Taltos

There is nothing funnier than someone laughing at a joke, except for someone who does not even crack a smile and stares at you with a face full of outrage.

“Don’t touch the boxes,” said Ryan solemnly. “They belong to Rowan! But there is something I must tell you, about Michael, something I found in a genealogy in those papers. Mary Jane, please do sit down and eat your supper.”

Mary Jane sat down.

“Right, genealogies,” said Mona. “Wow, maybe Lasher knew things we didn’t know. Mary Jane, genealogy is not a special interest with this family, it’s a full-time obsession. Ryan, your four minutes are nearly up.”

“What four minutes?”

She was laughing again. He had to leave. She was going to get sick, laughing like this.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” said Mary Jane, who jumped up again out of her chair, as though for truly serious conversations she had to be standing. “You’re going to say Michael Curry is a Mayfair. I told you!”

All the vitality drained out of Ryan’s face.

Mona drank down the fourth glass of milk. She had finished her rice, and lifting the serving bowl, she tipped it and let a new little mountain of soft, steaming rice grains fall on her plate.

“Ryan, stop staring at me,” she said. “What is it about Michael? Is Mary Jane right? Mary Jane said Michael was a Mayfair the first time she met him.”

“He is,” declared Mary Jane. “I saw the resemblance right away, and you know who he looks like? He looks like that opera singer.”

“What opera singer?” asked Ryan.

“Yeah, what opera singer?”

“Tyrone MacNamara, the one that Beatrice has pictures of, you know????? Those engravings on her wall???? Julien’s father???? Well, Ryan, he must be your great-grandfather. I saw a passel a’ cousins at the genealogical laboratory looked like that, Irish as can be, you never noticed? Of course you didn’t, but then y’all have got Irish blood, French blood-”

“And Dutch blood,” said Ryan in a terse, uncomfortable little voice. He looked at Mona, and then back at Mary Jane. “I have to go.”

“Wait a second, is that it?” Mona demanded. She gulped down her mouthful of rice, took another drink of milk. “Is that what you were going to tell me? Michael is a Mayfair?”

“There is a mention,” Ryan said, “in those papers, that apparently pertains to Michael, explicitly.”

“God damn, you don’t mean it,” said Mona.

“You all are sooooo divinely inbred!” said Mary Jane. “It’s like royalty. And here sits the Czarina herself!”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Ryan. “Mona, have you taken any medicine?”

“Certainly not, would I do that to my daughter?”

“Well, I have no choice but to go,” he said. “Do try to behave yourselves. Remember the house is surrounded by guards. I don’t want you going out, and please don’t devil Eugenia!”

“Shucks,” said Mona. “Don’t leave. You’re the life of the party. What do you mean ‘devil Eugenia’?”

“When you’ve returned to your senses,” said Ryan, “would you please call me? And what if this child is a boy? Certainly you aren’t going to risk his life with one of those tests to determine gender.”

“He’s not a boy, silly,” said Mona. “She’s a girl and I’ve already named her Morrigan. I’ll call you. Okay? Okay.”

And away he went, hurrying in his own special quiet way of hurrying. Kind of like the way nuns hurry, or doctors. With a minimum of sound and fuss.

“Don’t touch those papers,” he called out from the butler’s pantry.

Mona relaxed, took a deep breath. That was the last adult scheduled to be looking in on them, as far as she knew.

And what was this about Michael? “God, you think it’s true? Hey, Mary Jane, when we’re finished, let’s go up and look at those papers.”

“Oh, Mona, I don’t know, he just said those were Rowan’s papers, didn’t he just say that? ‘Don’t touch those papers.’ Mona, have some cream gravy. Don’t you want the chicken? That’s the best chicken I ever fixed.”

“Cream gravy! You didn’t say it was cream gravy. Morrigan doesn’t want meat. Doesn’t like meat. Look, I have a right to look at those papers. If he wrote things, if he left anything in writing.”

“Who’s he?”

“Lasher. You know who he is. Don’t tell me your Granny didn’t tell you.”

“She told me, all right, you believe in him?”

“Believe in him, dollface, he almost attacked me. I almost became a statistic like my mother and Aunt Gifford and all those other poor dead Mayfair women. Of course I believe in him, why he’s …” She caught herself pointing to the garden, in the direction of the tree. No, don’t tell her that, she’d sworn to Michael, never tell anyone, buried out there, and the other one, the innocent one, Emaleth, the one that had to die, though she’d never done anything to anyone ever.

Not you, Morrigan, don’t you worry, baby girl!

“Long story, no time for it,” she said to Mary Jane.

“I know who Lasher is,” said Mary Jane. “I know what happened. Granny told me. The others didn’t come right out and say he was killing the women. They just said Granny and I had to come to New Orleans and stay with everybody else. Well, you know? We didn’t do it and nothing happened to us!”

She shrugged and shook her head.

“That could have been a terrible mistake,” said Mona. The cream gravy tasted wonderful with the rice. Why all this white food, Morrigan?

The trees were filled with apples, and their meat was white, and the tubers and roots we pulled from the earth were white and it was paradise. Oh, but look at the stars. Was the unspoiled world really unspoiled, or were the everyday menaces of nature so terrible that everything was just as ruined then as it was now? If you live in fear, what does it matter….

“What’s the matter, Mona?” said Mary Jane. “Hey, snap out of it.”

“Oh, nothing, actually,” said Mona. “I just had a flash of the dream I had out there in the garden. I was having a hell of a conversation with somebody. You know, Mary Jane, people have to be educated to understand one another. Like right now, you and I, we are educating each other to understand each other, you get what I mean?”

“Oh yeah, exactly, and then you can pick up your phone and call me down at Fontevrault and say, ‘Mary Jane, I need you!’ and I’d just leap up and get in the pickup and take off and be at your side.”

“Yes, that’s it, exactly, you know I really, really meant it, you’d know all kinds of things about me, and I’d know all kinds of things about you. It was the happiest dream I ever had. It was such a … such a happy dream. We were all dancing. A bonfire that big would normally scare me. But in the dream I was free, just perfectly free. I didn’t care about anything. We need another apple. The invaders didn’t invent death. That’s a preposterous notion, but one can see why everybody thought that they had … well, sort of, everything depends on perspective, and if you have no sure concept of time, if you don’t see the basic relevance of time, and of course hunter-gatherer people did and so did agricultural people, but perhaps those in tropical paradises don’t ever develop that kind of relationship because for them there are no cycles. The needle’s stuck on heaven. You know what I mean?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, pay attention, Mary Jane! And you’ll know! It was that way in the dream, the invaders had invented death. No, I see now, what they had invented was killing. That’s a different thing.”

“There’s a bowl full of apples over there, you want me to get you an apple?”

“Right, later. I want to go upstairs to Rowan’s room.”

“Well, lemme finish my meal,” pleaded Mary Jane. “Don’t go without me. Matter of fact, I don’t know if we have any right to go up there at all.”

“Rowan won’t mind, Michael might mind. But you know???” said Mona, imitating Mary Jane. “It doesn’t matter???”

Mary Jane nearly fell out of the chair laughing. “You are the worst child,” she said. “Come on. Chicken’s always better cold, anyway.”