by Anne Rice
Someone else had come up close beside him. But he only stared off into the inevitable gloom of the shop, searching for them, waiting for them, his heart pounding as it always did when he saw Marchent, and he tried to reconstruct the details of what he’d seen. There had been no clear indication that Marchent had really seen him; perhaps she’d only been looking forward. Her face had been calm, thoughtful, passive. He couldn’t know.
Suddenly he did feel a hand on his arm and he heard a very familiar voice say, “Well, that’s one very interesting-looking man.”
He woke as if from a dream.
It was his dad standing beside him. It was Phil, and Phil was staring into the shop.
“There are a lot of really interesting people here,” said Phil in the same half murmur. Reuben stood dazed as out of the shadows the two figures emerged once more, Elthram still smiling, his arm fastened as tightly as before to Marchent, and Marchent looking so delicate in her brown wool dress and brown boots, such a thin frail figure, in the very long soft dress she’d worn the day she died. This time her pale eyes fastened on Reuben and she offered the faintest acknowledging smile. Such a winsome distant smile.
And then they were gone.
Simply gone. Subtracted from the shifting world around them, subtracted as though they’d never been there at all.
Phil sighed.
Reuben turned to Phil, glaring at him, unable to say what he wanted to say. Phil was still looking at the door of the shop. Phil had to have seen them disappear.
But Phil said nothing to Reuben. Phil just stood there in his heavy gray tweed jacket, gray scarf around his neck, his hair blowing slightly in the breeze—looking at the open shop as before.
The pain in Reuben’s guts was sharpened, and his heart ached. If only he could tell his father everything, absolutely everything, if only he could bring his father into the world in which he, Reuben, was struggling, if only he could access the wisdom that had always been there for him, and which he’d wasted too often in his life.
But how could he even begin? And half measures were as intolerable as this silence.
A dream flared in his heart. Phil would eventually move to the guesthouse at Nideck Point. They’d certainly talked of his visiting often enough.
And after Phil moved to the guesthouse, and surely Phil would, they would sit together and Reuben would, with the blessing of the Distinguished Gentlemen, pour out the whole tale. They’d sit in candlelight with the sea banging on the cliffs below, and talk and talk and talk.
But as the dream flared, an awesome and horrifying vista opened for him on the coming years. The divide could only become greater and greater between him and his father. His loneliness felt like a shell in which he was suffocating. A great sadness filled him. He felt a lump in his throat.
He looked away, more into his thoughts than at anything particular, and as his eyes moved over the street, he now saw them everywhere, the shaggy-haired, leather-clad figures of the Forest Gentry, some in dark green, others in varying shades of brown, some even in bright colors, but all distinct in that soft chamois cloth, with their abundant hair, their windblown tangled hair. Their skin was radiant and their eyes sparkled. They exuded happiness and excitement. It was so easy to see them as they passed, as they walked among the human beings, so easy to know who they were. He recognized here and there women and children he had glimpsed in that eerie moment in the dining room when they had all crowded in on the table before vanishing into the night.
And they were observing him, too, weren’t they? They were nodding to him. One woman with long red hair made him a little curtsey quickly before disappearing behind a crowd of others. And they were looking at Phil.
Phil stood as passive and silent as before, his hands in his coat pockets just watching the great parade go by. “Look at that woman,” he said airily, “in that beautiful old hat. Such a beautiful old hat.”
Reuben glanced in that direction and caught a glimpse of her, a fellow human being, not one of the Forest Gentry, a slender figure with her arms out, guiding a whole troop of youngsters through the crowd. And it was a gorgeous hat, made of green felt with crushed silk flowers. Something about hats. Why, of course. How could he have forgotten? Lorraine, and Jim’s dreadful story of pain and suffering with Lorraine. Lorraine had loved vintage hats. The woman was gone now with her flock of children. Could that have been Lorraine? Probably not.
The rain began to spatter down.
At first people ignored it, but then they began to home to the covered porches and the little arcades. The sky darkened, and more lights flashed on in the shops and windows, and the streetlamps, the quaint old black-iron streetlamps, went on.
Within moments a new air of festivity had swept through the fair, and it seemed the noise of the crowd was louder than ever. The strings of colored lights above the street shone with a new brightness.
Stuart and Margon appeared suddenly, and said it was almost four o’clock, that they ought to head back to the house to change.
“It’s black tie tonight for us all, as we’re hosting,” said Margon.
“Black tie?” Reuben all but stammered.
“Oh, not to worry. Lisa’s laid out everything for us. But we should go home now to be ready when the first people start leaving the fair.”
Felix waved at Reuben from down the street, but then was blocked inevitably by more greetings and more thanks, though he kept moving.
Finally, they were all together. Phil headed off to get his car, as he’d driven up alone ahead of the rest of the family.
Reuben took one last look at the fair before he turned to go. The carolers were singing clearly and beautifully in front of the Inn as if the darkness had excited them and urged them to come together again, and this time there was a fiddler there with them, and a young boy playing a wooden flute. He stared at the distant figure of that boy, long-haired, clad all in brown chamois leather, playing that wooden flute. And far to the right in the shadows, he saw Elthram with Marchent, her head almost touching Elthram’s shoulder, their eyes fixed on the same young musician.
19
THE TERRACE PAVILION WAS ABLAZE with light and sound and streaming with people when they got out of the car. The orchestra was rehearsing with the boys’ choir in a positively magical blend of glorious sound. Phil was already there, standing with his arms folded, listening to the music in obvious awe, while reporters and photographers from the local papers took pictures, and groups of mummers in medieval costume—teenagers mostly—came up to greet them until Felix introduced himself and told them how pleased he was, and instructed them to take up a position in the nearby oaks.
Reuben hurried upstairs to change. He took the fastest shower in human history, and Lisa helped him dress, handling the studs on his boiled shirt for him, and tying his black silk tie. The jacket had been “perfectly measured” for him, she was right about that. And he was pleased that she’d arranged a black vest for him and not a cummerbund, which he hated. The shining patent-leather shoes were also a good fit.
He had to laugh when he saw Stuart, because Stuart looked so uncomfortable in his black-tie finery, but he looked pretty terrific at the same time, freckles and curly hair and all.
“You’re growing right before my eyes,” said Reuben. “You must be as tall as Sergei now.”
“Rampant cell division,” muttered Stuart. “There’s nothing quite like it.” He was anxious, uneasy. “I gotta find my friends, and the nuns from school, and the nurses. And my old girlfriend who threatened to kill herself when I came out of the closet.”
“You know what? This place is done up so beautifully and this is all going to be so much fun, you don’t have to do any heavy lifting. And your old girlfriend, she’s okay now, right?”
“Oh yes,” said Stuart. “She’s getting married in June. We’re e-mail buddies. I’m helping her to pick out her wedding dress. Maybe you’re right. This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
“Well, let’s make it fun,” Reub
en said.
The main floor was filled with people.
Caterers were rushing back and forth from dining room to kitchen. The table was laden from end to end with what appeared to be the first course—hot hors d’oeuvres of countless kinds, hot chafing dishes of meatballs in sauce, fondue, plates of crudités, nuts, wheels of French cheese, sugared dates, and a huge china tureen of pumpkin soup to be ladled into mugs for the asking by a stiff young attendant who waited with hands clasped behind his back.
The raw and beautiful sound of a string quartet suddenly broke through the murmuring of the crowd all around him, and Reuben caught the soft heartbreaking strains of the “Greensleeves” carol. The music drew him as much as the food—he drank down a mug of the thick soup immediately—but he wanted to see that orchestra outside. It had been too long since he’d seen a live orchestra of that size and he headed through the press in the front room to the door.
To Reuben’s surprise, Thibault appeared and explained that he was taking Reuben out to stand with Felix at the large east entrance of the pavilion.
“You will help him greet the guests, won’t you?” Thibault looked entirely comfortable in his formal clothes.
“But what about Laura?” Reuben whispered as they pushed through the crowd. “Why aren’t you with Laura?”
“Laura wants to be on her own tonight,” said Thibault. “And she will be all right, I assure you. I wouldn’t have left her if that were not the case.”
“But Thibault, you mean then the change has happened.”
Thibault nodded.
Reuben had come to a halt. Maybe he’d had some vain childish hope all along that Laura would never change, that the Chrism would somehow not work, that Laura would always be Laura! But it had happened. At last, it had happened! He was suddenly powerfully excited. He wanted to be with Laura.
Thibault embraced him just as a father might embrace him, and said, “She is doing exactly what she wants. And we must let her do things in her own way. Now come, Felix is hoping you’ll join him.”
They moved out into the crowded pavilion. Dozens of people were already milling, and the caterers were serving both coffee and drinks to those already seated at the tables.
Margon, his long brown hair tied back to the nape of his neck with a thin leather thong, was escorting Stuart’s petite mother, Buffy Longstreet, up to see the crèche. Buffy, in spike heels and a short white sleeveless silk turtleneck dress and diamonds, looked every bit the starlet, and not old enough to be the mother of Stuart, who was welcoming her with open arms. Frank Vandover was making her a stately bow, and turning on that Hollywood charm for her, and she was seemingly ecstatic.
Quite suddenly the voices of the boys’ choir broke forth with the spirited lyrics of “The Holly and the Ivy,” drowning out the murmur everywhere of conversation. Reuben stopped just to savor the sound of it, vaguely conscious that others too were turning their heads to listen. The voices of the adult choir soon joined in, and the entire glorious wave of sound proceeded without the need of the waiting orchestra. At the far end very near the choir, Reuben could see Phil alone at a table clearly rapt as he’d been when Reuben first arrived.
But there was no time to go to Phil now.
Felix stood at the large eastern entrance of the pavilion greeting each and every person coming in, and Reuben quickly took his place beside him.
Felix was beaming, his eager dark eyes fixing every single face. “How do you do, Mrs. Malone, and welcome to the house. I’m so glad you could join us. This is Reuben Golding, our host, whom I’m sure you’ve already met. Do come in. The girls will show you to the coatroom.”
Reuben was soon clasping hands, repeating more or less the same welcome, and finding himself meaning it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sergei and Thibault stationed at the steps to the door of the house, also clasping hands, answering questions perhaps, welcoming. There was a remarkably tall and handsome woman right beside Sergei, a dark-haired woman in a striking red velvet gown, who gave Reuben a soft affectionate smile.
All the locals were streaming in, Johnny Cronin, the mayor, the three-person town council, and most of the merchants who’d been down in the village, all plainly curious and eager for the experience of the banquet. Soon there was a crush outside the entrance, and Thibault arrived along with Stuart at his side, to help speed things along.
People were enthusiastically announcing themselves and where they’d come from and thanking Reuben or Felix for the invitation. A whole group of the clergy came in, all in black clerics and Roman collars, having been invited from the Archdiocese of San Francisco, and dozens of people who had come from Mendocino on the coast, and other towns in the wine country.
The nurses from Stuart’s hospital arrived, and powerfully excited, Stuart embraced each and every one of them. Then came pretty Dr. Cutler, who’d treated him for his injuries, overjoyed to see him in such wonderful shape, and asking when Grace would arrive. There were five or six doctors with her, and other people from Santa Rosa. In came Catholic priests from Humboldt County, thanking Felix for including them, and there were ministers arriving too from churches up and down the coast, expressing the same ardent thanks.
Uniformed maids and teenage volunteers took heavy coats and wraps, and brought people to the waiting tables or invited them to go into the house, as the pavilion was filling rapidly. Other boys and girls were passing trays of hors d’oeuvres. Frank appeared and reappeared to escort guests to various destinations.
The pure and soaring voices of the choir were singing “Coventry Carol,” and there were moments when Reuben gave in to a sudden lock on the music, shamefully tuning out the introductions that he could hardly hear, but warmly shaking hands and urging the guests to be welcome.
Again and again, Felix drew his attention to this or that guest, “Judge Fleming, let me present Reuben Golding, our host,” and Reuben would gladly respond. The state senator he’d met in the village soon arrived, and other people from Sacramento. More clergymen arrived, and two rabbis, both with black beards and black yarmulkes. Frank obviously knew the rabbis, greeting them both by name, and he eagerly led them into the thick of the party.
The excitement was infectious, Reuben had to admit, and now when the orchestra began to play with the choir, he felt that this was perhaps one of the more exhilarating experiences he’d ever had.
People were in all manner of dress, from cocktail attire and black tie to business suits and even jeans and down jackets, kids in Sunday best, little girls in long dresses. Phil didn’t look at all out of place in his tweed jacket and open shirt collar. And there were plenty of women in hats, fantasy hats and vintage hats, and those little cocktail hats with veils that Jim had described.
The sheriff came along in a blue suit with his fashionably dressed wife and his good-looking college-age sons, and there were other deputies from his office, some in uniform and some in civilian dress with wives and children.
Suddenly the word came that dinner was being served in the dining room, and there was a shift in the crowd, as many sought to go into the house, while a long line came streaming out with plates laden with food to find tables.
At last Grace came, with Celeste and Mort, their faces radiant and curious and warm as though the party had already affected them as they’d waited to enter. Grace, in one of her typically handsome white cashmere sweater dresses, wore her red hair loose and down to her shoulders in a delightfully girlish manner.
“Good Lord,” she said. “This is just fabulous.” She was waving at a couple of doctors she knew, and rattling off their names. “And the archbishop is here, how incredible!”
Celeste looked breathtakingly pretty in black sequined silk. She seemed actually happy as she and Mort made their way into the crowd.
Indeed the splendor of the pavilion swept people right through the entrance and into the swim of things.
Immediately, Rosie, the family housekeeper arrived, looking very pretty and girlish in
a bright red dress with her full dark hair combed free. Husband Isaac and their four girls were with her. Reuben hugged Rosie. There were few people in the world he loved as much as Rosie. He was dying to show her the entire house, but watched her disappear into the party with Grace and Celeste.
Reuben’s Hillsborough cousins flooded in suddenly with squeals and hugs and breathless questions about the house. “Did you really see this Man Wolf thing!” Cousin Shelby whispered into Reuben’s ear, but when he stiffened she immediately apologized. “Just had to ask!” she confessed.
Reuben said he didn’t mind. And he didn’t. He’d always loved Shelby. She was his uncle Tim’s oldest daughter, and a redhead like Tim and Grace, and used to babysit Reuben when he was a kid. Reuben loved Shelby’s eleven-year-old son, redheaded Clifford, born out of wedlock when Shelby was still in high school. Clifford, a handsome and solemn little boy, was beaming now at Reuben, clearly impressed with the scope of the party. Reuben had always admired Shelby for bringing up Clifford, though she’d never identified the boy’s father to anyone. Grandfather Spangler had been furious about it at the time, and Grace’s brother, Tim, a recent widower, had been brokenhearted. Shelby had become a model mother to Clifford. And of course they’d all come to adore him, especially Grandfather Spangler. Grace doubled back at once to take Shelby and Clifford and the other cousins in hand. And then when Phil’s gray-haired sister, Josie, arrived, in her wheelchair with a very sweet elderly nurse to take care of her, Phil came to collect her and bring her up to where she might better hear the choir.
Finally Felix said they had been greeting people for an hour and a half now, and they could break to have supper themselves.
People were now moving back and forth through the entrance freely. And some people, especially those who had worked at the daylong fair, were even headed home.