The Weather Man Read online

apartment's. To the south he could see the lights of downtown, a tight pack of glass and steel skyscrapers, huddled together like penguins braving the storm. To the north lay the upstate farmlands, usually looking much greener in sunshine. East and west the endless ocean of suburbia stretched to the horizon, acres of apartments, gated communities and golf courses. The roof itself was black topped, with a huge aluminum air conditioning unit the size of a moving van. In the center was a raised block portion about eleven feet high containing the elevator works. And standing on top of this structure was his new neighbor.

  Geoff's first thought was that the old man was up to something fishy. He’d obviously picked the lock, so he must be up here for some illicit purpose. Was he spying on someone? A terrorist perhaps? Doing it during the storm meant he was either determined or crazy.

  It was then the old man started doing something rather peculiar. At first he was just standing there with his hands on his hips, staring into the stormy sky. Then he bent down and picked up a long pole near his feet. It was about the length of a pool cue and the thickness of a quarter. The man stood up with the pole in his hands, holding it horizontal just below his waist.

  Nosiness got the best of Geoff at this point and he snuck closer to the elevator tower. He stood to the man’s side so he wouldn’t be seen.

  Beneath the broad rim of his hat, the man’s face looked perfectly at ease. He closed his eyes and slowly raised the rod over his head.

  Must think he's a ninja or something, Geoff thought. The tower was in the center of the roof so he obviously wasn't contemplating jumping. Then again, holding a metal rod in a thunderstorm was a death wish. Probably dementia, Geoff decided. The city was full of them - crazy homeless people, eccentric artistic types, lunatic cabdrivers.

  Geoff could stay silent no longer. "Excuse me, what are you doing?"

  The strange man either did not hear or chose to ignore him. Either way, Geoff was not giving up. Ignoring the cold rain pelting his face, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted again. "I said, what the hell are you doing up there?"

  The man remained as motionless as a statue. Screw this, Geoff thought, I ain’t catching pneumonia for no one. He was about to leave, but then the oddest thing happened. The winds slowed down considerably. Overhead, the clouds continued to dump a steady stream of rain. Geoff made no connection between the man's actions and the wind. But the suddenness did make him pause nonetheless.

  Then the old man went into motion. He brought the bar down to chest level, spun it around like a martial arts weapon, and pointed one end at the western sky. Then he swung the tip in a slow arc through the air from north to east. He brought the back end around and smoothly returned to his original position. He continued this peculiar ritual, moving the bar in other, more complex patterns: fencing type moves, tai chi like patterns.

  The fluid movements reminded Geoff of some type of martial arts, though it was like nothing he’d ever witnessed before. He went a few steps closer and could now see the old man's face. Though rain poured off the brim of his hat, he wore a positively exhilarated expression. His eyes blazed with such intensity, it only reinforced Geoff's dementia theory. The man moved the bar through the air with the grace of a magician yet the fierceness of a lion tamer.

  Regardless of its sophistication, waving a pole in a thunder storm was just plain nuts. He was practically a human lightning rod up there. The wind picked back up again and thunder rumbled close by. He pointed the staff at the source of the sound and the clouds rumbled in complaint again.

  What an idiot, Geoff thought, he's going to get himself killed. Geoff's once dry coat was already soaked clear through and he shivered in the cold once again. The effects of his hot shower were all but gone. He could have left at this point, called the super or 911, and told them some crackpot was on the roof trying to commit suicide. Instead, he walked to the base of the tower.

  The old man still had the staff in his hands and was waving it vigorously through the air.

  "Hey, are you nuts or something?"

  The man made no indication of having heard him. He just continued his bizarre ritual.

  "Get down from there old man! You're going to be struck by lightning." Geoff began climbing the metal ladder to the top, cursing himself for playing the Boy Scout.

  The man swung around suddenly and looked straight down at him. "No! Stop! Not yet!"

  The look on the man's face was so intense that it froze Geoff in his tracks. He'd never seen eyes so ablaze with energy. He could have sworn, although not for certain, that they even glowed green.

  He climbed back down the ladder and stood a few yards away. The old man's coat flapped noisily around his legs, his stone grey hair waved back in the wind. The man continued his motions. Only this time, he went at it with even more gusto. Each stroke of the staff seemed to take a great effort, as if he was paddling through hard rapids. And there was something else, something he hadn't noticed till now. The clouds seemed to be responding to his actions.

  Geoff shook his head. That was crazier than the old man himself. How could his movements have any effect on the storm? It was a stationary front a hundred miles in length. However, he couldn't deny what he was seeing. The man would wave the staff at the western sky and the clouds would answer back with an angry flash and rumble. He'd swing the staff to the right and the clouds would move grudgingly in that direction. Not just one or two but the whole damn cloud bank! Not only that, the staff itself seemed to be glowing. It looked to be the same green color as the old man's eyes. It was as if he was fighting a duel with the weather, and winning!

  Suddenly, the worst was over. The darker nimbus clouds moved on and were replaced by thinner, lighter ones. The wind died down to a gentle breeze, the rain slowed to a drizzle. The rising moon even managed to peak through the bank, illuminating the clouds from behind. A whitish moon bow appeared in a perfect circle around the moon. Geoff all but expected to hear a wolf’s howl at that point.

  The old man lowered the staff to waist level and sighed heavily. Geoff could see the man was puffing from exertion. He looked at the gibbous moon and smiled in approval. "There now, that’s better."

  Geoff didn't say a word, he couldn't. He was still trying to digest what he had just witnessed.

  "I’m sorry I spoke so sharply to you," the old man began, "but I wasn't quite finished yet."

  His voice had an accent Geoff hadn't noticed earlier. It sounded Scottish or Irish, but Geoff couldn't decide which. All together, it had a rather pleasant feel in his ears and, coupled with what he'd just seen, he smiled in spite of himself. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

  The strange man smiled back.

  Geoff’s brain finally seemed to catch up and he cleared his throat. "Uh, quite finished what? Exactly what were you doing up there?"

  "Ah," the man said, "I was just getting some fresh air, stretching these old limbs … and checking the weather."

  "Checking the weather?" The man definitely wasn't telling the whole truth. If he in any way influenced the storm Geoff had to know how. This violated every law of meteorology he was ever taught. "What, the windows in your apartment weren't good enough? It would have been a hell of a lot drier inside."

  The old man chuckled as he carefully wiped the rain off his staff. He placed it in the leather case at his feet. "Oh no, that wouldn't do at all. I need the open air."

  Geoff laughed. "Well, as long as you don't mind your open air filled with thunder and lightning."

  "Oh they don't bother me." He stopped and looked at the retreating clouds. "Besides, it's on its way now."

  "What, the storm? I don't think so, this baby's stationary. This is just a break in the action. We're in for another day like this one."

  The man threw the case over his shoulder and climbed down the steel ladder. At the bottom he stopped and faced Geoff.

  "No, there'll be sun tomorrow, you mark my words."

  Geoff humored him but suddenly felt unsure of his own prediction. "O.K., whatever you
say. You know, you can get into a lot of trouble being up here.”

  "So could you," the man responded.

  "Well, I heard footsteps on the roof and came up to investigate."

  The old man headed for the stairwell. "I see. And what did you find?"

  Geoff snorted. "Oh nothing much - just an old man waving a stick in the air. Probably harmless, definitely strange."

  "Strange to your eyes, my boy."

  "Well, what would you call it?"

  The man smiled in return. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes lit up his face like a sunflower. "We haven't been properly introduced, except for our little exchange earlier." He stuck out a large hand. "Elijah Aimsir."

  Geoff shook it hesitantly, checking to make sure it wasn't glowing first. "Geoff MacLeod."

  "Well, neighbor Geoffrey, it's good to know you."

  "Yeah," Geoff replied cautiously. He guessed the guy was safe enough. He wasn't twitching or anything like that.

  Aimsir started to walk down the stairs and Geoff followed close behind. "You never answered my question."

  "And which question was that?"

  "What were you doing up there? Some sort of Martial Arts?"

  The man smiled in amusement. "Good heavens no. Is that what it looked like?"

  "Kind of. Then what was it?"

  He paused at the landing and stared at Geoff carefully, as if deciding how much to tell the young man. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.

  "Haven't you