three large canisters that looked similar to metal canteens. I picked one up and looked for markings but couldn't find any. I put the cylinders back and closed up the truck.
As I unlocked my bike, the answer hit me like a thunderbolt from Zeus himself. Surveying the land, marking
x
's on the maps, the shovels, the sudden talk of violenceâthey were all linked to those canisters.
x
's on the maps, the shovels, the sudden talk of violenceâthey were all linked to those canisters.
I ran to the nearest phone to call Peter. If I was right, Gus's plans were a thousand times worse than anything I'd imagined.
“Land mines!” Peter said. “That's impossible!”
I brought up several images onlineâmany of them looked like the devices I'd seen in Gus's truck. “That's why Gus had us survey the entire area. I bet he plans on burying the mines where he marked the
x
's.”
x
's.”
“There's absolutely no reason to put land mines at Walden Pond!”
“There's no reason to put land mines anywhere!” The why was the one part of Gus's plan I couldn't explain. But the more research I did, the more afraid I became.
95
95
“Listen to this,” I said. “Five million new land mines continue to be bought and buried every year, some for as little as three dollars apiece. Seems like Gus has a lot of company.”
Peter shook his head. “I had no idea!”
There was no way to tell if Gus had already laid any mines or if the cache in his truck was the first. But even if I stole the modified survey maps to see where Gus planned to bury
the mines, how would I deactivate them without getting myself killed? That's when Peter and I agreed to bring in the authorities. When Peter called the FBI office in Boston and mentioned potential violence, they insisted on meeting that afternoon.
the mines, how would I deactivate them without getting myself killed? That's when Peter and I agreed to bring in the authorities. When Peter called the FBI office in Boston and mentioned potential violence, they insisted on meeting that afternoon.
“Do you think Gus is pretending to teach us enlightenment but is actually training us to be”âI could barely get out the next wordâ“terrorists? Maybe this is some kind of jihad?”
It took several moments before Peter answered. “I don't know about his politics, but I'd like to think Gus started off with good intentions. Unfortunately, everything so far tells me this was a scam from the beginning.”
“But why here?” I asked. “Why plan violence in one of the most idyllic settings in the country?”
“I don't get it, either,” Peter said. “Thoreau was the father of the nonviolence movement.”
“That's it!” I ransacked my pack for the flyers I'd taken from the Concord Library. A yoga class, a writing workshop. I waved the blue page in Peter's face. “Because of its history, Walden is a favorite place for visiting dignitaries.” I handed him the phone from the kitchen table.
“You better move up that appointment with the FBI,” I said. “Next Thursday there's a panel on nonviolence at Walden with several VIPs from the Pentagon. I'll bet anything they're Gus's target.”
Land mine
Janine was eager to tell the FBI agents everything. We told them about the survey maps, land mines, and Internet fund-raising. I also told them what the private investigator had uncovered about Gus. Both Peter and Janine were furious I hadn't shared that information before.
“I'm not sure if it makes a difference,” Peter said, “but I think he's Middle Eastern.”
“Iranian,” Janine added.
“It doesn't matter if he's from Israel or Iceland,” I said. “He's got land mines!”
The two agents sat back in their chairs; I thought they were going to congratulate Janine, Peter, and me on our outstanding citizenship. I was wrong.
“We did a background check on you before coming here today,” the first one told me. “You ran for president last election, right?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“And before that, didn't you fake your own death?”
I explained the circumstances of my disappearance, but neither agent seemed appeased.
“You created a situation for dramatic effect to suit your own
purposes,” the second agent said. “How do we know you're not doing that now?”
purposes,” the second agent said. “How do we know you're not doing that now?”
“This doesn't have anything to do with me. It's a matter of national security.”
The first one cracked a slight smile and nodded to the other. “The boy who cried wolf.”
“It's more like the boy who cried terrorism,” I said. “No matter what happened in my past, doesn't this seem worth investigating?”
“You want to talk about the presentâweren't you recently arrested at Walden Pond for resisting arrest and disregarding posted regulations? Weren't you responsible for a child getting mauled by a rabid dog?”
“He wasn't rabid!” Janine and I shouted.
I did my best to explain the Brady incident.
96
The second agent wrote down everything I said but was not impressed.
96
The second agent wrote down everything I said but was not impressed.
The first agent checked his notes. “If anyone's planning criminal activity at Walden, seems like you're the first person the FBI should investigate.”
“I'm really a nice guyâI just donated a kidney to save someone's life.”
“Good for you,” the first said. “But we take terrorism seriously, just as seriously as we take false terrorism threats.”
“There's nothing fake going on here,” Peter said. “I'm a taxpayerâI insist you follow up on these leads.”
Both men got up from the kitchen table. “I'm afraid you can't insist on anything, sir.”
Since neither Peter nor I were having any luck, Janine tried pouring on the charm. She told the agents how Gus had tricked her into a relationship, how he was raising money by lying to people on the Internet. She made a credible, passionate case. They didn't buy it.
The first man turned squarely to face me. “We've read your âsermons' and your presidential speeches. You're big on questioning authority, right? Well, it's my professional opinion that this is some kind of game to you, that you get a kick out of rocking the boat. We've got better things to do at the Federal Bureau of Investigation than follow up crazy leads by people trying to tear down democracy.”
“Are you insane? I'm trying to
help.
”
help.
”
“We're not looking for help from people like you.”
“I stand by my son,” Peter said. “You're going to have a lot of explaining to do when your superiors find out you knew about this attack before it happened and did nothing to stop it.”
The man paused in the doorway and turned slowly back around to face Peter. “Are you threatening us?”
“No, I just hope we're wrong and no lives are lost. But if there
is
an incident and it comes out that the FBI knew about it ahead of time ⦔ Peter held up his hands in a shrug.
is
an incident and it comes out that the FBI knew about it ahead of time ⦔ Peter held up his hands in a shrug.
The two agents smirked. The first one motioned toward Peter, then to me. “Like father, like son. A family of troublemakers.”
As I watched them walk to their unmarked car, I pointed to the taller man. “Glad our country's being protected by a guy who can't even figure out he's walking around with the price tag still on the waistband of his pants.”
When the man turned back toward us, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He hurried to their car and drove away.
Janine was angry, but I almost felt relieved. My whole life, I've had to do things on my own. I spoke out against injustice, I got involved in politics, I tried to make myself a better person. No one had ever handed me a better world on a plate. If you want to change something, change it. Don't sit around and wait for someone else to do it becauseâguess what?âno one will. It was a motto I knew by heart.
“Forget the FBI,” I said. “We know the players, we have access. We'll take care of this ourselves.”
Peter adamantly disagreed. It was too dangerous, there was too much at stake. Ammunition was involved.
I listened politely and said, “Yes, I understand.” But I knew what I had to do.
Other books
SEAL Under Covers (SEAL Brotherhood Series Book 3) by Sharon Hamilton
A Battle Raging by Cullars, Sharon
Pretty Girls Don't Cry by Tony J Winn
River of Blue Fire by Tad Williams
Like Gravity by Johnson, Julie
Broken by Kelly Elliott
Hitler's Last Days by Bill O'Reilly
Carnegie by Raymond Lamont-Brown
Burn by Moore, Addison
Glasswrights' Test by Mindy L Klasky
