The Good Atheist by Michael Manto Read Free Book Online Page A

“Interesting. I thought you knew.”
    “Knew what?”
    He paused thoughtfully, as if weighing his response, before he spoke. “Religious people have no rights when it comes to children, and can be incarcerated for Cerebral Terrorism. He was a Christian, you see.”
    It would have been easier on me if he’d simply said Grandpa had been an axe murderer hiding bodies in the basement. I shook my head. “That can’t be. He was a good atheist.”
    “He converted around the time your father disappeared.”
    “I had no idea,” I said.
    This was going too fast for me and neither one of us spoke.
    “There was a young girl playing the piano during the service,” I finally said. “That piece she played was beautiful. Do you know what it was?”
    “Of course,” he said.
    “What is it called? I’d like to download it.”
    “Oh, I think you might have some difficulty with that.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “She was playing ‘Amazing Grace.’ It was one of his favorites.”
    I gave him a blank look. I’d never heard of the song. “And?”
    “And it’s an old Christian spiritual. And therefore banned and highly illegal to play.”
    Selene chose that moment to return with a plate of pickles and finger sandwiches. “Try the salmon ones, honey. They’re delicious.” She held one up to my mouth. I wasn’t interested, but I took a bite to humor her.
    Selene must have seen something in my face. “What’s wrong?”
    Jorge excused himself. “Good talking to you. I should see to my other guests. I hope you can make it for breakfast tomorrow.” He left to mingle with the other guests.
    “Jack?” Selene said, looking concerned. “What is it? You look like you’ve just swallowed a sour pickle.”
    “Jorge just told me something disturbing about my grandfather.”
    “What was that?”
    Before I could answer a familiar face made his way towards us. It took me a second before placing him. Richard Abrams, the lawyer who’d been waiting for me in the lobby yesterday. The look of relief was palpable in his face. “I hoped to find you here.”
    I nodded my head slightly. “Mister Abrams.”
    “We need to review your grandfather’s will and estate. Are you free this afternoon? I’d like to take you out to see the cottage.” Selene and I looked at each other. She shrugged slightly. Sure, I said to the lawyer. We agreed to meet later at his office. 
     
    • • •
     
    Selene and I stayed a while longer at the reception, getting hugged by a lot of strangers until the steady stream of names and faces became a blur. Half the town must have come out to greet us. And there was no one, it seemed, who didn’t know my grandfather.
    After a while we found Jorge to say our goodbyes and make a gracious exit, and asked him if there were any cabs in town. A burly farmer-type standing with him asked me, “You need a ride someplace?” He had managed to squeeze himself into an old suit for the occasion, but he looked like he’d be much more comfortable in work jeans and a red plaid shirt.
    “Yes. We need to get back to our motel.”
    “You can take my truck. It’s the red Ford F350 pick-up with the supercab out front.”
    My jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon.”
    He jerked a thumb towards the street. “Be my guest. The keys are in it. Just leave it at the motel and I can pick it up later.” He didn’t have to ask which motel. There only was one.
    “Keys?”
    “Sure. I had it retrofitted for traditional keys. I never could stand all the voice and retinal recognition crap. Makes it hard for the neighbors to take my truck when they need it.”
    This was not usually the major concern in Chicago where I come from. “Thanks, if you’re sure.”
    “Sure I’m sure. Just leave the keys with Dan.”
    “Dan?”
    “He’s the clerk at the motel.”
    “Well, thank you very much. That’s very generous.”
    He waved me off. “Think nothing of it.”
    We said our goodbyes to the host, thanked the kind man who loaned us his truck,