The first thing he saw was Daddy. He was hard to miss. He was seated on the far right side of the room, facing Tad, in a meditative position, legs crossed in front of him, fingers interlaced lightly in his lap. He was wearing a dark blue kimono, covered with small yin-yangs in white print. It looked like silk. On his head was a novelty helmet of the sort that allows two beverages to be placed in holders attached to either side of it so that the wearer can drink from them through plastic tubes. In the holders were two identical glass bottles, light green in color, very thin, thinner than the average wine bottle. They contained a clear liquid. Behind him was a sort of altar, a wide shelf with a small brass gong in its center, up toward the ceiling. There were several tiers, reaching from the ground all the way up to it, and each tier was covered with candles of all shapes, colors, and sizes. The candles were unlit, but there were a pair of smoking incense sticks as thick as Tad’s forearms, one to either side of him. These seemed to be wedged into cracks in the floor. Tad sniffed the air and decided these were the source of the vanilla scent he’d detected before. The room was about the same size and shape as the one he’d just come from, though this one had no widows, and only one door, in the opposite wall from where Tad was standing. It was very dim inside.
There was a third person in the room as well, and as conspicuous as Daddy might have been, dressed in his current attire, this person was decidedly more so. He was seated on the floor to Daddy’s left, a couple of feet away from the bottom row of candles and the nearer incense stick. Tad thought he was probably the largest person he had ever seen, from this close up. He had a positively enormous head, freakishly large, completely bald. He was wearing a pair of blue jean shorts and a white cotton undershirt; even in the dim light Tad could see huge dark sweat stains under the arms. In fact, the man was perspiring heavily even now, though he didn’t seem to be doing anything to exert himself. Tad could see the drops of sweat on his lower lip and dripping down the folds of his neck. His arms were massive, like pasty white tree limbs, though they could not be said to be defined. He had a thick role of fat at his middle, and he was resting his forearms against it as his hands made small motions in his lap. Tad looked closer and saw that he was knitting. Held with exquisite delicacy in his thick, clumsy looking fingers were a pair of knitting needles, and he was moving them rapidly up and down. The garment or object that he was working on was dark colored, perhaps the size of a sweater. Tad could hear the metallic clack-clack, clack-clack, as he worked. On his left bicep there was a tattoo in black ink. It appeared to be a chess pawn. Noticing that Tad was eying him, the man halted long enough to look up and smile. His eyes were a deep and thoughtful brown. What Tad took from the expression was a frank honesty without pretension, an amiable, if disinterested, friendliness. Then the man returned to his work.
“So,” Daddy said. Today’s voice, as before, bore no resemblance whatsoever to that of the first two meetings. It was a deeply resonant, rolling baritone that made Tad think of crooners like Isaac Hayes and Barry White. “The guest of honor arrives. You could have knocked, baby.”
“I could have,” Tad agreed. “If you had a door.”
“Pish posh. Who needs doors? Knock on the wall like everyone else. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.” With a quick bob of his head he grasped one of the helmets’ plastic tubes between his thick lips and sucked in some of the clear liquid. His eyes bulged and his face twitched once, rapidly, like a nervous tick. “Gwah,” he said, in the deep, soulful voice. “Why are you standing there gawking like that? Come on in, groovy cat. Boogie on over. Pull up some floor.” Tad stepped over from the doorway and seated himself on Daddy’s right, across from the bald-headed knitter. He winced in pain as his swollen backside came in contact with the floorboards. Now that he was closer, he was able to get a look at his hosts’ complexion. It was very pale today, similar to the unhealthy looking white that it had been on their first meeting. The lips were the same overly bright red. “I suppose in-tro-ductions are in order,” Daddy said. He nodded toward the leviathan on his left. “This pusillanimous pile, this postulating puddle, this misanthropic mongoloid mass…”
“Oh, please stop,” the large man said, not looking up from his work. “You’re embarrassing me.” His voice was very soft, and soothing. Melodious, Tad thought. It didn’t seem to match up with the body.
“This person is known as Stitch. Stitch, this is…this is…oh blast, don’t tell me…”
“Tad.”
“Sure, that’s it! I can dig it.”
Tad ignored him and looked across at Stitch, who nodded and gave a little half wave. “Nice to meet you.” I feel left out. Everybody’s got a damn pseudonym but me.
“I do hope you’ll forgive my companion’s grotesque appearance. His mother was an elephant, his father a compost heap. So,” Daddy said, fixing him with those hideous bulging eyes. “I’m just dying to know the reason for your visit, daddy-o. I’m all aquiver.”
“You invited me. For tea, remember?”
“Ah. Yes, it’s coming back. I think we can accommodate you, yes indeed. And it is just about tea time, imagine that. You, lummox!”
Stitch set his knitting aside. “I assume you’re speaking to me.”
“Right you are. Be a peach and fetch the tea service. Be a pear. Be a plum.” The large man rose and lumbered through the closed door, heading further into the interior of the house. It swung shut behind him, leaving Tad alone with Daddy. They sat for a moment in silence. Tad avoided making eye contact, instead scrutinizing the rest of the room.
“So this is the place, huh? Daddy’s abode. I like what you’ve done with it. Cleaning lady got the day off?”
“Either that, or perhaps she’s buried in the cellar.”
“And you live here alone? Confirmed bachelor?”
“Stitch lives here too…and we have frequent guests…I think…”
“You think?”
“Well, it’s really a bit embarrassing, cool cat, but I can’t claim to know anywhere near everything that goes on around here…it’s a big place, you know...there do always seem to be people around…”
“Really. You know, I find that odd. What with this place being so remote. I mean, who else even knows it’s out here?”
“Well, you found it without much trouble, brother…” From somewhere deeper inside the house, Tad could hear something like the clattering of crockery. “Sometimes my pad serves as a kind of halfway house, you dig? People pass through on their way to other places.”
Interesting. He described himself as a loner before, yet Stitch lives here with him, and sometimes people pass through on their way to other places. But what sort of people would know these two? Definitely no one from Feral. And where would they be going that this would be a convenient place to stop? We’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere! He pointed to a pile of moldy droppings in a corner. “Looks like you’ve got a bit of an animal control problem.”
“Yes, we have several pets about. Some of them more planned than others. Rats and mice, you know. They come in from outside. I remember getting a couple of cats at one point to deal with the problem, but then they started to multiply, felines being what they are, so I got a couple of dogs to roust them, and so on…for all I know they’re all still running around in here somewhere. I thought I saw an otter in the basement the other day.”
“A regular menagerie.”
“Frightfully convenient, actually. This way, if I ever wish to go hunting, I never have to leave the house. Truly, you never know what you’ll find in here from room to room. The bigger game tend to stick to the upper floors. I shouldn’t be surprised if one of these days I find a lion hiding in the bedclothes. Can you dig it?”
“Yes,” Tad said. “I think I can, and it’s really starting to bother me.” The fact of the matter was that he was simply enjoying the conversation very much. He liked the dulcet voice of this particular persona, which mentally he had already christened Daddy Number Three, and besides, in some ways it
was quite liberating to be able to have a conversation with an adult that was so irreverent that he felt he could say absolutely anything and not worry about being judged for it or having it come out wrong. When you’re friends with a crazy person, it’s so much easier to feel better about yourself and your life, because it all seems so normal and harmless by comparison. But was it all so harmless? That was the question that remained in the back of his mind, stuck there like a few cords of a song that couldn’t be shaken loose. He just didn’t know. But every time he glanced in Daddy’s direction and came close to meeting those unnerving eyes, he had his doubts. More than ever he had the sensation of having stepped onto the playing field of a full contact sport without the benefit of any protective padding, the rules of which he was being forced to pick up on the fly. But of course, that was the thrill of it too. Why am I here? Why have I come? Because I want to know what happens next. I want to know what the next level is.
The door swung open slowly and Stitch emerged, walking backward, carrying a tray laden with plates. Though it looked cumbersome and heavy, the giant gripped it with no visible effort. Steam rose from the teapot, wafting toward the doorway leading to the front room. “We really don’t have to eat sitting on the floor,” he said, in that soft voice. We do have a tea room, you know, Jimbo.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Daddy said. “Though that would mean we’d have to go and find it, wouldn’t we…”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s the next one over.”
Daddy wrinkled his nose, pouting. “Still seems like a lot of unnecessary effort, if you ask me, man…”
“We can eat here,” Tad said. “I don’t mind.”
Daddy clapped his hands together. “There you have it! The guest has spoken. Sit down, you scientific anomaly, you. Pull up some floor.”
Stitch shrugged his shoulders slightly and walked carefully over to the two of them, placing the tea service in front of the altar. It looks like he’s offering a sacrifice to some sort of crazed demigod. All hail Daddy, lord of the manor. The crazed demigod was bending over, breathing in the steam from the teapot. “Ah-h-h,” he said. “That’s groovy, baby, just groovy. Clears the old sinuses right up.” Stitch distributed three small saucers. Tad took advantage of the moment to peruse the contents of the tray; he was suddenly ravenous. It had been several hours since he’d gulped down his hurried breakfast, and the long walk through the forest had fully refreshed his appetite. All the dishes, cups and saucers belonged to the same tea set. They were truly exquisite, Tad thought, white porcelain, with pictures on the sides of the cups and on all the dishes. Tad lifted up his cup and rotated it slowly. The picture featured two rosy-cheeked young boys in overalls, sitting on a dock, each holding a fishing pole. Their bobbers could be seen floating on the water. One of them had a companionable arm around the others’ shoulder. The picture on his saucer was of one of the same boys, alone this time, flying a kite. His eyes were turned up toward the sky, and the look on his face was one of the utmost rapture. Also in the tray was a small bowl full of lumps of sugar, another of cream, a saucer piled with scones, cakes, and other dainties, and a square wicker basket with eight separate compartments, each containing a sort of clear glass phial, with herbs in it, each of a different color and consistency. Tad guessed that these must be the tea. There was also the teapot itself, which was brass, and didn’t match the rest of the set. Daddy noticed Tad observing the pictures. “Like those, do you?” he said proudly. “Gift to me by a relative, damned if I can remember which one. Probably my great aunt, though she never quite passed mediocre, in my mind, anyhow. Probably due to the dyslexia. Been in the family four generations, I think. I could be wrong. Might have picked them up at a garage sale, for all I know.” He reached for the basket with the teas, but Stitch slapped at his hand with a huge paw.
“Guests first, Sonny Jim,” he said. Daddy stuck his tongue out at him; it uncoiled like a serpents’ and Stitch swiped at it, nearly grabbing it before Daddy could reel it back in again. Daddy growled at him. “We have company,” said Stitch mildly. “Behave, or I’ll lock you in the box.”
“Oh do, please.” Turning his head, Daddy cupped one hand over his mouth and turned toward Tad, speaking in an ear-splitting whisper. “I like the box.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“Now do help yourself to the food, daddy-o. Growing boy like yourself.”
“Thanks.” Tad selected a scone with what looked liked currants in it, and a small white cake covered with a sugary pink frosting. He was frightfully hungry, but didn’t eat anything yet. I’m not taking a bite of this stuff until I see one of them try it first.
“What sort of tea would you fancy?” Stitch said. “They’re all excellent. Imported.” He pointed to the darkest phial. “The Hogs’ Wallow is mainly for hangovers; you wouldn’t want that. The Pumpkin Spice is excellent, or the Peppermint Dream. There’s Sinful Rhubarb, that’s probably a little advanced for you. There’s the Sour Quince, that’s sort of an aquired taste.”
“I’m completely at a loss,” Tad said.
“Start him on the Pumpkin Spice,” Daddy said. “That’ll curl your toes. Whoa Nelly. Katie bar the door.”
“That all right with you?” Stitch asked.
Tad nodded. “Not being a tea connoisseur like yourselves, I bow to your wisdom, gentlemen.” Might as well take the plunge. If it’s poison, he thought, at least I’ve had a good run. Stitch took the top off one of the phials and heaped a double spoonful of the tea into Tad’s cup. He lifted the teapot and poured a stream of boiling water into it with a steady hand, stopping just short of the brim. He had the look of someone who has gone through the same set of motions countless times. “So tea time is a regular ceremony here,” he said musingly. “One of the rituals.” He stopped, embarrassed. He’d only meant to think it, but for some reason he’d accidentally said it aloud.
Stitch nodded.
For warming draught that comforts us should daily taken be,
I speaketh not of bully brew, but only wholesome tea.
A comfort in the wintertime, to draw away the chill
But yet a boon in summertime, when songbirds dart and trill.
Daddy shook his head disgustedly. “That’s torn it,” he said. “You got him going again. I thought he was done for the day.” Tad looked from one to the other, momentarily at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what had thrown him off more, Stitch speaking in rhyming couplets, or the fact that Daddy’s last statement had not been in the voice that he’d been using since Tad’s arrival, but instead had been in the manic one he’d used in their first meeting, back in the clearing some days before, back when Tad’s life had been full of normal pursuits. It’s Alice in fucking Wonderland, and I’m having tea with the Mad Hatter and the March Hare. “Off with their heads,” he said.
Stitch looked at him curiously. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you make that up? Just now, I mean? About the tea?”
“For gosh sakes, baby,” Daddy said. He had resumed speaking in his former soulful croon, ignoring, in typical fashion, the momentary lapse. “Don’t encourage him. It’s best to just ignore him, and he’ll stop. He’ll try and tell you he composes it on the spot, but I know his little games. I know what he’s all about. He stays up all night writing material, that’s what he does, so he’ll have some appropriate lines to spout regardless of whatever situation comes up. It’s just for attention, that’s what it is. He thinks it will make people like him, or something. He thinks it makes him seem artistic.”
“Well,” Tad said, shifting his weight. “I think it’s marvelous.”
The big man colored slightly, scooping tea into his own cup. “I thank you,” he mumbled. The three of them sat for a time without speaking. Daddy, his eyes half closed, watched Stitch prepare his tea and select from among the pastries. Tad was noticing again how delicately the large man handled the utensils. In his hands, the tea cup seemed as small as a child’s playth
ing. After pouring water into his own cup, he picked up Daddies’ and began to serve him also. Apparently Daddy prefers the Hogs’ Wallow. Figures. He lifted his cup, using both hands, and inhaled the aromatic steam rising from the surface of the liquid. It did indeed smell like Pumpkin Spice, a rich, mouth watering aroma. Seeing that Daddy had not hesitated in taking a large gulp from his own cup, he took a hesitant sip. The tea was still practically scalding, but the flavor was exquisite. It was thicker than any tea he’d ever had, though he was hardly a regular tea drinker. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and it had a bit of a bite to it. Nutmeg, he thought. It’s like a cup of liquid pumpkin bread.
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