The Book of Stanley by Todd Babiak Page B

can.”
    â€œI can.”
    â€œYou can.”
    By now, Alok had appeared. “My destitute, angelic brother,” he said, and put his arm around the homeless-looking man. He pointed at Stanley. “This, right here, is your salvation. Your greatest hope. Come with us.”
    â€œNo,” said Stanley. “I gave him some money.”
    â€œGet in the back seat.”
    Stanley did not want the man in the back seat. His jeans were really very dirty. “No. Don’t.”
    Alok sighed. “Did you give him some wisdom? A nugget?”
    â€œYes.”
    Alok turned to the homeless-looking man. “Did he give you a nugget?”
    The man nodded.
    â€œWhat was the nature of this nugget?”
    â€œUh…I forget now. Something nice.”
    â€œSomething nice.” Alok shook his head and turned to Stanley. While he did, the homeless-looking man peeked inside the liquor bag. “Stan! This has to be your bread and butter.”
    â€œWhat has to be?” Stanley knew the homeless-looking man wanted to leave. “Let him go, Alok.”
    â€œAre you sure you can’t perform some sort of miracle? Make him look, smell, and think better?”
    The homeless-looking man was becoming impatient and a little insulted. “Excuse me, guys. I got an appointment over there.”
    Alok shook his head in profound disappointment and released the man. A few paces away, the man pulled a pile of money out of his pocket and proceeded toward the liquor store. “Damn it, Stanley. See what you did?”
    â€œGet in the car.”
    There were several hotels in Old Strathcona but Stanley had decided on the Varscona for Alok. It was conveniently located near cafés, restaurants, liquor stores, and left-wingy retail outlets that sold recycled toilet paper and books about crushing the man . This way, Alok wouldn’t be too needy. While Stanley checked him in, Alok inspected books on the decorative shelf. The clerk offered an upgrade to a suite for an extra fifteen dollars a night, but since Stanley was already keen to send Alok back to Toronto he quietly rejected the offer. Stanley handed the key card to Alok and they hugged again in front of the fireplace.
    â€œBreakfast tomorrow?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWill Frieda come?”
    â€œMaybe. But you can’t tell her I brought you here. She doesn’t know about this and, well, you know how she feels about you.”
    â€œAll that was so long ago.”
    â€œYet so vivid, if you allow yourself a second to think about it.”
    â€œRight. Right.” Alok chewed on his thumb. “Anyway, tonight I’m going to consult a few bookstores, the mighty Internet, and my own internal databanks through meditation and Grand Marnier. Bringing me here, it was destiny. It is destiny, Master.”
    The automatic wooden doors opened for Stanley. “If you call me Master one more time, or Holy Teacher or Almighty or anything else of that nature, I’ll use the muumuu to hang you from the nearest lamppost. Yes?”
    Alok clasped his hands together. “He is beautiful in his wrath.”

 
    EIGHTEEN
    A t home later that evening, Stanley and Frieda listened to John Coltrane and played a couple of rounds of Boggle. “What’s he doing here?”
    Stanley had prepared for this query. “There’s some sort of spiritualists’ convention. They use Ouija boards, conduct séances, read tea leaves, that sort of thing. It’s in a different city every year.”
    â€œWhere’s he staying?”
    â€œThe Varscona.”
    Frieda looked up from her list of words. “There aren’t any convention halls in Old Strathcona. Shouldn’t he be staying downtown?”
    â€œI’m not a convention planner, sweetheart.”
    Since the day Stanley threw the kid across the Chinatown parking lot, Frieda’s eyebrows had been permanently raised. The only mind he wanted to read was hers, but