Epilogue Blood Farm 7
As I hung in silence on the fire chief’s word choice of cuckoo the five internal emotional or gut responses became mental snap epiphanies that transformed to mental rows of dominos falling down in five neat rows heading away from me and …off the edge of the earth. The “They didn’t know” sided “Who are these people buying everything” sided “this IS the Blood Farm estate auction” sided “Then where’s all the stuff?” sided “Why am I just standing here DO SOMETHING”. At the edge of the earth came a final epiphany of “What am I going to do?”
What was I going to do?
Turning to the fire chief I said “Do you know that there’s going to be”. “STOP!!!!!” my mind yelled. And I did. The fire chief was staring down at me. “I’ll be right back.” I said and stepped away and down the isle toward the front of the hall. He wasn’t gonna follow me because I was in plain sight. My mind added, totaled, subtracted, divided and then square rooted the epiphanies as I went to the front. I crossed the whole hall in front of the auctioneer… and before the seven… to the far side of the hall. The final square root offered four solutions and a fifth “all of the above” option. They were: I cannot tell the fire chief about the second auction because he’ll call the lawyer. The seven will never do that. The auctioneer knows that but got caught on the clock when asked about it by the seven so had to tell them about the summer sale of it. The clock’s separate sale as a lone lot either …is… or …is not… known to the lawyer but IS part of this auctioneer fully managing the Blood Farm estate contents to HIS best interest. He is… having this “THE AUCTION” here today “DEAL DONE HERE’S THE CHECK SIR” with… no one noting that… the rest of the very extensive amount of “old rubbish” at the Blood Farm estate is “gone” including the “family papers to the historical society” (“yeah right” for the seven will not follow that trail or any other trails of “just where IS all that stuff?”). AND… all that stuff… WILL BE SOLD into the market and… by whom, when, where, how and why (whose hand is in what honey jar) will be showing up soon enough. Correct solution: All of the above.
Why was I at the front far side of the auction hall? I have no idea. The premise was… “over there” where I now stood were several tables that were sort of accessible during the sale and displayed the smaller lots to be sold. That is where the telescope came from so I… was over there …to look at the blank space where it had been… like an idiot. I stood there with my mental total solution epiphanies answer before the blank spot that had held the captain’s telescope that …had fallen off the edge of the earth. The auctioneer was selling more things from Blood Farm right now? The seven were buying more things right now? But most of the things from Blood Farm were missing! They had already fallen off of the edge of the earth? The clock wasn’t missing. I looked above the telescope lot’s blank space. That lot, number 421, was a small cardboard tray holding three brass finials, a piece of dark varnished carved wood fretwork, several small pine wood interior glue blocks, a molding strip, a finial support block… and more.
I identified the pieces as … tall clock parts. I mentally burst that these ARE PIECES TO THE CLOCK. I picked up a final. “It’s period” (of the 1800-1815 era) my mind said. “DO SOMETHING” my mind continued. “BANG” “SOLD” went the auctioneer. Between that lot and the next I crossed to be in front of THE SISTER IN CHARGE. Blocking her view of the auctioneer I said “YOU must buy LOT 421 because it is PARTS TO THE CLOCK”.
“LOT 421. THEY ARE PARTS TO THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK”
“BUY THEM? Why are they selling them?”
“THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE.”
“THEY’RE STUPID. JUST BUY THEM”. I saw trouble right away. “stupid” was the wrong word. “LOOK: THE LOT is PIECES TO THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK THAT ALICE COLLECTED AND SAVED. TRUST ME. ALICE KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING. PLEASE BUY THEM.” The husband was looking at me now. “THEY ARE PARTS TO THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK: BUY THEM.” I said to him. The sister looked at him then looked at me.
“Lot 421?” she said.
“Yes”. I said. The auctioneer was already selling the next lot. I stepped away and went back to the fire chief.
When I got back to my spot I think I was in worst shape then when I left. I had fallen off the edge of the earth too? The chief graciously opened space for me, stared at me, wanted to say something, didn’t, hesitated and then said “I’ll be right back”. He went up the isle. I didn’t follow him. By the time he came back I had collected myself. What I’d collected I don’t know. The fire chief had ALSO collected. He was carrying three donuts in one hand and stuffing half of a fourth into his mouth with his other hand. “He’s found the food” I said to myself. That was a relief. That settled the “lunch” issue.
Between the second and third donuts I asked him “WHEN they CLEANED OUT Blood Farm HOW MANY TRUCKS DID THEY USE?”
“WAR.” He said with his mouth full.
“Filled them each day?”
“They emptied them and came back?” I asked noting right then that to …drive to the coast and back and do that; empty them, was a COULDN’T… do that.
“And they came back after lunch”
“One truck came back?”
“O. UNKIES AWK-SHUN”
“Uncle’s Auction? Mechanic Falls?”
“They were there TOO?”
Now I knew where all the stuff went.