The Curse of the Blue Figurine (8 page)

Then he stopped. He stared, and his blood ran cold.

At the far end of the pew sat Eddie Tompke. His right arm was in a cast, and the cast was in a sling. Eddie had broken his arm.

Johnny stood dead still. His mouth hung slightly open, and he went on staring. Finally Eddie noticed him. He turned and scowled. He looked as if he wanted to say something nasty, but you weren't allowed to talk in church, and Sister Electa was sitting in the row behind.

"Hey, Dixon," somebody whispered. "Move it!"

Johnny came to himself with a jolt. He realized that he was blocking the entrance to the pew. He muttered " 'Scuse me" and sidled on down the pew till he was sitting next to Eddie. Johnny had barely gotten seated when the sanctuary bell tingled, and the priest and the altar boys came out of the little door to the right of the altar. The morning Mass had begun. Throughout the service Johnny stood and knelt and said prayers along with everyone else. But his mind was not on his prayers. He was thinking of something else. Yesterday he had held the blue figurine in his hands, and he had wished that Eddie would break his neck. He hadn't broken his neck, but he had broken his arm. Was it a coincidence? Johnny didn't think so. He felt scared, and he felt terribly guilty. He felt like he was sitting next to the body of somebody he had murdered. He wanted to turn to Eddie and say "I'm sorry," but Eddie would not have 
understood what he was talking about. And Johnny would have gotten bawled out for talking in church.

Mass was over, and the kids filed out of the church two by two. Soon Johnny was seated at his desk in the second-floor classroom. Sister Electa announced that the east side had won the paper drive. Everybody whooped and cheered. Johnny tried to cheer, but what came out was kind of weak. Yesterday he would have been thrilled. But now a dark fear filled his mind, and he could not get rid of it.

Johnny went through the rest of the day mechanically, like a robot. He did his arithmetic and religion and history lessons, but his mind was in a fog. Out of the fog thoughts came floating: he told himself that he was getting upset over nothing. It was all just a coincidence. Eddie's broken arm had nothing to do with him. He hadn't caused the arm to break. How could he? By saying words over an old souvenir? But what if it wasn't a souvenir? What if the stories about Father Baart were true?

By the time the school day was over, Johnny was a wreck. He was eaten up with guilt and fear and worry. What could he do? He couldn't tell Gramma or Grampa. They wouldn't understand. But he could tell the professor. The professor was a smart man and a wise man. When he had heard the whole story, he would know what to do. 

Johnny was strangely silent during dinner that evening. Gramma and Grampa were used to his daydreaming during meals, but this was something different. He seemed to be worried, and his face was pale. Twice Grampa asked Johnny if anything was wrong, and twice Johnny said no, everything was fine. Finally, after dessert, Johnny cleared his throat and announced that he had a chess date with the professor this evening. This was a lie, of course. The professor didn't even know that he was coming.

"Don't stay out too late," said Gramma as Johnny got up to go. Gramma was a real bug about sleep. She was convinced that nine tenths of the things that were wrong with people were caused by lack of sleep.

"I won't," said Johnny.

"And please put on your sweater," Gramma added. "It's cold out there tonight. Remember, it's not summer yet."

"Uh-huh," said Johnny.

He walked out to the coat-tree in the front hall and took his sweater off the hook. As he put it on he found that strange images were floating around in his head. In his mind's eye he saw himself standing before the altar in the church, staring up at the gilded figures. Then he saw himself standing across the street from the church in the wintertime. Snow was blowing past, and somebody was standing on the steps of the church, waiting for him, but he couldn't tell who it was. Johnny shook his head. The images were gone. With a thoughtful look on his 
face he went to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.

It was a chilly April night. It had rained earlier, and the sidewalks glistened. Johnny walked across the porch and clumped down the steps. He stood for a moment, looking across at the professor's house. The lights were on in the study upstairs. But now that he was out here, Johnny realized that he did not have the faintest desire to go talk to his friend. He wanted to go someplace else instead. Suddenly he swung into motion. He trotted down the sidewalk, turned right, and kept on going.

A few minutes later Johnny was standing across the street from St. Michael's Church. He stared up at its massive dark shadow, and he realized that he was actually in the picture that he had seen in his mind a few minutes earlier. Only it wasn't wintertime, and there was no dark figure waiting for him on the steps. Still, Johnny couldn't shake the feeling that he had stepped into a dream. He felt strange, weirdly calm. Quickly he crossed the street. He mounted the steps and tugged at the iron ring. The door swung open, and he was inside, in the dimly lit vestibule. Johnny pushed the inner door open and stepped into the church.

At first he just stood there in the back, in the darkness under the choir loft. He drank in the musty, incensy, waxy smell. Two of the overhead lights were on. They cast a dim yellowish light in the cavernous interior of the church. Up in the sanctuary Johnny could see the gesturing, staring figures on the altarpiece. In its bracket on the sanctuary wall the red lamp flickered. Rows of 
empty pews stretched away before Johnny. Empty? Well, no... not quite. Somebody was sitting up in the front pew. Just sitting quietly and staring up at the altarpiece. The light was bad, but the person seemed to be a short, gray-haired man in a black overcoat. Johnny felt a sudden chill. He thought about the ghost of Father Baart. Then, in the next instant, Johnny realized that his imagination was running away with him again. He had been thinking all day about Eddie's broken arm and the figurine, and it had made him edgy. Lots of old people came to the church to pray, especially in the evening. It was nothing to get all worked up about.

Johnny slipped into a pew, knelt down, and made the sign of the cross. He stared up at the golden door of the tabernacle. Johnny wanted to get rid of his guilty feelings. He wanted to get rid of the feeling that he was the one who had broken Eddie's arm. He knew it was silly to think that a souvenir of Cairo, Illinois, was magic. But his guilt wouldn't go away. Now he wanted to say a prayer that would make him feel peaceful and happy again. Silently, his lips just barely moving, Johnny said the Act of Contrition:

Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments. But most of all because I have offended thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.

After he had said this prayer, Johnny knelt, silent, his chin resting on his folded hands. He would have liked to hear the voice of God telling him that everything was okay. But all he heard was the rushing of blood in his ears and the swish of traffic passing outside. He felt better—a little better, anyway. And he decided, on the spur of the moment, that he would like to light a candle for his mother. He got up, sidled out of the pew, and walked down the aisle to the vigil-light rack near the confessional. He lit a candle and then knelt and said a brief prayer for his mother. He got up, and as he was turning around he got his first good look at the man who was sitting in the front pew. In a way it was a relief. This little man did not look in any way like the evil Father Baart. He had a bland freckled face and a little snub nose. His hair was iron-gray and was swept back in wings along the sides of his head. His eyebrows were black and arched, so that he had a permanently surprised look. The man was wearing a pin-striped gray suit, a gray vest, a black overcoat, and a gray tie with a pearl stickpin. His shoes were polished, and everything about him looked spotless and neat and prosperous.

As soon as the man saw that Johnny was looking at him, he smiled shyly.

"Good evening, young man," he said. "What brings you to the church so late at night, eh?"

Johnny moved closer. When he answered, he whispered. He always whispered in church. "I was saying a prayer for my mom," he said. "She died a little while ago."

"Ah!" said the man, and he nodded knowingly. "That is sad. I am sorry to hear it." Then, quite unexpectedly, he went on. "You know, young man," he said, fixing Johnny with his large surprised eyes, "I am a pretty good judge of character. And I think that you are a young man with a problem. Isn't that so?"

Johnny was startled. He didn't know what to say.

The man smiled. "Ah, it's true, isn't it? I can see it in your face." He patted the seat of the pew. "Would you care to sit down here and tell me all about it?"

To his own great surprise Johnny found himself sitting down next to the little man. And then he told him everything. It all came tumbling out, about Eddie's broken arm and the blue figurine and all. To Johnny, talking to the little man seemed as easy... well, as easy as walking across a room. The man was so warm and sympathetic. He shook his head and frowned when Johnny told him about the nasty things Eddie had done to him. And those large dark eyes seemed so wise, so knowing.

When Johnny had finished his tale, he sat silent, hands folded in his lap. He wondered what the man would say. At first the man said nothing. He stared thoughtfully at the floor. Then, at last, he spoke.

"Well, young fellow," said the man slowly, "it seems that you have a problem. Your problem is that you imagine things, and you worry too much. The figurine isn't magical—that much seems clear. But," he added oddly, "wouldn't it be fun to pretend that it was?"

Johnny was puzzled. "I don't get what you mean."

"Just this: you are afraid of this big bully Eddie. Maybe if you were to
pretend
to yourself that the blue figurine was magic, you would be able to stand up to him. It might give you... some unexpected strength. What do you think of that idea, eh?"

Johnny was still confused. "Would... would you explain that to me again, sir?"

The man smiled patiently. "What I'm suggesting is very simple. I'm merely saying that you should
pretend.
Use the powers of your imagination. Every morning before you go to school, rub the figurine and say some silly prayer. Make one up. Call upon the gods of Egypt if you want to—you'll find their names in any dictionary. You see, if you imagine that you're strong, you really
will
be strong! I think it'll help you—I really do."

Johnny frowned and bit his lip. He didn't like this plan—he didn't like it at all. "Look," he said slowly, "you... you have to understand. I wouldn't want to hurt anybody. I mean, what if the little blue statue really
is
magic? What if I used it to make somebody have an accident, or to kill them? I wouldn't—"

The little man burst into laughter. High-pitched, silvery laughter. "My, you
do
have an imagination!" he exclaimed, still laughing. "A real, grade-A imagination, that is for certain!" He laughed a bit more, and then suddenly he grew serious. He fixed Johnny with those uncanny large eyes. "Listen, young fellow," he said in 
a low, sincere voice, "I would not for the world have anything bad happen to you. Not for the
world!
I'm merely suggesting something that you can do to help yourself. People are funny creatures. If they think they're ugly, then they really are ugly. If they think they're weak, then they really are weak. Whatever you think you are, that's what you are. If you use that little blue figurine to convince yourself that you're strong, then maybe you really will become more confident, stronger. At least I think it's worth a try. Give it a try, and if you don't like the way this little game makes you feel, you can quit. How about it, eh? Will you try?"

As Johnny listened he found that he was agreeing with the man. The man's voice was low and purring and very persuasive. And his eyes... well, they were hypnotic. They were like great black pools.
Maybe it's a good idea,
thought Johnny.
Maybe it would work.

"I... I guess I'd like to try it," said Johnny hesitantly.

The man smiled broadly. "Good!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Try it, and let me know if it works. I come in here often, just to sit and think or to pray. Stop in... oh, let's say in a week's time, and let me know how you're getting on. Good luck, by the way."

Johnny shook hands with the man and thanked him for listening to his problems. He started to get up, but the man reached out and laid his hand on his knee to stop him.

"Just a second," he said, smiling. "I have something for you." He reached into his vest pocket and took out 
a ring. "It's just a silly trinket, but it might help you with the little game that you're going to play. Here. Hold out your hand."

Johnny held out his hand, and the man laid the ring in it. Curious, Johnny looked down at what he was holding. It was a rather odd ring. It looked as if it was made from a bent nail. At the place where the two ends of the nail met, they held a small transparent stone that was tinted yellow. There was something under the stone. It looked like tiny slivers of wood, arranged to form the letter B.

"It's a monogram ring," said the man, tapping the stone with his forefinger. "My name is Beard. Robert Beard. The ring has been passed down through several generations of my family. It's worthless, except for its sentimental value. I thought you might like to have it."