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  He'd done well so far, never making them retrace their steps until now. This going back seemed like bad luck and he realized he'd grown superstitious since losing the stove. Two birds meant a bad day (there'd been two birds the morning they lost the bikes). A fallen limb pointing northwest meant someone else from The Community had died. He yearned to give meaning to things. This morning he'd seen two birds and now Amy had dropped her bombshell.

  With a crack and crash, a limb fell from a poplar and three bluebirds flew from the undergrowth. It had to mean something.

  "Wait here," he told her before jogging over to the branch. The tip of the fallen branch pointed to a clump of an herb The Doc knew well. Ingesting a few leaves of the plant caused miscarriage. He looked to Amy and his mind ran a marathon of thoughts. Could she be pregnant? Perhaps there was a reason they'd gone this way. Perhaps this was why, after so long of not getting lost, he turned down this road. This was no world for babies. Not yet anyway. The Doc stooped to pluck some of the leaves. An hour later, he and Amy munched on a supper of apples.

  ***

  As they walked with the sun fading behind them, Amy's stomach rumbled and he handed her the leaves.

  "Chew on these, they'll dull the hunger."

  She took them, smelled them, then popped them in her mouth and chewed the leaves like gum. He took her hand and they kept walking.

  That night, when her stomach cramped and ached, he rubbed her belly to soothe it.

  "Too many apples, I guess," she grunted.

  "Perhaps."

  "I'll name the baby Apple if it's a girl."

  He swallowed back the emotion her hopefulness swelled in him and continued rubbing her concave belly.

  "That'd be a good name."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Toad

  "THE TOAD" IS a modern re-telling of a medieval Italian folk tale. In it, the very ugly Bertoldo is jester to the king and becomes one of the king's best friends and truest advisors. Feeling others are viewing the king as being controlled by Bertoldo and embarrassed by her husband's friendship with the hideous jester, the queen takes matters into her own hands to get Bertoldo out of their lives. Some of the exchanges between Bert and Albert are close translations of the Italian text.

  ***

  ~ 1 ~

  "Albert, did you hear that?"

  "No, I'm sleeping."

  "I heard something."

  "Probably just the cat. Sleep. Now."

  Albert tried to return to his dream, but the creaking of the pantry door jolted him to full alert. He jumped out of bed and grabbed the largest and nearest item to him.

  "Are you going to defend your kingdom with an umbrella?" Miriam chided.

  "Don't wake me up just to criticize."

  With the alligator leather strap holding it closed and its pointed metal tip, the umbrella made a perfect impromptu sword in Albert's opinion. Besides, for two hundred dollars it ought to serve double use as something.

  Albert tiptoed out from the bedroom knowing where to step to keep the floorboards from squeaking. It was the same route he took toward the stairs to his study on the first floor where he would call his mistress at any hour. Sheila would have never criticized his choice of weaponry.

  The pantry door creaked shut while Albert crept his way down the stairs. The clang of pots and pain-ridden "oof" signaled Albert to sweep in and take the burglar (who would now be rubbing his head) by surprise. Albert knew all too well the thief had just crashed into the array of copper pots and pans hanging above the center island in the kitchen.

  Miriam, after seeing the "kitchen of her dreams" in a Better Homes and Gardens, insisted they remodel the kitchen she never used, complete with pots and pans hanging dangerously at the level of Albert's head. Since completion of the remodel, the cookware hadn't been moved except by Albert's head. Their personal chef preferred cast iron pans, but Miriam demanded they be kept out of sight, and so the only use for the dangling metal was to give the maid something else to dust and an obstacle for Albert to watch out for.

  "Gotcha," Albert jutted the umbrella forward as he burst through the kitchen door like a pajama-wearing Errol Flynn.

  "Got me? What, am I going to have to witness your Mr. Steed impersonation? Only if Emma Peel shows up, Old Man."

  Albert was flustered. Who was this ugly little man to talk back to him? No one ever talked back to him. He was Albert Pearl, head of Pearl Enterprises. He controlled more things than he could keep track of. So who did this guy think he was?

  "I'll have you know there is a security system on this house and the police will be arriving any minute." Because if they didn't the Chief knew Albert would arrange to have him replaced.

  "Oh, you mean this?" The strange man held up a couple wires. "You got robbed on your security system. Any thief worth his salt can get through it. You've obviously got the cash, you should really invest in better things."

  "I was told it was the best on the market," Albert lowered the umbrella.

  "Most expensive on the market, but not the best. You ought to do some research before plunking down your dough."

  Albert snapped to his senses. Why was he bothering with this little worm? This was no time for conversation. He aimed the weapon again.

  "Put down that bag. You won't steal anything from me."

  "Oh yeah, god forbid you not have," he glanced around, "well, everything from the looks of it."

  "I've earned what I have. Can you say the same?"

  "I've earned my reputation that's for sure. And what sort of reputation do you have, I wonder."

  "The bag," Albert gestured a lowering motion with the umbrella tip.

  The man with the crooked nose and even more crooked teeth pushed the messenger bag toward Albert who bore a perfectly straight nose and wore teeth made straight by thousands of dollars worth of orthodontics. Albert looked inside. The only contents were peanut butter, canned soup and juice.

  "So you'll know, I was also planning on taking a pot and a can opener and some bread."

  "It's only food. All the stuff in this house and you only took food?"

  "I can't eat diamonds. Well, I used to be able to but as of late they give me indigestion."

  "Who are you?"

  "I am a man of the world, if the world would have me."

  "You make no sense. Where do you come from?"

  "From my mother's womb. For being rich you aren't very wise, Old Man. May I go now? Can we put this incident behind us?"

  Albert thought for a moment. He should want to press charges, but for what? Disrupting his sleep and stealing peanut butter? He would look petty and not very compassionate, which wouldn't go over well with his political friends with whom he needed to keep up appearances. Miriam's charity group would also scoff at such treatment.

  "You might as well take some caviar to make it worth your while."

  "No doing, Old Man, that rich stuff could kill me. Or perhaps that's what you're hoping for."

  "Not in the least. You can go. But tell me who you are."

  "No."

  "Then I'll have you arrested."

  "I don't believe you could catch me, but since you seem to like me, my name is Bert."

  "Just Bert?"

  "Are you trying to steal my identity? You thieves never give up, do you?" Bert grinned through his mocking tone of offense.

  "A name."

  "Bert Oldham."

  "Take the food then and go. And take one of these damn copper pots with you as well."

  "What was it?" Miriam asked groggily when he crawled back into bed. She'd already fallen back to sleep. Heaven forbid his safety interfere with her rest.

  "Just the cat."

  "I thought I heard talking."

  "You must have been dreaming."

  ~ 2 ~

  Albert couldn't get Oldham out of his head. It was ridiculous. At his desk he'd be signing whatever form wouldn't go through without his valuable signature and find himself pondering Oldham's comeback of being a man of
the world if the world would have him. Didn't everyone feel that way now and then? The man was frighteningly ugly and Albert amused himself with the thought of starting a circus with Bert the Brute as a sideshow freak. The man's parts didn't fit together quite right as if he were made up of different bits like the world's ugliest Mr. Potato Head. No wonder the world didn't accept Bert Oldham. With his money, Albert had groomed himself into a handsome and debonair man. People in any room he entered were drawn to him as if the Pearl class and charm might wear off on them. Albert knew if Bert walked into a room, people would be afraid of catching the ugly and retreat to the opposite corner.

  But yet his features didn't stop Bert from having and honing a sharp wit and quick tongue. Probably his looks forced these skills.

  He needed to stop thinking of the man. It was unnatural. He'd even forgotten to call Sheila and she'd been livid. Good lord, one missed phone call and she became more of a harpy than Miriam.

  Screw it. He had to know who Bert Oldham was.

  "Nora," he buzzed his assistant, "can you look up that PI I used for the Jennings case?"

  "Certainly, sir."

  The investigator had no trouble finding Oldham. People quickly remember ugly men with sharp tongues.

  "No home, no family to speak of. He showed up in Portland about eight months ago from what I've gathered."

  "Where does he live if he doesn't have a house?"

  The investigator gave Albert an are-you-serious look.

  "Well, he must live somewhere."

  "He's never reported to a shelter. He was rumored to have lived in Forest Park for some time, but as of late he spends most nights along the Springwater Path just south of the Ross Island Bridge. There's a group of them and he's become the mayor of their little herd."

  "Bring him to me."

  ~ 3 ~

  "Mr. Pearl, there is a man here to see you." Nora said man as if she wanted to say "piece of crap I can't remove from my shoe." Albert pictured her nose wrinkling as she spoke.

  "Is it Mr. Oldham?"

  "He says he's afraid to give his name because it's all he's got. Shall I call security?"

  Albert smiled to himself. This was exactly who he needed around.

  "Absolutely not, send him in."

  Bert, dressed in the same clothes Albert had seen him in the night of the robbery, entered Albert's office. Albert gave instructions to the PI to not tell Bert why he was being called in, just that it might interest him. When he walked in, Albert didn't miss the double take, but Bert recovered without pause.

  "Ah, missing your peanut butter, are you? Don't worry, I might have some left. No one liked it much. That organic stuff tastes like dirt and even my people have some standards."

  "Who are your people?"

  "You know, people. Two legs, oversized brains. Mine have an enormous talent of piling their belongings into shopping carts. But between you and me, too many of them rot their brains with cheap booze."

  "And you don't drink?"

  "I didn't say that. I like wine, I'm just particular."

  "You have a favorite wine?"

  "Yes, whatever I can find in a rich man's house. I didn't get around to it, but I bet you have a superb wine cellar."

  "So you have taste?"

  "And sight, and smell. Although sometimes people are put off by the smell. And the sight, come to think of it."

  Albert chuckled. "And your family?"

  "Dead."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry."

  "Well, no, I mean I can only assume they're dead. When I left them they were all sleeping and looked dead so it's possible they are dead. You can't ever rule out possibilities. Which is why I'm here."

  "Why are you here?"

  "The possibility of curiosity. Luckily, I'm not a pussy. Cat, I mean. Otherwise, you know, the whole 'curiosity killing' thing would have wiped me out years ago."

  Albert was beyond amused. He couldn't remember having a more intriguing conversation. He wondered when the last time was he could talk to someone without them deferring to him (the politicians he financed, the presidents of the companies he owned, his mistress when she wanted something) or him kowtowing to them (his wife, his tax advisor, and his mistress when she threatened to tell his wife).

  No one spoke to him as a friend or equal, there was always an unspoken ranking of power he'd achieved an intuitive talent at. But Bert, now he was fun. This homely man with the fast tongue didn't care who Albert was or what he owned. He showed up to a stranger's office out of curiosity and hadn't missed a step yet.

  "I'd like you to be my assistant."

  "I don't work. If I worked I'd have to do taxes and have you seen those forms? Why doesn't the government take out the right amount in the first place is what I can't figure out."

  "Then be my friend."

  "This is how you get friends?" Albert shrugged. "Apparently you need some then. Alright then, what's your name?"

  "Albert Pearl."

  "Very well, Albert Pearl, Bert Oldham at your friendship."

  ~ 4 ~

  And so the richest man in Portland became friends with one of the poorest. Wherever Albert went, Bert wasn't far behind, and sometimes ahead. He'd burst into a room announcing Albert's arrival, as everyone shrank from the man who became known as "Albert's toad."

  Although Bert allowed Albert to buy him a few changes of clothes, he insisted they come from Target, not from Albert's personal tailor saying, "The clothes won't lay right on someone as awkward as me, so might as well go with the clothes that are already cut poorly to save the disappointment."

  Albert was thrilled to have what his wife referred to as a "playmate." Miriam delighted in it at first. In her mind, it was better than him screwing his mistress. She knew Sheila ended the affair soon after Bert appeared on the scene. Albert never had quite gotten the hang of deleting the texts from his phone and the last one had read: "I can't compete w/ Bert. L8R." Since that message Albert hadn't been sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to make phone calls (did he really think she didn't notice?) and played cards with Bert in the game room all night instead.

  The delight didn't last.

  After a couple months it grew embarrassing. The Toad tagged along everywhere with them. His silly comments, which amused her at the start, became an annoyance in short time. Bert was showing up with Albert at awards ceremonies, at political galas, at any of the myriad of events she and Albert attended to glad-hand and tighten connections. How was one to keep up the show of dignity and garner respect with a court jester in tow?

  After another couple of months people began to talk. At tea with the governor's wife and other important ladies of the state, the question was asked if Albert still slept in the same bed as Miriam or had he set up bunk with Bert. Miriam joined in with their laughter, and only years of training kept her cheeks from flushing. As it was usually she who delivered them, she knew an insult when she heard one.

  Since when had she and her husband become the butt of the joke?

  Since Bert, of course.

  He had to go.

  "It's getting on to be winter, dear," she said to Albert one day when she discovered a rare moment alone with him.

  "Brilliant Miriam, you've learned to use the calendar."

  That was the other annoyance. Albert wanted to be Bert. Or so it seemed. He'd taken to wearing off the rack clothes, eating Skippy peanut butter on white bread, and attempting to make witty remarks. She didn't know which was the worst. The clothes were quite shameful to be sure, but Albert simply wasn't witty. He could come up with excellent roundabout speeches to bewilder the board into throwing more money into one of his ventures from which he would receive the most profit, but quick and cunning remarks weren't in his skill set.

  "What I'm saying is that Bert can't live on the streets in the winter. And since he doesn't use the shelters we as humanitarians and taxpayers provide people like him, he is at risk of freezing. I know you care for him and I'd hate for you to have to lose him."


  "What are you saying? You know he won't accept a house, he won't even stay in the shed."

  "My point exactly. He needs to move on for the winter. You could offer to have someone drive him somewhere nicer. Just for the winter, of course."

  "Thank you Miriam. You are very thoughtful. I'll have Carlton take him south."

  ~ 5 ~

  Carlton, the Pearl's chauffer for twenty years, showed a passionate servitude toward Miriam. Had the man not been so overweight she might have thrown herself at someone so slavishly devoted to her. Still, she always let him think an affair with her was in the realm of possibilities. It kept him responsive to her whims and secretive about her requests – Albert still didn't know about the four hundred dollar weekly spa treatments Carlton took her to.

  Miriam knew with one word from her, Carlton would see to it Bert didn't return from the trip. The morning Carlton was set to show Bert the beauty of the southern Oregon Coast where the winters were mild, Miriam went to speak with him. She worked up a good set of tears first.

  "Ma'am, what is the problem?"

  "Oh Carlton, The Toad--" she gasped a terrific sob.

  "Ma'am, if he has harmed you--" He shook his fist and his jowly cheeks flared red.

  "He tried to rape me. While Albert was in the shower. He came at me with a knife. But I ran. I locked myself in the guest bathroom until he went away."

  "He should never even think of touching you."

  "I know. I wish he were dead." She sobbed on cue and begged Carlton with her eyes.

  "I can't do it here."

  "No, of course not. Just so it's done."

  "Gladly, ma'am."

  "Thank you, Carlton," she stroked his cheek, feigning love but hiding revulsion at the sweat he'd worked up from only a few angry sentences.