Idea in Stone | Page 4

my father."
"I'm going to make two assumptions," said the clergyman. "You've never been here before, and your father is dead."
"Two for two," said Stefan, relaxing a little.
"Not a problem," said the man. "I'm Brother James. Welcome to the Toronto chapter of the Matholic church. Let me show you around." He showed Stefan the old features of the church and the parts that they'd renovated. Finally, he led Stefan to a bank of confessionals. "You don't need to believe in our doctrine or anything in particular for this to work. It's been proven time and again. But you'll see for yourself. Here," he said, indicating the curtained entrance of a confessional.
Stefan sat in the dim light. The cleric slid open the small window, but Stefan couldn't see him through the mesh. "The trick with the Eter-net is that the dead use a different logic from us sometimes, and the way they communicate, well, it's subtle. It's easy to miss, which is why there are so many doubters. But it is very powerful. So you should be absolutely sure you want to do this before we begin."
Stefan paused. He wasn't sure if he believed in any of this, so it seemed pretty harmless. And if it did work at all...
"No, I want to do this," he said.
"Alright," said the cleric's soft voice, "let's begin. You'll see a piece of paper in front of you, and a pen just to the right of it." An angled light-box, like a photographer's, illuminated in front of him. On it was a single sheet of paper with a pearlescent tone and tiny, hair-like filaments running through it. Stefan looked to the side and found a squat blue fountain pen. He uncapped it with an audible click. "Good," said the cleric, "now write to the person you want to reach. If you make any requests, try to use simple sentences, as much for yourself as for the recipient."
"Uh, alright," said Stefan. The very idea was preposterous, yet he put his pen to the sheet and wrote the words "Dear Dad". He paused there, a stream of memories flying through his mind -- his parents playing on a campground stage while he toddled through the crowd; his father and a slightly taller him in a picture, behind them a black Lake Superior and a blazing pink and red sunset sky; his father giving him his first drink -- a hot rum toddy at a ski lodge where they performed some Christmases; his father pulling the car over because he and Stefan were crying with laughter at something on the radio; his father, his father, his father.
For the next half hour he wrote, his handwriting getting smaller and smaller as he went so he could say as much as possible in the space of the page. He wrote all the things he'd never spoken before, and described as best he could everything that had happened since he was nine and his father made that fateful step off the stage, falling into the percussion section of the orchestra pit, impaled on a high-hat. People said his father was a drunk, but he refused to believe it. With barely enough room for another line, he realised he hadn't actually asked his father for anything. Maybe there was no need. But that was the point of this exercise, so he wrote two words in the tiny space left in the corner of the page: "Save me."
He'd completely forgotten about the cleric. "Hello?"
"Hello," said a contented voice from the other side of the divider, "are you finished?"
"Yeah."
The curtain whipped open with a clatter and Stefan squinted at the daylight. The cleric stood there, smiling, while Stefan clutched his piece of paper. "Come with me," he said. He led Stefan to a vestibule near the front of the church and gestured to something like a cross between a Roman pedestal and a photocopier. Its top was open, and the man gestured for Stefan to put his paper down on it. The cleric was about to close the top, but stopped. "Oh," he said, "there's just the matter of payment."
"Right," said Stefan, "how much is it?"
"One hundred and fifty dollars. That includes tax."
Stefan blanched, but he had to go through with this, and not just to save face. "Do you take credit cards?"
"We certainly do," said the cleric, pulling out a device from his robes. Stefan handed his card to the man and he zipped it through. A moment later, he said, "Good, it's been approved. Thank you." He closed the top of the pillar, and a strong light leaked from under the lid. Stefan could feel the heat, and heard his paper crackling.
The cleric opened the top and the sheet was gone. "All finished," he said. Stefan smiled and nodded, feeling quite stupid, having