by André Alexis
– This is where you come in, said Alton. You, von Würfel, Mr. Colby and Freud Luxemberg. None of you have any idea you’re on a wild goose chase. You have to admit it’s a little amusing, Tancred. But now that the police are involved, I think it’s a good time to put an end to it, don’t you?
For the first time that evening, Alton smiled.
– By the way, he said, congratulations on stealing Michael’s bottle of aquavit. I’ve always thought those crooks at Chateau Rose were self-important frauds. The Hidden Castle. As if anyone could build a place that’s 100 percent secure. I was hoping someone would steal that stupid bottle. I assume it was you?
Tancred said nothing.
– My father was unpredictable, Alton said. He was a businessman. He thrived on being unpredictable. But he wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t have left scads of money around just in case someone found it. It’s inconceivable. In any case, he told me there was no treasure. He told me what he was doing and why he was doing it. And just before he died, he gave me the solution to the hunt and asked me to keep an eye on the mausoleum.
As Alton saw it, the final proof his father had not hidden treasure was the fact that each of the mementos he’d left were treasures in themselves, much more valuable as testaments to his love for his children. Each was like a message from the grave. Did Tancred know the poem he – that is, Alton – had inherited? No? Well, no matter. Alton knew it by heart and he wrote it out on a sheet of paper he got from the maître d’:
None of the dead are lonely,
or so the breeze would have it.
Rather, far, the civilized wit
than fortunes won without it.
Hours from you, my porcupine, though
four of your quills pierced
three of my vines.
When your fingers have plucked
each of the strings
south of my dying equator,
the oceans will wave their
seven blue veils but
nine will comfort you, later.
The most obvious thing about the poem was, of course, the clue provided by the first letters of its first words: North 43, West 79. Any fool could see it for what it was: a designation of latitude and longitude. An invitation to keep looking for a place.
– But you didn’t think the other words in the poem were meaningless, did you?
No, the other words were not meaningless. Each word and line had significance beyond the clue it provided for Willow. He would not go into it because, frankly, the poem’s meaning was personal. It was not for Tancred’s consumption. However, the poem itself was a paean to family, and its cleverest lines referred directly to the Weidens:
the oceans will wave their
seven blue veils but
nine will comfort you, later.
Here, the ‘oceans’ were Mr. and Mrs. Weiden because Robert Azarian had often mocked his friends (lawyers both) for their supposed depths, sometimes calling them Mr. and Mrs. Pacific or Mr. and Mrs. Atlantic. His words had taken on special meaning when, at Nicole Azarian’s funeral, the Weidens and their children had dressed in blue. Though Robert Azarian had been grief-struck, he’d seen how the Weidens were dressed, and their gentle eccentricity had moved him. They – at the time seven of them – had brought him comfort. But nine Weidens – the number of Weiden graves before the mausoleum – would be the ones to comfort the Azarian children, now that Robert was dead.
– I know what you’re thinking, said Alton. You’re like Simone. You’re convinced there’s something more to all this. But you’ve got to keep in mind that the last words my father told me were: ‘Remember, Alton, there’s no treasure, except for Willow.’ He said it over and over – no treasure, except for Willow – until I told him I understood. But it wasn’t until after we read the will and I thought about this whole treasure business that I realized he’d given me the answer in advance. He wanted Willow to look. It was something to keep her occupied. And, in the end, it did keep her occupied. Intermittently. Not that the occupation did much good.
Tancred again thought of telling Alton about the black-leather envelope. The man was so smug, so certain he knew what others did not.
– You must be wondering how I found you, said Alton. The landlord contacted me. He’d been trying to get in touch with Willow and called my office on the off chance we were related. I didn’t know what to expect when I got there, but it all comes down to fate, doesn’t it? I was meant to find the things you’d stolen. In any case, my brother and my sisters have their mementos back. So, I consider this whole business over. We’d all like to be left alone now, Tancred. Willow is dead. I assume you know von Würfel and the others. I’ll leave it up to you to tell them what I’ve told you. Should any of you bother us further, you’ll find that we know how to defend ourselves.
Alton Azarian again allowed the wine to touch his lips before setting his glass down.
– There’s one more thing, he said. I’m afraid it’s unpleasant, but we’ve got to get it out of the way. When my sister died, she left a lot of money to you in her will. She left you fifteen million, an exorbitant amount. You haven’t heard about this because you’re a difficult man to find. So much the better, as far as I’m concerned, because I’ve contested the will. I believe if she’d been compos mentis, Willow would have left that money to her family, to her nieces and nephews. I’m very much opposed to giving you any money, because I think you’ve taken advantage of circumstances. I’m not saying you took advantage of her or that you deliberately got her to put you in her will. But you end up with money you don’t deserve and I don’t think that’s right. I spoke to the others and they all feel you should get something, especially if it means avoiding lawyers’ fees.
– What do you suggest? said Tancred.
– I’m just coming to that, said Azarian.
Tancred saw that the man had somewhat lost his composure. As Azarian reached into his jacket pocket, his hand shook slightly, but he managed to extract two envelopes. Placing the first one before Tancred, he said
– This is a cheque for ten thousand dollars.
Alton Azarian then put the other envelope down on the table beside the first.
– And this, he said, is a document saying you voluntarily give up all rights to property or funds left to you in my sister’s will. If you sign this, I’ll sign the cheque and we’ll be quits. Ten thousand dollars. I think it’s fair. Very fair.
Tancred took the elegant white-and-gold ballpoint Alton offered him and signed the document. He then waited as Alton slid the cheque toward him.
– This isn’t necessary, said Tancred.
And slid it back.
– Are you sure? asked Alton.
– I’m very sure, said Tancred.
Alton Azarian relaxed. You could see the tension leave him. He signalled for the bill.
– Is there somewhere I can drop you? he asked.
Tancred shook his head.
He wondered how men like Azarian sustained their fantasies of ‘fairness,’ but he wasn’t offended. He hadn’t expected money for keeping a promise. So, not getting money caused him no bitterness. He thought about stealing Alton’s pen and wallet, just to throw them away. The thought had nothing to do with money or retribution, however. It had to do with Alton Azarian’s presumption, his social standing. For a moment, it was as if the wealthy really were his natural enemies, like cats to goldfish, as Baruch Mandelshtam might have said. But he felt petty thinking about things that way. Alton was Willow’s brother and, if for no other reason, worthy of, well, not respect, exactly, but something.
As he walked down Avenue Road, Tancred’s thoughts turned to the Azarians. How different the three he’d met actually were. What was it that linked such disparate personalities? Was it only father and mother? How did consanguinity play out?
It was an impossible question to answer, at least for him, but it was a diverting one. By the time he got to Harbord Street, he was reminded of his mother’s belief that ‘we
are all God’s children.’ An amusing thought: God as absent parent. The idea led him to reflect on how much (or little) one can know about a being one has never met.
His own father, for instance.
Did his father ever think of him as he walked whatever streets he walked? He must, surely. Though, perhaps his father was one of those men who did not consider children their concern, a quick spasm being all they knew of duty. In any case, it had been a very long time since he’d longed to know his father. And that was it, wasn’t it? If God was a father, He was a bad one, one who’d had His divine moment and left. And when his time was through and death came, Tancred could not imagine wishing to see Him.
– Too late, he said aloud
thoughtful, as he walked along Harbord, past dark houses and brightly lit, empty buildings, the city so quiet it was as if he were no more than a moment in its endless conversation with itself.
2 Freud Out for Revenge
It had been difficult for Colby to push Freud from the loft on Winnett. Then it had been difficult to keep him from going back. Freud had hated Tancred from the beginning, Tancred and Daniel being among the older kids who hung around Alexandra Park when Freud was growing up. Now – with both his eyes black and his nose bound by surgical tape that held a protector in place – his hatred bordered on obsession. He no longer cared about addicts or the handful of dollars he earned bilking them. He wanted so badly to pound Tancred into the dirt that Colby had to calm him down, incessantly.
– I don’t care what you do to him, Colby would say. I care about when you do it! Once we’ve got what we want, you can murder the prick. But wait till then!
– How do you know we’re going to get what we want? Freud asked.
They were in the Coffee Time at O’Hara. The place had felt inhospitable since it had been renovated. For years, it had been an overheated and sour concern, a convenient place to use the washroom or to eat doughnuts. Its new incarnation just did not feel right. They were at a table by the window in armchairs. Still, from where Colby sat, he could look across at the Dollarama with its green-and-yellow sign, the store filled with what he imagined were low-income mothers with children trailing behind them, outpatients from camh and people in need of sweets, toys and knock-off knick-knacks. A good place, one that made him happy, reminding him of the dollar stores of his childhood where, when his father had been more vicious with him than usual, his mother might buy him a plastic something to keep him quiet.
– If we don’t get what we want, he said, we’ll kick the shit out of him together.
– He could use a beating, Freud answered.
– Well, there you go, said Colby. It’ll be like we did him a favour.
Both of them laughed but, in fact, Colby was almost as angry as Freud. It had been days since they’d seen Tancred, and his absence was exasperating.
– Serious question, he said. What do you think about Palmieri?
– How’s that a serious question? asked Freud. He’s an asshole.
– I don’t mean his personality, said Colby. I mean his juice.
– He’s not connected. What do you care?
– I don’t know, said Colby. I just never really thought about it before. It’s good to know what you’re dealing with. If you corner a rat, it’ll attack you, won’t it?
Freud pushed hair away from his eyes and said
– My uncle used to say that. He used to work for Beaver Exterminating and he was always talking about rats. But I worked with him one summer, eh? And I was down in a basement over on McCowan. More rats than you can shake a stick at and I got one in a corner, just like they say. And the fucker did run at me. And you know what? I kicked it to fucking death, that’s what.
– Your answer to everything is ‘Kick it to death,’ said Colby.
– You think I’m wrong?
– No, I think you’re right. But it’s about timing. That, plus you got to know what you’re dealing with. A rat’s different from raccoons.
– Palmieri, said Freud, is a rat and a coon.
– Jesus! said Colby. Show some respect for black people.
– Sorry, Nigger, said Freud.
For a moment, they were quiet. Anyone passing their table at Coffee Time might have taken them for men slightly younger than they were – for twenty-year-olds, say. They drank coffee from paper cups, two doughnuts on white porcelain plates before them: toasted coconut for Colby, double chocolate for Freud.
Their quiet was interrupted …
– Speak of the devil! said Colby.
… by Tancred himself.
Freud thought of getting up to deck him. His bile and anger rose. But along with them came a tincture of doubt. He wasn’t afraid of Tancred exactly. His desire to hurt him ran so deep he felt something like embarrassment. His body, however, remembered the pain of having its nose broken. So, he was involuntarily hesitant, as when you’ve been sick on vodka and, a few days later, someone offers you a vodka and orange.
Tancred took a chair from a neighbouring table and sat beside Freud, as if nothing had happened between them.
– Sorry I’ve been away these last few days, said Tancred. Things have happened.
– What kind of things? asked Colby.
– Alton Azarian took back all the pieces we stole.
– And how’d he do that?
– The lease was in Willow’s name. The landlord contacted him and he told the landlord to put the apartment up for rent. Then he came in and took back the screen, the bottle, the model and the painting. Everything.
– You expect us to believe that?
– I don’t expect anything, Tancred answered. You can go and see for yourself.
– I told you he doesn’t take us seriously, said Freud.
From the pocket of his coat – which was draped over the back of his chair – Colby took out a handful of photographs.
– I was going to save these till later, he said, but why shouldn’t you see them now? After all, you love photos, don’t you, Tan?
He moved his chair closer to Tancred’s and spread out the half-dozen photos they’d taken of Daniel’s wife, Fiona.
The photos were, on the surface, banal. They’d been taken one mid-afternoon at the corner of Dundas and University. Colby and Freud had waited for her, apparently. Then, pretending to be tourists, they’d asked if they could take a few pictures. You could see by the expression on her face that Fiona was annoyed, but she’d allowed it. (Tancred recognized the look. He and Daniel called it ‘English Disapproval.’ It was similar to ‘English Annoyance,’ which was itself similar to ‘English Outrage.’) The most disturbing photo was of Freud standing behind her, out of her line of sight, leaning down so his face was just over Fiona’s shoulder – eyes closed, tongue lolling out to one side as if he were a hanged man.
The effect of the photographs on Tancred was gratifying to Colby and to Freud. It was as if Tancred’s face had gone blank – amusingly blank, as far as Freud was concerned. But Tancred’s reaction was only part of Freud’s pleasure. The other part came from seeing again the face he’d made behind Fiona’s back.
Tancred said
– Why’d you do this?
– Your friends are our friends, Tan. We want everyone to get what they deserve.
Freud guffawed.
– You should see the look on your face, he said. Classic!
Tancred took up the photographs, then looked at his companions: two men in their early twenties, his contemporaries, both of them from places like the one where he’d grown up.
– These don’t make any difference, Tancred said. I don’t want anything to happen to my friends but …
Colby interrupted.
– Neither do we, he said.
– I don’t know about that, said Freud. Why should I care about his friends?
Tancred said
– These don’t change anything, because I think I figured the clues out.
– How’d you figure them out? asked Colby.
Tancred pointed to his cranium.
– Kidneys, he said. It’s got to do with the word Weiden. Weiden means willow in German. The mausoleum’s got the word Weiden written on it thousands of times. But I’m thinking there’s got to be at least one time where there’s the word Harp because in Psalm 137 there’s a harp among the willows.
– Really? said Colby. You think that’s the answer?
– Why would I make something like that up?
– He’s got you there, said Freud.
– Azarian has a man working there in the day. So, we’ll have to look at night. And I need your help. We’re going to have to look at thousands and thousands of pieces of marble. It’s going to take a while, even with three of us.
Petulant and unconvinced, Freud said
– I don’t like cemeteries at night.
– Why not? said Colby. You afraid of ghosts? Remember Russ Baker, the guy used to deal acid? Know what he does now? He’s an accountant! Makes more money than when he was dealing. Last year he got a house on Springhurst. Got it for nothing ’cause the place is haunted. It’s straight-up haunted, too. One day, he goes down the basement and he sees this little girl in a dress just standing there looking at him. His wife’s seen her, too. I said, ‘Did you know it was haunted before you bought it?’ He says, ‘Yeah.’ I said, ‘Are you crazy? Why’d you buy it, then?’ He says, ‘You know how many people got killed by ghosts in T.O. last year?’ I said, ‘How many?’ He says, ‘Not a fucking one!’ You see what I’m saying?
Tancred said
– You need to bring ladders and flashlights. The walls are about ten feet high. I’m going in around one in the morning.
– You sure about this harp business? Colby asked.
– No, I’m not sure, said Tancred. But it makes sense and it’s all I’ve got.
– Okay, said Colby. We’ll meet you in the cemetery around one.
