“Right. Have I told you how glad I am that you wanted to hang out today? I’ve been asking your parents if you’d like to hang with the F Man, just to talk, you know. They said you weren’t interested yet, but I won’t hold that against you. Drop you too fast, for example.” He smiled crookedly, showing a flash of wet teeth.
Ben cast his glance over Little Q and the rock he was about to rappel down. Some ancient machine had carved thick vertical grooves like an accordion pleat, and another machine hauled the rock out in refrigerator-sized bricks. Piles of bricks still littered the land around both quarries, with tufts of goldenrod and rooted saplings between.
“You’ll be needing these.” Mr. Falso tossed Ben a pair of cowhide gloves. “You’ve got the easy part. All you’ve gotta do is say ‘belay on’ when you’re ready to keep climbing down.”
Ben tucked his chin at the word.
“I say, belay? And you say … go ahead, say it!”
“Belay on,” Ben mumbled into his chest.
“You gotta say it louder, so I can hear you.” Mr. Falso pointed to the bottom of the chasm, at least one hundred feet down. “I’m gonna be way down there, remember?”
“You mean you’re not gonna be right next to me?” Ben choked.
“Of course not. Who’s gonna work the ropes?” Mr. Falso said. “Next thing, you’re going to ask me why the rock’s not plastic.”
“I envisioned us being able to, you know, talk. Mano a mano,” Ben said, aiming for Mr. Falso’s sweet spot.
“Climbing requires absolute focus. Especially when you’re new. You work hard, someday maybe you’ll earn these, my man.” Mr. Falso opened the inside of his flak vest and flashed a bunch of patches that looked to Ben like Boy Scout badges. Ben hadn’t even noticed him changing into it. Suddenly Ben had a terrified thought: that he’d been in the house when Ben was nosing around his bedroom, and that this was his punishment. It didn’t make any sense, but Ben still shuddered.
“We’ll chat over lunch. Now get in!”
Ben climbed obediently into the harness Mr. Falso held out for him, allowing himself to be trussed and buckled like a child. The process took a couple of minutes, with Mr. Falso explaining each step in detail. Ben felt the note in his pocket every time the harness shifted. Finally, Mr. Falso took a short step back, cocking his head.
“There! Exactly how I want you!”
The ease with which Mr. Falso had complete control of his life washed over Ben. One slippery knot or broken buckle could leave him broken on the quarry floor. He shot out a tight laugh that sounded more like a bark. “Good thing for me you know what you’re doing.”
“Indeed I do. Did you say your parents knew where you were going?”
Ben lied. “Yes! Yes, they do. They know I left the boat club with you to see Eddie at approximately 7:50 a.m. And that we went rock climbing after. And I’m expected home at four. I have to be somewhere. At four. So they’ll be looking for me, right away, if I’m even a minute late.”
“Good to know!” Mr. Falso called, already disappearing over the edge of the cliff, scrambling like an insect, rappelling down the slope with ease and speed. Ben thought of Mr. Villela scurrying across rooftops. Ben bet he’d be good at this kind of thing, but he was of a different generation: men who got exercise from physical labor that paid bills and put food on their tables, not muscles on their arms, or to kill time in an otherwise lonely existence.
Ben looked to the sky. There were no clouds, nothing that looked like heaven, only cold blue and more cold blue.
“Belay!” Mr. Falso yelled, his voice tiny and echoing.
Ben crossed himself. “Belay on!” he yelled, securing his first foothold, and lowering himself down.
Within minutes, Ben got into a groove. It was a relief not to think about Mira. The rhythm of finding footholds and releasing himself down, hand over hand, was consuming, a mental game. Sometimes he needed to focus on his feet, other times, his core. He needed to rely on Mr. Falso, and so they became partners. By the time he reached the bottom, he almost felt relaxed and happy.
Mr. Falso stabbed his finger into the air at Ben. “Look at that smile! You see? You’ve caught the bug! Isn’t it awesome?”
“It is pretty awesome,” Ben admitted.
Ben allowed himself to be tossed around, a dopey smile on his face, as Mr. Falso yanked at his waist, releasing his ropes and buckles and harness. Other climbers milled about them, nodding, like they’d drunk the same Kool-Aid, and acknowledged one another’s high. When Ben was free from his gear he collapsed to the ground. Mr. Falso handed him a canteen of cold water. It was delicious.
Mr. Falso collapsed next to Ben. He was surprised when Mr. Falso pulled out a beer and cracked it. He guzzled it and kicked back, stretching his hairy legs in the sun, saying nothing. Ben leaned on bent elbows and drank more water. He hadn’t given Mr. Falso a chance, he realized. He wasn’t a bad guy to hang with. It was a relief not to have to pose and act cool like he did with his friends. And Mr. Falso was ten times cooler than his own dad.
“This is nice. Thanks for inviting me, Mr. F.”
“I’m glad you came, Ben. You’re a great kid. I like spending time with you.”
“I gotta tell you though: I’m a little surprised.” Ben pointed to the beer. “I thought you were a health nut.”
“This?” Mr. Falso held up his bottle. “I allow myself one. A man’s body is his temple. Once in a while, I despoil the temple. My prerogative, I guess.”
“Right,” Ben said.
“I tell you, Ben. Climbing, scuba diving, heli-skiing—I do it all. Some people would call me crazy. But it’s my life, and I’m in my prime. I accept the risk. I do what I want. I figure, it’s my body, and I control what I do with it.”
Ben wiped his mouth. “That sounds pretty good.”
“No risk, no reward. You want something, you go for it. That goes for the ladies, too. You ever need girl advice? You come to me, Ben. And obviously anything you tell me won’t go anywhere.” He leaned over. “That goes the same for anything I tell you, in the spirit of sharing.”
Ben cleared his throat. He might want to talk about Francesca. He seemed like he wanted to. They were buds. Maybe the notes were just girl drama, Francesca mooning over an older guy. It would be good to know that. It would be good to hear it from Mr. Falso.
“Actually, Mr. Falso, I wanted to talk with you about the girls. The Cillo sisters.” Ben cleared his throat. “I’m trying to get a sense of what was going on in the months before they died.”
“I see.” Mr. Falso chugged the dregs of his beer and paused, looking off into the distance. “Now why is that?”
“I think … getting a better understanding will help give me closure.”
“Closure is a tough thing. Some people never find it, no matter how hard they search for answers.” Mr. Falso set to tucking away the trash in his pack. “Carry in, carry out!”
“If everyone could understand why they did it, they would be able to—we would all be able to—find peace. Don’t you think?”
Mr. Falso put his hand on Ben’s knee. “Peace comes from knowing that God has a plan, and that everything happens for a reason.”