I went very quickly and very stealthily into the office.

“Reverend Obertask?” I said.

He made a little snorting noise.

And then he dropped his pipe.

Dropped it!

I immediately bent down and picked up the pipe, thereby averting a gigantic and tragic church fire. In the meantime, Reverend Obertask slept blissfully on.

I was standing there, holding the pipe and staring at Reverend Obertask, when who to my wondering eyes should appear?

Miss Lulu.

Of course.

She was standing right at the entrance to the office. She had her hands on her hips. “What in the world is going on?” she said in a very loud voice.

Well, that has never been an easy question for me to answer in any situation because so much goes on in this world.

I stared at Miss Lulu and her curls. I smelled caramel. Did she have an unlimited supply of caramel candies?

“I am unsure exactly what you are referring to,” I said. “And I do not care for your implications.”

“I just bet you don’t!” shouted Miss Lulu.

And then Reverend Obertask woke up.

“Harrrrruuummmpph,” he said. “Must have drifted off.”

“Well,” said Miss Lulu, “explain yourself.”

“Just a midmorning nap, Miss Lulu,” said Reverend Obertask. He took his feet off the desk and put them on the floor. “I don’t know that it can really be explained beyond that — just a middle-aged man trying his best to make his way through this vale of tears.”

“I was talking to the child,” said Miss Lulu. “The one who is holding your pipe.”

“My pipe?” said Reverend Obertask. He blinked.

I stood up straighter.

I said, “Hello, Reverend Obertask. Here it is. Your pipe.” I held up the pipe. “I came in here to ask for assistance and advice, and also to make some inquiries about your healing and magic words, but you dropped your pipe, and I picked it up so that there would not be some tragic fire. I did not want the Tiny Shepherd Church to go up in flames.”

“My healing and magic words?” said Reverend Obertask. “What tiny shepherd?” He blinked again. He was a man with a very round and very surprised face. Also, he had a great deal of facial hair.

“I hate to say this —” said Miss Lulu.

“I would advise against saying it, then,” said Reverend Obertask.

But there was no stopping Miss Lulu.

“I think she was intending to steal your pipe,” she said.

“I was not intending to steal your pipe!” I said. I stamped my foot. “I do not need a pipe!”

Miss Lulu said, “Be that as it may. The child and her grandmother are staying at the Good Night, Sleep Tight. They are just passing through — if you understand my meaning. The child sings. And she is engaged to sing at the Elkhorn funeral tomorrow. But I’m worried that something, uh, untoward is occurring. Or will occur.”

“Untoward?” said Reverend Obertask.

“Exactly,” said Miss Lulu.

“Thank you very much, Miss Lulu,” said Reverend Obertask. He sat up straighter. His chair creaked. “You may leave us.”

“But, Reverend,” said Miss Lulu. “The child has your pipe.”

“Yes, she does,” said Reverend Obertask.

Miss Lulu sighed a very large sigh. The smell of caramel drifted across the room.

“I will take it from here, Miss Lulu,” said Reverend Obertask. “Thank you for your generous insights and kind intervention. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Miss Lulu,” I said. It was a sentence that I liked saying very much, so I said it again. “Good-bye, Miss Lulu.”

“Yes, good-bye,” said Reverend Obertask. “And please close the door behind you.”

Miss Lulu stood there with her mouth hanging open and her curls holding themselves very still. And then she pulled the door closed in a huffy and important way, and I was alone with Reverend Obertask, the walrus who could maybe perform magic.

I was certainly in need of magic.

Outside the window, I could see a crow sitting in the crook of a live oak.

I hoped it was Clarence.

It is a nice thing to believe that a crow is watching over you.

“So,” said Reverend Obertask.

“So,” I said. “Here is your pipe.”

Reverend Obertask reached forward and took the pipe from my hand very gently. “Thank you,” he said. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Louisiana Elefante.”

It was the first time I had said that name since I had learned the truth about myself, and I must say that the words felt strange in my mouth — heavy and dark.

“Are you of Spanish extraction?” said Reverend Obertask.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I said. “The sad fact is that my parents are entirely unknown to me.”

It was strange to say those words, too. Always, before, my parents had been crystal clear in my mind — golden, shimmery, beautiful. But now when I thought of them, no image appeared. There was nothing but darkness, and that was sad, because before there had been so much brightness.

“I used to believe that my parents were trapeze artists known as the Flying Elefantes,” I said to Reverend Obertask. “But it turns out that I don’t know who they were or what they did.”

Oh, I felt hollow inside.

Reverend Obertask nodded. He said, “I see.” His chair creaked once, twice, and then the office was very quiet. I could see dust motes dancing around joyfully in the air.

What do dust motes have to be so happy about?

Reverend Obertask cleared his throat. He said, “So you were adopted, I presume?”

“It is a long and tragic story full of dark alleys and twists and turns and many unexpected happenings,” I said. “And also curses. There are curses in the story.”

“Curses,” said Reverend Obertask.

“Yes,” I said, “curses. Do you know much about curses?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“But you’re a minister,” I said.

“I am,” said Reverend Obertask. “However, my day-to-day interactions tend to deal more with garden-variety issues — the loss of hope, the combating of despair, the balm of forgiveness, the need to understand, the short tempers and distrustful natures of church organists. That sort of thing. It’s not often that curses come up.”

Out in the sanctuary, Miss Lulu started to play the organ. There was one huge crashing chord. And then a long silence. And then came another huge crashing chord.

“I think she is frustrated sometimes,” said Reverend Obertask. He smiled. “We all push against our limitations, don’t we?”

I liked Reverend Obertask. I liked his smile. I liked his walrus face.

I thought that maybe he was the kind of person who would understand how it felt to sit in a motel room and stare at state-inappropriate curtains and know that you are all alone in the world.

“I have a curse upon my head,” I told him. “And I was hoping that you could undo it.”

“Alas,” said Reverend Obertask, “I do not think that I can undo your curse. I wish that I could.”

The sun went behind a cloud. I heard Clarence laughing. I heard Reverend Obertask breathing.

I stood there. I worked hard not to cry.

“Does this curse have to do with your parents?” said Reverend Obertask in a very quiet voice.

“It is a curse of sundering,” I said, “so, yes, I suppose it does, because my parents left me in an alley, behind a five-and-dime.”

Reverend Obertask nodded. He said, “What a terrible thing.”

And it was a terrible thing, wasn’t it?

It was a relief to hear somebody call it what it was: terrible.

“How could they do that?” I said. “How could they just leave me? What kind of people would do that? I don’t understand.”

Reverend Obertask shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t understand, either.”

I have to say that Reverend Obertask was turning out to be something of a disappointment. He couldn’t undo curses. He couldn’t explain things.

From the sanctuary came the sound of Miss Lulu playing Bach on the organ. Or attempting to play Bach on the organ.

I did not understand how someone could play the organ so poorly, just as I did not understand how someone could have a seemingly lifetime supply of caramels and not share them.

There was so much I did not understand.

The sun came out from behind a cloud, and then it went back again — light, dark, light, dark.

I felt very sad.

I said, “I thought you would be able to help me. I thought you would have some kind of magic. On your door, it says that you dispense healing words.”

“I can listen to you, Louisiana Elefante,” said Reverend Obertask. “That is the only magic I have. Do you want to tell me the rest of your story?”

Reverend Obertask leaned back in his chair, and it let out another creak. The dust motes danced around cheerfully. Miss Lulu continued to abuse Mr. Bach.

“I have a question for you,” I said.

“I will do my best to answer it,” said Reverend Obertask.

“Do you know the story of Pinocchio?” I said.

“I do.”

“Well, then you will know that Pinocchio gets separated from his father at the beginning of the book and spends the whole entire story separated from him until they meet up again in the belly of a whale.”

“Yes,” said Reverend Obertask.

“Will I spend the whole entire story of my life separated from the people I love?”

Reverend Obertask blinked. He said, “I don’t know, Louisiana. I can’t see into the future. I do think that, more often than not, love has a way of finding us.”

I looked into Reverend Obertask’s sad walrus face.

It was the second time that I had stood in Reverend Obertask’s office and come to the realization that I was all on my own.

“It is a good and healing thing to tell your story,” said Reverend Obertask. “So if you don’t want to finish telling it to me, maybe you can find someone you trust to tell it to. Either way, I hope you will come and visit me again.”

Poor ineffectual Reverend Obertask.

“Perhaps I will visit you again,” I said, just to cheer him up.

He smiled at me.

And I smiled back at him, but I did not use all of my teeth because, oh, my heart was heavy.