Charles, the Handyman

John Lithgow's old enough now to play Charles effectively. Do you think we can get him?

Unexplained and Unusual Happenings

Sometimes, the mustard seed pendant just spun wildly on the chain seemingly of its own accord. In these instances, there would be no movement of the crystal from side to side. There would be no movement at all at first. The chain was straight and the crystal unmoving, just a quick refraction of a beam of light caught from the drawing room window, then the crystal began vibrating a bit as if having been given a nudge, then rotating slightly all the way to the left soon spinning around and around and around, going faster and faster, picking up speed as it went, twisting the chain into itself, then the chain unraveled as the crystal began revolving in the other direction. And many times it took awhile for the crystal to completely stop all movement which meant the question had really been answered and for the crystal to be tucked away in a pocket with a small "Ummm" uttered or sometimes merely a silent nod of understanding, but always done with a willingness to accept the oracle's directions. Sometimes the "ummm" had the slightest upswing at the beginning of the sound, to denote pleasure like the oracle's pronouncement had promised a really good outcome.

The first time I saw this happen, Charles was perched on the edge of a velvety wingchair in the office as Mr. Hopkins held the chain aloft. Sometimes, because of the manner in which Mr. Hopkins made decisions, it took a long time for him to make a decision to act and spectators or those awaiting a simple order could grow weary. When the crystal paused as if poised immobile for a moment, as if making up its cosmic mind, then began revolving in the opposite direction, Charles shot me a quick glance as if to say, "I told you so" or "I was right about that", as if the crystal was giving us all understandable verification of that cosmic truth that he also knew how to read and he seemed to assume that I might even know what the question was that had been asked: Charles should go repair that faucet now or Mr. Hopkins was free, let's say, to proceed on his errand to town.

Personally, I came to have experiences with other even stranger occurrences at the estate.

One early morning, I was walking quickly up the hills through the estate to make my way to the small private road at the top for a quick stroll among the eucalyptus so I might better invigorate myself for the coming day. I had rounded a corner at the mansion and paused momentarily to regain my breath. I glanced towards the coach house, which was in a direct line of sight through the drive that was covered by the porte-cochier.

There was a large rock in front of the coach house doors. This is the truth, now. The rock was larger than Mr. Hopkins's old black Cadillac that he parked next to another car for every day use in the old coach house. The rock, actually, was larger than those two vehicles as it nearly covered the entire span of the coach house doors. Well, I didn't know about that, you see. I was fairly certain I hadn't seen it there the previous sunset, or I would have easily noticed it then. How did it get there? What was its purpose? What's the meaning of this apparition?

I wanted to find out about this, and I approached the small side door to the mansion which led into the kitchen. I had just stepped up onto the doorstep and was prepared to knock and I was thinking of what I would say to Mr. Hopkins about this ("Oh, Good morning, Mr. Hopkins. Say ... there's a big boulder in front of the garage door") when Mr. Hopkins himself pulled the door open. He was wearing his striped bathrobe over his trousers and shoes, and already was wearing a white shirt and I could see the top edge of a knotted tie. His sudden appearance surprised me. I actually said, "Oh, Good morning, Mr. Hopkins" and then the words just froze in my throat and I just inexplicably stopped. He just looked at me for what seemed a long strange moment and did not say a word. I did not say a word. Then he pulled himself back inside and closed the door. I stared at the door for a moment.

What? I said to myself. After I finished staring at the door, my eye followed the bell rope up to the top as if were throwing my eyes to the heavens and begging for an answer of some kind. At that time on the estate, there was still a bell and rope next to the kitchen door, a remainder from an older era when housemaids might need to be summoned from the massive expanse of the interior to greet a deliveryman. Who needs it, I said to myself.

And I went back to the edge of the drive to where I had first seen the boulder through the porte cochier, and looking through again, I even bent a bit to gain a clearer line on the edge of the outlines, and, yes, the boulder was still there. So I was wondering about these events, and put my hands in my pocket, and walked back and forth a bit kicking small clumps of grass at the edge of the drive, deep in contemplation. I admit I felt a bit nervous about this event.

When I saw the small door open again and who should step out but Mr. Hopkins himself, who was now wearing his suit jacket. In an event of this magnitude, and everything about this seemed momentous, I was certain Mr. Hopkins would have summoned Charles to assist in some way, but I was quite wrong.

Mr. Hopkins walked straight out from the small door and veered to the right and took two long strides. As he walked, and the object came into his full view, he raised his arms slightly to his sides as struck by disbelief.

Mr. Hopkins was a slightly rotund man who stretched the fabric of his suitcoat; even the back of his jacket was a bit taut, but held small imperfect wrinkles as if he'd sat in the seat of the Cadillac too long on one of those many drives into the far away desert. He stood there staring at the bolder with his own eyes. His arms were still lifted slightly at his side. He shook his own head in disbelief, or in small annoyance at what to him may have been a small harmless prank, I couldn't tell. Then he gave his head another more vigorous shake as if he were ridding the back of his neck of some small drop of water that had remained on his nape hair from the morning shower. He dropped his arms to his side and began walking towards the coach house, this time his was a more casual stride like, "you little devils". Then he stopped and stood stock still for the longest time.

Well, I was frankly tired of watching this display because I'd watched him with the mustard seed and knew it sometimes could be tedious, taking Mr. Hopkins a long time to make a decision and then to act, and I was going to be late for the bus that carried me to school.

So I left, and went to classes for a few hours and returned home into the hills on the old number 7 bus that propelled itself up through the steep grades of the Berkeley Hills, after making a harrowing spin at the round about traffic circle. I hopped off the bus slightly north of the estate at the bus stop as I always did, and made my way back to the stairs for the entrance which on Arlington was still marked with a brass placquard announcing entry to Williams College. I had been gone four, maybe five hours counting the bus trip.

I walked again up the hills in the estate, with a purposeful stride, determined to find out the truth of the matter. When I encountered my friend coming down the hill who always parked her small volkswagen at the edge of the drive where I had been located when I saw the bolder that morning. And I was sure she must have seen it, so I picked up my conversation with her nearly where I had left off with Mr. Hopkins earlier in the day, "Say ... what do you make of that boulder in front of the coach house?"

And she said, "What boulder?"

What the .... ? Was she kidding me?

What boulder, I nearly laughed in derision. We'll see what boulder.

"Well, we'll just have to ask Mr. Hopkins or Charles about this when we see them," I tried not to be snide. "Let's go!" "Come on, it's just a little walk," I tried to be encouraging though I was getting a little miffed when I remembered what she'd just said, 'What boulder?' What boulder indeed, and I would walk a little faster and more determinedly.

We made our way back up the hill, and I was not about to explain an iota about the morning's activities. She tried to make idle chit chat as we journeyed up the hill and I grew impatient and just ignored her. I let her conversation turn into a monologue. She was prattling on and I paid no attention whatsoever to what she was saying. I was going to let her see for herself, and with luck hear for herself what Mr. Hopkins had to say about it all.

When we reached the top, looking down the drive again to the coach house through the port-cochier, things were back almost to as they had once been. The boulder, the immense boulder that would have taken a crane and a flatbed truck to remove, was gone. But not only was the boulder gone. The doors to the coach house were open, and both the Cadillac and the every-day automobile were missing, which meant likely so were Mr. Hopkins and Charles and likely for days. But even this was unusual, as Charles always closed and locked the coach house doors. It was obvious they were gone, and that they had left in a hurry.

And my friend said, "I guess they left."

Now I had a new question, "Where'd they go?"