John drank another mouthful of brandy. He emitted a sigh and reclined in his armchair. “And here I was hoping you’d ask me about the house’s architecture. Blasted Aaron, even when he’s no longer among us, he still manages to attract all the attention.”
“I’m sorry,” said Maurice, detecting the envy in John’s voice.
“Don’t be. I’m only joking.” John’s face turned grave. “I’ve never been down in that cellar. It was out of bounds for professional reasons.”
“Tell me more about your brother.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Anything. Your memories of his personality. Who he was as a man. What he did. Surely you must know something.”
John reflected. “As a child, Aaron was easily fascinated. Never knew anyone so enthused by how things worked, so entirely obsessed with ideas. He wouldn’t leave it alone.”
“We all have our obsessions. Why was his any different?” asked Maurice.
“Yes, that’s quite the truth, isn’t it? But Aaron was frighteningly intense. I still have a letter he sent me while he attended medical lectures in France. He carried on about a book he’d read. Franken… Franken something…”
“Frankenstein?”
“That’s the one. He was utterly enthralled by the idea… And he would not leave it alone for months. And long before that, when we were children, if something caught his imagination, he’d be unstoppable. What else? He’d try to teach our dogs some tricks. Poor creatures. He’d pester them, alright…”
“I see,” said Maurice, recalling the medical cabinet and the disturbing jars in the cellar. “He was a doctor, I understand?”
“You could call it that,” replied John. “And you know, I’d always known he’d become one. I just could not guess what sort of doctor. For a man of science, you see, he had this enormous faith in the mystical. It bordered on professional heresy. And it worsened over the years. Ever heard of animal magnetism?”
Maurice shook his head. “I don’t know. Vaguely. I think we had an Austrian in France once who was an expert on the subject. Or was he German? I don’t remember.”
“Precisely. His name was Mesmer. Aaron read everything about him, about this animal magnetism. And then… he never let it go. He believed in the inner powers within each one of us. Anyway, I digress. Forgive me. But you get a sense of things, don’t you? Aaron and his interests.”
Maurice began to wonder whether John knew more of Aaron’s work than he chose to say. “And over the years, then, what did he get up to, your brother? What was he working on?”
“Well, I’m afraid that when he graduated, I was no longer privy to his activities. If there’s one thing I learnt over the years it’s that there was no use prying into Aaron’s business. He’d be more than generous, he’d come to my aid, and as a brother he was as supportive as they come, but if he ever dealt with the devil, then I sure wouldn’t know it. Manner of speaking of course.” He interrupted himself and stared grimly at the walls.
“Mr. Nightingale, why was your brother so secretive about this cellar? Doesn’t it seem suspicious to you? I mean why go to such pains to hide what is in it?”
“I do not know.” There was a new tremor in John’s voice. Maurice wondered whether John feared what he might eventually discover about his brother. It seemed he deliberately shunned the truth.
“Surely you must recall something of it,” insisted Maurice. “Anything. A man with such strong obsessions permits certain words and ideas to slip out of his lips at times.”
John thought for a moment. “The only thing I do remember is that when we built this house, Aaron was adamant that the fountain be connected to the cellar.”
“The fountain outside?”
“Yes. You see, there is a system of pipes running down the fountain and into the cellar. That, I remember. Is anything the matter?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all. Please continue.”
“It was Aaron’s vision; inexplicable to me, of course. But in the grand scheme of things, I’m only the engineer and Aaron was the eldest so there was no point arguing. We ordered that gorgeous custom made fountain from Italy. And once he’d moved in, Aaron wanted the water pump to operate at all times. That stone fish you see leaping above the fountain has always had water pouring out of its mouth for as long as I remember.” He laughed nervously. “I admit, there’s nothing ingenious about it. After all, for centuries, numerous French chateaux have possessed similar fixtures in their gardens. But it took a certain know-how.”
“I fail to understand, Mr. Nightingale. As an engineer, is it not pertinent of you to ask questions? Why do you think Aaron wished it done that way?”
John looked piqued. “Isn’t it curious how one can feel proud of one’s achievements and yet have not a clue what they’ve been used for? That’s a dangerous idea, right there.” He gave a half-smile.
“It sounds to me like you didn’t want to know,” cut in Maurice.
“Well, what would you have me do? Interrogate my own brother? For Pete’s sake, it was only a fountain.” John had dropped the easy going façade. He now seemed irritated. “I always suspected he had it built for Calista,” he said at last. “She loved the ocean. I’m sure that pretty tiled work reminded her of her home in Greece.”
Maurice sensed John’s guilt. “Aaron was certainly a visionary,” he said, hoping to uncover more.
“Oh, yes. When he wasn’t hiring stray cats to buy their loyalty, he also liked to surround himself with great minds. Always did. You know, he invited a notable scientist at his wedding in the year after he returned from Greece. And blasted, she was a clever woman. I forget her name. Aaron was
