So, that was the end of the Roundly's case, and the start of the end of Mattfield. Folks started moving away almost immediately. With no factory there wasn't no income. No income meant no spending. No spending meant no point in the stores staying open. Sendrine's girl shut up the bakery and completed her ma's cut-short mission to Canada.
Three months after the fire, Mattfield was already something of a ghost town. Christmas had come and went but folks was holding on to their money. Fact was, the only person there with money coming in, if you don't count alimony, was Waldo. Course he didn't know he had money coming in. Since they'd uncovered the Lerdo de Tejada scam, a lot of the old folks had passed away from the shock. That wasn't good luck for the old folk in question, but it was for Waldo.
The cops had found a bunch of money in the con-men's account and made some more by selling off their cars and stuff. The court ordered that the proceeds get shared equally between the victims. So, one day, this pretty gal from the South Bend Justice Department turned up on Waldo's door step and told him,
"Mr, Monk, I'm going to make you a happy man today." She giggled and wiggled some.
Now, there's some dirty old men with less manners than Waldo, would of taken advantage of an offer like that. But Waldo just invited her in and give her an apple. In return, she give him $3,783. 32 cents. That was a lot in them days. Of course it was a cheque, but they're every bit as good as money.
It wasn't just luck. It was divine providence. The Sunday before at the chapel, he'd asked his Maker what the hell he was gonna do with no job and no bread. The Sabbath services had become, what you'd call, 'intimate' since the fire. There was just him and Preacher Le Saux. Even Sister Floretta had packed her cats and headed off west to her sister's.
As Preacher Le Saux didn't have a lot to keep him occupied them days, he found himself answering questions he wasn't asked.
"What am I gonna do, Lord?"
"I think you oughta …"
"Hold on, Preacher. I'm talking to the Lord here."
"I was just gonna make a suggestion, Waldo."
"I'm sorry Lord. Where was I? Oh, yeah. If'n you got any suggestions as to how I can stay alive through these troubled times, I'm ready to hear you."
"You know Waldo? You got a few dollars saved up. (That was Preacher Le Saux talking, not the Lord.) I think you oughta head south and leach off Aretha's family in Baton Rouge."
Waldo opened his eyes and glared at the preacher, then he got back to God.
"Well Lord, what you think of that idea?"
And in a sign clearer than a Las Vegas neon, the ground shook, and a goddamned candle fell off the altar. Preacher Le Saux dropped to his knees and joined Waldo in prayer.
The contractors had finally gotten round to bringing down the unsafe walls of Roundly's with a ball and chain. They was all agnostics so they didn't worry none about Sabbath retribution, just overtime.
"I hear you tumbling down the walls of Jericho, Lord. I hear." Then he whispered to Preacher Le Saux so's He couldn't hear. "What d'you suppose that means, Preacher?"
What followed turned out to be Preacher Le Saux's final interpretation of spiritual signs before his transfer back to Boston, and the transvestite scandal. But he did a good job.
"Waldo, the bringing down of the walls signifies the bringing down of your limitations. The prison ofRoundly's has been destroyed. Your soul is liberated." He put his palm against Waldo's forehead. "The falling of the candle signifies that a small orange person will fall surprisingly into your life. (It was a small orange candle), and together you will flee the crumbled masonry of your respective histories."
It sounded like Preacher Le Saux was just making it up at the time, but Waldo come to think back on that prophesy a hundred times after his airplane ride. He wished he could of gotten back in touch with the preacher and told him how his interpretation had been right on, apart from the "orange person" thing. It should of been a magnolia white candle.