by Melody Clark
“Promises, promises. Dad said I’d learn to love Andrew, too, and look what’s happened with that. He told me Bucky went to live on a farm and I found him all stiff and maggoty in the garage rubbish heap.” Tad grasped Edward’s wrist and pulled his arm out straight again. “Don’t cry and I’ll give you a lolly when we’re finished.”
The moment the injection was given, Edward’s body immediately began to relax. He eased back into the moment with a deeper breath. “I take back almost every other rotten thing I’ve ever grumbled about you.”
“Ah, you’re feeling better now. You keep talking like that and you’ll turn my head with praise,” Tad said.
Feeling even more human, Edward looked at him evenly. “Really, thank you.” He then looked over at Thomas. “Thank you, too.”
Thomas touched his shoulder. “You can thank us when we check you into rehab. Can you stand?”
“I think so,” Edward said, slowly gaining leverage on gravity. He finally reached his feet again.
“Walking, on the other hand, is another matter,” Tad said, coming up from behind to support his shoulder.
“I can walk –”
“On your own, yes, I know, but humor me,” Tad said, helping guide him to the door.
Tad helped Edward across to his chair beside the operational laptop. Andrew bounded to the door as Edward entered the library again.
“Not wanting to sound like a fucking broken record, but are you all right?” Andrew asked, grabbing the other arm to help him settle in the chair.
“He’ll be right as rain shortly,” Tad said. “He just accidentally ingested some Kryptonite, that’s all.”
“I told Andrew,” Edward said, tapping the spacebar to bring up the screen again, “about most of it.”
Edward focused forward.
The screen continued to display Clan I Or Deep and Wide.
“Clan I Or,” Edward said, fighting to think clearly once again. He felt his brain gradually click back into player mode. “That strikes me as an anagram. But for what?”
Andrew typed into his own laptop. After a moment, he said, “Ail Corn, Can Roil, Carol In,
Coral In, Clarion –”
“Clarion deep and wide, or something similar,” Tad said. “Those are all words from a poem. A Longfellow poem. The roaring torrent is deep and wide – and loud that clarion voice replied.”
“What was the answer?” Edward asked himself.
“I don’t remember. It was a strange word, though.”
Edward held up a hand in Tad’s direction. “No, no, that was something Wendell said. He asked me the question.” Wendell Bakunin’s voice arose from decades ago, playing in clear sequence across the audible range of memory – roaring torrent is deep and wide! And loud that clarion voice replied – “He always asked me that question, after quoting the poem. What was the answer in the poem?”
“Excelsior, of course,” Thomas said.
“That’s it,” Edward murmured. “And loud that clarion voice replied – ”
Edward typed in EXCELSIOR.
The next prompt read COMMENCE UPLOAD.
“We’re in!” Andrew said, “Eddie, you did it!”
“No, no, we did it,” Edward said, clicking through to upload Pandora. “We actually goddamned did it.”
It initiated. What was actually one minute but felt like ten passed them by – the screen flashed to black, then the laptop initiated a series of command codes. After a full minute of lockup with data displays, the screen resolved again to a cool and dark window, then defaulted to a C prompt.
“It’s done,” Edward replied, exhaling loud and long. “Twelve years of imagining, eight years of work – and now, it’s all toast. It’s all dust. It’s all just gone.”
“What a terrible waste,” Thomas said, from beside him.
“Not really, not from this perspective,” Edward said.
Then Edward’s cell phone rang. He didn’t even look to know who it was. He knew.
Edward glanced awkwardly up at the other men. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather take this bullet on my own.”
“Of course,” Thomas said, with a reassuring pat on his shoulder as they left him alone in the library.
When he was by himself, Edward tried to gather his courage for the moment to come. He found little at hand, so he just steeled himself and squared his shoulders, then pecked at his smart phone and said hello.
“Congratulations,” Wendell’s voice came back at him, “I see you’ve finally, fully defected, as I’ve always expected. I’m afraid you’re out of a job, however.”
“Please,” Eddie said, fighting with everything in him not to cry, “try to understand, Dad. I did this because this obsession of yours would destroy you. And because I’m your son and I love you.”
“I’m sorry,” Wendell’s coldest voice rolled on, “there must be some misunderstanding. My wife and I were never able to have children.”
When the line cut off, Eddie had heard only what he had fully expected to hear – and yet, the last thing in the world he had wanted to hear. He rubbed at his eyes to relieve the stinging that had never fully surrendered.
When he looked upward, he saw Ken was hovering just beyond the library door. “I’m really sorry, man.”
Edward, torn between laughter and tears, tried to smile. “I’m really sorry for you, too. We both lost our jobs.”
“There are other jobs. Better jobs. We both have savings.”
“I’d write you a stellar testimonial,” Edward replied, “but I’m afraid my recommendation won’t be worth much by tomorrow morning.”
“You never know. He might have a change of heart. Rethink things. See your point of view.”
Edward slowly looked up at Ken with a stare of incredulity.
“Okay,” Ken said, “probably not.”
“Definitely not.”
“Well,” Ken said, “I guess I’d better go alert Arvo that he’s going to get called back to Boston. He’s going stir crazy anyway playing endless games of Crazy Canaries. Are you going to be okay?”
Edward shrugged. “Okay is relative. The only thing I want right now is sleep. If you would tell the Croftdons that I’ll be in the room they provided me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Will do. You need me to bring you anything else?”
Edward shook his head and stood, moving like a ghost for the library door. “No, I packed lightly. You brought everything over today. One thing you could do. I purchased a car. I’m having it delivered in the morning. If you’d let Andrew know, I’d appreciate it.”
“A car? How come?”
Edward smiled weakly. “I thought I’d drive around Europe a while – whenever I wake up, that is.”
Ken nodded. “Sure, I’ll tell him. Try not to worry about the future. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Good night, man.”
Edward waved a hand in reply. He walked around the corner, and slipped into the guest room. The door closed after him with a muted thud.
Chapter Eight
His next full awakening came after a series of small ones. Between fractured dreams, Edward remembered Tad taking his blood pressure a couple of times. At one point, Tad had awakened him to inform him he had died and gone to Hell. Edward responded that he had already determined that, since he was obviously looking at Satan Himself. He dimly remembered that Tad had dropped a pillow at his face.
When his mind fully surfaced, the sky outside the window had gone a reddish bruised color, as if caught between hurt and healing. For a long while, Edward wasn’t sure if the hour had been twilight or dawn. He simply stared at the window like some gauche impressionist painting until it had suddenly grown brighter, or else he had nodded off and surfaced again at a later time.
He washed up, did all of the perfunctory things he always did every morning, probably because there was nothing left to be done. All of life’s events demanded propriety, We
ndell had taught him, along with all the other madness he had left behind in his wake.
Edward stepped tentatively out of the door and into the hallway. It seemed empty – the house silent and still.
He left a note for Thomas, thanking him, explaining his absence with the short road trip story. It would be easier to do this without saying goodbye.
He had two more missions in mind. One was to gather his few belongings and place them near the door for his departure. The other was a final visit with the dead.
He found his way by himself this time, to the family cemetery. He felt as if he was following a heading out to sea. Surrounded by an array of varying sized headstones, he considered a few of the outlying ones. 1584, one read. The very idea of it was mind-numbing. Someone who walked the earth before standardized English – someone who might have known Shakespeare. And another, EDVARD THOMAS CROFTDOWN. 1602.
He ended up, as he knew he would, beside Faith.
“I doubt that you can hear me,” Edward said. “But I’ve come to say goodbye, Mother.”
His voice bounced with an echo effect that sounded like it came back around to rejoin his voice.
“You’re the only one I’m going to admit this to, but I’m leaving,” he whispered. “ I want you to know I wish I had met you – you have a wonderful family of whom you would be rightfully proud. I’m glad I got to know them. They are all good people who mean well.” He smiled to himself. “I think that’s all you can really expect out of anyone.”
He drew a deep breath from the cool morning mist, letting it fill his lungs for several moments to sustain him. “I’m going to give everything I have – all the code, all the backup material to Andrew. I trust him with it. I trust these people, and I trust Thomas, whereas I can’t trust Wendell anymore. Not what he’s become. That breaks my heart, but it’s nevertheless the truth. I hope one day he’ll regret our parting. I also hope that, in some way, you and my other mother know each other. And perhaps I’ll see you both soon.”
From behind him, Edward heard the crunch of measured footsteps, as if each had been carefully taken in some kind of greater design. The footsteps slowed behind him then stopped.
“Good morning, Eddie.”
Edward swallowed hard. Of all the intrusions on this moment, this was among the least desired. John Croftdon, the man some would call his grandfather, was standing just behind him.
“Good morning, Mr. Croftdon,” Edward said, about to take his first step back to the house – and away from the old man.
“I fear I owe you a considerable apology, young man,” John Croftdon replied, stopping Edward’s departure.
“You owe me nothing, sir.”
Croftdon continued, “But I do. Granted, I’m not a person prone to asking for forgiveness, or feeling that I require it. In this instance, however, it is very much in order.”
“What I did, I didn’t do for you,” Edward said tartly, with a direct gaze that might have taken the other man down. He took a few steps away. “I did what I did yesterday for my own reasons. I wouldn’t have done anything else. You needn’t feel apologetic.”
“I was going to eventually speak of my gratitude for that event, but that is not the reason for my apology,” John said, moving around to face Edward again, as the other man had maneuvered for escape. “In an act of incredible generosity, the conservancy that approached me has purchased the old house and deeded it and the land surrounding it back to our family. That is a momentous gift, I need not tell you, I’m sure. It must have set them back a million pounds or more.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Edward asked
“Because, in conducting due diligence to discover the identity of our benefactor –” The old man stopped himself. “Very well, to determine to whom I was beholden, I discovered that this magically appearing conservancy had been setup in the United States. In Boston, Massachusetts. It was fronted by a nearly untraceable LLC. It was only after the considerable efforts of a team of researchers that we tracked it to one Edward Bakunin.”
Edward shifted his attention toward the newer house. He lowered his voice even though no one else could possibly hear him. “I setup the conservancy to spare you the discomfiture of knowing I was the one who did it – and, to be honest, to spare me the embarrassment of admitting I cared enough to do it. So we don’t need to mention it again. Still, it’s not bad for an ignorant American with a limited view of history, hm?”
John reached out to almost touch Edward’s arm but, when Eddie shifted away, John removed his hand. “Over the last several days I have had to accept that I am, in my own ways, as nescient as anyone. I am sorry. And I am grateful.”
“Just keep in mind that some things are more precious because you’ve never had them. And thank you for your hospitality, but I’ll be leaving now,” Edward replied, walking back toward the house.
He entered by the backdoor – an act that now seemed familiar and easy when it had, just days before, seemed foreign and strange. Tad met him at the door.
“The next time you purchase a car,” Tad said, walking up to shine a penlight in Edward’s eyes while pressing fingers to his throat to check for a pulse, “have one of us test it for you. What was delivered to the house may have some chance of driving to the end of the street, but I wouldn’t place any wages on it.” Tad popped the stethoscope earpieces in and pressed the chest piece against Edward’s back. “Shut up and breathe.”
Edward inhaled. “I just needed something to drive around a little.”
“A little being the operative phrase, yes,” Tad said, taking off the stethoscope, then pulling a fob of car keys from his pocket and handing them over. “Your faithful Indian companion said to inform you that the contemptible chap who followed you here is off on the next flight to Boston. Ken also says, should you require any assistance, which of course you wouldn’t think of requesting from a house that’s bloody filled with immediate goddamned relatives, he will be at the hotel.”
Edward avoided Tad’s usual inquisitorial stare.
“Okay,” Eddie said. “Thanks.”
“And I suppose you’re going to contend that you don’t need clinical rehab prior to leaving on your just announced car trip,” Tad said.
Edward shrugged weakly. “I’ll only be gone a couple of days.”
“So you say.”
Edward moved around Tad to fetch his closed and cold laptop from the library. Tad followed after him. Edward walked out into the great room, where he was surprised to find a whole string of Croftdons in a receiving line as if waiting for him. So much for my leaving without saying goodbye, he thought to himself.
“We understand you are heading out for a road trip this morning,” Thomas said, brandishing the letter he had left for them.
Edward nodded, setting his laptop beside his suitcase where it waited for him. At the end, John Croftdon stepped up to join the rest of the family. Thomas looked toward John with a pointed stare.
“Father, you had something to say?” Thomas asked.
John Croftdon cleared his throat. “As I was informing Edward, I realize I have made certain errors in judgment –”
“You were wrong, Father,” Thomas said. “The word is wrong.”
“Yes, very well,” Thomas said, nodding. “I was wrong. It is said we make all our mistake with our oldest –”
“Really?” Thomas said, grinning toward Edward, “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Well, I had,” John said. “Apparently this extends to one’s oldest child’s oldest child. I would like to offer Edward my earnest if much-delayed welcome and my wish that he would reside with us for as long as he might prefer.”
The Croftdons looked toward Edward. They resembled for all the world, Eddie thought, a crowd at a tennis match.
“Thank you, Mr. Croftdon,” Edward said, “I’m not certain of my plans, but I would obviously have to live where I work. It would be wrong for me
to work for Croftdon. Given everything that has happened.”
“Not that you need to work,” Tad said. “You must have more scratch packed away than Jesus J. Rockefeller. Just from the software you’ve written alone, never mind the patents. Anyway, all you need do around here is exist. Look at James, he’s an otiose slug. We still love him. Well, most of us anyway.”
“Fuck off, Toad,” James replied.
Edward shrugged. “I need to be useful. But thank you anyway.”
He stopped himself when his voice started to waver. He waited there a long moment.
“No need for long goodbyes,” Tad said, “We’ll see you in a short time.”
