Read an Excerpt
nine lives
By George M. Moser
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 George M. Moser
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-5311-9
Chapter One
Stargazing
"What's that one up there, Dad?"
"That one is called Leo."
The two of them lay back in the grass, pointing at the constellations up above. Resting on the crest of a hill, they could see the dim lights of houses off in the distance. A perfect night to stargaze, with no moon in the sky on this cloudless night. The only sounds came from the perpetual chirping of the crickets and the hoot of an owl. The sky above was like a dome filled with countless pinholes of light. An occasional falling star streaked across the sky.
"Does it have a story?" The young boy looked up with eyes wide with excitement.
"Oh, does it ever have a story, but it's kind of scary." The man raised his eyebrows.
"I'm a big boy now, Dad. You can tell me."
The man turned to him with a serious look on his face. "Well, I suppose seven is old enough, but you have to promise me something if I tell you, Michael."
Michael rolled over on the grass so he was kneeling beside his dad. He wanted to be close while his dad told the story. It wasn't that he was scared, of course—though he didn't like that one croaking sound that came from the group of bushes to his right. He just loved it when his dad told him stories about the stars, but he couldn't remember one ever being scary. He pressed his face close to his dad and whispered, "What do you want me to promise, Dad?"
"Don't tell your mother."
The two of them burst out laughing, and Michael forgot all about being scared for the moment. It was something only a father and son would understand. It was their time to bond, and Michael understood, nodding his head up and down with excitement. This was their little secret.
"I promise, Dad!"
They leaned back on the grass, and Michael rolled close to his dad. It was comforting when his dad reached around and grabbed him, tugging him close while he told the story. He tucked his head into his side, hearing the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. His dad pointed up to the stars, connecting them with his finger.
"You see the shape of the lion?"
"Uh-huh."
"A long time ago, a man named Hercules was sent to twelve trials. Each one of these tests of strength was dreaded and thought impossible by mortal men. The first of these trials was to slay the Nemean lion."
Michael listened in awe, looking up at the constellation Leo. His dad was always good at telling stories, but he had never told one like this before. He took his time while the two of them lay there in the grass. His dad explained what Hercules probably looked like—all muscles, of course—and Michael imagined the strongest of men standing on top of a mountain.
The lion stood high on that mountain, looking over the small village down below. Michael could imagine the wind blowing through its mane and how magnificent it must have looked. He was the king of the mountain, afraid of no one. The pelt of the great lion was impenetrable, but Hercules did not know this and, like a fool, tried to kill it with his bow and arrows. This made the lion very angry, and Michael found himself pressing his body into his dad even harder.
"Did the lion eat Hercules, Dad?"
"Well, not yet, but if you're scared, I can stop." His dad was good at teasing him.
"No, Dad, I'm not scared!" Michael may have been a little scared, feeling his body tugging at his dad harder, but he wasn't going to admit it.
His dad smiled and continued with the story, keeping his eyes on the stars above. He told of the lion running into a cave, which had two entrances for the lion to escape. The people in the village assumed Hercules would run away after being unable to penetrate the lion's pelt, but instead he ran after him and into the cave. The story became more intense, and Michael's eyes were wide with fascination as he listened to his dad's voice. He explained that Hercules closed off one of the entrances, so the only way out was through him. A fight to the death between the two was evident, hearing sounds of growls that shook the entire mountain. Then there was silence, and the people of the village were certain it was the last they would ever see of Hercules.
"So it ate Hercules?"
"Not exactly."
Michael could not hear any sounds other than the voice of his dad. The crickets had stopped their chirping, and the owl was no longer hooting. Even that croaking sound that was giving him the creeps was silent, and Michael couldn't help but think maybe they too were listening to this story of the lion. His own mouth was wide open as he waited to hear what was to become of Hercules.
His dad explained how Hercules killed the lion with his bare hands. The struggle lasted a long time, but Hercules was eventually victorious, clubbing the animal. The hide was to be returned as evidence that the lion was killed, but when he tried to skin it, Hercules found it could not be penetrated. The only thing that could penetrate the pelt was the lion's own claws, which Hercules used to skin the lion.
"Wow! That was a good story, Dad." Michael looked up with a smile.
"We best be heading off now before your mom starts to worry about you." His dad rubbed his head and smiled.
They gathered their things, taking one last look at the stars up above. Michael helped his dad fold up the tripod that held a small telescope angled down to the ground. He felt good being with his dad and was sad to see the time end, but his eyes were getting tired.
His dad gave him a little piece of advice. "Remember to dream, Michael. Follow your dreams and never be afraid to enter that cave alone."
They hopped in the car, and his dad started the engine. Michael loved the way the car rumbled. He felt his body shake in the soft seat. They pulled out onto the highway and Michael held his hand out the window, feeling the wind glide up and down. The rest of the ride home he dreamed of the story his dad had told him and wondered if he really would ever have to enter a cave by himself. The windows were down, and he felt the cool rush of air blowing through his hair. He imagined himself high upon a mountain, ready to fight the Nemean lion. His dad stepped on the gas and the needle moved up past a hundred. Michael rolled his eyes from his dad to the speedometer with a strong sense of curiosity.
We're going fast, Dad!"
The two of them laughed, and his dad said with a smile, "Don't tell your mother!"
Chapter Two
Dreams
"Cat? What cat?"
Michael Merlino scrutinized his dreams of distant places pinned to the wall. He reached out with one hand to touch what was so far away, never to be realized. If only the cord on the phone was longer, maybe his other hand could touch the picture of his wife and son standing beneath the star-lit sky. Dreams are just that, a journey of hope barely out of reach that keeps us striving to reach our destiny.
The voice on the other end of the phone had the sound of urgency, which made it hard to concentrate on anything. Rolling his chair closer to the picture of some distant galaxies just out of reach from his outstretched hand, he looked up and tried to smile at the tacks shaped in a smiley face. The desk was a mess, with files piled high and a computer to the side.
"Under the deck. You need to get home now," a woman said on the other end of the phone.
"But why can't you—"
"You know why, Michael. Hurry home." The phone went dead.
Michael was an ambitious young man at twenty-eight years of age, dressed to perfection. The clock flashing on the digital display told that it was six ten in the evening. Standing, he could barely see over the tops of the cubicles. He pulled on a suit coat and grabbed the leather briefcase filled with work he would finish up at home. He was the only one left working in this large empty office on the second floor, filled with cubicles. It was a busy day, but it was time to catch the six-thirty train.
Michael felt his heart sink when he looked down the hall and saw Franklin J. Smith walking toward him. Franklin was a conservative man, who had just turned sixty-three years old and had been with the bank for forty-one years. Ever since graduating from college, Franklin had been a very loyal man to the bank. He was always dressed in one of his typical pin-striped suits with a white shirt and tie, though he had been known to wear a bow tie upon occasion. The man had no sense of humor.
"A little advice, Michael." He paused, tilting his head to one side to see if Michael was listening.
"Yes, sir?"
"First, stop calling me sir. We've known each other way too long now. My name's Franklin." He held up his chin proudly, hands fixed to his tie.
"Yes, sir—I mean Franklin," he answered uncomfortably.
"That a boy." Franklin laughed, patting Michael on his back.
"Thank you, sir." Michael shrugged his shoulders after the pat on his back. "I mean Franklin." Something was different, and Michael couldn't place it. But the only thing that mattered at the moment was catching the train. Recently everything had been about work, and Michael was loyal to the bank, working late hours. He wanted that promotion, and his wife knew this, but why did she have to be so difficult? Michael was annoyed that she wasn't excited about his job. Why wasn't she excited for him? Maybe they could enjoy a candlelight dinner with a bottle of champagne, celebrate a little, and have some fun instead of being so serious about life. He wanted to scream but now was not the time, standing before Franklin, who was always so austere.
Franklin wrapped one arm around Michael, pulling him along slowly past cubicle after cubicle. "Have you ever visited the zoo, Michael?"
This was a strange question, but Franklin often had a reason for his odd questions. "Sure, of course."
"Well, have you ever wondered why they put those signs on the fences? You know, the ones that say 'don't feed the animals'?"
It was getting late, and Michael was sure Franklin had a point. "Sure, it's so the animals don't rely on being fed by people."
"Exactly!"
Michael thought it was a strange thing to be telling him, but time was ticking. That train leaving the station was on Michael's mind. "Sir? If you don't mind, I have a train to—"
"Yes, the train." Franklin smiled. "Socialism." Franklin just looked into Michael's eyes. "Do you believe in it, Michael?"
"Of course not, sir, but—"
"I learned a long time ago that if we feed the animals they will never learn how to survive."
Michael looked up to Franklin, wondering to himself what all this had to do with him and why it had to be now. Jenny was going to kill him for missing the train, but life sometimes gave you lemons and you were supposed to make lemonade, right? "That's very ..." He paused a moment. Michael was trying to figure out what was told to him. Franklin was always good at bringing up crazy ideas that made him think. "... interesting."
"Michael, why is it we feed the animals? Why is it we continue to give things away? How will we ever learn? Tell me, Michael, how do we expect ourselves to grow? Michael, things are getting busy around here, and I just can't keep up with everything coming my way, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, yes, it has been busy around here lately. I like it that way, of course. It keeps me going, you know." Michael was fighting every urge inside to look at his watch.
"Well, son, I have been thinking," Franklin stated.
Frustrated, Michael did all he could to hide the look on his face. He placed his hands behind his back, trying to be humble. A report for the central district was due in a couple days, and he was certain Franklin was going to ask him to stay late and finish it tonight. His head was starting to throb, so he placed a hand to his temple.
"You know Johnson down the way is moving over to the credit division, and Thomas is going up to lending. Well, that only leaves me with a few guys like you around to help me out, and I am losing Sally any day now because she and her husband are moving to New York. So—"
"I know you want me to help you on the report for—" Michael attempted to cut to the chase.
"Oh, no, no," Franklin started again, laughing this time. "I want you to take Sabastian's desk first thing Tuesday morning. I want you to be my director of the East Coast. I need someone I can rely on, and I cannot think of anyone better for the job than you, Michael. You know, I am looking for you to make some great strides in this company, and I hope someday you remember me when you are up on that twenty-ninth floor."
Standing there with his mouth open, he stared at Franklin in disbelief. Things started to whirl in the room. This was what Michael had worked so hard for, and now that it happened he was speechless.
"Well, Michael, what do you say? Pick up your jaw off the ground." Franklin laughed.
"Ah, yes, I mean no, I mean thank you, sir! I mean Franklin, sir, thank you! Yes, I will gladly take the job! Thank you for your confidence in me. I will do my best to make you happy," Michael finally replied.
"Yes, I know you will, Michael. Now get out of here before you miss that train," Franklin said with a wide smile.
"Yes, sir, and thanks again, Mr. Franklin." Michael ran out the door nearly stumbling on his feet.
* * *
Michael boarded the six-thirty train just as it was leaving the platform. He sat in his normal spot in the third car, lower level in front. The same guys were there every day, and all nodded their recognition. The seats were flipped over today, facing one another with the hard vinyl green cushions and the silver steel backs. The train had an old musty smell, but he was used to it. No one talked on the train unless absolutely necessary; it was an unwritten rule to leave everyone alone. Michael usually pulled out his newspaper or reports on his way home, getting ready for the next day. Today was different. Excitement was pent up inside him. He was excited about his new job and couldn't wait to tell his wife, Jenny, about what had happened at the end of the workday.
Like most of the people on the train, Michael was a regular and recognized most of the passengers. There was the tall man with dark thick-framed glasses, who always wore a bow tie and got off on the Des Plaines stop. Even the conductor knew Michael by his first name. He would take his ticket, go "click-clack" with his paper puncher, and say, "Yo, Mike," and Michael would nod like he always did. The conductor would go on his way, taking people's tickets.
Then there were the two guys from the exchange, who gambled for anything and everything on the way home, playing a game of greed. One tossed the dice and the other shouted, "You owe me a bill!"
One man stepped on the train, dressed completely in black. Leaning down to clear the doorway, he walked toward the vacant seat opposite Michael. He took the seat and flapped open the Wall Street Journal, holding it up to read. Michael looked out the window after giving the man a nod, acknowledging him. The hair on the back of Michael's neck stood up as he felt the weight of the man's stare. Even though Michael never looked at the man, he couldn't help but feel the eyes of the man on him. He looked up several times to see for himself, but the man's face was always behind the newspaper. The thought occurred to Michael to ask where the funeral was, but he decided to keep to himself instead.
Michael pulled out his own books, which he read all the time on his way to and from work when he could. Astronomy was an interest of his ever since early childhood. His dad would sit with him in the backyard and point out the different constellations. At the age of six his dad bought a telescope from Sears. Michael would go out every night if it was clear and search for the one undiscovered planet he hoped someday to find himself. There were a couple of books he loved to read, about famous men like Aristotle and Newton. Hawking was one of his favorites, along with that guy named Carl Sagan, who always made him laugh. "Billions and billions," Michael would always say to himself. Time really flew on the train when he got into his reading about the stars. It was one thing he really loved, knowing there was so much out there yet undiscovered.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from nine lives by George M. Moser Copyright © 2012 by George M. Moser. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
