Mojo skipped by and then the kids, one after the other. As Ferdinand the Magnifico was about to pass, I reached out and grabbed hold of his coat sleeve.
He stopped and faced me. 'My good friend, the wonderful writer Will Darrow! Is it not a glorious day!'
'Why'd you do it, Ferdi?' I asked. 'Why'd you kill the aluminium foil guy?'
Our eyes locked and I watched the real person slip out from beneath the costume of his caricature. I saw a sorrow and a resolve there that I hoped I would never have to experience. A strength that had been thoroughly hidden and an anguish that would never depart but had been recently muted. He was trying to regain his soul.
He spoke in a quiet voice for the first time since we'd met. 'He murdered my wife in Denmark fourteen years ago. You don't need to know the details.'
He was right. I didn't.
I knew he'd told me the truth. We can go our whole lives believing we'll recognize the cold hard truth when we hear it, but when it finally arrives it's like nothing that's ever come before. It strikes a chord that's never been hit, and my head somehow rang with it. Ferdi waited for me to make a move. He appeared ready for any judgment.
The aluminium foil liar had told me he'd done terrible things. He had struck his mother. He had broken the hearts of his children. He had made a woman bleed. He didn't think he deserved to be forgiven.
I shrugged and let go of Ferdi's sleeve. He nodded with a slightly accepting, thankful smile. I lit a cigarette and he rushed to catch up to the kids, and the dance continued around the garden.
I saw someone crouched at the foot of my bed. It was my old man again, facing away from me like always. He held his fist up, and in it was clutched a note. I threw the covers aside and walked to him. Maybe now he would talk to me.
But he couldn't turn around, no matter how close I came. Of course he couldn't face me, he was dead. Without looking at me, he stuck his arm out and offered me the note.
It was five pages long and read:
WE HAVE COME TO A SPOT WHERE THE TISSUE IS THINNEST AND ALREADY TORN. IT IS A DESTINY FEARED AND WORSHIPED. THERE ARE THOSE WHO DESIRE AND CANNOT OWN, THOSE WHO DIE IN NEED. THE HEART SWELLS AND FAILS. I HAVE SEEN HER, IN THE DEPTHS OF THIS HOUSE, IN THESE ROOMS, LOST AND AT A LOSS BUT STILL RETAINING THAT LUMINESCENCE OF LIFE. SHE IS LIGHT ITSELF TO SOME. WE CANNOT AFFORD THIS LOSS. SHE HAUNTS THE HALLS EAGER TO REACH OUT TO US AS WE PASS. CAN YOU MAKE SENSE OF IT? I HAVE TRIED BUT I AM INDISPOSED BY THE PART I MUST PLAY. SURELY YOU HAVE HEARD HER IN YOUR DREAMS? YOUR NAME CALLED. HOW BRIGHT SHE IS IN THE DARK PLACES. SHE SPEAKS OF YOU STILL. SHE UNDERSTANDS YOUR LOVE. IT IS NOT TOO LATE.
MOJO
When I looked up again my old man was gone. There was a knock at the door. I opened it and there stood Mojo, smiling, holding his cup, his little hat askew. I looked out into the lobby for Ferdinand, but he was nowhere in sight.
I glanced down at the chimp and said, 'Okay, Mojo, fess up. I need to hear it. If you really know how to talk, buddy, then now's the time. It'll be our secret, I swear. But this is important. What happens next is going to change the course of a life or two around here, I think.' I went to one knee and got in close. He cocked his head and did a dance and put a paw out to touch my nose. 'So I want to hear it from your own lips. Talk to me. Did you see it happen? Did you see Corben kill Gabriella?'
Mojo went, 'Ook.'
I stared at him and he stared at me.
I nodded and said, 'Fuck all, that's good enough for me,' and went to confront my oldest friend, my only enemy.
I was wired and hot and ready to break bones, but when he opened the door all my rage left me. Almost all of it.
He hadn't shaved or eaten in days. He'd been steadily losing weight and his sternum stuck out like a spike. His eyes had sunken in even further, his lips crusted and yellow, and his breath stank like hell. He hadn't quit the sauce. His sweat was stale and smelled like whisky and disease. There was a time I would've gloated and been filled with a sick joy. Now I just wanted to know what had happened to his wife.
'I want to talk to you,' I said.
'All right.'
We sat in his living room again. He hadn't opened a window in ages. The dust swirled in the rays of the sun lancing down through his windows. He'd been drinking too much but I didn't know what else to do for him, so I mixed him a screwdriver. At least he'd get a little orange juice in his system. He looked just a little closer to death than the aluminium foil guy had with the ice-pick vibrating in his head.
His eyes kept wandering to a spot on the wall behind the couch. I couldn't help riffing on Poe's 'Cask of Amontillado' and 'The Black Cat'. But he wasn't checking the place where he'd might've stuck Gabriella's corpse and sealed it over with stucco. He wouldn't keep her so close at hand. He was writing behind his eyes.
'I know you killed her,' I said.
'You're a fool.'
'The monkey saw you do it.'
It made him open his mouth so wide that the hinges of his jaw cracked. 'What?'
'Mojo told me what you did.'
'The chimp…?'
'You shouldn't have left any witnesses. You didn't think the world's first talking writing monkey would tell somebody? He knows his business. Knocks 'em dead in South Dakota.'
'I was wrong. You're not merely foolish. You're insane.'
The word caught in his throat. He almost didn't get it out. It wasn't an easy one for him to say aloud. I usually had a hard time with it too. Anyone who spends that much time inside his own head had to be extra cautious of tossing words like crazy and insane around. But in this building, in this city, on this day and during this particular conversation, it seemed even more reckless than usual.
'Where is she?' I asked.
He finished his screwdriver and set the glass aside. 'Visiting her mother in Poughkeepsie.'
I took it in and felt a clash of relief and disbelief. 'That's not what you told me. You said you didn't know.'
He made an effort to appear embarrassed. Instead he just looked cornered but sly. 'I didn't want to admit to it.'
'Cut the horseshit.'
'You say that to me after telling me about talking monkeys?'
'That's right, I say it to you, asshole.'
Corben refused to keep his mind on Gabriella. I backed away a step. His gaze slid over me. It slid over everything. He couldn't keep his focus on any one spot or idea. It was more than just the writing going on in his head. He was tumbling around inside Stark House without moving. I'd never seen him like this before — lost and at a loss. I stopped trying to control the conversation. I would allow him to take the lead.
We sat there and I finally looked all around the place, letting myself take in his riches and treasures. I went for room to room. Holy shit, there really was a solarium. The beauty and the effort and love that Gabriella had put into her home. How could a man not think it was enough? Are any of us ever satisfied? I wondered if I would have so easily been led down the wrong path if I'd had his successes. Become so self-absorbed, so unappreciative. I supposed it could happen to anyone.
We stayed like that for a half an hour. I thought he'd forgotten about me, so entwined by himself. I didn't mind waiting. I sat down and felt comfortable in his chair, noting all the small details and touches that were of Gabriella.
'Stark House is haunted,' Corben said.
