A Room in the House of the Ancestors Books One and Two

by Melody Clark

  “Yeah, sure. We saw some correlations.”

  “Between cerebrum content and focus content, right?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, guess what popped up out of the data from your experience last night?” Andrew said, pointing a finger at the screen.

  Eddie shrugged. “I’ll look at it, of course, but the cerebrum is the dominant part of the brain. The neo-cortex is where most complex activity will stem from, so to speak. Besides, I’ve deciphered what happened last night. It was all just projection from me.”

  “Oh, really?” Andrew said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk. “Last night, you said, and I quote, no way that came from me.”

  “I’ve reconsidered the information I received last night,” Eddie said. “With the color recognition and the pattern perception, I’m thinking I must have projected the emotional content somehow.”

  “And how did you do that?”

  “We don’t see things the way they are – we see things the way we are,” Edward said, pushing away from the wall to open his laptop and sit down at the long desk. “You know that. It was too easy. Too pat.”

  “Just like this sounds,” Andrew said, looking over his glasses.

  “Look, it came from an inanimate object. I was seeing what I wanted to see. I needed my father to feel pain at my leaving. I picked an object from my childhood. I wanted it, so my brain produced that illusion for me.”

  “You said it hurt enormously,” Andrew said.

  “It did,” Edward said.

  “You didn’t want to feel that in Dad.”

  “Of course not, consciously, but subconsciously perhaps. Just as a way to feel like I was wanted in the first place. I mean, Occam’s Razor says that’s the likely scenario.”

  “Only if it fits the data, and it doesn’t. We don’t get to break off all the odd bits that don’t conform to the theory. Occam told us where to start looking, not where to stop. It may the likely scenario, but I don’t think it’s the final one. And neither do you.”

  Eddie pushed back in his chair. “What do you suggest?”

  “Redo the test on something more interactive and therefore able to confirm the data,” Andrew said.

  “Such as?”

  “Dad.”

  “No, never. That would be an invasion of his privacy.”

  “Not if he consented,” Andrew said.

  Edward shook his head hard. “Even so, and to be honest, I don’t know that I want direct access to that moment. Who could blame a kid who had become a father too soon? That young man wouldn’t be ambivalent? It doesn’t reflect on who Dad is now. And it might impact our relationship.”

  “Yes, but the impact might be positive. I’m thinking of a recent inquiry made of you by your therapist. It might seal something essential and vital. It might heal a lot of things, too.”

  “Look, I don’t want to discuss the stupid therapist thing.” He shrugged. “And what you’re talking about represents a big risk, either way.”

  “One I think that’s worth taking.”

  The Raven looked like something plucked straight out of Disneyland and set down on the outskirts of their own little town. Perched upon the pub sign, hunkering over the doorway, sat a huge black wooden bird, with watchful yellow eyes, a straight closed beak and finely carved feathers that splayed out into perfectly formed wedges. The raven was easily twice life size and every bit as menacing as any bird in flight.

  “That’s Virginia,” Tad said, “she’s the pub mascot. After Poe’s wife.”

  “I guessed,” Eddie said, taking his place at the corner point of an end table.

  Stewart wheeled around to lodge himself across from that corner. He immediately began to play a game on his phone. Tad grasped Stewart by the top of the head to drag him up and steer him out of the corner.

  “You refused to go to the Halloween costume rubbish I found for you, so you’re going into the next room and nest yourself among people your own age. Go be social.”

  Stewart’s face soured sharply. “I just want to play my game with you guys. I don’t know those people, Dad!”

  “And that’s not apt to change if you don’t introduce yourself, now, is it?” Tad asked.

  “Don’t look now, Toad,” Andrew said, toting two great mugs of draft lager and one of ginger ale in from the other room and to the table where Eddie sat, “but the youngsters in there have their noses glued to their own phones. No one is saying a word. They look like the head-knocking monks in Monty Python’s Holy Grail.”

  “You’re joking,” Tad said, looking in that direction.

  “Take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  “No, I believe it,” Tad said, gently nudging the boy in the other room’s direction. “All right, well, at least you’ll be social while being anti-social.”

  “Do I have to, Dad?” Stewart said.

  “Yes, you must, now go.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stewart said, turning like a wounded wooden soldier to strut insolently away.

  Andrew set a beer beside Tad and one at his own place. He shoved the soda toward Edward. “Sorry, Eddie, the Toad says still no brew for you.”

  Eddie scrunched up his mouth in reply. “I have to sit here and listen to horrible Edgar Allen Poe-try and I’m not allowed to drink?”

  “And what’s more the poem tonight is dedicated to you, big brother,” Tad said, drinking from his beer.

  “Oh, God,” Eddie murmured to himself. “How did I know it would be? There’s an experiment in terror.”

  “Speaking of experiments, Eddie, I asked Dad about what we were discussing. Having him be the focus object?” Andrew shrugged. “He seemed reluctant.”

  “I can’t say I blame him,” Eddie said. “It was a thought.”

  “What do you mean he’s reluctant?” Tad asked sharply. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no way in hell it’s going to work. What’s at risk? So he puts on a baseball cap and Eddie imagines a bunch of rubbish. So what?”

  “Thank you for your rousing support of our endeavor,” Andrew replied. “Why don’t you go ask Dad?”

  “I will, believe me.”

  “Please, don’t,” Eddie said. “It’s an encroachment on his privacy. He has the right to restrict access to his own thoughts and feelings. He doesn’t have to share that with me.”

  “Like hell he doesn’t,” Tad said. “With all his talk about family duty? Where is his? Speaking of family duty, where are Wilse and James?”

  Edward munched at beer nuts. “James said they’d be here later. James is having a root canal done. Wilse is keeping him company.”

  “Lucky nutters,” Andrew muttered, shaking his head.

  “You’re telling me.”

  “They’re going to miss my poem,” Tad said, sniffing.

  “I’m sure they’ll suffer the loss somehow,” Andrew replied.

  With that, Tad took a step away from their table and loudly cleared his throat – all the pub attendees, both at the bar and sitting at tables, turned toward him. If Edward could have chosen a super power just then, he would have found dematerialization very handy.

  “My dear friends,” Tad said, as if he was about to launch forth on a long verbal journey. “I know you who know me believe me to be the oldest Croftdon son, but that is not true. As the local gossip grapevine has long supposed, there is an older brother. This man there, trying to hide behind his soft drink, is my older brother, Edward. He is the oldest older brother in the family, and so I would like to dedicate this entry in the Poe-try contest to him. It is an homage to the Raven, by Edward Allen Poe. I have entitled it, the Septic.”

  “How did I know?” Edward asked, looking toward Andrew for some hope of rescue. “Why couldn’t I have needed a root canal?”

  Andrew smiled contritely and raised the draft lager in his direction. “It’ll be over soon,” he said. “I think.”


  Tad once again cleared his voice –

  “It was many and many a year ago,

  A band of roving septics,

  Stole the tiny infant Edward from the Croftdon family …”

  And so it droned on, filled with snipes at Eddie’s pompous Boston accent, various septic insults, amid a highly stylized version of their family history, with numerous liberties taken.

  When it ended, some relief the recitation was over no doubt empowered the audience’s brisk applause. Tad seemed contented by it as he bowed with a flourish and then sank into his table seat across from Edward.

  “You know, Edgar Allen Poe was from Boston,” Edward said.

  Tad guzzled back brew again. “Your point being?”

  “You insulted me with the pompous Boston voice line,” Eddie said. “And this is a pub dedicated to a septic.”

  “They weren’t insulting unless you choose to interpret them that way,” Tad replied. “And while you’ve been bitching, this entirely fetching little number over there has been eyeing you since I introduced you. Why don’t you do something life-affirming like go get her phone number?”

  “She’s not eyeing me,” Eddie said. “She was probably looking at me with pity, given the situation. Besides, I just got out of rehab. I need to focus on recovery. Speaking of recovery, how much alcohol have you had?”

  “I’m your guardian, remember? Not the other way around,” Tad said, looking at Andrew’s glass. “Andrew, you up for another?”

  “No, I barely have this one half done,” Andrew said, shaking his head firmly. “Besides, Eddie’s right, you started early and you’re showing no signs of stopping.”

  Stewart stole up quietly beside his dad. He stared down at the empty glass. “Should you be drinking so much, Dad?”

  Tad looked around at his son, and then down at the empty glass to tap his fingers against it. He considered Stewart for a long moment. “Probably not. Tell you what, why don’t you go get yourself a soft drink of some variety?” Tad pulled a £20 note from his pocket and handed to the boy. “You can play that absurd arcade beatbox thing you like, too, with the change.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” Stewart piped up, once again sailing away toward the other room.

  “Good for you –” Edward said, about to compliment Tad on his fatherly behavior when he noticed the flask Tad pulled from his jacket pocket.

  Tad took a swig. “Yes, yes, it’s nesh, I know. I flushed him out the room so I can drink. I’m contemptible.”

  “It’s worse than contemptible – it’s wretched,” Andrew said. “You’re afraid of your own kid, Tad. You have to get drunk just to spend some time with him.”

  “Says the bloke whose girlfriend lives in India,” Tad said, taking a drink from his flask again.

  “She works there,” Andrew replied.

  “And you, sitting over there,” Tad said to Edward, “munching on nuts, without the guts to get the number off the bumper of that girl who is visually hitting on you.”

  Edward, alert now, looked around. “One, she isn’t, secondly, I’m not even interested in a relationship right now, and three, why are you yelling at me?”

  “I’m yelling at you so you’ll show some goddamned spark in your life, for fuck’s sake.” Tad said. “To hell with a relationship, what about a one-night shag or something?”

  “What I do with my personal life is my personal business,” Edward said.

  “Oh, forgive me, would that have been an imposition? How dare I tell my own brother my opinion?” Tad said. “The real question is why you don’t tell Andrew to call his girl. Why you didn’t tell me to stop drinking.”

  “Hey, it’s none of my business –” Edward started.

  “Of course it’s your business!” Tad yelled back, swigging from the flask again. “You’re our goddamned big brother. You should be up in our business all the time.”

  “Up in your business?” Edward said. “You’re speaking pidgin septic, Toad.”

  “Fine, then I’m speaking your language. Maybe then you’ll listen. I’m brassed off at both you tosspots,” Tad said. “And I’m finally drunk enough to point it out.”

  “You’re brassed off at the world when you’re like this,” Andrew shot back sharply. “Get stuffed. And stop picking on Eddie. He didn’t challenge you, I did.”

  “He should have, and that’s my whole point. He lets Dad get away with a total dodge. Eddie should demand his right, his place, his share. Instead he wimps out on every level. Mr. Infinitely Just. He doesn’t even have the guts to take his real name back.”

  Edward covered his face with both hands. He stole a quiet moment alone before answering, “Look, I barely know how to deal with my own issues. Andrew’s old enough to handle his romantic entanglements. Dad, I won’t even go into. I don’t like –”

  “You don’t like honesty,” Tad shot back, taking a hit off his flask again, “like most septics – except my son. He makes his disdain for me all too clear.”

  “Stewart loves you!” Andrew snapped.

  “You can love people and disdain them, too. Look at my relationship with my brothers,” Tad said. “Well, my big brother anyway. Edward.”

  “What the hell did I do to bring this on?” Eddie asked.

  “Nothing. That’s just it. Look at you, just sitting there. I’m being obnoxious and you’re not saying a word.”

  “I’ve had enough conflict in my life, thank you,” Edward said. “Wendell picked on me daily for as long as I can remember. For myself, I prefer to keep things pleasant.”

  “No, you just don’t give a shit, Mr. Bakunin,” Tad said.

  Edward rose up from the bench and flung a handful of pound coins across the table. “Here, that’ll cover it. I’ll find a way back to the house,” he said, walking away from the table and toward the door.

  “Eddie,” Andrew said, standing up to go after him.

  “Naw, stay put, I have it,” Tad said, pushing him down, “I started it. Keep an eye on my chip off the old while he spends all my money.”

  Edward stepped out onto the small outside area marked PATIO, with its accumulation of tables and chairs and benches. They had tried to make the atmosphere gothic, although the effect had been more Snow White Haunted Forest than Edward Gorey. Only one person leaned on a railing nearby. He didn’t look particularly conscious. Edward looked up and down, hoping to find a taxi.

  Instead he found Tad walking up by his side. “All right, I’m sorry, I’m a nasty drunk. And I’m ridiculously drunk, so I’m ridiculously nasty –”

  “I don’t know what you want from me!” Edward snapped back at him sharply.

  “I want a fucking big brother, that’s what!” Tad roared back at him, plunking backward to a bench and towing Edward down with him. He drank from his flask again. “You’re supposed to slap me upside the head and say you’ve had too many. You’re supposed to tell me it’s pathetic that I’m bloody terrified of my own damned son. But you’re so thin-skinned –”

  “Can we please not do this?” Eddie asked.

  “I’m terribly sorry, was I being too presumptuous?” Tad asked. “Forgive my manners. Did I intrude upon your unalienable right to be an independent jackass?”

  “All right, that’s it!” Eddie yelled back, yanking the flask from Tad’s hand. He hurled it into the street. “I grew up with a paranoid madman, Thaddeus. Every day was a constant battle to win a place on his island. I don’t do that anymore. I don’t like confrontations. I avoid arguments.”

  “You think I had it so great?” Tad asked. “When Mum died, it sucked rocks. Afterward, Dad wasn’t just drinking – he was crapulence personified, and it really sucked rocks. I’d think my older brother Edward would help me with this, if he was here. I imagined you a superhero or something. When the drugs issue came up, I thought, okay, Superman got hold of some Kryptonite. It happens. But here you are, all human and fragile and mo
rtal just like me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help who you thought I was. I can only be myself.”

  “You could at least act like you gave a shit,” Tad said. “You could fight for your right.”

  “Would I be standing here, taking this abuse if I didn’t give a shit?”

  Stewart walked out onto the patio. His eyes darkened to highlight the scowl that overtook him as he stared at his father. “Dad, are you drunk?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking drunk!” Tad yelled back, standing up straight. “I’m blotto, okay? Because I’m frightened of you while you’re scared of me. And I’m sick of your talking to me like I’m some scary animal in a cage! I want you to love me like I love my father, which is unreservedly and sans arrière pensée, despite the fact he’s a pedagogical prig.”