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The Cardinals are headed for the World Series after beating the Dodgers 9-0 in Game 6 of the NLCS. VPC
ST. LOUIS -- Jessica Beltran woke up at 4:10 in the morning Friday, looked at the clock, and was startled.
Her husband wasn't lying down next to her.
Carlos Beltran, the St. Louis Cardinals right fielder, was sitting up in bed.
BOX SCORE: Cardinals 9, Dodgers 0
Beltran, was holding his hands together, pantomiming his batting stroke. He was thinking, and thinking, and thinking even more, he would say later, about Game 6.
"I knew he couldn't sleep, so I started praying to God,'' Jessica said, "praying for this opportunity for him. I knew how much he wanted this.''
Now, 19 hours, and 1 minute later, after the Cardinals' 9-0 rout of the Los Angeles Dodgers to capture the National League pennant, Beltran is addressing his teammates before a single bottle of champagne is opened.
"You guys have been on a mission to get me to the World Series,''' Beltran said in the quiet of the Cardinals' clubhouse. "I appreciate it.
"Now that we're here, I expect a lot out of you guys.
"Let's get this done.''
The clock read 11:11.
The party could start.
The champagne corks popped, the beer was sprayed, and Beltran was right in the middle of the celebration, acting as if he were 16 and not 36.
"Look at him,'' Jessica Beltran said, filming him with her video camera. "Look at how excited he is. He has waited so long for this.
For the first time in Beltran's 16-year career, spanning 2,064 regular-season games and 45 postseason games, he is going to the World Series.
The moment Dodgers second baseman Mark Ellis struck out, at 10:37 local time, and the Cardinals converged in the infield with a sellout crowd of 46,899 screaming, Beltran jogged in from right field.
He would have run faster, but his mind was spinning, slowing down his body.
"It was like a dream come true,'' Beltran said. "I'm running in there, thinking about how hard I have fought through my career. The ups and downs. I think about my family. I think about my family. I think about my Dad. I think about my Mom. I think about my people. My country. My town where I grew up. Everybody who has helped me be who I am right now.
"I know they feel proud.''
Beltran, who ran and hugged Jessica and his daughters on the field, holding them tightly while the trophy presentation was going on around them, wasn't even supposed to be here, of course.
This was Albert Pujols' team. He was supposed to be the one winning all of these World Series titles with the Cardinals, adding onto his ring collection from 2006 and 2011.
Yet, when Pujols became a free agent after winning the 2011 World Series, he was gone six weeks later. He departed for the riches of Southern California, signing a 10-year, $240 million contract with the Los Angeles Angels.
Cardinals third baseman David Freese remembers the news as if it happened last week.
"I tell you what,'' Freese told USA TODAY Sports, "I was in bed when I heard about the signing of Albert to the Angels. I almost threw up. Seriously, that was my reaction. Holy cow, Albert is gone.''
Two weeks later, the Cardinals replaced Pujols' bat. They signed Beltran to a two-year, $26 million deal.
"When we signed Carlos,'' Freese said, "I almost threw up again. I'm thinking, "Here we go, this is what the Cardinals do. We lost a great manager [Tony La Russa], a great pitching coach [Dave Duncan] a great player [Pujols], and we kept moving. This is how we do it.''
They came within one game of the World Series a year ago.
This time, they took it a game better, and hope to add four more of those victories.
"I wanted to get to the World Series,'' Freese said, "just for him. He's obviously a Hall of Fame talent, and he's a better friend and a better teammate. He's a heck of a leader.
"He deserves this more than anybody.''
And just like that, two years later, all of those haunting memories of NLCS games gone bad, have evaporated from Beltran's memory bank.
Beltran, who lost all seven postseason games he ever played with his team one game away from a World Series appearances, finally has a chance for that ring.
"We all wanted this for him,'' Cardinals owner Bill DeWitt said. "It was important to this organization. We've been talking about it all year.''
The Cardinals were the ones who twice ruined Beltran's dream, beating Beltran's Houston Astros in the 2004 NLCS. In 2006, the Cardinals got him again, winning Game 7 as Beltran watched a called third strike from Adam Wainwright that ended the game.
Last season, with Beltran now joining the enemy, the Cardinals had a 3-1 lead over the San Francisco Giants. They lost three in a row.
And again, Beltran went home.
Now, after 15 years, he finally is in the World Series, with a chance for the ultimate prize, with Game 1 scheduled Wednesday against the Boston Red Sox or Detroit Tigers.
"It means so much, it's such a great feeling,'' Beltran says. "I feel so fortunate. When I think of baseball, I think of all the players that have played, 15, 16, 17 years, and never experienced this.
"Now, ever since the playoffs started, everybody was talking about it, saying, "We need to get Carlos to the World Series.''
Beltran even gathered the team before the game, and with everyone sitting down and prepared for a Knute Rockne speech, Beltran offered four words.
"Let's go do this.''
Said Freese: "He understands how simple you have to make this game.''
Beltran then went out and did everything in his power Friday night to assure this October would be different than any other.
He doubled in the first inning, drove in the game's first run in the third inning, drove in another run in the fifth, and sandwiched it with a running, diving, catch that turned into a summersault in the fifth inning.
This was Beltran's night.
And the Cardinals made sure it was a night he'd never forget.
"That's always been a theme of what these guys would like to see happen,'' Cardinals general manager John Mozeliak said. "For all of us in St. Louis, we think back to the days when he was in Houston, and he may been the best player on the plant.
"He's been close. In New York [too].
"Everybody wanted to see this.''
This is a Cardinals' team that has only six players remaining from the 2011 team, and perhaps the last two weeks of Beltran's tenure in St. Louis. He's a free agent. The Cardinals plan to make him a tender offer of $14 million, but he'll get more, maybe much more, from someone like the Yankees.
"We would like to have him back,'' Mozeliak says, but the look on his face tells you that someone will make a higher bid. Someone will overpay. And he'll be gone, but the Cardinals still will be back, just like they are every year.
This will be their fourth World Series appearance in the last 10 years, and it will be a replay of either the 2004 World Series against the Boston Red Sox, or the 2006 World Series against the Detroit Tigers.
"It's very easy to look at this organization,'' Freese said, "and be jealous at times, because it's a special feeling putting this uniform on. You don't make the playoffs every year, but you have an opportunity year in and year out.
"There are some teams out there that you can't see as a possible World Series champion. The Cardinals are different.''
They're the ones who used their compensatory draft pick from losing Pujols to grab pitcher Michael Wacha, the 19th selection in the 2012 draft, and the eighth pitcher chosen.
Yes, the same Wacha who was the MVP of the NLCS, beating Cy Young favorite Clayton Kershaw twice in this series, pitching 13 2/3 scoreless innings.
And it's the same organization that drafted infielder Matt Carpenter in the 13th round of the 2009 draft, the same Carpenter who had an epic 11-pitch at-bat against Kershaw in the third inning, leading to the Cardinals' four-run outburst, triggering the rout.
And it's the organization that shrugged off the loss of Pujols, targeted Beltran, and made the shrewdest $26 million investment in baseball.
"Carlos Beltran is a Cardinal-style player,'' Cardinals manager Mike Matheny said. "He's passionate about the game. Passionate about competing. Passionate about doing it the right way.
"Unfortunately, the game is statistically-driven, and salaries are statistically driven. It breeds selfishness.
"But every once in awhile, you've got a guy come through like Carlos.''
And every one in a while, dreams come true.
"But this is better than a dream,'' Beltran says. "A dream is a dream.
"This is reality.
"This is beautiful.''
Follow Nightengale on Twitter: @Bnightengale
NLCS: DODGERS vs. CARDINALS


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Like a fresh egg, Kate's backyard hobby could land her in the frying pan. Under her town's zoning ordinance, keeping live chickens is prohibited — and Kate, an otherwise law-abiding citizen, has a half-dozen hens living in a coop behind her home. "They're so pretty. They look like toddlers wearing rumba pants."
So far, town officials haven't uncovered her secret. "They've never come snooping around. God forbid, it would be awful to relocate them," says Kate, who asked to be identified only by her first name. She, her husband and their 12-year-old daughter, Kiki, consider their chickens pets, a roster that includes Mimsy, Mandi, Henny-Penny and Hermesia.
"Once you name them, you will never eat them for dinner," Kate says. In fact, the family's morning ritual revolves around "the girls."
"My husband hooked up three video monitors near the coop," says Kate. "We have our cup of coffee in the morning, and we turn on 'the chicken channel' and watch the hens emerge from the hen house."
But one person's pet is another's person's poultry.
Many Connecticut towns, including Hartford, West Hartford and Middletown, consider poultry to be livestock and prohibit residents from keeping fowl. Authorities say noise and health concerns over trumpeting roosters and unfettered chickens combing city streets justify keeping such restrictions in place.
But zoning and health code bans haven't squelched the backyard chicken movement. The resurgence has hatched dozens of websites, a national magazine — Backyard Poultry — and leagues of chicken fanciers who enjoy poultry in motion and gush about their "girls," including the South Connecticut/Westchester Backyard Poultry group, which has more than 100 members.
Statewide, the number of households who've opted to try their hand at raising backyard chickens, legally or illegally, has soared in the last two years, says Michael J. Darre, professor of animal science at the University of Connecticut at Storrs. Darre's two-hour seminars on tending chickens have proved increasingly popular, playing to packed houses throughout New England and Connecticut, and drawing enthusiasts and skeptics alike.
Credit the heightened interest to the nutritional resurrection of the egg, the "locavore" movement, the clamor for fresh eggs, and parents who want their children to better understand where food comes from, Darre says.
The egg — one per day is fine, according to most nutritionists — is the protein source by which all other proteins are compared, says Darre. "It's got everything except vitamin C."
"It's probably going to cost you more to own the bird and take care of it than to go and buy a dozen eggs," Darre says.
But for Kate's family, the sense of self-sufficiency associated with keeping a passel of hens is priceless. "It's knowing if the world stops grinding tomorrow, and we couldn't go shopping at Stop & Shop, we could feed ourselves," she says.
Darre estimates the population of backyard chickens in the state at "several thousand." As more municipalities rescind their laws, the number of chicken fanciers and their flocks has grown. Last year, New Haven lifted its ban and now allows residents to keep up to five hens, "but no roosters because of the noise," Darre says. But not to worry; hens will lay eggs even if there's no rooster around.
There's also been a rise in the number of 4-H youths raising poultry.
Nationally, New York City, San Francisco, Seattle and Baltimore are among the cities that have embraced the urban chicken, while Boston, Providence, Albany and several towns throughout Connecticut have not.
Cooing And Purring
Kate, by necessity, keeps her chickens on the sly. But just a few miles away, John and Jennifer Aldieri are on the right side of the law, despite having eight laying hens. Their backyard flock lives openly in a sleek, vinyl-top coop outside their home in Southington, where it's legal for residents keep up to a dozen hens.
Jennifer Aldieri can reel off the reasons why chickens aren't appropriate city dwellers. She was of the opinion that chickens were "dirty, smelly and noisy."
For years, she said no to her husband's request to keep a couple of chickens. Eventually she relented. "He wore me down," she says, and he and their two children bought three chicks for about $15.
Now, three years later, keeping chickens is more her hobby than her husband's. "I was very wrong; I admit it," says Jennifer, standing near the dozen hens she's acquired and the nicely appointed chicken coop, which John, a Southington firefighter, constructed using a $75 dog house purchased on Craigs List and a wire dog kennel he found in the road. Fifty pounds of feed, which costs about $15, will feed a dozen chickens for 10 days.
Chickens, as Jennifer discovered, are even-tempered and sociable. Content to coo and purr, they rarely raise their voices above a hum. The occasional cackle issued by Buffy, the chicken-in-charge, is almost always a warning to her sister hens that a seagull or hawk is nearby.
Not only do the hens provide the main ingredient for omelets, frittatas and quiche, but they make short work of table scraps, gobbling leftover spaghetti, strawberries and lettuce, and they annihilate the insect population.
"We haven't picked a tick off the dogs since we had them," Jennifer says. Before she got her flock, she asked neighbors if they would be OK with it. They offered no objections, so the family bought three Rhode Island Reds. When they proved too aggressive with each other, she began researching the more than 200 varieties of gallus domesticus and settled on a collection of barred rocks, Wyandottes, Americaunas and sizzles.
In the winter, egg-laying slows down, and the "girls" become a bit fussy about where they put their feet. "They don't like to walk in the snow," Jennifer says. And once they stop laying eggs permanently, Jennifer vows: "they'll still be our pets."
"I call them 'welfare hens,' " says Darre. "They still get fed, even though they've stopped laying eggs."
A Pecking Order
Kim Neild of East Windsor grew up in a condominium in Cheshire. Three years ago, she acquired three guinea fowl to "take care of the ticks" in her backyard. The guineas' walk-in house looks "like a dog house on stilts," says Neild, an administrative assistant at Connecticut Children's Medical Center in Hartford
In February, Neild decided to add to her brood and bought five chickens. "I raised them from day-old chicks," she says.
"I've had cats and dogs all my life," says Neild, "and let me tell you, chickens are a lot easier to take care of."
Backyard chickens must be properly cared for, says Dr. Mary Jane Lis, state veterinarian for the Connecticut Department of Agriculture's Bureau of Regulation and Inspection. "They're not a push-button animal that gives eggs."
And proper care involves making sure the nest boxes are dry, checking their range for noxious or poisonous plants, and counting calories.
"Just like people on a rich diet, chickens can get gout because they're fed too well," says Lis.
Kate's covert chicken-keeping has yielded unexpected benefits — "You can't feel stressed after a day of work when you have a relaxed hen sitting in your lap," she says — and even insights into the human condition.
"I've learned a lot about people from watching hens. There's a pecking order. There's always a righteous leader, and there's always a bully."
Like a fresh egg, Kate's backyard hobby could land her in the frying pan. Under her town's zoning ordinance, keeping live chickens is prohibited — and Kate, an otherwise law-abiding citizen, has a half-dozen hens living in a coop behind her home. "They're so pretty. They look like toddlers wearing rumba pants."

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AUSTIN - Planned Parenthood asked a Texas court on Friday to order the state to continue funding the organization's preventive health care services for poor women until a trial can determine if the group's ban is legal.
Judge Gary Harger said he would issue a decision on a two-week restraining order Monday afternoon. Another hearing to head arguments on a longer injunction is scheduled for Jan. 11.
The Republican-controlled Legislature last year passed a law banning clinics affiliated with Planned Parenthood from participating in state-funded programs for poor women, even if all they provide is birth control and preventive health care. The law excludes anyone who advocates for abortion rights, which Planned Parenthood does, from receiving state funds. State law already bans state funding for abortions or clinics that provide abortions.
Planned Parenthood complains that the new rule, set to take effect Tuesday, is unconstitutional and violates existing state and federal law.
Federal authorities are cutting off Texas' funding effective Monday because they say the so-called affiliate rule violates federal law by denying a woman the right to choose her doctor. That forced the Texas Department of Health and Human Services to create a new Women's Health Program, which starts Tuesday, solely with state funding.
Texas' ban and the federal response has triggered two federal and two state lawsuits as Planned Parenthood fights to continue treating 48,000 of the 110,000 women enrolled in the existing Women's Health Program.
Assistant Solicitor General Kristofer Monson argued Friday that since the Women's Health Program will no longer receive federal funding, it is a new beginning and the state has the right to exclude Planned Parenthood for supporting abortion rights. He said the state can require the poor women currently under Planned Parenthood's care to seek out new doctors.
"Nothing has ever given these women the right to the provider of their choice," he said.
Pete Schenkkan, representing Planned Parenthood clinics and patients, said the new program is a continuation of the old one and that Planned Parenthood should be allowed to continue caring for patients until a court decides whether the so-called affiliate rule is valid. He argued that existing statutes should prevent the state from enforcing the rule and that the organization and its patients would be harmed if the state refused to provide further funding Tuesday.
"Under the law that we have now, the department can't do the things they want to do," he said. He added that it was not clear that the State Department of Health Services had enough capacity to make up for the loss of Planned Parenthood clinics and doctors.
Linda Edwards Gockel, an agency spokeswoman, said the department has enrolled enough providers for the major metropolitan areas, but that a survey of the available capacity in rural and South Texas was still under way. She said more doctors are signing up for the program every day.


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Scout advancement
From MeritBadgeDotOrg
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:* [[Sea Scouting advancement]]
:* [[Sea Scouting advancement]]
Revision as of 23:15, March 24, 2008
|A detailed summary of the 2008 Boy Scout Requirement Changes are now on MeritBadgeDotOrg, including updated links for recently changed Eagle Scout Award-related forms. (Once announced, BSA Rank changes become effective immediately.)
- For advancement information on all four scouting program phases (including Boy Scouting), see Advancement.
- For rank requirements for only Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts and Sea Scouts, see Ranks.
Advancement for Boy Scouts (11 years and older and younger than 18) and who have received the Scout badge, follow a linear trail of ranks: Tenderfoot, Second Class, First Class, Star Scout, and Life Scout ranks, and concludes with the Eagle Scout Award.
After earning the Eagle Scout Award, a Scout still has the opportunity for advancement recognition by earning Eagle Palms.
Boy Scouting advancement
The Boy Scout advancement program is divided into three main areas. The first and primary advancement area is a series of Ranks that the Scout progresses through known as the Eagle Scout trail. The rank system occurs in two distinctly different phases.
After earning the Scout badge (which is simply the way boys join Boy Scouts, not a rank), boys work on the Tenderfoot, Second Class, and First Class ranks. During this phase, all three ranks may be worked on at the same time. These ranks focus on Scouting skills - the outdoors, physical fitness, citizenship, patrol/troop participation, and personal development. After completing these ranks, a Scout should be adept at participating in all of the activities in the Boy Scout program, literally a First Class Scout.
During the second phase, Scouts work on the Star Scout, Life Scout, and Eagle Scout ranks. These ranks are worked on one at a time and must be earned in order. Here the focus of advancement switches from Scouting skills to personal development and community service. Merit badges are an integral part of this part or rank advancement.
After earning the Eagle Scout Award, a Scout still has the opportunity for advancement recognition by earning Eagle Palms.
Completion of requirements for advancement along the Eagle trail may be earned at any time, but ranks and palms are received in sequence and according to time and leadership requirements.
- See also: Ranks
Scout badge
Not a rank, the Scout badge sets forth the joining requirements for Boy Scouts.
Boy Scout lower ranks
These three ranks may be worked on simultaneously, however, they must be completed in order.
Overnight camping, knots, American flag, Scout ideals, physical fitness, and first aid requirements.
Second Class
Orienteering; overnight camping and cooking; knife, saw and ax tools; flag ceremony; service; animal identification; first aid; swimming; and drug abuse dangers requirements.
First Class
Orienteering, patrol activities, overnight camping and cooking, U.S. rights and obligations, plant identification, knots and lashings, first aid and rescue, swimming and safety afloat, and joining invitation requirements.
Boy Scout higher ranks
- See also: General Advancement Requirements for Star and Life ranks
Star Scout
Time, leadership, service, merit badges, and position of leadership requirements.
Life Scout
Time, leadership, service, merit badges, and position of leadership requirements.
Eagle Scout Award
Boy Scouting's highest award. Time, leadership, service, merit badges, position of leadership, and leadership service project requirements.
The Eagle Scout Award may be worn on a uniform of Venturers and Sea Scouts. The Star, Life and Eagle patch may be worn on the uniform of Venturers.
Eagle Palms
Recognition for further service, growth, and tenure.
- See also: Aims and Methods of Scouting
The publication Advancement Committee Policies and Procedures (33088B, revised 1999) prescribes the basis for advancement, ranks, and the responsibilities of the troop committee:
Basis for advancement
Clause 5. The Boy Scout requirements for ranks shall be the basis for the Scout's advancement. There shall be four steps in Boy Scout advancement procedure: learning, testing, reviewing, and recognition.
Clause 6. There shall be the following ranks in Boy Scouting: Tenderfoot, Second Class, First Class, Star, Life, and Eagle. The requirements shall be authorized by the Executive Board and set forth in official Scouting publications. Eagle Palms may also be awarded on the basis of requirements authorized by the Executive Board and set forth in official Scouting publications.
Responsibility of the troop committee
Clause 7. It shall be the responsibility of the troop committee, under the leadership and guidance of the local council, to make sure that the program of the the troop is conducted in such a way that Scouts have an opportunity to advance on the basis of the four steps outlined in clause 5.
The Boy Scout advancement program is subtle. It places a series of challenges in front of a Scout in a manner that is fun and educational. As Scouts meet these challenges, they achieve the aims of Boy Scouting.
The Scout advances and grows in the Boy Scout phase of the program in the same way a plant grows by receiving nourishment in the right environment. The job with adults concerned with advancement is to provide the right environment.
One of the greatest needs of young men is confidence. There are three kinds of confidence that young men need: in themselves, in peers, and in leaders.
Educators and counselors agree that the best way to build confidence is through measurement. Self-confidence is developed by measuring up to a challenge or a standard. Peer confidence develops when the same measuring system is used for everyone -- when all must meet the same challenge to receive equal recognition. Confidence in leaders comes about when there is consistency in measuring -- when leaders use a single standard of fairness.
No council, district, unit, or individual has the authority to add to or subtract from any advancement requirement. A Boy Scout badge recognizes what a young man is able to do; it is not a reward for what he has done.
Standards for joining a Boy Scout troop and for advancement are listed in the latest printing of the Boy Scout Handbook and in the current Boy Scout Requirements book.
Advancement accommodates the three aims of Scouting: citizenship, growth in moral strength and character, and mental and physical development.
The advancement program is designed to provide the Boy Scout with a chance to achieve the aims of Scouting. As a Scout advances he is measured and grows in confidence and self-reliance.
When a badge and certificate are awarded to a Boy Scout to recognize that he has achieved a rank, they represent that a young man has:
- Been an active participant in his troop and patrol.
- Demonstrated living the Scout Oath (Promise) and Law in his daily life.
- Met the other requirements and/or earned the merit badges for the rank.
- Participated in a Scoutmaster conference.
- Satisfactorily appeared before a board of review.
In the advanced ranks (Star, Life, and Eagle), the badge represents that the young man has also:
- Served in a position of responsibility in the troop.
- Performed service to others.
Four steps of advancement
A Boy Scout advances from Tenderfoot to Eagle by doing things with his patrol and his troop, with his leaders, and on his own. It's easy for him to advance, if the following four opportunities are provided for him.
The Boy Scout learns
A Scout learns by doing. As he learns, he grows in ability to do his part as a member of the patrol and the troop. As he develops knowledge and skill, he is asked to teach others; and in this way he begins to develop leadership.
The Boy Scout is tested
A Scout may be tested on rank requirements by his patrol leader, Scoutmaster, assistant Scoutmaster, a troop committee member, or a member of his troop. The Scoutmaster maintains a list of those qualified to give tests and pass candidates. The Scout's merit badge counselor teaches and tests on the requirements for merit badges.
The Boy Scout is reviewed
After a Scout has completed all requirements for a rank, he has a board of review. For Tenderfoot, Second Class, First Class, Star, Life, and Eagle Palms, the review is conducted by members of the troop committee. The Eagle Scout board of review is conducted in accordance with local council procedures.
The Boy Scout is recognized
When the board of review has certified a boy's advancement, he deserves to receive recognition as soon as possible. This should be done at a ceremony at the next troop meeting. The certificate for his new rank may be presented later at a formal court of honor.
Age requirements
Boy Scout awards are for young men not yet 18 years old. Merit badges, badges of rank, and Eagle palms are for registered Boy Scouts, Varsity Scouts, or qualified Venturers. Any registered Boy Scout or Varsity Scout may earn these awards until his 18th birthday. Any Venturer who achieves the First Class rank as a Boy Scout or Varsity Scout in a troop or team may continue working for the Star, Life, and Eagle Scout ranks and Eagle Palms while registered as an Venturer up to his 18th birthday.
Youth members with special needs may work towards rank advancement after they are 18. (See section titled Advancement for Youth Members with Special Needs)
Time extensions
If a Scout or a Venturer foresees that he will be unable to complete the requirements for the Eagle rank prior to his 18th birthday, he may file a petition in writing with the National Boy Scout Committee through the local council for special permission to continue to work toward the award after reaching 18. The petition also may be filed by the unit leader or unit committee. The petition must show good and sufficient evidence and detail the extenuating circumstances that prevented the Scout from completing the requirements prior to his 18th birthday. Extenuating circumstances are defined as conditions or situations that are totally beyond the control of the Scout or Venturer.
If circumstances should also prevent a Scout or an Venturer from requesting the extension before he is 18, it is still permissible to ask for the extension, detailing the extenuating circumstances that prevented him from completing the requirements and from requesting the extension before age 18.
Troop advancement goals
The Scoutmaster must be in charge of advancement in the troop. It is necessary that the Scoutmaster understand the purpose of the advancement program and the importance it has in the development of the Scouts in the troop. The troop's program must provide advancement opportunities. By participating in the troop program, the Scout will meet requirements for rank advancement.
The troop's unit commissioner and the district advancement committee can play an important part in explaining advancement and helping the Scoutmaster utilize the advancement program in the troop program, making it exciting to the Scouts in the troop.
It is important that the troop committee and the Scoutmaster set an advancement goal for the year. A basic goal should be for each Scout to advance a rank during the year. New Scouts should earn their First Class rank during their first year in the troop. By doing so, these new Scouts become net contributors to the troop and are able to care for themselves and others. When reviewed monthly by the troop committee, Scouts will recognize the importance of Scout advancement. Troops should conduct boards of review for Scouts who are not advancing. A minimum of four formal courts of honor a year (one every three months) should be held to formally recognize the Scouts in the troop.
Presentation of merit badges and rank badges should not await these courts of honor; awards and badges should be presented at the next meeting after they have been earned. Scouts are recognized again at a formal court of honor.
Scoutmaster conferences
One of the most enjoyable experiences of being a Scoutmaster is the opportunity for a Scout and his leader to sit down and visit together.
In large troops, Scoutmasters occasionally assign this responsibility to assistant Scoutmasters or members of the troop committee; but this is unfortunate, because most Scoutmasters feel that this is truly the opportunity to get to know the Scout and help him chart his course in life.
A good conference should be unhurried. It helps the Scout evaluate his accomplishments and to set new goals with his Scoutmaster. This can be accomplished at a troop meeting, camping trip, or in the Scout's home.
Goal setting by the Scout makes it possible for the Scoutmaster to help the Scout with his weaknesses and encourage him to use his strengths.
The Scout (joining) conference is probably one of the most important associations a Scout will have in his Scouting career. It is at this conference that the Scoutmaster illustrates to him the adult-youth relationship that is unique to Scouting.
All through the ranks, it is rewarding for the Scoutmaster to observe the Scout grow in responsibility and maturity. It is through this association and example that a young man grows and matures, and the Scoutmaster conference accomplishes that aim. (See Scoutmaster Handbook, chapter 8.)
Record keeping
Each troop is responsible for keeping its own records and reporting advancement to the local council service center. This is done on an Advancement Report form. One copy is kept by the troop and two are sent to the council with an order for badges and awards. It is best that this form be submitted at least monthly so that troop records remain current and Scouts are able to receive their awards quickly after earning them. Awards cannot be purchased or awarded until the Advancement Report has been filed with the council office. A Troop/Team Record Book, maintained by the troop scribe, is available.
At the discretion of the local council, computer-generated Advancement Reports may be used. If used, two copies of the computer-generated report must be submitted to the council service center.
A unit of training, Boy Scout Advancement, is available for instruction in how to carry out the advancement program.
Boy Scouting advancement for Varsity Scouts
The Varsity Scout advancement follows the same rank requirements to Eagle and Eagle Palms as those for Boy Scouts.
Boy Scouting advancement for Venturers and Sea Scouts
Any male Venturer or Sea Scout who has achieved the First Class rank as a Boy Scouting in a troop or Varsity Scouting in a team may continue advancement toward the Star, Life, and Eagle Scout ranks up to his 18th birthday.
- See also: Venturing advancement
- See also: Sea Scouting advancement
Source: Advancement Committee Policies and Procedures, #33088B, revised 1999
See also
Scout • Tenderfoot • Second Class • First Class • Star • Life • Eagle Scout • Eagle Palms
Boy Scouting ranks: Scout • Tenderfoot • Second Class • First Class • Star Scout • Life Scout • Eagle Scout Award
Varsity Scouting awards: Varsity Scout Letter • Denali Award


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Adam5582 necesitaba un nuevo diseño de logotipo y lanzó un concurso de diseño en 99designs.
Un ganador ha sido elegido entre 93 diseños de 24 diseñadores freelance.
Vintage Lightworks
Established retailer of antique and vintage lighting with an existing website looking to expand into a segmented website featuring only reproduction antique and vintage lighting utilizing a shopping cart for immediate purchases. Most lighting fixtures are hand crafted in-house.
Middle to high end buyers of lighting in North America for homes and commercial properties including home owners, interior designers and architects. Most buyers represent the top 5% income bracket. Most commercial projects include restaurants, boutique hotels, spas, etc. Buyers are often attracted to our authentic hand finishing and overall design style.
The term "Lightworks" is supposed to conjour a turn of the century hand crafted manufacturing facility where the process is not overly mechanized and attention is placed on detail.
Please no light fixture or light bulb imagery, or whimsical themes. Design should convey hand crafted quality.
Dark browns and grays are appropriate. Other colors are of course welcome and preferred, but not too bright in keeping with a look a manufacturer may have had 100 years ago.
A horizontal logo to run accross the top of the website is necessary. The logo will also be used in magazine and direct mail advertising.
A competitor - http://www.rejuvenation.com/ - captures the look well with a simple type treatment which may be OK for us, but something slightly more elaborate might be preferrred.
A look at our existing website will give you an idea of the style and quality of our current offerings:http://www.pwvintagelighting.com You can see our logo is a type treatment with a small amount of styling. Would prefer this new logo to be slightly more advanced to convey a slightly more elegant feeling (emphasis on slightly).
A logo giving some style to the V and/or the L may be a good direction as a way to introduce more of the feel we're after, but without overly complicating the look.
Descubre cómo funciona un concurso de diseño u obtén más información sobre nuestros servicios de diseño de logo.


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Mr C's eyes tend to light up when I throw a new product in his direction although he is strictly hand creams and shampoo. I though this new BB cream for men from Lab Series was pretty cool.
This BB Tinted Moisturiser has various benefits:
2. Coverage
3. Hydration
4. Brightening Qualities
5. Shine Control
6. Anti Wrinkle
7. Firming and toning
8. Pore Reduction
9. Redness Reduction
10. Barrier Repair
Phew! That sounds pretty comprehensive. It comes in this squeezy tube:
Mr C was very happy to test a new moisturiser until he found out…it was tinted. Yes.
Now – every man is different of course when it comes to the tinted element. Some guys don't mind it at all, Mr C is of the – no way are you putting something tinted on my face.
The tint is a beige shade and is supposed to adapt to most skintones which I believe (to an extent of course – super pale and dark skinned guys might want to avoid) – it blended into my olive skintone fine.
This BB cream has a really nice texture (from my perspective). Light, airy feel, sinks in nicely into the skin. I would so use this. What is nice about it is the lack of oiliness and shine control which I don't see so much in girls' BB cream formulas. Girls with oiler skin might want to check this out.
Anyway after much nagging, Mr C let me try the product on him:
After – his skin is hydrated (HOWEVER he has VERY dry skin and this is not enough in the WInter for his skin), and looks a lot smoother. If I am honest it is almost suspiciously smooth. If I was inspecting a guys face after using this I would probably ask myself why his skin looked so smooth and poreless. Having said that, it doesn't look cakey or unnatural just a little less….rugged.
Might be a good one for when you have a photo day or something!?
Comparing the BB'd side and the none BB'd side I think there us the slightest hue difference (Mr C is more pink and white!) where as the tinted BB cream is more beige/yellow. I don't know how well this works with a beard – I rubbed it in as you would if it was a face cream and I didn't notice any colour gathering around the beard!
Asking Mr C if he would honestly use it again – he said, YES it is a nice cream, YES he would consider using it in the summer if he "got a tan" (he doesn't tan) but realistically, the whole tinted thing is not for him and he would be too paranoid that people would be looking at him and wondering if he's wearing make up.
I actually quite like it for myself – the colour blends in well without that ashy finish, it smells like the beach (to me), it makes pores look smaller and controls oil. I would happily use this at the weekends for light coverage and good SPF.
You can get this from Escentual or Lab Series for £32
*PR sample


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Updates On Mondays Don't want to wait? You can download all Legends of Candralar graphic novels in higher quality at Comixology here - http://bit.ly/1oCRQ0L Or go to www.legendsofcandralar.com to order your very own copies of the books. Candralar… A new, different, and daring world steeped in mysticism and powered by advanced technology A spectacular place of limitless possibilities where adventure and danger lurk around every corner Legends of Candralar is a bold sci-fi/fantasy, action/adventure epic filled with beautifully detailed artwork and spellbinding storytelling on a grand scale. Featuring courageous heroes, tyrannical villains, and amazing sights on every page, Rise of the Conqueror is the first book in this exciting ongoing series. The Legend Begins…
Book 4, Prologue/Chapter 1 - Page 13
October 14th, 2019, 8:00 am
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Reply Candralar, October 14th, 2019, 8:00 am
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AppleCare Help Desk Support
AppleCare Help Desk Support
Product Information
AppleCare Help Desk Support provides two designated contacts one year of unlimited support incidents for hardware and software diagnosis, and troubleshooting and issue isolation for Apple-based solutions. Products covered include Apple hardware1 such as iPad, iPhone, iPod, and Mac computers; iOS and macOS operating systems; and most Apple tools and applications including Apple Configurator, Apple Remote Desktop, Classroom, Compressor, Final Cut Pro, Garage Band, iMovie, Keynote, Logic Pro, MainStage, Music Memos, Motion, Numbers, and Pages. The support plan also provides support for the graphical user interface tools in macOS Server.
Every AppleCare Help Desk Support plan includes AppleCare technician Training, the only Apple-developed, Apple-approved online service certification training available.
- 1. Hardware repairs that are not covered under warranty require an extended service contract, such as the AppleCare Protection Plan.


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Since 2009, Optus has invested a considerable amount of capital into upgrading its network, spending $1.8 billion in the process. Most recently, the telco has invested $600 million in network upgrades over the past year – and further investment has been forecast.
Media reports have pegged future investment from SingTel at $2 billion.
4G wars: New spectrum key to Optus' 4G future
Optus first announced its intention to offer 4G services in September 2011, stating it would have 4G services available from April 2012 in Newcastle, Port Stephens, the Hunter Valley and Lake Macquarie.
"Optus has invested nearly $2 billion in the past four years and we will spend over $500 million in this financial year alone on our mobile network. This investment will ensure our mobile sites and fibre transmission network can deliver a real choice in 4G services for Australian consumers and businesses," Paul O'Sullivan, Optus chief executive, said in September 2011.
In February 2012, Optus acquired vividwireless for $230 million, and with it, 98MHz of spectrum in the 2.3GHz band, with the intention of using the spectrum for its 4G network using LTE-TDD (Long Term Evolution Time Division Duplex) technology.
On schedule, Optus announced its 4G technology was being switched on in the greater Newcastle region in April 2012 for trials for more than 1000 businesses and residents. The rollout to other metro areas, such as Sydney, Melbourne and Perth, were pegged for mid-2012, with Brisbane and Adelaide to join the network from the first half of 2013.
Residents on the trial were initially allocated 4G wireless dongles, while businesses received mobile Wi-Fi adaptors.
To further prepare for a national rollout of its LTE-TDD network, Optus announced in June this year that it would build two LTE-TDD testing facilities at St Marys in Western Sydney and the Optus headquarters at Macquarie Park, NSW, with speeds from the trials reaching 25-87Mbps.
Shortly afterwards, in July, business customers with Optus got the first taste of its 4G services in Sydney and Perth using a USB and a Wi-Fi modem. Both devices used dual mode 4G/3G HSPA technology on the 900MHz, 1800MHz and 2100MHZ bands.
"Our intention to build the best mobile network in Australia relies on having a strong foundation in 3G, while transitioning into a 4G world," Günther Ottendorfer, managing director, Optus Networks, said.
The launch of consumer services on Optus' 4G network soon followed in Sydney, Perth and Newcastle in early September. Melbourne followed suite a couple of weeks later, with Optus claiming it had the largest 4G footprint in the city's metro area, spanning around 10km from the CBD.
4G wars: Can Optus and Vodafone compete with Telstra?
4G wars: Telstra betting big on 4G
4G wars: The road to 4G for Telstra
Follow Stephanie McDonald on Twitter: @stephmcdonald0
Follow Computerworld Australia on Twitter: @ComputerworldAU


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The Nissan-powered DeltaWing race car was on-hand for a few laps at Sebring this weekend, and the funky-looking speedster made it around the 3.7-mile track without incident. Granted, it was at about half race speed, but it was good to see the Nissan out on four wheels— narrow as some of those wheels might be.
The DeltaWing sports a direct-injection, 1.6-liter turbocharged Nissan engine making about 300 hp.
The Nissan DeltaWing will make its first race appearance in June at the 24 Hours of Le Mans, though it won't race in a class.
Check out the two videos of the DeltaWing doing its Delta thing last weekend.


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Student or Learner
"- Is it true, everything they tell about you? That youve come from the Cursed Forest and that you practice magic".
" - Well, I will tell you if I learn how to strike lightning from my eyes".
In this context does it sound ok "to strike lightning from my eyes"? I don't really like preposition "from" here and I doubt that "strike" suits here, too.
So how would you say that in other words? It is, of course, shouldn't sound normal for real life, as I'm talking about a fairy tale.
Anything is possible in a fairy tale- fairy tales do not obey the laws of physics.
I would say "shoot lightning from my eyes."


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Sign in, say hello, socialise and chill out ......
Start here to find information about the forum, introduce yourself and get to know us!!!
Happy October Birthdays!!!
13-10-2019, 11:59
Chit-chat, drooling and knitting a tail on a chocolate donkey - you know it makes sense!
Non-tennis News
20-10-2019, 17:05
Tell us about your tennis trips, days out, holidays and Murray Memories.
Supporting Andy in Mallorca
04-10-2019, 20:26
Post here for help and advice about the forum and to report any problems.
Forum - technical issues
23-09-2019, 07:11


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Shipping to: Suomi
KIKO's Make up line is the result of our wish to create an independent range with an innovative concept.
KIKO is:
Colour: The impact of the colours is immediate and this is where KIKO's beauty lies. Hundreds of colours and textures, for infinite combinations and tones.
Innovation: KIKO constantly updates its lines through exclusive new products and the latest innovations in cosmetics.
Safety: the KIKO make up line undergoes careful, in-depth clinical testing to produce hypoallergenic products formulated to minimize allergy risks; they are non-comedogenic (face make up) and ophthalmologically tested (eye make up).
Range: along with an ongoing line of professional make up products, KIKO offers seasonal collections that are highly innovative and technologically advanced, but always in step with the latest beauty trends.
Trends: fashion, design and art, of which Milan is the capital, are a rich source of inspiration. The history, studying and research behind the development of the products characterize and distinguish them. The trends, transformed into new concepts of colour and products, are always able to be reinterpreted and worn again.
Textures: pleasing and soft. KIKO make up is extremely blendable, making it quick and easy to apply, while allowing you full control over the result. Even and flawless, all the textures offer the maximum levels of hold and adherence.
Fragrance: delicate and perceptible only to the point of being pleasant.
Quality/Price: our quality is of the highest level, despite the very enticing prices.


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User:Morbus Iff/Sojourns and Scholars
- 1 Chapter 1: Introduction
This is an incredibly early napkin. Comments to firstname.lastname@example.com please.
Chapter 1: Introduction
Sojourns and Scholars is an attempt at a nearly combat-free conversion of the latest edition of the world's most popular fantasy roleplaying game. It arose out of a desire to play with this latest version, but to do so like the days of yore: where the players and gamemaster together determined the story, not the outcome of mindless skill tests and combats simulated with miniatures and handily-named attack moves. One could say that we're attempting to convert a gamist system back into a narrativist one, but we'd rather just state that we prefer to use the latest rules to play in a world where physical combat barely exists.
This world is Ghyll, "an amazing collaborative improvisational fiction that combines an intoxicating patchouli whiff of fantasy with the reckless driving tanginess of bebop", or so says one now-deleted Internet blog. The worlds (or, more accurately, orthogonalities) of Ghyll originated as an encyclopedia whose creation depended on a small ruleset of forced integration called Lexicon: an RPG.
Players became "cranky, opinionated, prejudiced, and eccentric [scholars] from before scholarly pursuits became professionalized ... Despite the fact that your peers are self-important, narrow-minded dunderheads, they are honest scholars. No matter how strained their interpretations are, their facts are as accurate as historical research can make them ... [You] have to treat its factual content as true! (Though you can argue vociferously with the interpretation and introduce new facts that shade the interpretation.)"
After 18 months and more than 50 players, the wiki used to contain the encyclopedia grew to more than 300 full articles, hundreds of timeline entries and people, maps of the known world, and a healthy sense of erudition. Each entry, no matter how foolish or serious, fit in with factual data previously established. The Encyclopedants, acting as the encyclopedia's gamemasters, spent obscene amounts of time ensuring that flavor, sanity, and plausibility were retained. For some, it became one of their most treasured gaming sessions, even though it was far outside the realm of traditional tabletop roleplaying.
Ghyll is, certainly, a potpourri of ideas, some insatiably silly and others malignantly mixed. With the primary character race being podunkish insectoids, along with singing pachyderms used as morale boosters, Ghyll shares a technology level with traditional fantasy, without being the same old Tolkeinesque or traditional rehash of medieval elements. There are no suits of mail here, no longswords, no halflings or elves. Merely humanoids with a penchant for singing, doggerel, and a need to fit in.
The Core Tenets of Sojourns and Scholars
Sojourns and Scholars differs greatly from the ruleset it purports to work with. Whereas that ruleset advances players through the levels of life by killing hordes of plastic miniatures, Sojourns and Scholars is focused on exploration, discovery, note-taking, and article-writing. Everyone plays as a "fact-finding" (often "fact-inventing") scholar, and your ultimate goal is to be well-known but, more importantly, well-read.
Writing, of some sort, is expected of all players
Players start out as level 1 scholars, unknown, unread, and hopelessly obsessed with making a mark in the world with their own understanding of how things are. Their primary goal, at first, is to get one of their articles into the Ghyll Encyclopedia, a massive tome that contains all knowledge of the known world. As such, players and their scholars are constantly expected to take notes and journals of what they're experiencing, and then to turn these experiences into a concise encyclopedic entry. The Encyclopedant (the primary gamemaster of a Sojourns and Scholars campaign) decides which entries are accepted into the Encyclopedia, and the players and characters earn experience based on their literary output. There's no game mechanic or trick to this: players are expected to literally write up an encyclopedia entry as if they were their scholars.
Entries the players write (as their scholars) are entirely up to the player's imaginations. The GM may describe a scene stating that there are "flowers blooming and bugs alight", and a player could rightfully create an entire entry on the pollination habits of the nutter fly. Or the acidic consistency of blooming soil. Or how the nutter fly was identified as the catalyst in three nearby deaths. Gamemasters shouldn't feel that they need to provide noticeable hooks for encyclopedia articles: the players, and scholars, should carve their own niche from the adventures you both create.
Players are also gamemasters
In the Lexicon rules that inspired Sojourns and Scholars, everything written down becomes fact. This is easy, at first, since so few facts exist. As the game continues to be played, and the world begins to take shape (both in locality and in flavor), however, these facts intertwine ever further. Eventually, truth begins to stretch and morph: where one scholar defines something, only to have another twist and expand it to something entirely different. Scholars try to paint facts into corners for others to devise a way out of. Logic-based "traps" form, family histories become convoluted, plots become thicker, and always, always, a semblance of truth must ring out.
This roleplaying game is no different: even though, as a team of scholars exploring and witnessing the same thing, the notes you take and the encyclopedia articles you submit determine the truth of what is known. Ghyll is a game of consensus reality - the more people who believe in your articles cause them to become the truth of what is being detailed. Getting an article into the Ghyll Encyclopedia is the greatest achievement of a scholar, for the Encyclopedia is widely regarded as the greatest body of research in, and of, the Ghyll world. Naturally, other scholars would prefer their knowledge to be self-evident, and arguments about which facts are most representative of what really occurred replace the physical combat of most tabletop roleplaying games.
In this way, world creation and plot development is shared by both the gamemaster (the Encyclopedant) and his players - players must write articles about the happenings in the world and Encyclopedants must choose one to represent truth, but must then also abide by this player-written truth. It is not uncommon for scholars to collectively agree on a certain fact solely to see its ramifications on consensus reality.
Most characters are weaklings and pacifists
As scholars, most of the characters have spent their lives buried in books or other means of knowledge growth. As such, physical fighting, itself not a very common activity in the Ghyll world (and, even when it happens, deliberately ignored), is even less a popular pastime among scholars. While your fact-finding missions may eventually turn sour, life-threatening, or otherwise physically adversarial, scholars almost always prefer to run, opting to live another day than to have their own definition in the Ghyll Encyclopedia contain half-truths written by other scholars. In cases where running is not an option, obfuscation, diversion, stealth, or other life-saving trickery is attempted.
This rulebook contains no details about physical combat.


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Queen Latifah Comes Out As A Lesbian
After years of keeping her sexual identity behind closed doors, Queen Latifah admitted the LGBT people are her 'peeps' during a show at the 2012 Long Beach Pride.
Queen Latifah's latest show must have been quite liberating for her. At the 2012 Long Beach Pride event in California last weekend, the 42-year-old award-winning singer, rapper and actress officially came out as gay.
"Y'all my peeps (people)," she said, referring to the LGBT community. "I love you!"
The Queen performed to a crowd of about 1,000 people for more than an hour, telling them to "keep your support system tight" and also warning about keeping safe from STDs.
"Thank you to all my favorite peep guests who came out to support me. I appreciate it. I love you so much. Hope you had a beautiful time," she said. "Y'all be safe whatever y'all get into tonight. Boys –- strap it up. Ladies –- strap it up."
We applaud the Queen with her decision to come out. Are you surprised by her announcement?
More Gay Celebrities Coming Out Of The 'Closet':


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It was the girls who first brought him here. I call them "girls" because of their girlish temperaments, though they were almost middle-aged. Maeve was by far the more emotional of the two, with a habit of turning her pale-blue eyes upward like a saint or a martyr. Betty was sturdier, with a square muscular body to anchor them both. They shared an old house in the town, one of those run-down, peeling places that smell of mold inside. During the two or three years I had known them, their goodness had made them take up several needy causes in the town: pregnant teens, abandoned families, boys caught stealing for drugs. One time, they sheltered a suspected sex offender, which made them very unpopular; when he turned out to be guilty, they remained unrepentant, unshaken in the faith that they had done the right thing.
They worked at home to make their living. Maeve typed documents on a computer; Betty read manuscripts for a publisher. That was how they had first met Dr. Chacko, by way of his manuscript, which he had submitted for publication. Betty's own publisher had been too conventional to understand it, and so had several others she had tried. She decided that the appearance of the manuscript may have been at fault—it seemed to be the product of a very old typewriter, with some letters too faded to read. So, in her spare time, Maeve had copied the entire work onto her computer; it was more than seven hundred pages when printed out, but she was as inspired as Betty, and it became their cause, along with Dr. Chacko himself.
They tried to explain his work to me, and it made them laugh that I didn't understand it. It was so simple, they said—it was life itself, life and death—which I said didn't sound all that simple to me. For them, they admitted, it was not the work but Dr. Chacko himself who was difficult to understand. But wasn't it always like that, with rare human beings? They tried to describe him to me, but they couldn't even say what nationality he was. They had taken him for an Italian, a Sicilian, until they discovered that he was partly Indian, the name Chacko coming from a Syrian Christian community in the south of India. They thought he was also partly Russian—or had he only lived in Russia? He had travelled to many distant places, but it was in England that he had started his first workshop. This had been dissolved, and so had some subsequent ones elsewhere; now they had high hopes for the workshop they had helped him start in New York City, about two hours away from our town upstate.
In the meantime, they were searching for a suitable place for him to live. Accommodation had been found in a partly converted loft in the city, but he longed for trees, open sky, water, if possible, and so, for his sake, did the girls. I knew what they had in mind. I lived by myself in my house; it was set in several acres of ground and had a separate cottage, which was unoccupied. The girls knew that I had been left alone here after ten years of what I had considered a satisfactory marriage, and in proposing Dr. Chacko for my cottage they were also hoping, I suspected, to relieve my loneliness. What they didn't know was that solitude had come to seem natural and pleasant to me. Of course, it had been different once, when my husband and I came here only at weekends with carloads of guests. That was before a cluster of modest homes had been built up to the back of the property—not for visitors from the city but for residents with jobs in the town, which itself had crept closer, with a diner and a Realtor's office. The place was no longer such a getaway for the people who had been our friends, and maybe still were his and his young wife's.
I'm not sure now why I agreed to let Dr. Chacko move into the cottage. I have a memory of him riding past on his bicycle, but it has merged with so many later memories of him and his bicycle. It was a very old model, held together here and there with string, and not quite big enough for him, so that it wobbled as he rode. I think it was this sight—of a thin gray-haired man mounted on an inadequate nag—that made me give in. He moved in the same afternoon. I had been using the cottage as a sort of storage dump, so there were some old pieces of furniture in there, which the girls helped him rearrange. Afterward, they came up to the house to assure me that I had done a good deed for which I would receive great reward. I assumed they meant that Dr. Chacko's proximity itself would be rewarding. But I had already begun to worry that he might visit me more often than I wished, and try to impose his philosophy or his mission on me, or whatever it was that had made the girls admire him so extravagantly.
This fear turned out to be unfounded. I saw him only when he rode past the house on his bicycle, presumably on his way to the train station. The girls had told me that the members of the workshop in the city paid his fare, plus a small fee. That appeared to be his only source of income while everyone waited for his manuscript to be published and make him famous. Meanwhile, the girls brought meals for him every day in little covered dishes, waving to me as they drove past in their pickup. So his presence really should not have disturbed me—except that it did. Maybe because I had grown used to being alone on the property, or because the thought of him working in the cottage, as the girls told me he did, refining and extending his ideas, gave the place a sort of potency. It was at some distance from the house and shielded from it by a mass of old trees, but the fact that it was invisible only increased its hold on my imagination.
I drove myself to the city to attend one of his workshops. New York held too many memories of the life I used to live, so the only times I went there now were to visit my doctor or to have my hair done. However, the place for which I was bound was unlike any I had known before. The house was in midtown, in a row of brownstones from the eighteen-seventies, now run-down and in the last stage of their existence. The only signs of life were here and there an air-conditioner dripping into the street or a window box planted with modest flowers that had not flourished. The house, when I found it, seemed to have lost all its tenants, for there was only one name beside the cluster of bells. I had to press it twice before a woman came down to open the door. She informed me that Dr. Chacko had already begun his work. Cutting my apology short, she sold me a fifteen-dollar ticket and told me to follow her. The stairs were worn and steep, but it was not too long a climb before she opened a door and ushered me inside.
There were about twenty people in the small room, more women than men. Most of them were squatting on the floor, but I was given a folding chair beside two elderly women and a cripple. With so many people crowded together, the room was very hot and the air somewhat fetid—partly, perhaps, because of the indifference to health and hygiene of those who have gone beyond worldly satisfactions. The women there reminded me of Betty and Maeve: the same age, the same homespun dresses, with their hair in a fringe or a bun, and also, shining under this plain appearance, the same glow of aspiration. This was shared even by the one young person there, a teen-age girl with long, unkempt blond hair, who kept her eyes upturned in the same way as Maeve. What was he telling them that left everyone so breathless? He spoke for several stretches of five or ten minutes, and when he paused they all shut their eyes to concentrate. Afterward, he asked them to explain what they had understood. Some of them seemed to have understood more than others. The blond girl had got it all wrong, and laughed along with the rest at having her error exposed; and the cripple had understood so well that he went into a lengthy exegesis that made Dr. Chacko invite him to take charge of the class. This, too, made everyone laugh—altogether there was a friendly atmosphere emanating from Dr. Chacko himself, who behaved the way a very good teacher does with his favorite students. Although some of the people there may not have found it easy to spare the fifteen-dollar entrance fee, they all contributed another four dollars for the mug of herbal tea and the cookie that allowed them to stay in his presence for a half hour longer. I couldn't help feeling out of place, partly because I had kept my shoes on, my high-heeled summer sandals, while everyone else's had been left in a heap outside the door—like those of pilgrims who had walked many dusty miles to reach their destination.
Dr. Chacko accepted my offer of a ride back home. He was asleep for most of the drive, slumped in the front seat with his legs stretched out as far as they would go. From time to time, he woke up briefly, not to talk but to sing snatches of song, gesturing with one hand as though scooping up some beautiful melody that hovered above him. When I asked him what it was that he was singing, his answer was to linger around a particularly lovely passage, making me a gift of it.
I didn't see him again for a few weeks. Then one day, at the height of the summer, I literally almost stumbled across him. I had spent the day in my air-conditioned house and had ventured out only into the evening air, when the sky was veiled in its dying light and the remains of a yellowed heat-haze. It was almost eight o'clock, but even the birds were still stirring uncomfortably, like restless sleepers, in their nests. It was while looking up at these restless birds in a tree that I stumbled on Dr. Chacko, who was lying beneath it. I had a shock, but he did not. He remained stretched out full-length, with his arms under his head. "It's cool here," he said. "Cool and beautiful." And he patted the ground beside him for me to join him.
Well, he was not young, and neither was I, and I should have thought nothing of it. And, actually, when I did lie down there was no awkwardness. Like him, I looked up into the roof of leaves; though thick, it had holes in it to let in what from our position looked not like a heat-exhausted sky but like stretches of pure cool silver. Dr. Chacko and I lay side by side, both of us gazing upward with the innocent pleasure of children or even angels—he seemed to be thinking more of the latter, for he said, "Yes, this is my evening paradise." When he added, "Especially after a day like we've had," I realized that he was referring not to my day in my air-conditioned house but to his in the cottage, where there wasn't even a fan.
I didn't stay long under the tree but went home to search out a table fan for him. At first, I thought of going back to the tree with it, but I felt shy or embarrassed to do so, in case my return should be misinterpreted. (By whom? By him? Or, more likely, by myself?) Instead, I waited for the girls to take it to him the next day. They thanked me so profusely that I realized that they were grateful less for the fan than for what they took as a sign of my increased admiration for him.
They hadn't yet succeeded in placing his manuscript, and they had now decided that the only way forward was to publish it themselves. They had brought me a copy of it, together with a flyer they had put together to send to people who might be able to afford a limited edition of the book; and, since there weren't many of these in their own acquaintance, they had come to ask me for a list of possible subscribers. This request made, the girls went to deliver their little cooked dishes before they grew cold. I took out my old address book, which was full of names I had expected never to need again. And when I saw those names and thought of the life I had lived for so many years—the fund-raiser banquets in hotel ballrooms, the catered dinners, and the ladies' lunches—and then looked at the handbill designed on Maeve's computer, with a passport-like photograph of Dr. Chacko, I was struck by the incompatibility of that past with this present. At the same time, I couldn't help being amused by the idea of those people—or their social secretaries—receiving this flyer, and discarding it in the wastebasket, along with all the other crazy mail. And, if they were actually to read the text, what would they make of it? No more than I could. Here I stopped transcribing names to leaf through the manuscript itself, in the hope of gaining some glimmer of understanding. There was none; it remained turgid and incomprehensible to me and in no way reflected the man I had seen lying indolently under a tree.
I put the list in an envelope with a note to say that I hoped it would be useful to him.
I knocked on his door and, receiving no answer, pushed it open. The cottage was empty, not only of him but of any presence whatsoever: there was nothing except my abandoned furniture and the fan I had given him—no photographs, no pictures, nothing personal. I put the envelope on the table and left quickly, as though I were doing something underhanded.
My instinct turned out to be correct: the next day, Betty came to see me, looking grave and holding the list in her hand. "Where's Maeve?" I asked, for it was unusual for one to come without the other. Betty smiled at me, though sadly: "Maeve is as grateful to you as I am, for the list, but she's hurt. She so loves to do things for him. Sometimes at night she makes me drive her here, just so she can leave a little gift for him."
I said, "And now she's hurt because the gift of the list was mine and not hers?"
"Poor Maeve, her heart's too full of love. She's an orphan, you know. She was found on the steps of one of the Sister Marie-Jo Homes. She has no idea who left her there. And, after the orphanage, foster homes. I won't tell you about those—why should you hear such things. . . . Maeve has these strong feelings. Maybe they're wrong; probably they are. What she's always loved best is to leave anonymous gifts for him. It was the sweetest thought for her that he wouldn't know—"
"That you were helping him with the manuscript?"
"But now he does know. He's seen your list, so he knows we're looking for subscribers."
She appeared to accept my apology, but from that time on something changed between me and the girls. This was true principally of Maeve, who seemed no longer quite to trust me—or was it that she didn't trust me with him? It was that same day that I entered into a new relationship with Dr. Chacko. For the first time, he came to the porch where I sat with my evening drink. When I invited him to join me, he did so at once. He settled into a chair, and when I offered him a lemonade he indicated my silver cocktail shaker. I told him what was in it, and he said he'd have that. It was quite a potent Martini, but it seemed nothing new to him. After taking a sip, he thanked me for the list I had compiled.
"Are you looking forward to having the book published?" I asked.
He made a vague gesture—of an indifference that seemed to express something of his personality. I asked, "Don't you think it ought to be published?"
"What do you think?"
He had turned fully toward me. If he was, as I had been told, part Indian and part Russian, I couldn't see anything to suggest either. He was too dark to be Anglo-Saxon, and his teeth were very strong and white, the most alive thing in his lean face. He spoke English fluently—more than fluently. Under the layers acquired through much moving around in the world, there remained—like a canal still flowing in the oldest part of a city—the flat accent of the English Midlands. I had noticed this at his workshop, where he had deliberately stressed it—as though its homely and provincial sound would bring his message closer to the earth.
When he felt that he had waited long enough for my opinion of his manuscript, he interpreted my silence as unfavorable. He admitted that it was hard labor for him to write, like birth pangs: "Thoughts trying to get themselves born—except I don't have many thoughts."
He laughed with those magnificent teeth, at himself and at me, as if I might not believe him. But I did believe him. I'd seen him at his workshop, where he seemed to operate not through thoughts or words or ideas but just by being as he was.
Over the course of that summer, he joined me several more times for drinks on the porch. When the season changed, we sat by the fireplace in my living room, and we carried on this practice throughout that year and the beginning of the next. But it wasn't until the second summer that he joined me for a meal. Unlike the girls, and probably many others who attended his workshop, he wasn't a vegetarian. He thoroughly enjoyed a veal cutlet, and the wine we drank with it; also the candles in my silver candelabra and their reflection on the mahogany table.
Even on the days when he ate with me, I saw the girls going to the cottage with their covered dishes. At the end of one of our meals, I asked him what he did, on such nights, with the food they had cooked for him. He said that he ate it. "If I didn't," he explained, "they'd discover it the next day when they come to bring more. It's their kind nature. There's nothing I can do about it."
One evening, finding the cottage empty, they came up to the house to see if I knew where he was. At first, we didn't notice them, standing silently in the doorway, holding their dishes, but, as soon as we did, he took charge like a good host. He drew out chairs for them; he gestured toward the table: " There are some wicked things here that you won't want, but what if"—he turned to me—"two more plates, would it be possible?" And it was he who uncovered their dishes and served them. "What delicious smells, and may I?" He dipped in a fork and, tasting, confirmed that the food was, indeed, delicious. Despite all this, he didn't quite succeed in overcoming my embarrassment and whatever were their much stronger feelings. After a while, I managed to contribute some small talk, and so did Betty, both of us halfheartedly. As for Maeve, she just stared down at her plate, trying, perhaps, to hide the tears that were trickling into her untouched food.
Later that summer, Betty told me that my list of potential subscribers had proved useless. Now she had a new suggestion, which was that I should underwrite the publication of the manuscript. She made it sound like a good business proposition, pointing out that in no time royalties would be coming in, whereupon I would be the first person to be reimbursed. Maeve didn't say anything; she only traced her toe over the floor, looking down at it so as not to see my face or let me see hers. This was Maeve's way with me now; and on subsequent visits, while Betty and I went over the details of the publication, Maeve always wandered off outside by herself, making it clear that she wanted no part of any discussion with me.
During these warm months, my evening walk sometimes took me as far as the waterfall at the edge of my property. The precipitous climb to the rock from which it fell was no longer easy for me, but I enjoyed the solitude there, the moss-covered stones, the trees bending toward the arc of the water. One day, I saw a figure within that arc, sheathed in its iridescence and turning in its spray: it was Dr. Chacko, naked and singing as he soaped himself. His towel and a pair of rubber flip-flops lay on a rocky ledge far enough away not to get wet. Before I could leave, he emerged, still singing and naked; if he saw me, he gave no sign of it until he had reached his towel and wrapped it around himself.
Nimbly, on bare feet, carrying his shoes, he climbed the rocks that separated us and sat down beside me, drops still sparkling on his thighs and his chest. As far as I could make out over the roar of the water, he was telling me how much he enjoyed coming here for his shower—though, of course, he didn't feel the same way in the winter. Was he intending to spend another winter with us? I wondered then. By "us," I meant those of us who were united in our care of him, except that now, apparently, I stood accused of having taken more than my fair share. It was so ridiculous! And, seemingly prompted by the same thought, he said that very word—"Ridiculous"—as we got up to walk together toward the house. "But it's always happening," he went on, "and it's always my fault. I should have told them. Why wouldn't I have told them? There's nothing wrong in it."
"You mean in eating meat?"
"And in your being my friend. Careful." He lifted a prickly branch nodding over our narrow path. I hadn't mentioned Maeve, but, in the way he had of taking up one's unspoken thoughts, he continued, "It's sad that she's an orphan, but there are some orphans who grow up quite happy and carefree. When I was younger, very young, I used to look in the mirror: 'Who is this?' I didn't even know my real name—Chacko comes from the parents who adopted me for a while. They were Indian, but they lived in the U.K., in a very dull town, and at seventeen I made my way elsewhere. I'd been reading the old Russian authors, and I thought all Russians were saints or swindlers, but when I went there I found no one like that; so I worked my way to Baku, and from there farther east. . . . A long story, a long odyssey."
He didn't tell me any more of it that day (or any other day, now that I come to think of it). Instead, he plucked one of his melodies out of the air, some strange tune from far away.
He did stay through the winter, and through the spring, and then another year had passed and it was summer again. In the meantime, Betty had seen his book through production and had made it into a very handsome volume. She watched me examining it, while Maeve stood by, gazing at her own toe circling the carpet. That evening, I sat down seriously with the book, but I still understood very little; actually, nothing.
Carrying the book, I went to see him the next morning. He was sitting on the doorstep of the cottage, carving a piece of wood. He invited me to sit beside him, and when I did I had again that feeling of intimacy I'd had lying next to him under the tree. An innocent intimacy, enhanced by the way he was carving, like a boy whittling a stick. He told me that woodwork was just a hobby for him now, but once it had been useful—when he had fixed shelves and done minor repairs. It was his only skill, he said, since he hadn't had much education. Then I did ask about the book, pointing at the title page, where his name was printed—with "Ph.D." attached to it.
"I bought it," he said. "Not actually I, but a lady who liked to hear me talk. There's a small college in India that sells Ph.D.s. B.A.s and M.A.s, too, if that's all you want. . . . It never earned me a living. For that I had to do other things—when I really needed money, for my wife and kids." He was silent for a while, and so was I. Then he went on, "Three of them, all grown up now. I miss them, but they're doing all right. A couple of them are married. They may already have children of their own. I miss my wife, too, occasionally. She's with someone else now. I liked her—I still do, though she never understood a word of anything I said or wrote. . . . Do you?" he asked me, but I didn't have to answer, for he had opened the book and was leafing through it, reading a sentence here and there as if he had never seen it before. Then he shook his head and laughed. He had a rather whinnying laugh, like a horse; I liked his singing better. "Probably only God knows what it's all about. . . . But there are others—others," he said, and just then the girls' car drew up, "who think it's me who understands, and so I must be God." He whinnied again, and waved at them, and Betty waved back. But Maeve was looking at me—at where I sat close beside him on the narrow doorstep; and from that day her hostility toward me entered a new phase.
There were days of such unpleasant heat that summer that it became impossible, Betty told me, to continue the workshop in its present quarters. She proposed a solution. The first part of her solution consisted of taking a collection from the members to hire a bus to bring them to the country. The second part involved me, or, rather, my grounds, where the workshop was to be held. "They needn't come in the house at all," Betty promised, adding, in her truthful way, "except to use the toilet. They'll sit under the trees—he'll talk to them—and they'll be happy, peaceful."
And that was more or less how it happened. They arrived in the late afternoon and fanned out for a while, admiring the flowering trees, breathing in the fragrant air. By the time he came out to talk to them, the shadows were long and cool. He had them sit under one of the trees, the same one beneath which he often lay, looking up into the leaves. They looked only at him—though without the intensity I had sensed in that rented room where they were squashed close together. Now each had space to breathe, to inhale his message. I watched from the porch. For me, there was something almost legendary about the scene—the earnest seekers gathered around their teacher, drawing inspiration from him and from their surroundings. Lively households rustled and stirred within the trees. A chipmunk scurried across the path with a nut in its mouth. And, as the sun contracted, a deer came out of the distant woods and stood, shy but fearless, against a sky that was partly rose-tinted and partly gold. Everyone was, as Betty had predicted, peaceful, serene. No one seemed to be aware that Maeve had got up from the group and was circling it, the way a wasp would.
They didn't come again. The workshops resumed in New York, but not for long. I learned about the great upheaval only by piecing it together from Betty's reluctant account. Still, it was easy to imagine how, in that cramped and overcrowded room, simmering in the dog-day heat, the smallest spark could have caused an explosion. Betty admitted that she had known from early that morning that Maeve was not herself. Or, rather, that it was one of the days when she was only part of herself, the part that childhood trauma had drained of her natural sweetness. Betty had tried to dissuade her from going, but Maeve had insisted, with that stubborn, closed face that I had begun to think characteristic of her. Betty had settled her on a chair among the disabled, but it was only a few moments into the lecture that Maeve began her disturbance. At first, all she shouted was "No!" Then "Lies! Lies and fakery!" Maybe if Betty had succeeded in removing her at this stage the others might have settled back into their concentration. But, wedged between people on the floor, Betty couldn't reach her, and Maeve spun further out of control, shouting, "Ask him! Why doesn't anyone ask him!" Disconcerted by these wild shouts, the disciples turned their attention from their teacher to Maeve. Jerked out of a deep tranquillity, they reacted in shock and frustration. And Maeve worked them up, along with herself. "Ask him!" she shouted. "Ask him about the one he drinks with—and eats meat!" Then the room erupted. The cripple raised his crutch at her; others tried to pull her off her chair. By the time Betty managed to reach her, her frock was torn at the shoulder. She struggled against Betty, too—maybe she didn't recognize her, confused her with the rest; although, Betty admitted, Maeve had sometimes fought against her in this way in the past. Betty put her arms around her to lead her out. Halfway down the stairs, Maeve was still struggling to free herself, sobbing and yelling, "Ask him what else he does with her!" No one followed them; the door upstairs was shut against them while the lecture continued.
The girls no longer brought covered dishes for him, and he no longer cycled to the station for the train to New York. This made me suspect that the ugly uproar may have caused a split among the members; or perhaps he himself, for reasons of his own, had terminated the workshop, like those in England and in other places. I realized that this idea had always been at the back of my mind: that everything in his life was transient.
Now, on my evening walks, I didn't stumble over him under his tree, because I knew to expect him there; I never lay down with him again, but I sat beside him and we talked a bit. Strangely, I had become more shy with him than before. I even hesitated now to invite him in for a meal.
One day, Betty drove up to my house. She had brought all the unsold copies of Dr. Chacko's book, which was almost the entire edition. Only a few copies had been bought by some workshop students who had managed to come up with the price; efforts to place them on consignment in bookstores had been unsuccessful. "Where shall I put them?" Betty asked, staggering with armfuls of them up the steps of the porch. It's not easy to accommodate more than five hundred books without prior arrangement, so they had to be piled on chairs, sofas, tables, wherever there was a surface. I helped her carry them in, and, when we had finished, she accepted a fresh lemonade. As she relaxed a little, I ventured to ask about Maeve.
Her face softened, as it always did at mention of Maeve. "We're past the worst of it, thank the Lord. . . . Put yourself in her place—someone who's been betrayed so bitterly in the past."
I said, "I suppose everyone has been, at some point in their past." This was as far as I ever went in speaking to her about mine.
Anyway, it wasn't me she wanted to talk about. "Maeve loved and trusted him, and shouldn't have. What do we know about him? Only what he's told us. Are you going to let him stay in the cottage?"
I said, "He's no trouble to me."
She clamped her lips tight for a moment before continuing: "Not that I listen to gossip, but they say he was in prison in Bangkok for two years before being deported. But people will say anything, so who knows what to believe or not to believe. . . . Well, thanks for the lemonade—it was a real treat on a day like this."
"And thank you for the books."
"Oh, no. Those are yours. You paid for them."
That day, I overcame my embarrassment, or whatever it was that had prevented me from inviting him to dinner. He laughed when he saw his books piled around the house. He said, "It looks like I've really taken you over here." But that was untrue—he had never encroached on me or asked for anything.
Since my table and chairs were occupied, we sat on the porch with plates on our laps and glasses at our feet. For the first time, I asked him about the workshop. He said, "People move on. I move on, too." As he did so often, he answered my question before I had asked it. "There's always somewhere. One gets used to it."
I said, "But wouldn't you rather stay?"
"If there are people who wish me to stay."
Evidently, he didn't intend to continue this conversation, and I also realized that there was no need. It was cool outside now, in the night air. Glowworms glittered below, stars above. Instead of talking, he began to hum one of his songs. Was this his teaching? To say nothing? To want and need nothing? All the same, I couldn't help myself—I had to ask. "So you think you won't want the cottage much longer?"
He stopped humming. "Why? Are you looking for a new tenant? If so, I hope he'll pay you better than I."
"You're not my tenant."
"No, of course not. Tenants pay rent. But I should do something for you. Look at this," and he held up an early autumn leaf that had fluttered onto the porch. "You won't be able to sit out here much longer—with luck, another month—and after that you'll need your chairs and tables back. You'll have to get rid of the books. They're useless, anyway, if you don't understand them."
"One day I shall."
"And till then? Are you going to eat and sleep with them? I tell you what I'll do. I'll build some shelves for them, so that they won't be in your way, and you can have your house back."
Did he mean my house or the cottage? I couldn't ask again, and he just went on talking about the shelves and how we would need to buy wood—good quality, he said, to go with the rest of the house.
He came to take measurements, and then we drove to a building-supply depot in town. He filled two huge shopping carts, and, when it came time to pay, he wouldn't let me sign my credit-card slip before he had checked the amounts. The next day, he set up the trestle table we had bought under a tree, and there he worked with his shirt off, and singing. I carried out sandwiches at lunchtime, and we ate them under the tree. The air was filled with the scent of sawdust, of grass, and of the wilted leaves that had begun to fall, and also the whiff of perspiration rising from the tangled hair on his bare chest. It was the last, the very last days of summer, with dusty, drooping trees, and flowers going to seed, and flying insects fierce in their final throes.
I was eager to pay him for his work, and, while I was still wondering how to raise the subject, he presented me with a bill. He had itemized the hours he had spent working for me so far, and it came to a substantial amount. But, anyway, whatever I paid was worth it for me. I continued to make sandwiches for his lunch and to join him in eating them. More and more leaves had begun to fall, some on his naked back, and some scattered in his hair, where they remained like Bacchanalian vine leaves. Sometimes a stronger breeze brought down a shower of them which fell on both of us, veiling us in gold.
One day, he said, "Betty came to ask when I would be moving out of the cottage."
"What did you say?"
"I said I have a job to finish here."
Several days of rain followed, and since he could no longer work outdoors we carried the shelves into the house. The woodwork was almost finished, and he had begun to varnish and polish. As I realized that the work was drawing to a close, I thought up more jobs for him: a spice rack in the kitchen, towel rails in the laundry room. I kept on finding things I needed to have done around the house, including some that I didn't need at all.
When I had almost run out of ideas, he himself had a suggestion. He said that it made him uneasy to see my silver so insecure in the breakfront, where any intruder could smash the glass. In the dining room, there was a niche large enough, he told me, for a cabinet that he could build for me, with a lock to secure my silver inside. We went out to buy more wood, and he set to work at once. He explained the kind of lock he needed, and as I drove to the store I thought that maybe it was not only I but he, too, who was trying to prolong his stay—if, that is, he intended to stay.
On my way back, I drove past the girls' house. It was wide open, windows and doors flowing out into the front yard. It was full of toys, and playing with them were the usual children the girls gathered up from the town—orphans, or fugitives from bad homes. The girls had set up a swing, and Maeve was sitting on it, shouting "Higher!" while two laughing children pushed her. Betty saw me in my car and waved and called, "Isn't this fun!"
But, when she came over to talk to me through the car window, the first thing she said was "Is he still in the cottage?"
"He's working on my bookshelves."
"If he's working for you, why don't you let him stay in the house? There's plenty of room for the two of you. He hardly needs a whole cottage to himself."
"Then who else would stay there?"
"You've seen our kids—how happy they are just in the few inches of space we have for them. At your place, in that air, those trees—and the seasons! Rain and wind and snow! Beautiful."
I started the car, and, when I revved the engine, she had to talk louder: "It's not good for people to stay alone. I know what I was before I met Maeve, and I know what she was, but together—" Here she shouted after the moving car. "The two of us together, that's a life!"
The cabinet took longer than the other jobs he had done for me. He became so involved in the work that he continued after our supper and after I had gone to bed. I listened to him hammering downstairs, and one night I got up to see how he was getting on. He was fitting in the shelves, but he seemed dissatisfied and took them out again to plane them. I stood silently watching him. When he turned around, he looked at me in the doorway, in my long nightdress, which was of delicate silk, fit for a bride. I remembered the thoughts that Betty had tried to put in my head—had actually put there—and the possibility that he could read them, as he so often could, both embarrassed and excited me. I went back upstairs and continued to lie in bed listening to his hammering. When it stopped, I heard him moving around downstairs and wondered what he was doing. I wanted to go and see for myself. But the same embarrassment overcame me, and I stayed in bed listening, and that, too, was nice, to hear him moving inside my house.
When I woke in the morning, the sun was pouring a sea of sparkling autumn light into the room. I put on a robe and tied it as I hurried down the stairs, thinking that I might still find him there. But he had gone. He had completed his work and swept up the wood shavings, and altogether left everything neat. The cabinet was finished; it sat in its niche. The lock was on, so I knew that he had moved the silver inside and locked it up for security. One of his books was lying on the dining table with a note on it that said, "See page 420." I opened it to that page and found the key inside. I scanned the page to see if there was a secret message for me in the text, but there was not. I read it again, but still detected no message. I tried the preceding page and the following one, with the same result. But the key was definitely there. I unlocked the new cabinet and found that I had been mistaken. He had not yet moved the silver inside. But the breakfront was empty, and so were the drawers in my sideboard, in which I had kept my silverware.
The cottage, too, was empty and had been swept with a broom, which he had left leaning against the wall. The only thing missing here was the table fan. The first thing I wondered was how he had managed to transport everything on that rickety mount of his. I imagined him fastening the fan to the bike, then, like a real burglar, slinging the silver in a sack over his shoulder, and standing at dawn on the highway to thumb a ride from a long-distance truck on its way to some far-off, unknown, undiscoverable destination.
The girls soon transformed the cottage into a playroom. The children painted fantastic murals of jungle animals and spaceships; Betty baked cookies while Maeve wove a rug on a loom, which had stood unused in the attic of their old house. As for me, I've been studying his book. I start at the beginning and read right through to the end; then, in the hope of understanding more, I go back and repeat the process. Maybe this is what he had in mind for me, in return for what he took. The loss of my silver may not be a loss at all, but simply the fee charged for my education. Sometimes, though not always, I think that it was worth it. Meanwhile, as Betty anticipated, each season here brings us its own joys: ghosts in bedsheets at Halloween, stars and angels on the Christmas tree, and, in the depths of winter, when the snow has fallen thick and fast, toboggans flying down the slope behind the cottage and into the hollow that in the spring will be covered with new grass and sprinkled with small flowers, bluebells and forget-me-nots. ♦