Pool_2

mechanism or in the silent radio knobs. The basement, which also continued as the garage, was finished in a plain manner as a downstairs office and rumpus room adjacent utility portions. Standing inside his own garage in his own home, in total quiet save for the pinging of a cooling car, he was almost surprised to be there. Without television or radio sounds to warm to, the house had the same queer hush as the clinic. Too quiet, it was silent as he entered and passed the workshop. It was quiet heading upstairs to a back room walk in closet where he kept old documents and older little used books. But there were echoes jangling like wire hangers, unintelligible, fighting their way into his consciousness. Echoes in his head were not quiet. No answers here. His mind raced. As he sorted through papers, old papers, those curious old memories that had become recurrent nightmares tore at him. A picture of Mamma, dad with his drum sticks gripped like lightening in an Eagle's claws, and father Joe, all smiling. Joe cheats. Does it for the kids. A picture of dad and .. "You lika da sfogliatelli? Nice-a boy. You nice-a boy. You make-a no troub," Nino. Marcus smiled then laughed to himself. Some character witness. Your honor, here is the man who taught me life's lessons on his very lap - Nino. Man, they wouldn't pull this shit with him. Some perspective, though. He bounced me on his knee and stroked my hair - with love. It was love. That wasn't put on. Even Nino could love? Loved us all. Dad didn't have a lock on fidelity. Man, Nino had it by the ton - just different. Healers, warriors - all part of the fabric. One of Sissy's drawings stared out at him from a folder which fell open. It looked like a little girl clinging to devils being scooped up by an angel. It wasn't clear if she was being saved or stolen. The look on the child's face was ambiguous - dismay or resolve. Thunderbolts were crashing all about. Another smaller child was hanging from