Brother Odd

Jamaican."
        "You may be surprised that I have never been mistaken for one."
        He finished frosting the first cake, slid it aside, and pulled another pan in front of him.
        I said, "You do know what a Hoosier is, don't you?"
        "A Hoosier is a person who is a native of or an inhabitant of the state of Indiana."
        "I'll bet the definition reads that way word for word in the dictionary."
        He said nothing. He just frosted.
        "Since you're a native Russian and not currently an inhabitant of Indiana, you're not at the moment really a Hoosier."
        "I am an expatriate Hoosier, Mr. Thomas. When in time I return to Indianapolis, I will once more be a full and complete Hoosier."
        "Once a Hoosier, always a Hoosier."
        "That is correct."
        The pickle had a nice crunch. I wondered if Romanovich had added a few drops of anything lethal to the brine in the pickle jar. Well, too late. I took another bite of the dill.
        "Indianapolis," I said, "has a robust public library system."
        "Yes, it does."
        "As well as eight universities or colleges with libraries of their own."
        Without looking up from the cake, he said, "You are in your stocking feet, Mr. Thomas."
        "The better to sneak up on people. With all those libraries, there must be a lot of jobs for librarians in Indianapolis."
        "The competition for our services is positively cut-throat. If you wear zippered rubber boots and enter by the mud room at the back of the convent, off the kitchen, you make less mess for the sisters."
        "I was mortified at the mess I made, sir. I'm afraid I didn't have the foresight to bring a pair of zippered rubber boots."
        "How peculiar. You strike me as a young man who is usually prepared for anything."
        "Not really, sir. Mostly I make it up as I go along. So at which of those many Indianapolis libraries do you work?"
        "The Indiana State Library opposite the Capitol, at one-forty North Senate Avenue. The facility houses over thirty-four thousand volumes about Indiana or by Indiana writers. The library and the genealogy department are open Monday through Friday, eight o'clock until four-thirty, eight-thirty until four on Saturday. Closed Sunday, as well as state and federal holidays. Tours are available by appointment."
        "That's exactly right, sir."
        "Of course."
        "The third Saturday in May," I said, "at the Shelby County Fairgrounds-I think that's the most exciting time of the year in Indianapolis. Don't you agree, sir?"
        "No, I do not agree. The third Saturday in May is the Shelby County Blue River Dulcimer Festival. If you think local and national dulcimer players giving concerts and workshops is exciting, instead of merely charming, then you are an even more peculiar young man than I have heretofore thought."
        I shut up for a while and finished my sandwich.
        As I was licking my fingers, Rodion Romanovich said, "You do know what a dulcimer is, do you not, Mr. Thomas?"
        "A dulcimer," I said, "is a trapezoidal zither with metal strings that are struck with light hammers."
        He seemed amused, in spite of his dour expression. "I will wager the definition reads that way word for word in the dictionary."
        I said nothing, just licked the rest of my fingers.
        "Mr. Thomas, did you know that in an experiment with a human observer, subatomic particles behave differently from the way they behave when the experiment is unobserved while in progress and the results are examined, instead, only after the fact?"
        "Sure. Everybody knows that."
        He raised one bushy eyebrow. "Everybody, you say. Well, then you realize what this signifies."
        I said, "At least on a subatomic level, human will can in part shape reality."
        Romanovich gave me a look that I would have liked to capture in a snapshot.
        I said, "But what does any of this have to do with cake?"
        "Quantum theory tells us, Mr. Thomas, that every point in the universe is intimately connected to every other point, regardless of apparent distance. In some mysterious way, any point on a planet in a distant galaxy is as close to me as you are."
        "No offense, but I don't really feel that close to you, sir."
        "This means that information or objects, or even people, should be able to move instantly between here and New York City, or