Rochambeau's Assistant

Rochambeau held in his hand a pair of five red dice. He looked at them hard and thought for a moment how silly it was that human beings had not figured out a way to predict with any certainty the roll of the die. Or, a person could remember the future the way we remember the past and simply see the result. For a moment, it seemed so easy. A clear envelope of vacant space in Rochambeaus mind opened up and as nature so often abhors a vacuum, the electronic laughter of wonder crept into that little spot. Maybe Im asking a little too much out of some dice, Rochambeau thought. Besides, what he really wanted to know really depended on two distinct probabilities. One, that he could predict the roll of the dice, and two, that the rolling of dice had really any correlation at all to the prediction of personal human events. He shook his head as his senses came to him again, and the heavy fog of reason drew down on a single direction in time.

5, 1, 8, 6, 3

"So, your brother been telling you ghost stories again?"


A tall Polish woman with dark hair opened the door to find an older man in glasses and a long white mustache, normal and dorky looking save the cowboy hat placed on his head. To his side was a boy, maybe twenty, with a backpack slung over his shoulder eyeing a metal spoon tucked into his hand. Behind them was Calvin, a client.

"You guys the ghost hunters?"

"I guess you could say that. Im Dr. Rochambeau, this is J., my assistant."

"Come in, Ill make some coffee."


As the woman talked to Rochambeau, J. finished stirring his coffee and then took the spoon out and stared at in until he was sure he had Calvin's attention. The boy rubs his thumb over the handle of the spoon for half a minute, as it then slowly turns and bends itself at the neck. Ms. Goniadza's speech trailed off as she became distracted by this anomaly.

"Thats a hell of a trick."

"Anybody body can do it."

J. extended his hand and held out the bent spoon to Ms. Goniadza like a twisted metal flower. As he did so he cast a glance over at the professor, who just rolled his eyes.


"Is this her room?"

"Yes." Calvin cowered outside the door, refusing to come in. His mother stares into a corner at the ceiling, with wonder. "It started there."

The edges of the walls were completely baked. The wall paper was crisp and peeling off.

J. however is looking down at the floor, something completely different has captured his attention.

"Are these her shoes?"

"Yes, why?"

"Theyre beautiful."

Two violet shoes, for small feet. A velvet textured floral pattern.

"Wow. You know I used to have a toy exactly like this."

"Your mother made you play with your shoes?"

"No, no. It was Battlecat, that's what it was. You know I'd swear I had never seen this color violet my whole life, least since then. Its like a door has been opened that was closed." He smiled, confused, shaking his head. "Ms. Goniadza may I have these shoes?"

"J, really" Rochambeau looked at her apologetically.

"If it would help with the case, I guess you could."

J. crouched down and set the shoes back on the floor where he found them. "No ma'am. On second thought, it might be best not to disturb the things we admire."


Ms. Goniadza thanked them as they left and they stood on the porch silent for a second before proceeding down.

"You put on a hell show in there."

"Im sorry, Doc. I just never heard a story like that before."

"I dont know J. You know as well as I do weve never had the real thing yet."

"I dont think she was lying."

"She can believe it all she wants. It doesnt make it true. If what shes saying is really happening, its a first. And not just a first for us. Its a first for everybody, the whole world."

"You think she bought the spoon-job?"

"I dont know I think shes exhausted. This might be tough."

"If I may say so, Sir, youre the perfect man for the job."

"Thanks J. I needed that."

And at that they took off into the sunset, past the empty streets, through the avenues of wild grass and electrical towers, like an old Midwestern movie.