Chapter 14: Genesis Revised
William stopped the car a few houses down from his father’s, which was almost half a mile considering the girth of the mansions and their equally large gardens, and gripped the steering wheel. Buffy fidgeted nervously with the hem of her plaid skirt as she considered her anxious boyfriend, dressed in his priest garb and taking deep breaths.
“Remember what we talked about,” he said gruffly, though she didn’t take offense.
“I remember.”
He looked at her then with an expression of mixed emotions. “I’m sorry…it’s just, I don’t know how my father would take our relationship and until I’ve become a layman…”
“I know, William,” she said softly and squeezed his knee comfortingly. “It’s only two days. I think I can handle it.”
He nodded curtly and turned to stare out the windshield, warring with something internally before he put the car in drive and coasted down the street, stopping finally in front of a large mansion. The architecture was similar to a Buddhist temple. Every corner of the black-shingled roof was turned up like noses atop intricately carved wooden flanks of different sizes hanging over the front entrance. The ten-foot double doors were a shiny blood red, adorned with large black lion’s faces and gold hoops that hung from their noses should you want to brave knocking. The well-manicured garden spoke of patience and calm, offset by the sounds of wind chimes that echoed in the breeze. Buffy thought it was gorgeous but William was hardly impressed as he stomped through the alfalfa carrying their luggage and presents. Buffy took the stone pathway.
With an agitated sigh, William gripped the knocker and pounded the door three times. He smiled awkwardly at Buffy as they waited for someone to answer. The man who opened the door was not at all what Buffy was expecting. He was tall and wiry, had long black hair peppered with grey, a matching beard, dark brown skin and crystal blue eyes. He wore a white terrycloth women’s robe, exposing his skinny tan thighs. What was surprising was the bright yellow sweatband he had shoved tightly around his cranium, the white soccer socks striped with yellow and navy near the tops, and bright orange Saucony sneakers that were probably older than William. The man took a large bite of an apple that he held in his hand and with a mouth full of fruit he said, “Mister William?”
William smiled affectionately and jutted his hand outward towards the strange man. “Vijay, I haven’t seen you in…”
“Many years,” he finished for him and gladly shook William’s hand, smiling as he took yet another bite of his apple. “Come, come, I am currently whooping your father’s buttocks at the chess,” he said with a thick Indian accent and opened the door wide for them to enter. As Buffy passed him in the entryway, he grabbed her arm and said to William, “And who is this, friend?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said shaking his head. “Um…this is Buffy Summers. She’s a student of mine. Buffy, this is Vijay Bachchan, an old friend of my father’s.”
“I am not your father’s friend,” he said playfully and winked at the young girl, “until he can admit that I will win in the next three moves.”
As they stood in the foyer, Vijay removed his robe to reveal a thin red tank top that hung from his shoulders, silk-screened with the words, “One Heck of a Guy!” It was tightly tucked into a pair of navy short shorts, piped with yellow trim that stretched around the top of his thighs. He put one foot far in front of the other and lunged in a stretch, sticking his butt out comically, though it seemed unintentional. “I know you are not thinking of walking into this house with the shoes, William,” he said with a groan as he stretched the other leg.
“I forgot.” William sighed and toed off his shoes, indicating that Buffy do the same with a nod of his head. “You’re wearing tennis shoes, Vijay.”
“That is because,” he arched his back and shook out his legs, “I am going to play the tennis.” He picked up a racket that leaned on the wall in the foyer and swung it over his shoulders. “Your father will concentrate on how I am kicking his ass hole. He will take many minutes of self-deprecation while I am victorious on the court. I’ll be seeing you, my friend.” With a pleasant bearded grin, Vijay made his exit to the tennis courts at the side of the house.
William chuckled and jerked his head toward the main room so Buffy would know to follow. He stopped in the middle of a large room that looked more like a museum than a living room. Artifacts from all over the world lined the stone-white walls and in the middle of the room was a twelve-foot Christmas tree. Buffy couldn’t understand why William looked tense as he studied it. Shouldn’t he be happy that his father was making an effort to embrace his religion?
William was struggling not to knock the tree over. Buffy wasn’t schooled in theology and didn’t know the rather tongue-in-cheek insult his father had prepared for him. Instead of the usual Christmas ornaments that decorated a tree, there were a variety of small wooden discs, each carved with a different symbol. “Bastard,” he said under his breath.
“What is it?”
“My father’s idea of a joke, Buffy. These,” he said as he swiped a wooden disc from the tree, “are runes. Ever heard of Norse mythology? Pagan rituals, druids, any of that?”
She shook her head curiously.
“The Norse believed in many different gods. The main god, like Zeus in Greek mythology, was named Odin. Runes were their original language, used by sages for fortune telling and things of that sort. Odin was thought to be the creator of this language. It is believed that the Christians stole their tradition of hanging runes from a tree and morphed it into their own religious rite.”
“You’re forgetting the best part,” a voice echoed from down the hallway as a man walked closer, “where Odin hung himself from the tree by his feet for three days in a spiritual coma.” A man appeared, with the same eyes and cheekbones as William, brown linen pants and a white t-shirt. He stopped in front of them and smiled kindly, speaking with a jovial English accent. “I thought I recognized the anguished tones of my son’s voice bitterly creeping their way down the hall.”
William licked his bottom lip in irritation and smiled tightly. “Hello, Father.”
Rupert hesitated for a moment, as if he would have preferred to embrace him but settled for the angry hand his son thrust in front of him and shook it abruptly. “William. How very warm of you.” He chuckled and turned towards Buffy. “Ah, and you must be Buffy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
“Hello, Mr. Giles.” She smiled and looked around the room, uncomfortable with William’s tension.
“Did you happen to see a skinny bastard with an arrogant smirk and ‘70s exercise gear come this way?” Giles asked.
“Vijay left a moment ago,” William answered flatly. “Said he was going to play some tennis while you agonized over your next move.”
“He thinks he’s beaten me with Korsakov’s endgame, but he’s made a grave mistake. I’ll have mate in one move,” he said proudly. Buffy blinked, not knowing what the hell he was talking about. “Do you play chess?” he asked her.
“No, sir. I-I never have.”
“Well, we shall have to remedy that, won’t we, William?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied sarcastically, “I’m sure Buffy would love to spend her holiday learning the intricacies of Najdorf and Rubenstein.”
Giles clicked his tongue and pouted. “But, William, you were but ten years old when you learned to play. Loved it, in fact. Did you know William was a master chess player?”
“Really?” Buffy asked in surprise.
“I won a few tournaments,” he corrected. “That hardly makes me a master.”
Giles placed his hand next to his mouth and whispered to Buffy, “His modesty came with the costume.”
William closed his eyes, having heard the comment about his religion. “We’ve driven a long way, Father. Will you excuse us while we set up our things?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll go and fetch Mr. Bachchan and feign defeat. Winning is so much sweeter when you’ve fooled your opponent into a false sense of victory.” He quickly left them and William placed his hand on Buffy’s shoulder, pushing her lightly down the hallway. Her eyes lit up in awe as they walked further in the house, their bare feet slapping along the cement floors. She was simply in love. There was something interesting to spy no matter where you looked. Items from India, Africa, Spain, South America, England and some things were so old they were encased in glass. And even amid these artifacts there were antiques and collectables from the 1940s and ‘50s, everything from apothecary tables to rusty metal dentists cabinets, all filled to the brim with various things in need of a good dusting. Every hallway, and there were several, was sectioned off with long red Swarovsky crystal beaded curtains, tinkling warmly as you passed through them. The last hall they walked down was dimly lit by antique sconces on the walls, barely highlighting a vast array of pictures, crammed tightly together and snuffing out the wall completely with a myriad of faces. Most of them were photographs of Rupert; Rupert at the Great Pyramid of Giza, Rupert in a rain forest holding a large bug, Rupert and a gypsy holding up a dead goat, Rupert and a small African child in front of a mud hut, Rupert doing all sorts of exciting and interesting things. William never spared a glance as he trudged down the hallway to a door at the far end. His bedroom, his childhood, his adolescence, his life before his vows.
Buffy didn’t expect what lay inside as she followed him in. The entire room was painted midnight blue, even the tall ceilings. Two twin skinny windows that spanned from the floor to the ceiling framed a large queen size bed with a plush white feather duvet, a large model Wright brother’s experimental model airplane hung from the ceiling and light shone through the thin waxy canvas wings. A multitude of books filled up large white shelves that took up an entire wall, a tiny desk sat in front of the shelves decorated with brightly glazed clay sculptures, tons of posters of bands and musicians hung proudly, a guitar was mounted in a corner and a large intricately patterned rug covered the floor, no doubt to warm one’s feet from the cold cement in the winter. It was a far cry from how he lived at St. Mary’s. The room boomed with life, told countless tales of a boy with many interests in the arts and literature, spoke of his tactile nature with the various items that begged you to touch them, warmed and welcomed you inside, yet hosted the cold and lonely feel of a man struggling to find himself. William’s expression was stoic as he tossed his suitcase on his bed and looked around the room.
“Hasn’t changed a thing in here,” he said quietly and then looked at Buffy with a smile. “Wanna see somethin’ neat?”
“Of course,” she nodded and dropped her luggage on the ground, following him into the connecting bathroom. It, too, was painted in the same dark shade of blue, offset by the tiny white tiles on the floor and the large garden tub in the far wall. William sank to his knees and began knocking his knuckles against the baseboards, smiling in remembrance. When the sounds of his knocking were hollow, he grinned and pulled a small section of the baseboard away, revealing a hiding place about one foot wide. He lay down on his side and snuck his arm in, sticking his tongue out and squeezing one eye shut as he felt around the hole. He’d obviously found what he was looking for when he started laughing and pulled out a large metal box, secured with a combination lock. He cradled it in his lap, sitting Indian style and Buffy joined him on the floor. He took a moment to remember the combination and quickly opened the box. Inside were several porno magazines, a VHS tape labeled Naughty Neighbors, and an envelope that was browned from aging.
“William!” she shouted with a giggle. “Look at all this porn!”
“Well,” he said laughing, simultaneously sneaking an object into his pocket without her noticing, “where do you think I learned all those dirty words, pet?”
“Oh my God, you were a perv!”
“I was a teenage boy, Buffy. Besides, this tape,” he held up the VHS and waved it at her face, “has some of the most talented females I’ve ever seen. This one chit can fit an entire coke bottle in her-”
“So don’t want to hear this.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“What’s in the envelope?”
He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Have a look.”
She looked at him for a moment and then reached for the envelope, cautiously opening it so she wouldn’t tear the brittle paper. Inside was an old photograph of a beautiful woman and William’s birth certificate. “Who…”
“Mum,” he said somberly, taking the photograph from her hands and looked at it with a sad smile. His pointer finger traced the edge of the photograph as if he didn’t want to spoil it with his fingerprints yet still desperate to make contact. After a few moments, he stuffed the photo back in the envelope and tossed it on the pile of magazines and closed the lid. “Let’s go get your room in order,” he said abruptly, placing the box back in the hiding place and sealing it shut with the baseboard.
Buffy was anxious to find out what happened with his mother but it was obvious he wanted no conversation about it. She would have to ask him about that later as William was already in the hallway waiting for her. He pushed open a door opposite his bedroom and gestured for her to enter. It was obviously a guest bedroom, plain as day and only offering the few amenities needed for a short stay. The bed was large and cush, though, and there were a scant few items from Rupert’s travels on the wall. “Get yourself unpacked, take a breather or whatever, and I’ll meet you in the library. You remember where that was, right?”
“Yup,” she said, nodding.
He stood silently for a second, tapping his fingers on his thighs. Then he looked at her. “Can you come here, please?”
She stopped mid-zip on her luggage and frowned at his nervous expression as she walked towards him. “Are you ok?”
He swallowed and nodded as a shaky hand rose to her shoulder, pulling her against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her cheek in his chest, sighing when his strong arms banded about her shoulders and he kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I just…” He tried to pull away but Buffy was having none of it.
“Hey, give me a kiss,” she said sweetly.
He smiled then and pressed his lips against hers before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers. “Thanks.”
“Now go make nice with your father and I’ll be there soon.”
“Ok.”
~*~*~*~
“So, how are Jesus and his cronies these days,” Rupert said conversationally as he poured a glass of scotch.
“Ethereal,” William answered, leaning casually against the wall of the library.
Rupert’s head quickly turned to his son and his mouth quirked in a smile. He laughed quietly. “I suppose he is.” He turned back to his scotch, smiling at his son’s attempt at a joke. He’d never been so lighthearted about it before. “And this young girl traveling with you, what’s her story?”
“I suppose you’ll have to ask her, Dad. The Sisters and I thought it best to bring her along for the holidays. Her parents were unable to collect her.”
“How unfortunate,” Rupert said as he sat down at the chess table, smiling at Vijay who was scratching his long beard in concentration. “One move, Vijay. One move.”
“You are trying to confuse me, my friend. But you doubt my abilities. Your Queen is looking very tasty.”
William walked over to the chessboard, curious about this heated endgame. He smiled. “Rupes…I wouldn’t be placing any bets yet.”
Vijay laughed, adjusting his sweatband and rubbing his hands together. “Your son, very smart man. He knows the stinking stench of victory when it is lurking in the shadows.” Vijay placed the tip of his finger on his rook, deciding if he should move it.
“Careful,” William said.
“Don’t help him, you git!” Rupert shouted.
“Who said I was helping?”
“Ah, so devil’s advocate is it?”
“Seems I’ve been playing one for a while now,” William muttered.
Rupert eyed his son carefully, but William turned away from his scrutiny.
“Aha! Check! In the face, Rupert! In. The. Face!” Vijay moved his rook to e7, trapping Rupert’s queen. He’d have mate next move.
“It’s in your face, you bastard,” Rupert shouted, disgruntled that his comrade was about to win. With pursed lips, he conceded his defeat and knocked his king over. “You’ve got me in the next move. Well done, Vijay.”
“Ha! Ahaha! I told you! What did I say, Mister William? What did I say? I said I was kicking your father’s ass hole! And here I have won yet again!”
William clapped slowly, smiling smugly at his father. “Well done, Vijay.”
“He only seems to remember the few times he’s won,” Rupert said, taking a sip of his scotch. “And yet, not two days ago I mopped the floor with him.”
“That does not count,” Vijay interjected with a pointed finger in the air. “We were in Egypt. I only count native soil games.”
Rupert and William laughed. “And California is your native soil?”
“It certainly is not that filthy cesspool called Egypt!”
Rupert packed the chess pieces into a large wooden box as Vijay stood from the table. “Off so soon?”
“A good player always leaves after a win. I don’t want to rub it in your stinking face.” Vijay laughed and patted William on the shoulder. “So good to be seeing you, my friend. Kamat will be angry if I do not help her with the garden before sunset. She complains so much,” he said, sighing.
“It was good to see you too, Vijay. Been too long.”
“That it most definitely has. Do not listen to your father’s boring rambling. I tell him every day you are a man on a journey. Sometimes the journey is long,” he shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head, “and sometimes the journey is short. Either way, you are walking towards something, right?”
William’s jaw clenched and he nodded, avoiding his father’s equally awkward expression. “How very…astute of you, Vijay. Thank you.”
Vijay pointed to the message on his shirt and laughed. “I am one heck of guy, yes?” Without waiting for a reply, he slipped his ladies bathrobe on and walked confidently out of the library shouting, “Until next time you bastard face! I will win again!”
Rupert cleared his throat and pointed to the chair across from him for William to sit. William slowly sat down and folded his arms around his chest. “Egypt, eh?”
“Yes, well, there was a discovery about the lesser pyramid and Vijay and I were anxious to study it. Did you know that date palm trees offer absolutely no bloody shade in that arid place?”
“I can only imagine,” William said, looking around the room nervously. He didn’t want to be here. When he visited his father in the past, he was so full of self-righteous arrogance, backing up his decision to be a priest that he could take whatever insults his father threw at him. But now, now that his father might have been right all along, he suddenly felt vulnerable, as if Rupert might pounce at any second and point out every flaw and mistake in his life. Buffy was the least of his worries. Rupert would no doubt accept their relationship, being the eclectic and amoral son of a bitch that he was, but that wasn’t why he was keeping their relationship a secret. Playing out this farce was for her benefit. Rupert was infatuated with young people, wanting to dissect their every thought, force them to yield to his superior mode of thinking and quash their dreams with an iron fist. If Rupert believed that she was a wholesome Catholic girl with a sad upbringing, he might bite his tongue. William was praying that he would. He was also praying that he had the courage to unload on him, make him understand what a selfish bastard he’d been all these years. William’s patience and timing were never on his side when it came to his dad. It would only take one phrase to set him off and he’d be loath to avoid the screaming match that was sure to come.
“So, how much longer are you going to play God?” Rupert asked.
And that just happened to be the winning phrase.