"What is it about these new responsibilities that makes you uncomfortable?"

"Everything," Jim insisted. "I don't want to be like my grandfather. I don't want to do the things he did. I don't want to find myself driving to the middle of Manitoba to see the Manitou Rock. I don't want to travel all the way to Toronto in the middle of summer to stare at a building. I don't want to make any more speeches. I don't want to do any of that crap."

"Tell us about the Manitou Rock," Pinky requested.

"Alright. The Manitou Rock. Once a year Grandpa would take me on his `Canadian haj'. This was how we'd spend our summer vacations. First we drive to a reservation in the Manitoba interior. Some place near God's Lake Narrows. Christ, I had never heard of the place before he took me the first time. Now, the Irish have something called a Blarney Stone. You know, you hang upside down and kiss it so you'll learn the `gift of Blarney'. How to bullshit, basically. Anyway, these guys in Manitoba have a rock that God is supposed to speak through. Actually, it's just the wind, but who cares? Hell, you'd think every religious fanatic in the world would be beating a path to get there. But nobody's ever heard of it! Obviously, these Manitobans don't know anything about attracting tourists.

"The first time I ever heard Grandpa make a speech was on one of these trips. I was just a kid. We swung over to Saskatchewan. They were debating whether or not to start Medicare. The opponents complained about the cost. Gramps gave his `someday' speech. `Someday,' he said, `we will be less concerned about the price of care than the price of neglect.'"

"And did they get this...Medicare?" Pinky interjected.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, they did. The critics called it `socialized medicine'. First universal medical care system in North America."

"And did this Medicare catch on?" Pinky inquired.

"Oh, sure. Pretty soon all of Canada had it. And now there's people in Congress talking about it."

"So your grandfather wasn't always `fighting in the shade'?" Pinky asked pointedly.

"What?" Jim was taken aback by the tone and text of the question.

"I mean, occasionally your grandfather had his tiny victories," Pinky clarified.

"Well, yeah, I suppose so," Jim conceded. "But he was hardly the only one arguing for Medicare. It's not like Medicare was his idea or anything. He just saw an argument and couldn't resist adding his two cents worth. He was like that. Always arguing about something. Hell, you could synchronize your watch with him and he'd argue the time of day with you."

"You think he made these speeches because he liked making speeches? You think he argued for the sake of arguing?"

"No, not really," Jim conceded. "But take this Medicare debate. Gramps travels a thousand miles to some hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere. Vagina, Saskatchewan--"

"--Regina," Pinky corrected.

"Whatever. Regina, Saskatchewan, then. Just a couple of hundred miles from Climax, Saskatchewan, by the way. He goes there to argue for government-sponsored universal medical care."

"And?" Pinky prompted.

"You see, that's the part that I don't understand. He was arguing for the same type of medical care that he himself refused to provide."

"Oh, I see what you're saying," Pinky said. "Your grandfather wouldn't treat anyone outside of his own blood relatives. Not even Mattie, his wife. And, yet, here he was going out of his way to campaign on behalf of medical care for complete strangers."

"Exactly," pronounced Jim.

"And this doesn't make any sense to you."

"Not a damn bit," Jim chirped.

"But didn't your grandfather make you swear not to treat anyone outside your family?"

"Yes, but I wasn't the one that was galavanting across the continent--"

"Don't you think your grandfather had to take the same oath before learning the medical practices he later taught you?"

"Slow down," Jim begged. "Say that again."

"Don't you think your grandfather was bound by the same oath of secrecy?"

"Yeah, but why did he have to take such an oath?"

"Because his parents had had to take it, just as their parents had had to take it. And so on."

"Yeah, but why should we continue this stupidity? Is it some kind of tradition? I heard someone say that tradition was foolishness, sanctified by time."

"I'm sure it wasn't your grandfather who said that," Pinky asserted.

"No, I just heard it on some talk show. But you know what I mean. If an old way of doing something doesn't make sense any more we have to change."

"Yes," Pinky conceded. "But promises, however ancient, must be kept."

"Promises?" What the hell did all of this have to do with promises?

Pinky said nothing for a moment. Then he apologized for this digression and asked: "What were we talking about before we got onto this?".

"The Manitou Rock."

"Oh, yes. Go on, tell us about this Manitou Rock."

"So, anyway, we'd go up to this Manitou Rock and stay there for a day or so, listening to the wind whistle through this rock. Grandpa even learned some Cree so he could talk to some of the elders there. Then we'd drive two thousand miles to Toronto. Not to see the Blue Jays or the Maple Leafs, mind you. No. We'd go downtown and stare at this building. Hot as hell, usually. And there we are, standing on a sidewalk, with a bunch of other lunatics--`pilgrims', Grandpa would call them--looking up at the side of a building. Me, I'd always wander off so no one would would know that I was with one of these loony tunes."

"The old city hall," Pinky divined.

"Yeah! It's a public archives building now, I think. Hey, how did you know?"

"I take it your grandfather never told you about E. D. Jones."

"No. What about him?"

"Places, everyone!" Pinky announced. Jim's hand felt the buzz of activity as the Ponders readied themselves for another presentation. They throbbed with energy, trying to create a visible image on the pond surface despite the mid-day sun. As an image of a British-style courtroom scene came into focus Jim could see that their efforts were not entirely successful. The colours were all faded pastels.

"Hold on," he paused, "I've got an idea."

Jim withdrew his hand and went to the front patio. The table there had one of those large, gaudy sunscreen parasols on it. It took him two trips, one for the table and one for the parasol, to set it up between the pond and the sun. Looking down at the Ponder's image Jim could see that his plan had worked.

"Perfect!" he pronounced as he re-established contact with the Mensaplasms.

"Excellent!" applauded Pinky. "Thank you. Now, on with our story."

The court scene showed a thin, ferret-faced lawyer in a white wig and what looked like a graduation gown. The solicitor was questioning a taller, stoutly built younger man.

"And is the man who offered you this bribe in the court room at this time?"

"Yes," responded the witness, pointing behind the lawyer. "He's right there."

"Let the record show," the barrister related, "that Mr. Jones has indicated that he is referring to the defendant, Mr. Barsby."

A quick pan took in the accused, Mr. Barsby. Barsby was a pompous-looking, self-possessed endomorph. Incensed by this exposure, Barsby rose from his chair and pointed a finger back at his accuser.

"I'll get you for this, Jones. You'll never work in this town again!"

After the judge called for order in his court, and after defence counsel had restrained Mr. Barsby, the prosecutor continued with his questioning.

"And what did you do when the accused demanded this bribe?"

"I went straight to the police," Jones testified. "And they made arrangements to witness the payoff."

The scene switched. Twelve men sat around a large table. The one at the head of the table was a round, cherubic type with a ready smile that belied his commanding presence. Clearly, this man was chairing the meeting.

"It seems that we have a problem regarding the tenders for our new City Hall," the chairman observed. Obviously, this was the mayor and, it followed, the others were the city councillors.

"The lowest bid has been submitted by none other than Mr. E. D. Jones. It seems that some of us here have a history with this man and are opposed to granting him this or any other city contract."

"You're damned right!" barked one of the councillors, a burly man with a distinctive handlebar moustache. "That bastard isn't going to get any work from us. Not after what he did to Barsby!"

Four others chimed in their support for this stand: one sporting a Van Dyke goatee, one dark-haired with a massive, curved proboscis spreading like a mountain range across his face, one red-bearded giant and one shifty-eyed maverick who might have been more at ease seated at a poker table.

"Then that is our dilemma," surmised the mayor. "If we vote in favour of the Jones bid we will endure the enmity of the five councillors opposed. With the crucial budget vote coming up, this could be more than difficult. If, on the other hand, we vote against Mr. Jones' bid we will all have to explain our actions to our constituents. And to our consciences--those of us who have them."

This last remark was accompanied by a sly grin at the five disgruntled members.

"So," the mayor asked, "does anyone have a compromise solution to offer?"

"I do!" cried a voice. The mayor's eyes widened as he fixed his gaze on the speaker. It was "Mr. Handlebars" again.

"We will offer the contract to this Mr. Jones," began the councillor, sneering as he spat out the name, "but only on one condition."

"And, what, pray tell, would that be?" wondered the mayor.

"That he not be mentioned on the cornerstone."

Van Dyke, The Unhappy Hooknose, Redbeard and Shifty chuckled triumphantly at Handlebar's proposal.

"No architect would ever agree to such a condition," Van Dyke asserted before adding derisively: "Not even E. D. Jones."

"Ingenious," chortled Redbeard. "Jones could never accept the contract. If he did, he wouldn't be able to account for the time spent building the edifice. What have you been doing this last year, Mr. Jones? You say you built the City Hall? But why is your name not mentioned as the contractor?"

Again the scene shifted. The mayor sat in a large, leather chair in his office. Seated in a smaller, armless chair on the other side of his wide oak desk was E. D. Jones.

"Mr. Jones," commenced the mayor awkwardly. "As you know, some of the members of the council are opposed to granting you this contract. After much debate, we have reached what I hope you will understand is a rather difficult compromise."

"And what does this `compromise' entail?" Jones queried.

"The city council will be awarding you this important assignment but will be attaching a proviso."

"And that `proviso' would be...?"

"You will not be permitted to engrave your name in the cornerstone. This, of course, means that you will not be the architect of record. Now, I will understand if this condition is unacceptable to you--"

"No, no," Jones interjected. "I think that I can live with that restriction. But I hope that the council will accept some of my conditions."

"Your conditions, Mr. Jones?"

"Yes, your Worship. I will be working in secret, using blinds to conceal the front of the building before its unveiling. And I will be observing no deadline."

"No deadline?"

"I am paid for the job. It is in my best interests to finish as soon as possible. Nevertheless, I will finish the job when I finish it, and not before. Now, I will understand if this condition is unacceptable to you."

The mayor smiled as he heard his guest parrot him. Then the mayor turned serious as he considered the counterproposal. His smile returned only when he had made up his mind.

"The council has made its conditions and you have met them. Since your conditions do not contradict the council's...I should think we have a deal!"

The two men shook hands.

The next scene showed E. D. Jones in work clothes, standing on a scaffold some forty feet up an unfinished brick wall. Jones was looking up over his right shoulder, squinting his eyes in the noon sun. The scaffold held a small drawing board, a stack of bricks and some mortar. In his left hand he held a brick. His right hand alternated between drawing a circle with a compass on a piece of paper, writing some calculations with a quill pen and grabbing a trowel to slap mortar onto the brick.

"Mr. Jones!"

Jones peered down to see the Unhappy Hooknose.

"You've taken seventeen months to complete this side of the building. The opposite side is identical and took your men less than two. Why are you insisting on erecting this side alone?"

Jones ignored the question as he concentrated on the work at hand. Look up at the sky. Calculate. Scribble. Apply mortar and carefully lay the brick onto the wall. More compass work. Check those calculations. Adjust that last brick a little. Pat, pat, pat with the bottom of the trowel. One final adjustment. In a huff the Hooknose strode off. Later another voice called up to Jones.

"Not finished yet, Mr. Jones?"

It was Shifty. Again, Jones ignored him. Shifty wandered off. Still later the Mayor called up from below.

"How is the work going, sir?"

"I'm making remarkable progress," Jones assured him without glancing down.

"Do you think you'll finish on schedule?" the Mayor wondered.

"Don't have one," was Jones' retort. The Mayor accepted this brusque reply and took his leave.

On the day of the grand unveiling dignitaries in formal wear gathered at the front of the new edifice. A huge canvas covered the front of the building. Children that tried to peek behind it were quickly shooed away by guards. While the Mayor made his speech on a podium on the steps of the new City Hall the five cabal members grumbled amongst themselves.

"Finally!" spat Redbeard. "I thought the reprobate would never finish!"

"Two bloody years!" Van Dyke cursed. "Two bloody years to finish a plain wall."

"You'd think the donkey was working on the Sistine Chapel," commented a most unhappy Hooknose.

"Bastard!" was Shifty's contribution.

"Come on!" shouted Handlebars aloud. "Let's get on with it!"

"Well," said the Mayor awkwardly, trying to demonstrate some measure of elan, "without further ado...Mr. Jones, show the world your masterpiece!"

Jones smiled at the crowd, including his detractors, and yanked sharply on a rope in his hands. As the arras dropped the onlookers "ooooed" and "aaaahed" at the stylish frontage with its impressive baroque windows and Romanesque arches. Indeed, some thought to themselves, this will be the finest piece of architecture in the New World.

The canvas continued to descend. The second floor was a breath-taking example of then-modern design: square windows slanting inward from top to bottom and an ornate edge along the corner.

With a snap of his wrist Jones brought the canvas to the ground, revealing the entrance. For a moment the crowd stood silent. This calm lasted until a small titter started up. This grew into more flagrant sniggering. The laughter became infectious. The Mayor's face broke into a smile and then a chuckle. This became a signal. Soon the dignitaries were clutching their chests and pointing at the sight before them. Children seemed less amused. Some were frightened by the images they saw above the entrance. Other young ones simply stared incomprehensively at their elders. For their part, the elders lost any pretence of dignity. Proper ladies fell to the ground, giggling hysterically. Beside them fell their cackling escorts, faces reddened as they gasped for air. From the ground they pointed at the entrance of the building and at the five men still standing, unmoved.

The cabal was struck dumb at the visage before them. They stood as one, aghast at the spectacle just uncovered.

There, above the entrance to the new City Hall, were five sculpted gargoyles, each more hideous than its neighbour. Each was a garish caricature of a different cabal member. At the extremes were Redbeard and Van Dyke. Higher up in the arch were the Unhappy Hooknose and Shifty. At the top of this rogue's gallery stood the largest and most unsightly visage: Handlebar's.

The image froze for a few seconds and then faded.

"Beautiful," was all Jim could say. "Beautiful."

Pinky waited for Jim to speak again. It took a while for the question to form in Jim's mind.

"But, wait a minute," he finally asked, "what about the side of the building? That's what took so long. That's what Grandpa used to go see, not the front. I don't get it..."

"Watch," Pinky invited.

Another picture formed. It was an image Jim knew well: Grandpa standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the side wall of the old City Hall. Others mulled about, some looking up, most simply trying to make their way past the enthralled. Grandpa glanced up at the sky and then at his watch. His lips parted in anticipation.

"What are you guys staring at?" asked a teenaged girl, craning her neck to see what might be of such interest. Jason McGuire turned to her and pointed up at the offset bricks that formed the wall in front of them.

"You see that wall?" he asked. "Watch it closely. It's almost time."

"Time?"

"Yes," Jason explicated, "the summer solstice."

"Solstice?"

"Yes. You know, when the sun is at its highest peak for the year."

"Oh, yes," nodded the girl, "that solstice."

"Are you watching?" the old one asked.

"Yes," the girl promised. "But what am I watching for?"

The sun reached its annual zenith. Suddenly, shadows appeared in the staggered bricks. A moment later these shadows sharpened to form letters. Yes! There!

Spelled out in this penumbra for all to see were the letters "E. D. Jones".

"Cool!" the girl exclaimed.

Grandpa swallowed hard. A tear trickled down his left cheek. One minute and sixteen seconds after coming into view the silhouetted characters faded from view.

Like the pilgrims, it would return next year.

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