Played by Madhu Nair

[a telephone rings]
RING
[a womans voice answers]
J: hello
F: Johnny? [a a male voice]
J: Frankie? hey baby you doin' ok?
F: I'm sorry girl, I just had to call someone...
[ exhales heavily]
F: My cousin john- he's dead.
J: oh god no, oh baby I'm so sorry.
F: yeah, he was killed, murdered, no one knows who, not even the police.
J: oh jesus, thats horrible. do you need me to come over baby?
F:[starts to sob] yeah I think so- oww, what the hell?[ hear the sound of a slap, and the phone is dropped] Jesus grandpa what's the deal, whad'ya hit me for?
G: stop sniveling boy! And might I remind you that you will never use the lords name in vain in his house again so long as I'm alive.
F: I'm sorry, but johns dead, don't you care?
G: damn it boy, of course I care, your cousin John Rossi Christi was one of the finest human beings this world has ever known. He knew his duty and he did it.
F: but grandpa, he was a truck driver, what duty di he have, what are you talking about?
G: [ breathes out a heavy sigh] looks like you'll have to have some things
explained to you. first thing is to hang up the phone, then follow me.
Hurry up boy, unless you want another beating!
F: [ hanging up the phone] y-yes sir.

*****

We find ourselves in a cemetary. The day is cloudy and overcast, gving that quality of light one only finds on the worst days of ones life. For francis this was no exception.

"In Spiritu Sanctu, Amen" The priest finished his benediction in hushed tones. the rest of the family and friends there said their goodbyes as they too intoned
" Amen"
Only two peoples actions drew any notice from the others passing to their cars. One was a young man in his early 20's. his brown hair pulled out of his pony-tail falling into his face. his brown eyes stared at the coffin being lowered into the ground, as tears slid down his cheeks, anguish written across his face. The other was a man about 6 and a half feet tall, in his mid 60's. He surveyed the scene with a stern, almost cold and impassive bearing. His one hand was clenched into a fist, the other gripped almost painfully into the young mans shoulder.The preist walks over to the young man and stands to the side, carefully not blocking his view of his cousin. He stands there and silently offers comfort. Francis ignores them while his grief washes over him again. When he is finally able to stem the flow of the pain he looks to the priest.
With compassion on his face the preist says to Francis " Your cousin John was a good man. He helped a lot of people and led a good life. We should let those who have led good lives leave in peace to find their reward in heaven, my son. In time your grief will pass, but for now know that he goes to a better place than where he left." with that the preist respecfully with draws to leave the family to grieve by themselves. As soon as the priest had left from earshot, the older man looked down at Francis. " stop your whimpering, boy"
Francis looked up stricken, " don't you even care that he's dead? do you >care about no one, grandfather?" His grandfather turned his gaze upon him >fully " he was a good man, and he died for what he belived in, he died >doing God's work. That to me is caring. Don't speak to me about something >you know nothing about!" With that he walked to the car and sat in the >drivers seat to wait for his wayward grandson.

Francis' grandfather takes him home, sits him down and opens up the liquor cabinet. "Grandpa, what're you doing?" Francis said. His grandfather took out a large bottle of wine and two old goblets.
Setting them on the coffee table in front of Francis, he said, "Now that you brother is gone, you have to continue his work. There is much you don't know about."
Francis opened his mouth to say something, but received a stern glance from his grandfather. _This isn't making sense,_ thought Frank, _Grandpa has never been so violent as in this part week, at least not with me. With John he was like this sometimes, but..._
"Francis, snap out of it." Grandpa snapped his fingers in front of Francis' face, getting his attention. "Drink your wine." Grandpa sat down in his old chair, sipping his wine. Deep red wine, Francis had never seen Grandpa drink red wine before. In fact, he'd never seen these goblets before. His grandfather sat up suddenly. "Francis, you're going to meet someone. We're going to go to the farm. The farm you've never visited, the one your mother used to talk about when she was still around. Finish your wine and pack your bags. This is *family business*."

Francis sipped his wine gingerly. He'd been drunk before, even done things he'd regretted the next day, but never with his grandfather.
{ It has been so confusing lately. Just having recently gotten over the death of my parents and now john. And now with grandpa acting so weird. The thoughts about his parents brought him back to that fateful day in college.

He remembered aswering the phone and being so pleasently surprsed that it was grandpa who was calling.

" hello?"
" ah, francis is that my boy?"
" grandpa? wow I didn't expect you to call, whats going on?"
" - how is school? You're in your second year now, correct? going out with that girl? Joann?"
" yeah grandpa thats right" _How does he know so much about my life, he never seemed to are before, mostly concentrating on john_. " yeah everybody calls her johnny, you know like the song, frankie and johnny? well school is going pretty well, my schedule is filled with religion courses this term, and I'm starting latin. so how are things at home?"
( sighs deeply) " I'm sorry to tell you this frank but-" ( his voice is becomeing more and more broken with grief) " you see it's your parents, their-"
" my parents, what? what happened?" _my heart was racing, I was thinking the worst. As it turns out it wasn't bad at all compared to what really happened_
" Francis. You need to come home. You need to be with your family now."
" grandpa, tell me!! what happened?!?" ( by now I was yelling, I was so worried)
" they're dead." ( there was silence on both ends)

- grandpa's cursing snapped me back to reality
" fuckin' youth, wake up boy!"
Uptil this week Francis had never heard grandpa curse. Maybe all this death has been too much. }

_Something is wrong. John was my cousin, not my brother. He lived here and all, but he was my cousin, not my brother. What's with the wine? Grandpa never drinks wine, and these goblets look so ancient, like they might be made of lead or something. Oh, God._ "Grandpa, these aren't made of lead, are they?"
"'Course not, boy. They're iron. Drink up!" Francis' grandfather smacked Francis lightly on the back of his head. "Forget, you can finish it in the car."
"But,"
"Don't 'But' me, boy! Get upstairs and pack your damn bags! You'll need enough socks for a week, bring whatever else you want."
Francis nodded, got up and started to his room when the rough hand of his grandfather spun his around suddenly.
Grandpa stared Francis down momentarily, his heavy breath stinking of alcohol and blood. With a raspy voice that seemed to come from outside of him, he said, "You only get one bag."

The winds whipped around the hills, twisting between them. Trees bowed and swayed in the storm, the wind whistling between them. Lightning criss- crossed the sky, illuminating the hills in the darkness, revealing what Francis swore he saw were evil faces in the dark trees. Thunder rocked the car, shaking the goblet in Francis' hand as he sat in the passenger seat. He clung to the door handle for dear life as he fearfully watched his grandfather wield the car like a giant steel death trap as they hurled down the road at upwards of eighty miles an hour.
"Grandpa, do"
"Shut up, boy. All will be revealed soon enough. John's death will not have been in vain." Grandpa turned to face Francis as lightning illuninated his face, revealing the hard lines of age, the weathered skin and hardened flesh.
Francis shrunk back in his seat and drank his wine, ignoring it as it spilled upon his clothes. He closed his eyes and tried to make it all go away.

Finally, the storm let up as they pulled into the drive-way of the farm. A light drizzle fell slowly upon Francis and his grandfather as walked towards the barn.
"What's going on, Grandpa? I want to know." Francis found a strength in his voice, one which he hadn't felt before. It was as though this land, the earth beneath him here, was giving him strength.
"You're going to learn the truth, Francis. You're going to learn about the real history of your family." In the distance, lightning crossed the sky.

The stench of shit and grime filled Francis' nostrils as they approached the barn. His grandfather pulled out a large heavy key from beneathe his shirt, unlocked and opened the doors. He motioned for Francis to enter the barn.
Inside, the stench was even worse, Francis could feel it entering every pore of his body, invading his lungs and offending his mouth. He fought the urge to vomit, closing his eyes.
"Open your eyes, boy!" his grandfather hissed, smacking him on the back.
The vomit spewed out of Francis, spreading out over the floor of the barn, the color of the yellow-brown soup the dog wouldn't eat. "Damnit, boy,"
Grandpa said, bringing Francis' head up so that he could look him in the eyes, "the Lord needs the strong, the weak are useless to His cause."
In confusion, Francis looked on as his Grandfather opened up a huge trap-door in the floor. A huge stone staircase lead downward.

Cold, dank darkness greated Francis as he descended the stairs. He seemed to find all the cob-webs even though his grandfather was walking just ahead of him. They seemed to walk forever, though Frank's Indiglow told him otherwise.
The stairs turned into a twisting hall-way, a labyrinth which Francis' grandfather seemed to know like the back of his hand. Silently, feeling the silence of death hovering over them, Francis followed his grandfather as the old man twisted through the tunnels. Ten minutes later, Francis found himself before two huge doors.
"Open then, boy. If you can." he grandfather smirked.
Francis grimaced and grasped the huge handle of one of the doors in his hands. He heaved once, twice, three, four times, the door wouldn't budge. His grandfather began to laugh. Anger rose up in Francis, something within him snapped. He gave out an anguished grunt and jerked the door open.
His grandfather's laughter stopped suddenly. "Well, you might just have it in you after all."
Francis' grandfather lead the way through the doors. Beyond the doors there was a large, cold, stone room with a large, empty fire-place. Francis was still recovering from the power of the anger that had risen up inside of him. He *knew* it had been that anger, the thing that had snapped in him that had caused the door to open on its own. It hadn't been his arms that had opened that door, it had been... something else. That knowledge, the knowledge that he had power locked within him, gave him strength.
"Okay, Grandpa, I want to know what's going on," Francis said.
Grandpa turned to face Francis. "Don't worry, boy." His face broadened into a smile and he picked up the two goblets from a stone table. His smile grew more sinister as he said, "We do the Lord's work. The Lord's dirty, dirty work. You want to know what's going on?" The old man laughed softly, almost kindly. His face hardened again quickly, turning Francis' stomach. "This is where you LEARN, boy."