The Never Say Uncle Affair

Chapter 15

The Mulberry Retirement and Rest Home, located in the English village of Tibet Magna, had over two hundred residents, both men and women, most of them in their seventies, a few in their eighties, and a very few even in their nineties.

The man who called himself David Steel was in his seventies. He still had a full head of hair, grayish blond, and lips that curved easily into a smile, showing teeth that were still his own.

He was a solitary man, which was something that was hard to be in the Mulberry Retirement Home. The women especially thought he was simply very shy and needed bringing out of himself. After only a year after his arrival, however, he had suddenly and precipitously gone deaf, and even wearing hearing aids in both ears hadn't helped. Women would still cluster around and shout at him, and he would shrug his shoulders and return his attention to his book, until finally they just left him alone.

"The best idea he'd ever had," Steel thought, adjusting the volume on one of the "hearing" aids, so that he could better hear Rachmaninoff.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate female companionship, his testosterone levels were still very high, thank you very much. It was just that, at age 73, he'd seen too many women leave him, he did not want to get attached to anyone ever again.

He had his books…he went into the village of Tibet Magna every afternoon for a game of chess at the local Chess Hall – indeed, one of the villagers son's was a very promising player, almost world class level and he was only 15.

Steel sighed and closed his book. He looked around his living room – his apartment at the retirement home consisted of a small kitchen area, a large living area, and a medium sized bedroom with bath. His musical instruments were in one corner – he was proficient in the bass viol, the English horn and the guitar. That was his only regret with his deafness ruse…he had had to give up playing those instruments.

Steel glanced at his watch. The bus that left for the village every hour on the hour was leaving in ten minutes. He was going to be playing chess today with his protégé, he had better get moving.

The ride on the bus was uneventful. Steel stepped down carefully – he kept himself in shape and indeed, was as fit as a man in his fifties – but still, there was no point in taking chances.

In the Chess Hall, his opponent, Charlie Evans, was already waiting. Steel shook the young man's hand and they sat down.

Usually any game against Charlie was a battle royale. The teen spent minutes poring over each move. Today, he appeared distracted. In addition, in all their other games, he'd been a very straightforward man, looking at people in the face, meeting their gaze… very self confident. Now, he studiously avoided meeting Steel's eyes.

Steel began the end game, a series of moves with which he would inevitably beat Charlie, regardless of what the boy could do, in ten moves. Charlie was well able to see ten moves ahead, and should have seen his inevitable fate and resign. Instead, he continued on until the end, not even seeing the checkmate until Steel made the move.

Charlie stared at his imprisoned king, and laughed shortly. "You win, Mr. Steel," he said, not looking at him.

"You're too good of a player to have lost like that, Charlie," Steel said. "I can tell that there is something wrong. What is it?"

"It's hard to explain," Charlie said, still avoiding his gaze.

"Charlie," said Steel, "I have lived for over 70 years. There's nothing that you can tell me that I haven't heard before, and there's nothing that can't be helped as long as you share the problem. I'm here, I'm listening, let me help."

"Well," Charlie rubbed his nose, "I was walking down Finch Street a couple of days ago. I stepped out into the crosswalk without looking, and a car almost ran me down. I jumped out of the way, and when I did I fell and hit my head. I wasn't hurt bad or anything, but ever since then….I've seen things."

"What kind of things?"

"Well…" Charlie looked at him very briefly, then looked away again.

"It's people. When I look at people …I see things."

"Alright, Charlie. Alright. What kind of things?"

Charlie looked at him again. This time, for several seconds, with concentration. Then he said, "Napoleon. I see Napoleon."

David Steel's face froze. "Where do you see him?" he asked carefully.

Charlie was looking away again. "He's standing, above your head, in a cloud."

"How do you know its Napoleon?"

Charlie shrugged. "I've seen enough pictures of him."

Steel rubbed an eyebrow. "You're telling me you see Napoleon Bonaparte above my head."

"Yeah. Napoleon Bonaparte. He's…he's moving. It looks like he's calling for help. 'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse."

"That's Richard III."

"Whatever. It's Napoleon, calling for help."

"Well….my goodness," said David Steel.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you," said Charlie, miserably.

"Not at all. I happen to know a man named Napoleon. Charlie…my goodness, Charlie, you now have a tremendous gift."

"I just want it to go away," said Charlie. "I can't look at people, without seeing things. It's horrible. I feel like I'm going crazy."

"Charlie, you're not going crazy. You are not the first person this has happened to…although I admit the only cases I have heard about took place in Russia. There are ….psychic institutes…. Where you can go to get tested and get help."

"And get treated like a freak?" demanded Charlie.

"Not at all. You have the power – you will be in charge. Look, if you don't want to seek out such a facility on your own…I can help you. I'd be happy to help you. After I get back from helping my friend."

"You actually know a guy who dresses like Napoleon?"

David Steel, aka Ilya Kuryakin, smiled his sweet smile. "Had he been an actor, I'm sure my friend would have made a great Napoleon. There's more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio."

"What?"

Steel waved a hand. "Your visions are a mystery, Charlie. A mystery that professionals will have to help you with. But I believe that a friend of mine is in trouble, and I've got to go help him. So I really do need to curtail our conversation."

He stood up, and Charlie rose also.

"But…you're like…old," said Charlie.

Steel looked up at Charlie, who at age 15 was already as tall as he was. A knee to the groin or two fingers to the eyes would quickly put him in his place, but he didn't have time to dally.

"Youth is overrated, Charlie, as you'll find out yourself, 60 years from now. Now really, I must go. I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."