Chicago Noir [Anthology]

She was still infuriated a few days later. “I have walked back and forth in front of that house several times and even said hello, as new neighbors, and I don’t know what is wrong with that man or that family,” she said. “He won’t acknowledge me at all.” Apparently she was more intrigued by the magician than afraid.

“So you have no enemy, let alone one that’s trying to destroy you?” I asked.

“No,” said Mary, ignoring my joke. “But did you smell that foul odor yesterday?”

“Was it Billik?” Ginny asked.

“It was coming from Henry Reynolds’s house, I found out. I just followed my nose,” she said, proudly. “But do you know what Reynolds does for a living?”

We looked at her blankly.

“He’'s a milkman. Like Vzral! That’s his enemy!”

“So?”

“I asked around, and one of the neighbors said that they saw Billik stride up to the Reynolds’s house and pour a pail of some mysterious liquid on the front steps. He was cursing them!”

“Mary, it doesn'’t seem terribly magical to me. A foul-smelling house is certainly a curse, but I don’t think it’s a mysterious one. What’s wrong with you? I think you’re a bit too caught up with this Billik person. Forget about him. Why don’t you—”

“No, thank you,” Mary cut me off.

A week later, Mary came over, looking smug. “Have you seen Mrs. Vzral lately?”

“No, I haven'’t,” I said, wanting to point out that I had better things to do than keep a watchful eye on all my neighbors.

“Well, she’'s worn new dresses three days so far this week. And you know what that means.”

“Time for laundry?”

“No, it means that the milk business is doing well. And you know why.”

“More cows?”

“It was Billik! I told you, that man had powers!”

I stared at Mary. “Have you spoken with this lunatic?”

“Yes, I have,” she said firmly. “And he was quite a gentleman. Anyway, he told me he had nothing to say to me.”

“So there you have it,” I replied. “He’'s a charlatan, Mary, He’'s practically admitting it. Why don’t you come back to us in the real world? Aren’t you concerned at all about his intentions? Maybe this business is just a lure for gullible young women.”

Her face reddened and briefly crumpled.

“Are you in love with him?”

She was silent.

“Mary, He’'s married. He’'s an immigrant. He’'s old. He’'s insane. He’'s ugly. Come on. You’re almost twenty. Don’t you want a man your own age?”

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” said Mary.

And Mary didn'’t speak to us for several months. I'’d see her in church, and she’d ignore me, but she’d stare venomously at the Vzral family, who appeared to Mass less and less frequently, looking worse and worse for the wear each time.

Eventually curiosity got the better of me as well, and since Mary wasn'’t speaking to me, in spring I went up to Emma, the oldest of the Vzral children, after services one day. She and I had been in class together in elementary school, so it wasn'’t completely inappropriate, even though it was admittedly none of my business.

“Is everything all right?” I asked, trying to seem casual. I couldn'’t tell if Emma recognized me or not but she looked pale and very thin, very tired.

“My sisters Catherine, Elizabeth, and June are all working for that man,” she said bitterly.

“Billik?”

“It’s not enough that my parents have paid for his trips, new clothes, but now my sisters are working as maids and giving the money to him,” she spat out.

“But why?”

“I see your friend creeping around him,” she said, ignoring my questions. “You tell her to stay away from him.”

“Mary?”

“Tell her to stay away,” Emma said, and walked off.

I went straight to Mary’s house after Mass. She looked at me coolly when I answered the door but I ignored her expression.

“Mary, have you been talking to Billik?”

“Why do you care?”

“Mary, I spoke with Emma Vzral at church—”

“You did? What did she say? Did she tell you anything about Herman?”

“Herman? ”

Mary fell silent.

“Mary, what have you been doing?”

“I don’t know why he won’t talk to me,” she said.

“Mary, honestly, are you in love with this man?”

“No!” she shouted, loudly enough to make me jump. “No, I am not, ” she whispered. “I just wanted to know if maybe

he could tell me things.”

“You don’t actually believe—”

“A mystic! I know it’s silly but how often do you encounter something like that? I wanted to see if he could tell me about my future, about my father, about falling in love

”

“And?”

“He tells me he has nothing for me. To go away and leave him alone. And I blame the Vzral’s, really, I do. They are hogging him all to themselves and I don’t know why. they'’re selfish. He’'s helped them with their problems and they should just help themselves now.”

“You go over to his house often?”

“I just wanted to get to know him better

I thought that maybe if he knew more about me, he could tell me things. Or even just tell me about his travels, about his old home and his family. His mother was a witch, you know,” she said, so matter-of-factly that I laughed out loud.

“Mary, you’re going to be burned for being a heretic. What’s next, making offerings to the gods?”

But she gazed out the window, eyes narrowing as she saw Mrs. Vzral hurry down the steps of Billik’s house, something in her hand, her breath steaming in the cold April weather. Spring came late in Chicago, and briefly.

“Mary, you are going to come out of town this weekend with Ginny and me,” I said firmly.

“What about father?” she asked dreamily, still looking out the window.

“Ask one of the neighbors to take care of him. Ask my mother. No, you know what? Tell him to take care of himself.”

Mary let us drag her up to Detroit for the weekend. We stayed in a women’s house, went to the theater and even a Tigers game, which was a little frightening but exciting to attend unescorted, although Mary kept wincing every time she heard the crack of the bat. Mary was quiet for the first half of the trip, but on Saturday she brightened and genuinely seemed excited by the city. By the time we returned, she was giddy and chatty, almost like we’d never seen her before.

We returned Sunday night. Monday morning, we heard that Martin Vzral was dead.

Mary was alarmed and unusually remorseful when we told her. It wasn'’t as if she’d been that familiar with Mr. Vzral. So I was surprised when Mary asked me to attend the funeral with her.

You wouldn'’t know that it was a funeral if it weren'’t for the casket. I was surprised by how sparse the ceremony was. The Vzrals did well for themselves, I had thought, yet their clothes looked threadbare, there were no flowers, and the coffin looked as if it were made of plywood. I saw a hint of smugness in Mary’s face as she took in the scene.

“I always thought that family put on airs,” she whispered to me, as we left the parish.

The weather warmed up, and Mary proposed that we take a trip north to Riverview. Everyone was talking about the new amusement park and Ginny and I were surprised by Mary’s proposal. It seemed too frivolous for her, but we attributed it to spring high spirits kicking in. Plus, we were excited to get a look at the new park.

It was a wonderful day, much warmer than usual for May. We ate ice cream and rode around on a giant carousel and screamed down a toboggan ride. Tired, we strolled down the Midway, cheery German music pumping out from one of the tents, when Mary casually asked to stop by one.