Fingers

by William Sleator

  It shouldn’t have bothered me, because I was more resentful of him now than ever. And yet … somehow I was reminded of the emotion I had experienced in Geneva when I had noticed what the hoax was doing to him. The unearned adulation, coupled now with a brutal rehearsal schedule, were turning Humphrey into a petty, demanding, resentful brat That amazing simplicity, the open heartedness that had caused him over and over again to defend even me, his hostile older brother, were being systematically driven out of him. I saw at last that there had been something uniquely beautiful there, something unblemished by the tawdriness around him. If this cruel career went on much-longer, that part of him would surely be destroyed.

  “I want my supper,” he said as soon as they entered the room, his gaze moving sulkily over to me. “So where is it? Get moving, Sam. I’m hungry.”

  Fortunately we had planned ahead and ordered dinner early that afternoon from room service, which in this hotel took two hours to send up a glass of water. I looked at my watch. “Keep calm, Humphrey,” I said. “It’ll be here any minute now. We already ordered all your favorite things.”

  “You did?” said Humphrey, leaning forward eagerly. “You mean cheeseburgers and Coke? Is that what you got?”

  “Just wait and see,” I said nastily. For there were no cheeseburgers on the menu here, and I had ordered the kind of rich and highly seasoned food that Humphrey most detested: A pork and garlic sausage and sauerkraut stew, with sour cream and hot Hungarian paprika. Humphrey’s face fell when he saw it. But after pausing to swear obscenely at me—which he had never done before, though he had heard the words from me often enough-he did gobble down his dinner with abandon.

  It probably wasn’t necessary to drug him that night, since he was already so exhausted. Still, Bridget didn’t want to take any chances and had convinced him to take a “vitamin” pill before dinner. It was necessary that he discover the three new pieces as soon as possible. That night he didn’t have a chance to come up with any more macabre remarks. All he did was mumble something about an island before he fell asleep on the floor with his mouth still full of food. Luc and I literally had to drag him down the hall to our room. The bumping and squeaking of his feet on the linoleum were probably audible throughout most of the hotel.

  The next day I took a well-earned break from composing and went with Humphrey and Luc to the rehearsal studio, since I was mildly curious to hear what my physiologically-inspired pieces actually sounded like. I didn’t stay for long. For an endless half-hour I watched Humphrey pick his way painfully through the first. short Prelude, while Luc alternately hung over his shoulder and paced. Humphrey’s forehead was gleaming with perspiration by the time he had finished, and I could just imagine what the warm and slippery keyboard felt like. As usual, Humphrey’s first reading of the piece was so sluggish and awkward that one barely sensed any connection between the chords. Nevertheless, I had noticed a glaring wrong note toward the end, which Luc had missed. I went and stood behind Humphrey, then reached over and touched the page. “I thought that sounded funny,” I said. “Look, that has to be an E flat, not a D natural.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Humphrey said. “Well, it looks like a D natural to me.”

  “But it can’t be a D natural, it just sounds all wrong. And anyway, the note does go over the line, see?”

  “Play it, Humphrey,” said Luc, who was leaning over his other shoulder.

  Humphrey slowly groped out the chord, playing the D natural.

  “See? It sounds all wrong that way,” I said.

  “Not to me it doesn’t,” said Humphrey.

  “But Humphrey, can’t you hear? It’s obviously an E flat,” I insisted.

  Luc was trying to say something, but we ignored him.

  “And I say it’s a D natural,” declared Humphrey, banging out the ridiculous chord again to emphasize his point

  “You’re all wet, Humphrey. It makes no musical sense that way.”

  “Who asked you?” Humphrey said, his voice rising. “What do you know about it, anyway?”

  “I can see the music, can’t I?” I slapped the page. “I can hear.” I pulled on Humphrey’s ear lobe. “Anybody with half an ear would know that has to be an E flat!”

  “Oh, leave me alone! I’m sick of everybody telling me what to dot” cried Humphrey, smashing both fists down on the keyboard and leaving them there, so that the ugly jumble of notes continued to bounce around the walls of the stifling room as he shouted at me. “Who said you could come along, anyway? We don’t need you. Why should anybody listen to you? You’re a musical failure. Just keep your ugly little face out of it. I’m the one that wrote this music.”

  “Oh, yeah, Humphrey?” I said, nodding at him as I took a slow backward step. “How very pretty and flattering for you. Except that maybe there’re a few ugly little secrets that you and all your devoted fans don’t know anything about.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Humphrey. “What are you talking about?”

  Then I caught sight of Luc standing behind him, frantically shaking his head at me. He was terrified. It made me think of the last time I had suggested to Humphrey that he might not know everything, and the fear I had noticed in Bridget’s voice …

  In the midst of my bitterness and rage, I felt a sudden unexpected sweep of power. Bridget and Luc were at my mercy. Humphrey’s whole rotten career was at my mercy. Why hadn’t I ever seen it that way before?

  “He doesn’t mean anything, Humphrey. He’s making it up. Aren’t you, Sam?” Luc was babbling. “He’s just teasing you, Humphrey, that’s all. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  The part of me that was still functioning rationally bit back the words I longed so much to spew at Humphrey. I knew a lot was at stake, that I had to be in control, that a rash move might be a blunder. But I was simmering with power. Still, instead of using it all up in one destructive blast, perhaps I could play around with it a little.

  “I … uh …” I closed my eyes for a second, then attempted to smile. “Yes, I was just teasing you, Humphrey, that’s all. I didn’t mean anything. But I’m still concerned about that note.” I caught Luc’s eye and stared hard at him. “Considering what you know about Magyar’s pieces, Luc, and what I could tell Humphrey, I’d like to hear your opinion about this note.”

  Luc’s forehead was as damp as Humphrey’s now. He bent over the page, then looked back uncomfortably at me for an instant He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, Humphrey, I’m afraid it is the way Sam says it is. It’s clearly over the—”

  “But I wrote it, and I say it’s a D!” bellowed Humphrey, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists. “You let me play it that way or I won’t practice another minute. I’m tired of practicing.”

  “He’s all yours, Luc,” I said. “Just remember, my discretion is in your hands. I’ll be listening for that note.” I grabbed my jacket, and at the door I turned back to them with a big grin. “Have just a marvelous day, you two. I think I might wander over to the zoo or else see what kind of movies they have around here. See you later.”

  And for the next day or two, I enjoyed myself. So what if I had passively allowed Bridget to walk all over me? So what if Humphrey was getting all the credit for my compositions, and I was given only insults and rejection in return? I had the power, however belatedly discovered, to put an end to the whole situation. All I had to do was tell Humphrey everything. This power gave a certain unreality to all their frantic hurryings and scurryings and allowed me to feel competent and in control as I watched them. I amused myself by frightening Luc a few more times, but I didn’t try it on Bridget. You had to be careful with her. She was too smart to play games with unless you planned them out very carefully.

  So I had my fun with Luc and felt almost immune to Humphrey’s increasingly virulent insults. I especially enjoyed writing my next Magyar piece, a Ballade inspired by the tirelessly inventive hotel radiators. All in all, things seemed to be looking up.

  Until the night before Humphrey’s opening Vi
enna concert, when I walked into our room and found a bundle wrapped in rags lying on his bed.

  9

  FOR A MOMENT I couldn’t put the picture together. There was something too incongruous about the stained and stiffened package fouling the white pillowcase. Then I remembered Magyar’s death and the game of twenty questions and the old man’s latest cryptic observation, and my guts turned over. There was an unpleasant, swinish grunt, not even remotely recognizable as my own voice. I gulped violently, feeling as though I had just staggered off a roller coaster. But almost at once a sudden rush of hostility stepped in like an invigorating drug. My weakness vanished. Without thinking I spun around and stormed back down the hall to their room.

  Because Humphrey would be performing every night for the next week, tonight was our last chance to dope him and introduce a new Magyar piece. Bridget had already slipped him the pill in a glass of Coke, and now they were waiting for room service to deliver up some of its rancid swill. The poor things were sadly disappointed when they saw that it was only me at the door. And Humphrey was already in a rotten mood because his practice schedule hadn’t allowed him to eat all day.

  “All right, who’s the joker?” I demanded.

  They didn’t even bother to answer me.

  “Come on! Who left the little surprise package on Humphrey’s bed?”

  Bridget sighed. “Oh, Sam, now what are you—”

  “Just come with me,” I ordered. “There’s something very cute I want all of you to see.”

  My tone of voice compelled even sullen, quarrelsome Humphrey to haul his bulk down the corridor. I ushered them into the room and gestured at the bed. “All right, ’fess up,” I said.

  “Sam, what is all this fuss about?” Bridget was genuinely baffled.

  “Are you blind? I’m talking about that charming object on Humphrey’s bed. Remember Magyar’s precious bundle wrapped in rags?”

  “But Sam, obviously one of the maids just …” Bridget began. Then her voice trailed off. The bundle really was quite peculiar when you took a good look at it The fabric had that ancient, brittle quality of mummy wrappings, except that mummy wrappings are plain, and these rags, though faded now, had once been bright and garish prints. The stains upon them, rather than being reminiscent of mere dirt and grease, somehow gave the impression that they were the result of fetid and purulent oozings. It was not the most attractive bit of gift wrapping. There was also an oddly familiar bitter medicinal smell about the thing, which was now beginning to permeate the room.

  “Come now, Sam,” Bridget said, with a withering little laugh. “You don’t really think those cleaning rags have anything to do with that story about Magyar’s bundle, do you? It’s simply too farfetched.”

  “That all depends on what’s inside,” I told her. “Care to have a peek?”

  Humphrey had been doped only five minutes before, so there hadn’t yet been time for the drug to have its weird effect on him. It usually took almost an hour. He belched petulantly. “Will somebody tell me what this is all about?” he complained. “What ‘bundle’? I don’t know what you’re talking about I never heard of any bundle.”

  “That’s very odd, isn’t it, Humphrey?” I said. “Since it was you who brought it up last week when we played twenty questions. You acted like two human hands wrapped in rags was the funniest thing you ever heard of. How could you forget it?”

  “I brought it up?” he said blankly. “No, I didn’t You’re just making it up.”

  Bridget and Luc exchanged a glance. And I knew that the coincidences were finally beginning to get through even to Bridget when she turned on me and said, “You put it there, didn’t you, Sam?”

  “Me?” I was astonished. “Come on, now. I’m the last person who would do that. I’m the one who’s been so ‘neurotic’ about the whole thing, to use your word. Why would I want to make it any worse?”

  She gave me a hard stare and then turned away, puzzled. I was a good liar to everyone but Bridget, who could always see through me. She knew I was telling the truth.

  “Did I really say that last week?” Humphrey whined. “Sam’s making it up, isn’t he?”

  “You said it, Humphrey,” I told him. Bridget did not contradict me.

  I could see his face begin to screw up the way it did when he was going to throw a tantrum—a technique he had discovered only in the last few weeks. “But the night we played that game, that was the time I composed in Geneva, wasn’t it?” He looked around belligerently at us. We nodded. “Well, that’s why I don’t remember. I never remember very much about it. And it wasn’t even me who talked about the bundle, it was Magyar. He made me say it That’s the explanation. He knew we were going to find it here, so he made me say something about it ahead of time.” He glanced around at us again. “Well? How come you still look so funny? Isn’t that the explanation?”

  Not surprisingly, for a moment no one came up with a response. Then I said, looking directly at Bridget, “Sure, it’s a great explanation. Isn’t it, Bridget? Of course it was only Magyar’s ghost all along. That solves the whole problem, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, shut up, Sam,” Bridget said.

  “Don’t act like I’m stupid! What’s wrong with my explanation?” Humphrey asked, more annoyed now.

  “Nothing, if you like going to sleep with two human hands on your pillow,” I said. “Don’t you want to unwrap your little present and see what’s inside, Humf?”

  Humphrey scowled, but didn’t respond. We all just stood and looked at the repulsive object. No one said a word.

  Until I couldn’t stand it any longer and darted over to the bed. “Well I do,” I said, and reached toward the pillow.

  “Sam, don’t!” Bridget cried shrilly.

  I froze, my arm extended, my eyes on her.

  “Call the maid. Get her to come and take it away,” - said Bridget

  “That’ll take days.” Then I smiled at her. “Bridget, I’m surprised at you. Aren’t you even curious? After all, you told me yourself there’s nothing to be alarmed about. We can’t just leave this thing here, you know.”

  “But …” Bridget said, biting her lip.

  “I’m looking,” I said. I held my breath and reached out toward the mildewed fabric. Gingerly, I pulled at a piece of cloth with thumb and forefinger. It felt revoltingly moist, like someone else’s used handkerchief. The cloth fell away, but there were others underneath, still hiding whatever was wrapped inside. With sudden impatience I picked up the entire bundle with my fist and shook it out.

  Two hands tumbled out onto the bed.

  Luc, his face pasty, sank down into a chair. Bridget choked and pressed her hand to her throat.

  The hands on the bed were about an inch long. Though chipped and cracked, they were still intact enough to make the primitive style of the carving immediately apparent. The doll from which they had been amputated must have been quite old and very likely handmade as well.

  Bridget began laughing gaily.

  “What’s so funny?” Humphrey said. His imminent-tantrum expression intensified.

  “Oh, it was just … just such a relief,” said Bridget, with one last delicate peal. “I mean … for a moment I was actually afraid there might be a real pair of hands in there. I can’t imagine what made me so silly. And now, it’s kind of a relief to see we really had nothing to worry about, after all.”

  I gaped at her. What an awesome phenomenon she was! Let’s say she had decided to deny the existence of elephants. And then I dropped one from a tenth story window to land one inch away from her on the sidewalk. She’d walk right past that squashed mountain without a flicker of an eyelash or a break in her conversation. All she had to do was choose not to see it.

  “‘Nothing to worry about?”’ I repeated stupidly. The situation was so obvious to me that I couldn’t imagine someone else not seeing it, and consequently I had difficulty even finding the words to explain it. “I mean … okay, so it’s not real hands, but … but it still means somebo
dy knows more than we think. They even know what we talk about in our room! And they’re trying to scare us, or stop us, or something.” I gestured at the little hands on the bed. “Why do something weird like this, if they’re not trying to tell us something? Can’t you see? They know what Humphrey said last week. And they know everything else, too!”

  “You’re overwrought, Sam. We all are. You’ll feel better when—”

  “What do you mean, they know everything?” Humphrey asked, his voice rising.

  I ignored both of them. “They are trying to tell us something, and we better listen. They know exactly what we’re doing, they could expose us. It’s like blackmail. I swear, they’re going to expose us if we don’t—”

  “Watch it, Sam!” said Bridget, hissing out my name like a venomous snake.

  Luc was on his feet, tugging at Humphrey’s arm. “Come on, Humphrey, we’d better get back to our room in case the food arrives,” he pleaded.

  But Humphrey was angry and curious enough now even to resist the lure of food. “What do you mean, ‘expose us,’ Sam? I want to know. Tell me this minute!”

  “Sam doesn’t really know what he means, Humphrey dear,” Bridget explained, her mouth twisting with contempt. “He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. I had hoped he wasn’t too envious and weak-minded to deal with this excitement, but I’m afraid my hopes have proved to be unjustified. You were right, Luc. He’s cracked. It’s what’s called a mental breakdown, Humphrey. I see we’re going to have to send him away somewhere, where he can rest. But for the moment, all we can do is leave him alone so he can calm his sick nerves.” She pulled the hotel keys, which she always kept, out of the pocket of her suit jacket. “Fortunately, these doors can be double-locked from the outside—”

  She went on talking when Humphrey interrupted her, but it was useless because his voice was powerful with animosity now. “All right, all right, so Sam’s a little feeble in the head, so he can’t take it when people pay attention to all my talents. Don’t you think I already knew how pitiful and jealous he was? But I still want to know what he means by ‘expose’ and ‘blackmail.’” He twisted away from Luc and in two heavy steps was posed threateningly above me, staring down with hot little eyes. “Tell me, Sam,” he demanded, “or I’ll stuff those stinking rags down your ugly mouth.”