large portrait. It was a woman in her mid-thirties, and at first he thought it was a painting of Carol.
The resemblance was striking. He could hear Carol's voice in the still lady.
'Oh, Mr. Gregory, dinner at eight, don't forget,' Carol called from below. Harry smiled wanly at the picture and followed Wilbur up the stairs.
Harry walked to the blazing fireplace in the large comfortable room.
His suitcase was open on the chair and he slowly emptied it into the dresser drawer. He was in shirt sleeves, and when he got to a cashmere sweater, he pulled it over his head. He returned nervously to the fire.
On the mantle was a small ornamental stock of long unused tapers. He took one out and, leaning to the fire, lit it, and then with it, his cigarette.
He blew out the taper and put it back with the others, realizing with chilled humor that the stand was merely decorative. He stared at it for a moment, and finally standing confused with the taper in his hand, threw it in the fire. He crossed to the bed and fell back on the pillows, smoking and looking into the fire. Outside, the Michigan rain was pounding.
It was too much … too much to be in a strange house called by a strange name, with everybody else acting like everybody's father.
Harry was getting the short end of
What the hell were they doing to him? Was this some kind of initiation into hell, or perhaps hell itself. To stay in this big, comfortable, pillow-decked bed and never know what he was doing there, with those creepy servants bringing meals in, and carrying the dirty dishes out and never knowing his right name. What the hell did they think they were doing to him?
What did Phillip want? To stuff him and set him on the piano in the old family manor house? Or shrink his head for the trophy room? The house had to have a trophy room somewhere. Harry got up from the bed, trying to hold onto himself, but feeling uncanny fear creeping into his body.
He stood at the window and looked out, then walked, trapped, around the room and was about to return to the window. What the hell was this? A drink, that would make it normal. A drink. How did you get anything in this damned tomb? Or did the servants train you so well that you didn't want anything until it was time to be served? He rushed out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
The hallway was deserted. Harry went to the nearest door, listened, and then tried the knob. It was locked. He looked desperately around him and ran down the hall. He threw open the door to an empty room.
There was no dust on the unused, obviously untouched furniture. The room lay in its invisible covers, heavy and serious and, for many years, unused by a human. He rushed for another door and found it locked.
He shook it vigorously and finally broke down, shaking the handle and shouting, 'Phillip, Phillip for God's sake where are you?'
Wilbur appeared soundlessly at the end of the hall and came toward Harry. He stopped to close the open doors. Harry wanted to crouch protectively against the wall.
'I know this is a rather large house, Mr. Gregory,' Wilbur said, 'but you'll get used to it. Mr. Johns is in his study, awaiting dinner-call, which has been his habit for years. I suggest you join him there.'
He escorted Harry back to his room. At the door he said, 'If there is anything you need, Mr. Gregory, don't hesitate to ring for me.'
I need to know where I am, who I'm supposed to be, Harry thought.
But to the snide servant he said, 'Thank you, I will,' and slammed the door. Maybe that's what Wilbur was for. To make you angry and keep you sane. Once in the room, Harry wiped his perspiring face and changed into his dinner jacket. Phillip had better start talking, and none of Phillip's attitudes about life. Just answer a few direct questions.
Harry found Phillip in the library, kneeling over a canvas, a magnifying glass in his hand, scrutinizing a painting. Harry stood silently at the door and looked from one covered wall to the other. In the midst of the magnificence was Phillip.
'When you die, Phillip,' Harry said bitterly, 'they should put a few painting and a magnifying glass in your pyramid, and the god will withhold his curses.'
Phillip got to his feet. 'Yes,' he agreed, 'that's all I want now. It's strange how a man narrows down his needs, his expressions. All I want is a fine new canvas to study and to know it's mine.'
Harry couldn't speak; his muteness a residue of the fear that had clutched him in the long hallway. He wanted to hear Phillip speak, to embrace the reality Phillip gave him, and then leave. Get away fast before all the doors were locked and the ghosts came back to the uninhabited rooms.
'That's all I have to say. No man can tell you more than his purpose in living, ' Phillip imparted.
'Yes, you can,' Harry shouted. 'You can tell me what the hell this is all about. What we're doing here, why I am here, what this Mr.
Gregory bit is. I want a lot of pay for playing the fool, Phillip!'
'You're not playing the fool. Why are you and Carol so bitterly concerned about your tiny, insignificant appearances?' He poured a drink for Harry and one for himself. 'What's the matter with the younger generation?' he scoffed. 'They have to be told everything.
They hate surprises. Why, when I was a boy…' he continued sentimentally.
'Yes Phillip, that's what I want to know about. When you were a boy, in short pants, all the way up to when you were a boy in striped pants, to now. Do you understand? To this minute! To Harry Hatch!
And what the hell I have to do with this masquerade.'
'I'll explain everything to you, Harry,' Phillip said calmly. 'That's why I've brought you here.'
'What is this 'that's why I've brought you here' line? Give me my part to read, Phillip. I don't want to fuck up the plot. There must be something for me to say like, 'Thank you Daddy. Please be kind.''
'Harry, give me a moment.'
'Well, you're calling me by my real name. Shall I pinch myself?'
'I thought you had grown to trust me enough that I could bring you here and tell you these things. I'm fond of you Harry, but I'm not fond of these hysterics.' Phillip was collected now, the sitting master in his house. 'Listen to me Harry; I admire you. I can understand being a man like you, rather than me. I've thought that of very few men.
You're pure, Harry,' he laughed softly. 'You're a beautiful pure young heathen. But you're pure, an artist in yourself. You should put the art somewhere else, somewhere outside of you, or you're going to become perfect and die. It's all going to lead to your death.'
'Are you going to kill me?'
'You're off, Harry, way off. You don't know who I am, or who you are. You're going to kill yourself, my friend. That's going to be the only thing left to do. That's what happens when there's nothing out there, out in the world.'
'Have you brought me here,' he mocked, 'to introduce me to a few hobbies?'
'In a way. I thought I might introduce you to living. Living outside the dream.'
'Just finding nice, homey comforts.'
'Perhaps.'
'Like what?' Harry leaned forward. 'Like tennis and chess and fucking Carol?'
Phillip looked serious. 'Leave my daughter out of this.'
Harry didn't say anything. He drank deeply as if Phillip hadn't spoken. When there was nothing but ice left in the glass he spoke quietly. 'Your daughter?'
'I'll let you have it all, Harry, and straight. This is my house. This is where my daughter Carol grew up. I assume by now you've seen the portrait on the first landing? Rather fine, don't you think? My wife, Claire, Carol's mother.' He let the slow surprising words reach Harry, and poured two more drinks.
'The house belonged to my wife. It was rather an elevating marriage for me, but not out of the question. I came from a good family and all that. But we were poor and I didn't like that at all. As a matter of fact, I liked my wife very much. At first I liked her for not being poor. That was enough. Then, when I got used to being rich, I liked her for being just like me, just as rich as me. That's when it all began. Wealth can be an oppressive habit, particularly for those who haven't been born with it. Claire thought it might be good sport not to have money. But I
