by Gene Wolfe
Before Emlyn could reply, my cell phone chimed. I pushed a button that I hoped (not exactly fervently) was the correct one, and said hello.
"Bax? This is Martha Murrey. How's your phone? Are you satisfied with it?"
I said that I was very satisfied, although the truth was that I had never so much as attempted to use it.
"Wonderful! I don't suppose you're free for dinner tonight?"
Recalling my allowance check, I said that I was. I would have to walk to the bank before it closed and deposit it in my checking account--an account that eight pathetic little dollars are holding open at present; but once I had, I would be able to write a check for our dinner. Any area restaurant, I felt reasonably certain, would accept a local check for dinner.
"I'm not inconveniencing you?"
"No, not at all. There are several questions I want to ask you. About the house, you know."
"Wonderful! Pick you up at six?"
When we had said good-bye I asked Emlyn whether he would help me drag the mattress down to my fire.
"You say you're not a sorcerer, Bax?"
"No, indeed."
"But you can talk on that thing?"
"Sometimes. Whenever someone calls me, or I call someone." It occurred to me that I might give him the number of the Riverman; Mutazz would answer, and their conversation might be amusing. "If you'd care to try it . . . ?"
"No, no!" He backed away.
I returned the cell phone to my pocket, and we had gone off to find the bed when something caught my eye. "Look at this."
He nodded. "I've seen it. Do you know what it is?"
"Certainly. It's an escritoire, a writing table. Quite a nice antique, too." On impulse, I pulled out the uppermost drawer, and to my delight found a small stack of stationery and a dozen or so envelopes.
"Didn't you say you needed those?"
"Yes. We didn't set your father's triannulus to find them for me, but here they are anyway. If this is what numen does for one, I'm heartily in favor of it." Well before I completed that sentence I had taken this paper, thinking to roll it up and put it in a pocket. Beneath it lay three gold coins.
Although I heard Emlyn's sharply indrawn breath, I paid that little heed, picking up the coins instead and examining them with interest. Winkle leaped onto the escritoire so that she might look, too.
"This is Greek." I displayed the coin so Emlyn could see it. "I believe the city must be Corinth, but I've no idea whose head that is."
"It's gold." Emlyn sounded as though he were choking. "Don't you understand what this means?"
"Yes, I understand. But you can't possibly understand how much this gold means to me."
Winkle echoed my sentiments, barking joyfully. "Tho thcrumptiouth! Thuperb thilkth! Oh, tho thuper!"
"It means that something's gone terribly wrong," Emlyn declared. "We asked for money, you got it, and you put out the longlight. It should have stopped there."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely! You think this is good news. It could hardly be worse."
I feared then that I understood what he was getting at, and I dropped the coins into my pocket and declared that I intended to keep them.
"You may have them," Emlyn declared. Then, like his brother, he turned and fled.
Later, as you may imagine, I searched the telephone book in the drugstore for a coin dealer. I found an ad for one, and was overjoyed to find it--then plunged into the depths of despair when I perused the address. The dealer was in Port Saint Jude, some distance away.
Leaving the drugstore, I called him, described the smallest of the three coins, and asked what it might be worth.
"You want to sell it to me?"
I said, "Yes, I might."
"And I might buy it, but I'd have to see it."
"I understand. What if I didn't want to sell it?"
"Then I'd charge you fifty dollars for an appraisal. You'd get that in writing, and notarized."
"But you'd have to see it."
"Correct. You say you found it in your house?"
"Yes, I did."
"I see. I'll have to check it against the reports of stolen coins. If it matches, I'll have to call the police. Do you still want to show it to me?"
"Certainly. Very much."
"Fine. I close at five and open at nine."
You can easily guess what I did next, George. I went to the office in which Doris worked, hoping that I could persuade her to drive me to the dealer's. She was showing houses, however, and was not expected to return until morning.
At the pawnshop, the pawnbroker told me quite frankly that he could advance me no more than the value of the gold if I left it with him. I did, and received a pawn ticket. That was perhaps three hours ago.
Here I shall explain my reasoning, George, though I doubt that you require it. With the money I received from the pawnbroker, I will be able to pay for dinner and have a bit left to tide me over until my check clears. Tomorrow, surely, I will be able to contrive some means of reaching the dealer. Doris will drive me, or Martha will. If worse comes to worst, I will hitchhike; although I do not enjoy that, I have done it before and emerged unscathed. Possibly there is someplace in town where I might rent a bicycle; I'm told the distance is only about fifteen miles.
Once there, I will sell one of the larger coins. It should bring a considerable sum, and with that I can redeem the smallest.
And that is where I am now, George. Assisted only by Winkle, I was--barely--able to drag the mattress down the spiral stair I have described and into this room. I am seated on it now, and sit proudly. Bottom-of-the-line or not, my new cellular telephone has a time feature, I find. It is a pleasant surprise indeed. The time is five forty-two, and I eagerly await the sound of Martha's horn. I have promised to bring something back for Winkle. As I shall, if it is humanly possible.
Wish me luck?
Yours sincerely,
Bax
PS: How do you like this paper? I believe it must be hand-laid.
Number 10
TOUGH QUESTION
Dear Shell:
It was great to hear from you! When I wrote you I wondered whether you would ever answer. I misjudged you, and I apologize. This is one time when I find it a real pleasure to be wrong. Remember how we used to sit and talk and play checkers until Lights Out? Half the time we'd get so busy talking we would lose track of whose turn it was to move. When I read your letter, I felt like I was back there with you, talking about how we might get a better cell and what our lives had been like when we were kids.
Or marriage. You would tell me never to do it, and I would point out that your wife stuck by you all through the trial and was still writing you every week. And you would explain that was the best reason there was not to do it.
I can hear you now: "Come clean, Bax!"
No, I am not about to ask somebody to marry me; but I have met a couple of nice-looking women. More about this when I know more.
Meanwhile, I have a tough problem and will welcome any help you can give. I have found three gold coins. Yes, I found them; I did not steal them. I am pretty sure they would bring a couple of thousand and perhaps more. The problem is that if I try to sell them I may find myself in trouble with the law again.
I telephoned a rare-coin dealer and described one of them. He said he could not make an offer without seeing the coin, and he warned me that when he had he would check it against reports of stolen coins. If it matches, he will call the police.
As I said, Shell, I did not steal them. I found them in the drawer of an old table in the attic. I do not know who put them there or whether they are hot. Sooner or later I am going to try to sell them--to him or to someone else; I need money too much not to try it. If I do and they are hot, I may find myself on trial again.
And again dependent on a pro-bono lawyer appointed by the court. I have done that, and you know how it turned out. Is there anybody you know in this part of the state who might help me? Please let me know.
&
nbsp; Yours sincerely,
Bax
Number 11
OF VARIOUS WOMEN
Dear George:
A great deal has happened since I last wrote, and I confess I am at a loss as to what may be important. I must issue a warning, however. You may not wish Millie to read this. Women--some women at least--are so easily offended by anything of an Anacreontic nature.
Get to the point, you will say. Since when have you had truck with women?
Patience, George. Patience. It is a great and a most noble virtue.
Martha, it transpired, had not intended that we should dine in a restaurant at all. She had prepared a dinner for us at her house, and though it was plain American cooking, I found it exceeded my expectations: a lamb roast with mint jelly, glazed carrots, and a fine salad. Our cheesecake (which she confessed to buying) was a bit heavy, I thought, but by no means contemptible. I will not describe our small talk during dinner; it would only bore you.
Now that the time had come, I found myself embarrassed by the need to describe my destitution. Not for my own sake, George, but for yours. I knew that should I describe it, I should soon find myself launched into a description of your affluence. Martha would urge me to seek your assistance, and I would be forced to lie. Oh, George would help me in a moment, if I were to apply to him, and all the rest of that sorry charade. I have very little pride left, George, but the dregs remain. I could not do it.
Instead I was reduced to asking Martha quite casually whether she often had occasion to visit Port Saint Jude.
"Oh, that awful place! No, I go there only when I must, Bax. Have you seen it?"
"No, I've never been there. But I collect coins, and I'm told there's a dealer there. I thought I might see what he has to offer."
"How fascinating! I'd love to see your collection."
I laughed. "You'd be disappointed, believe me. If--"
At that moment there was an odd sort of noise outside, half moan and half whimper. I asked whether she owned a dog.
"Not anymore." She sighed. "You have one, you grow attached to it, and then . . . Well, we are all mortal, but it breaks my heart each time. I don't want to go through that again."
I stood up. "I'm going to look out. I'd swear I heard an animal out there."
Outside, I saw nothing and heard nothing; but there was an odor--a faint, musty stench.
You will wonder why I mention this at all, but I have a reason.
Martha had left the table when I did, and when I returned she suggested coffee in the living room. Of course I acquiesced.
"You said on the phone that you had questions about the house, Bax."
"Yes, I did. Do you know how I might get into the cellar without leaving the house? There is an outside door, I realize, but that's bound to be inconvenient in winter."
Martha shook her head, slowly at first, then more positively. "I've only been in the house once--no, twice, I think. I wasn't showing it you understand, just holding it for you. And then when the maintenance money ran out . . . Well, you can understand. What was the use of my knowing that something needed to be fixed when I had no money to fix it with?"
"I do understand. But you were in the house twice. Do you have floor plans?"
"No. I had a survey, showing the property lines. I gave that to you with the deed. Nothing else."
"Did you go into the cellar?"
"I don't believe I did."
"What about the attic?"
"I--this is embarrassing, Mr. Dunn. I meant to. I intended to and I tried to. But I couldn't find a way to get up there. I--I wanted to see if the roof was leaking. There had been some wind damage, shingles blown off, you know. Eventually I had the roof repaired without ever going up there. The roofers didn't need to get inside. They hardly ever do."
"I've found two ways," I told her. "One is a stair off the butler's pantry. It's--"
"Is there a butler's pantry?" Martha looked a trifle shocked.
"That's what I call it. Quite possibly you would call it something else. It's a smallish room between the dining room and the kitchen."
It was about then, George, that we heard the first siren. There was a screech of brakes, and the spinning red light of a police car filled Martha's picture window with a fitful glare. Another siren wailed in the distance.
Martha hurried outside, doubtless fearing that one of the neighboring houses was on fire. After putting several small pieces of meat into my pockets and sternly ordering myself to fall flat in the event of shooting, I followed her.
For my peace of mind, it proved a grave error; I saw the victim, and wish I had not. That she was dead was beyond question: a leg had been torn away, and there was a great deal of blood. I shall leave it at that.
Martha became hysterical. I omit those details also; no doubt you have had some experience of hysteria. In the end, she was undressed by a female officer who put her to bed after administering a sedative she found in Martha's medicine cabinet.
After quizzing me about my bruises, she said, "Do you have a car, sir?"
I explained that Martha had picked me up at my home.
"Is it far?"
"Not really. Four or five miles, I suppose. Thirteen hundred River-path Road?"
"That's more like seven. Want a ride home?"
"Yes, indeed. It's very kind of you."
In her squad car, I inquired about the dead woman, saying that she must surely have been a friend of Martha's.
"A neighbor, but they may have been friends, too. You new in town, sir?"
"I came in January, so I'm still quite new. I--well, I've spent most of my life in cities, I'm afraid. After a while, one becomes dreadfully tired of cities."
"I wouldn't know. What do you do, sir?"
"Right now? Look for a job." I outlined my degrees. "There is never much demand for scholars, I'm afraid."
"Ever tried acting?"
I could only stare.
"I'm not joking. You'd be good at it. You'll be nice looking when your face heals, and you said thirteen hundred Riverpath like I'd say eight eleven Walnut Street. That's the Black House, and you must know it."
"I did. Martha told me, but I thought you might never have heard of it."
"All us cops know about the Black House."
"I see . . ."
"It used to be for rent, years and years ago. This is what I've heard. I wasn't a cop then."
"Obviously not."
"Thanks. People would rent it and find bodies. Ever found one?"
I shook my head.
"They'd call the cops, but when we got there the body'd be gone. No body anywhere, and no blood. They'd been hung, mostly. Some had been stabbed, but mostly it was hanging."
"Neater, I suppose."
"Right. Then the same renters would find another one, and when it disappeared, too, they'd move out."
"One can hardly blame them."
"I wouldn't." She smiled at me, suddenly pert and pretty. "You're renting it from Mrs. Murrey?"
"No, I own it."
"Wow."
She was quiet after that until we reached the house. Then she said, "You left some lights on."
"The electric company must have restored power to the house," I said. "It was still off when I left."
"Good news then." She offered her hand. "I'm Kate Finn."
I was greatly tempted to say, "Of eight eleven Walnut Street," but naturally I introduced myself instead, though I had given her my name and telephone number earlier.
As soon as she pulled away, the lights in my house went out. All of them. I have rarely been tempted to curse, but at that moment it would have been an enormous relief.
Should I tell you this? I will be handing you a weapon, but then you have a great many already. Will I ever feel the sting of this one? I doubt it. If I were wise--but we both know that I am not. To this point I have told you everything of moment, and I hate to spoil my record.
Very well.
George, I stumbled over a human leg in the da
rk. It was on my porch, two steps in front of the door.
At first I did not know what it was. I tried to kick it away, and found it softer than I had expected and heavy. Stepping over it, I went inside and got my flashlight. The leg was a woman's, or so I would judge. All clothing was gone and there was a spattering of blood, but it appeared hairless.
Here, I admit, I acted exactly as you would have in my place. I (or so I would have predicted) would have called the police--who would have found me penniless, living in a house without furniture. Who would soon have discovered that I had pawned an antique gold coin that very day, even if I had hidden the other two. Who would have known as a matter of course that I had been very near the scene of the woman's death.
For those reasons and more, I carried that leg down to the river, threw it into the water, and returned to the house, terrified. I had expected to be apprehensive, but I had certainly not expected what I experienced; my walk through the little wood separating my lawn from the river was one I shall never forget. There were things in that wood, things I heard whisper and move.
Do you believe me? If you do not--if you believe I am spinning fancies for my own entertainment--so much the better. You did not see their eyes or hear their voices, George. I did.
I bathed by the light of the oil lamp my neighbor had kindly loaned me, and tried to think only about washing clothes. With the money I had gotten in the pawnshop I would be able to wash and dry everything at the Laundromat (this I told myself over and over). On the way home, I would deposit my allowance check--something I ought to have done already.
I had been sleeping on a pad of old newspapers, as you may remember. The mattress that had cost me so much labor was somewhat lumpy and far from new, but how I luxuriated upon it! Had it been dark, I believe I might have been terrified; it was not--one of the advantages of sleeping before a fire.
There can be few things more surprising than waking to find that there is another person in your bed. It had never befallen me before, but it did that night, when I was roused quite pleasantly by the caresses of a small hand.
You are a man of wide experience, George, or at least you say you are. You would only be irritated by a recital of my clumsy fumblings. Suffice it to say that I quickly learned that my partner was small but by no means a child, slender but pleasantly curved. Other than that, her nails were long, as was her hair. It was all I knew, and it was more than enough for me.
