The Cantor Dimension (8 page)

Max's book had mentioned the Romany Gypsies in Kent along with their lost treasure, Urania Cottage, Charles Dickens, and astronomer Edmond Halley. Perhaps Max's fascination had more to do with lost treasure than with his family roots.

The distance between Budapest, Hungary where Georg's great-uncle Joseph Bohm was born, and Mukachevo, Ukraine (formerly Munkacs, Hungary) where David Joseph Bohm's father was born, is roughly 225 miles. Therefore, it's possible that Joseph Bohm and David Joseph Bohm are related in which case Georg Cantor may have known David's family.
We know that the younger David J. Bohm personally knew Einstein. If there was indeed a family connection between Georg Cantor and David Bohm, it is quite possible that Cantor also personally knew Einstein, both having lived at the same time with Einstein being born a mere 34 years after Cantor.
1795-1876: Joseph Bohm
1845-1918: Georg Cantor
1879-1955: Albert Einstein
1917-1992: David Joseph Bohm

Max's notebook was captivating if not outlandish but it still didn't explain his frequent trips or his disappearance. It did explain his fascination with Einstein, however. Apparently he was attempting to connect Einstein to his own ancestors.

Brody set the notebook aside and went to the window.
Max,
Brody pleaded,
where the hell are you? WHO the hell are you?

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Ellen had been remembering the whispered stories about her great-aunt Martha who'd spent most of her adult years at the Rochester State Hospital, which was the sanitized name for the Monroe County Insane Asylum. The asylum had started out as a poorhouse for "the raving maniac, the young child, the infirm old man, and the seducer's victim" throwing criminals, orphans, the poor and the mentally ill all together under one roof.

Martha believed that there were space aliens among us who'd been sent here to gauge our reaction to extraterrestrials. When the time was right they'd send a signal to their mother ship and the aliens would descend and change the world. Believing that she herself could communicate with these aliens, Martha was often seen having animated conversations with her invisible space friends. She was prone to fits of laughing during these conversations, sometimes laughing until she passed out. Fearing that she would harm herself, her husband had her committed.

New York State issued a Medical Certificate of Lunacy officially committing Martha to the asylum. The doctors were successful in treating her laughing fits. Once committed, she never laughed again. The belief in space aliens, however, did not end. Martha claimed that the doctors had cut off her line of communication and that she was missing important messages from her friends. If she was alert, she was usually crying so they generally kept her sedated.

Martha was the family skeleton. Whenever someone in the family did something odd, eyebrows would raise and everyone would whisper, "Oh dear! I hope they're not going the way of Martha!" Ellen had never met her great-aunt. Right now she was afraid that she herself was "going the way of Martha."

"No!" she cried, jumping off the chair and dropping the phone on the floor. "I'm not crazy! I'm not! Jimmy... I'll call Jimmy!" When Jimmy answered the phone, Ellen was frantic.

"Jimmy, you've got to come over right away! Something awful has happened!"

"What? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Yes. No! Just please come over right now, okay? It's urgent. I need your help!"

"Okay. Be there as soon as I can. But you're all right? Really?"

"Just come quick, Jimmy." Ellen was crying.

"Hang on, hon. I'm on my way. Should I bring anything? Tools? A helper? Anything?"

Ellen was extremely competent and if she needed help it was usually a tough job. She always tried to do things on her own before calling Jimmy. He had never heard her sound so distraught. This was something new to him.

"No Jimmy, just bring you!" Ellen wailed. "Please hurry!"

Jimmy had a long drive so there was plenty of time to get worked up over what might be wrong. Jimmy was a worrier by nature and he always agitated himself more than the situation called for.

Naked trees heavy with icicles whizzed past his car window like so many marching soldiers. December's pristine beauty was lost on him as he replayed Ellen's tortured cry for help. By the time he arrived at Ellen's, he was nearly as frantic as she. Ellen had been waiting in the doorway and when he got close enough, she clutched his arm and pulled him inside. An incoherent jumble of words fumbled their way through her tears.

"What's wrong? What's the matter? Ellen, calm down!"

"It's Pat! She never came! Michael Potter... wrong number... her father... never heard of her... Jeanne!" Ellen was beside herself and Jimmy could only catch a few words in between her sobs.

"Ellen, baby, come on. Let's sit down." He walked her to the sofa and sat her down. Taking hold of her hand he said, "Calm down. Speak slowly. Start at the beginning. First of all, who are these people? This Jeanne you mentioned?"

"Jeanne is Fred's wife only she isn't his wife, Norma's his wife! I ate dinner there two weeks ago."

"Okay. Who's Fred?"

"You know Fred, he's Pat's father. He really is! His parents met in Kent County, England and he broke his knee and he said they never had kids! I'm going the way of Martha, aren't I? Tell me I'm not! Tell me
please
!" Ellen had pulled her hand out from Jimmy's and was clutching at his coat. He hadn't had a chance to take it off.

Jimmy had no idea what she was talking about but he wanted to humor her. He'd never seen her so upset. "No, you're not going the way of Martha. Don't worry, baby, I'm here. It's going to be okay." He reached out and stroked Ellen's hair, studying her panic-stricken face. "I still don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Start at the beginning and tell me slowly. I can't help you if I don't understand. Okay?"

"Okay," she sniffed, calmer. "It's Pat. She never showed up last night. I called her house and some guy, Michael Potter, answered. Said he'd never heard of her! The police never heard of her either and they think I'm making everything up!"

"The police? The police were here? My God, Ellen, what happened?" Jimmy asked with a twinge of panic. Ellen's composure crumbled again. In spite of her tears Ellen appeared to be okay physically so Jimmy pulled her close to him and decided to let her cry it out and then she could explain. He'd never heard of this Pat either and assumed it must be some new friend of hers. Ellen was always picking up stray people with problems. It was as if they knew she was simpatico and they tended to gravitate toward her. She was Rochester's very own
Dear Abby
. This Pat must really be a doozy to give Ellen a phony phone number.

Jimmy held Ellen as she sobbed, her face buried in his shoulder, her body shaking violently in spite of his firm grip. After a few minutes when Jimmy sensed her agitation subsiding, he pulled away from her. Ellen's shoulder length hair hung in wet tangles in front of her face. Her almond-shaped green eyes glittered with tears as she searched Jimmy's face for answers. Her mouth was stretched in a hideous grimace and snot dribbled from her nose.

"Ellen, baby, come on, let me go get you some tissues or something. Your face is all wet. I'll make you some coffee, too. Okay?"

Ellen nodded, hiccuping through her tears. Jimmy urgently wished he had a handkerchief like his father always carried but these days nobody carried handkerchiefs except old men and dweebs and Jimmy was neither. All the while he was comforting Ellen he was thinking about her nose running all over his black leather jacket. Shirts were okay, they could be washed, but this jacket... it was his favorite and he was picky about it. It was the perfect foil for his wavy black hair. He dabbed at the wet spot with some tissues.

Eventually Jimmy was able to piece together the whole story. None of it made any sense to him, especially the part about their wedding reception plans the night before. They hadn't had any plans as far as he knew but he didn't dare admit this to Ellen and set her off again. He sure wasn't going to tell her that he'd never heard of this Pat person. People denying Pat's existence seemed to have been what started Ellen's hysteria. No, he thought, better to keep quiet for now. God, maybe she
was
going the way of Martha! He was tempted to ask who Martha was but prudence got the better of him.

"Jimmy, what are we going to do? Something awful has happened to Pat. I just know it. We've got to find her!" Ellen's green eyes sparkled with the tears she'd just shed and were now fixed on Jimmy's brown ones. She looked much prettier with her face cleaned up and minus the grimace. Pretty enough to kiss. He felt an unexpected stirring in his pants. "Jimmy? What is it? What were you thinking just then? Did you have an idea?" Jimmy looked away uncomfortably.

"Yes, we've got to find her," he admitted. "Let me think... her picture! You must have pictures of her!" His eyes met Ellen's again. Jimmy figured if Ellen didn't find any pictures maybe she'd realize that this Pat person didn't exist.

"Yes, pictures! Why didn't I think of that?" Ellen jumped up, excited. She ran to the closet, pulling out boxes and tossing them carelessly on the floor. The apartment was small so as she emptied the closet, the living area became quickly cluttered.

"Wait a minute, Ellen, hold on there! Don't be in such a hurry! So what if you find her picture, it won't do much good in helping us find her. It was a dumb idea."

"No it wasn't! It was a brilliant idea. It'll help the police to have a picture of her, won't it?"

"Well yes, but can't they get one from her parents? You've got enough to worry about without having to clean up the mess you're creating."

Ellen scowled, her green eyes shooting fire at Jimmy. "Her parents seem to have forgotten their daughter exists, remember?"

"Oh yeah, sorry!"

Ellen continued her search. Boxes and books and old shoes were scattered willy-nilly by the time Ellen found her photo albums. They were stashed inside of a battered suitcase. Triumphantly she sat down next to Jimmy with a stack of photo albums on her lap. It occurred to him belatedly that this might not be such a good idea for other reasons as well. Not finding the pictures could really send her over the edge. He winced as she opened the first album and flipped through a few pages, searching for photos of Pat.

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Chief Hunsinger stood morosely in the parking lot of the police station gazing skyward. A new day was just beginning and he wasn't looking forward to another round of bizarre theories in the Weissmuller case. He half expected a UFO to come zooming across the slate grey sky.

"Hey chief!" a cheery greeting interrupted his reverie. Officer Stokes walked briskly across the parking lot waving as he approached.

"Oh, hello Ed," Chief Hunsinger replied gloomily.

"What's the matter? Is Donovan's dog up to his old tricks again?"

"Don't I wish! I can handle Donovan's dog..."

"Oh, come on Chief, it can't be all that bad!"

Chief Hunsinger changed the subject. "So how come you're so cheerful today, Ed?"

"New breakfast special down at the diner. She's a real dish, too!" he chuckled. "Hey Chief, maybe that's what you need! A red light special!"

Chief Hunsinger grinned. "Maybe, Ed, maybe. It's been a long time since my sausage perked up for a couple of eggs." The two men laughed. Chief Hunsinger wiped his eyes. "You're right, Ed, as usual. Just thinking about it has got me to feeling better."

Just then, a bright red disc whizzed across the sky. An Irish Setter and a lanky, teenage boy followed the disc in hot pursuit. Chief Hunsinger's smile faded into an angry grimace. He kicked at a stone. "Let's get inside, Ed. It's feeling kind of chilly out here all of a sudden."

The two men turned toward the double glass doors and walked inside. The building that the police precinct was located in was a brown brick building of the sort that was built in the thirties and forties. Its drab exterior housed an equally drab interior. Chief Hunsinger's tiny office had colorless walls, a heavily stained drop ceiling and it was perpetually dingy.

Not even a window lightened the grey walls to allow a warm shaft of sunlight to penetrate the dreariness. A heavy, metal desk was piled high with stacks of papers. There was another stack on a wooden chair and even more on the floor along the wall.

One stack was dedicated to finding Eric. Flyers were going to be distributed to the local businesses plastering Eric's face on as many windows as possible covering an area which included Marseilles to the east, Spring Valley to the west, Mendota to the north, and Lostant to the south. Eric's photograph had appeared on the local news as well.

So far the only response he'd gotten was a deluge of phone calls about strange lights in the sky. It seemed as though everyone in town had seen the lights except he and the other police officers. Chief Hunsinger sat heavily in his chair and reached for the phone. He'd tried unsuccessfully the day before to contact Eric's mother and the duty hung like a shroud over his shoulders. Someone had to tell Eric's mother that he was missing. Hunsinger finally got ahold of Eric's aunt in Joliet.

"Mary Weaver?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Chief Hunsinger from Utica. I'm trying to contact Ann Weissmuller. It's about her son Eric. He's missing and we suspect foul play."

"Oh dear! Missing! That's awful! I'm so sorry. I hope you find him!"

"Is she there?"

"Here? Why would she be here?"

"I was under the impression that she was visiting you. That's what her husband seems to think."

"Visiting me? Whatever for? I don't even know the woman!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know the woman. I don't know anyone named Ann whatever-her-name is."

"But she's your sister," he sputtered.

Mary Weaver laughed. "No, I think you've made a mistake. I don't have a sister."

Chief Hunsinger was taken aback. He expected Mary Weaver to be upset over the disappearance of her nephew, but instead she was denying her own sister in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. What was going on here? He repeated, "Ann Weissmuller. Your sister. Bob Weissmuller's wife."