CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 6 Meeting Bert

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 6

Meeting Bert

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. Also read the Companion Blog Post from my Personal Blog, "Laura-Lee Was Here" called, "FINALLY FINISHED: Church Lady P.I." There are clues everywhere. (LR)

Fortunately Marc's school buddy Bert lived very near to the little meadow we were walking through. In less than 10 minutes we were approaching the front door of his rather run down looking house. It had the same flower garden that every other home in this small town possessed and very meticulously kept, but the house itself seemed to be somewhat neglected.
We walked up a couple steps that begged for repairs as much as the rest of this small house. Marc knocked on the door with an odd little rhythm. I looked at him quizzically and asked,
 "What's that, Morse Code?"

He responded with a grin, "You don't recognize it?" 
I shook my head.

"It's the beginning of the song, 'Saturday Night'."

"By the Bay City Rollers?!" I exclaimed with surprise.

"Exactly." Marc responded as an excited smile brightened his face. I could tell Marc had taken a dive into his memories and was excited by the prospect of seeing his school friend again.
I was about to make a comment but forgot what it was as the door was flung open by a man who seemed to be the living human example of his home; some parts meticulously kept, while other parts (like his dirty, baggy pants) definitely needed some attending to. But apparently the "S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT" knock had alerted Bert to who was at his door before he even opened it and he was equally excited to see Marc. Yet neither of them reached out to hug or shake hands. The two of them just stood and stared at each other with massive grins, without either saying anything. I wondered if I was watching a re-enactment of their very first meeting all those years ago when they had been just two unabashed little boys.

Marc broke the silence by introducing me when Bert finally pulled his eyes away from Marc's face and onto mine. Bert held out a tentative hand, which I shook and then he looked me up and down as well, but not in any way that made me feel uncomfortable. I thought Bert might ask me to turn around so he could get a good look at all of me, but instead he did an almost courtly bow and  displayed the way into his living room with his hand, much in the same way 'Vanna' would display the letters on "Wheel of Fortune".

Bert's first words, which may have been meant for me or just a general announcement to the Universe at large were,
 "Well. A lady in my home. This means the tea pot."

I responded with, "That sounds lovely. Thank you Bert".

Marc guided me into the living room as Bert padded down the hallway in stocking feet towards what I supposed was the kitchen. 

The rest of this town might have been giving off a "weird" vibe, but the visit to Bert's house was a trip into the truly fascinating. The first thing I noticed in the living room were the old newspapers. I would have estimated perhaps 20 years worth of the weekly town paper as well as several shelves jam packed with books. Not to give  the idea that there was anything untidy about it all. The books, which were ordered on the shelves according to the Dewey decimal system, had all of their spines facing in the same direction. As for the newspapers, they were not scattered about the room, but tied into neat piles that resembled pillars. Some reaching almost to my 5' 5'' height.

It wasn't more than a couple minutes before Bert returned with a tray upon which was a lovely silver tea set without even a minute amount of tarnish and three delicate china cups with matching saucers. Marc and I were seated next to each other on a small sofa and even though there were two other chairs nearby, Bert settled in by squeezing himself between the two of us. No sooner had he placed the tray of tea things on the coffee table directly in front of us when Bert picked up a tiny pair of silver tongs that sat atop a pile of sugar lumps arranged in a geometric pattern, when he asked me how many lumps of sugar I wanted.

I answered, "Two are enough. Thank you", only to once again be  surprised when they were added to the orange juice that poured forth from the tea pot instead of the tea I was expecting.

We stayed with Bert for more than an hour as I listened to Marc skillfully, lovingly and almost artistically weave his way through a conversation with Bert. Memories were revisited that revealed the fantastic and fascinating inner workings of Bert's mind. Bert for his part reminded me of a motion sensitive porch light that is suppose to deter burglars. He remained silent and "off" until something caught his attention and he quickly came "on" and began to shoot out ideas and theories about life in this town that he had lived in his entire life.

Marc, understanding that I was seeking specific information, got Bert to talk about his many conspiracy theories. From the "baby selling" taking place out of the 'Cathedral's' nursery, the "prostitution ring" run by the high school coach, right to the "lobotomy tea" being sold by Harker at his Dry Goods store. Until at last we delved into the topic of the Fireworks Factory explosion and the subsequent fire that spread to the church I had attended just the previous Sunday. I also discovered that Bert's own father was one of the five people who survived the explosion by being in the washroom, only to die a few short months later of cancer. That last topic left us all silent and pensive until Marc announced that we should be getting back home to his Aunt and Uncle's house so that nobody would be worried about us. 

That quiet mood stayed with us during most of the walk back until I blurted out, 
"Did I just witness an example of autism?"

Marc's answered was a short, "Yes. A mild case."

"I don't know much about autism Marc, except it has something to do with how people perceive the world. It's in a way that's different to other people, right?"

"I'm not really certain myself." He replied. "But the 'experts' don't know much more than that either and probably won't until they find a way to see out of other peoples' eyes."

He continued, "Maybe I should have warned you, but it's just part of the way Bert is so I don't think much about it, at least not in any conscious way." He paused but a moment for reflection before resuming.

"It's actually part of the reason Bert and I became friends. We met in Elementary School, but when we were in Junior High School together I was receiving very high grades and one of our mutual teachers asked me if I would help Bert with his homework, which he seemed to be having a lot of problems completing. It soon became apparent that if facts came from me Bert only needed to hear something once for it to sink into his brain forever. But anything he read directly from a book he simply could not retain or even barely comprehend."

"And all those newspapers?" I asked rather timidly, not wishing to pry too deeply.

"Well."  Marc began slowly. "If I quoted a headline, Bert could probably go directly to the newspaper and page that held it, but if I wanted him to tell me what the article was actually about, he wouldn't have the least idea."

We fell back into our mutual silence, but just before we entered Marc's Aunt and Uncle's house he inquired while examining my expression with deep concern, 
"Are you okay? Did meeting Bert overwhelm you? You've encountered some strange events and people this week. It hasn't been too much for you, has it?"

"No. I don't think so." I responded slowly. "It has been an odd week, but I was just thinking that knowing someone who perceives things differently than everyone else may be just what I'm looking for to help me figure out what is happening with Sarah and her disappearing bunnies."

LINK to Next Part # 7 "Back Burner"

LINK Bay City Rollers "Saturday Night" YouTube

Church Lady P.I, INTRODUCTION
Laura-Lee Was Here Blog "FINALLY FINISHED: Church Lady P.I."  

Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR