I knew that. So did he.
“I’m a college professor,” I answered pleasantly. “But yes, I’m familiar with working hard and earning a dollar. Whether that dollar qualifies as honest is, of course, entirely subjective. Know what I mean, Bob?”
“Speaking of mulberry trees,” he said, smiling coyly. “Have you two ever heard the story about how their berries came to be red?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“Something tells me it’s an interesting story,” Betty chimed in.
“Matter of fact it is, and it’s a love story to boot.”
“Oh, love stories are my favorite.”
He winked at her. “I know.”
“Then by all means, do tell.”
“It’s a love story, but so you know, it’s sad too, like a lot of love stories. What’s the word they use? Tragic. That’s it, tragic.” Laurent made it a point to look directly at me. “Sure you want to hear it?”
I met his gaze, unwilling to be the one to look away first. “Absolutely.”
“Well, once upon a time,” Laurent began, slipping his free arm around Betty and guiding her back to the table, “there was a boy and a girl that grew up and lived in the same neighborhood. They fell in love and wanted to get married, but their parents didn’t approve and tried to keep them apart. Now, as fate would have it, the houses the boy and girl lived in were real close to each other, so close that their houses shared a common wall. On one side of the wall was the boy’s bedroom, and the girl’s was on the other.”
When they reached the table, Betty dropped into a chair. Laurent remained standing over her. I drifted a step away from the sink but purposely kept a bit of distance.
“Turns out, there was a little crack in this wall,” Laurent continued. “And these two found it. At night they’d whisper back and forth to each other about how they were in love and how one day they’d run away together and be happy.”
“How romantic,” Betty said, smiling at me.
I nodded but said nothing.
Laurent sipped some beer then belched silently. “Thing is, nice as that wall was, they couldn’t touch or even see each other, so they knew if they were going to be together, they’d have to do something. Just so happens that on a lonely old country road on the outskirts of town there was this big mulberry tree. One night, they decided they couldn’t be apart anymore, and agreed to meet out there by the mulberry tree not long after midnight. The boy told her to be careful because out there in the middle of nowhere there was no telling what they might run into, especially so late at night. He told her he’d be sure to get there before she did and bring a knife with him just in case.”
From the corner of my eye I saw the light out back go out.
“Well the girl snuck out of the house and walked a few miles to the tree and waited. It was a chilly night so she brought a coat along, slung over her arm. She waited a while for the boy to show, but before he did, in the moonlight she saw a wolf step out of the woods and start down the road towards her. The wolf had just killed and eaten something, you see, because his jaws and face were covered in blood.” Laurent took another pull of beer, relishing Betty’s rapt attention. “Now this poor girl was scared out of her wits, and much as she wanted to wait for her true love, she couldn’t just stand there and let a wolf attack her, so she turned and ran. Afraid the coat might slow her down; she dropped it there on the road and ran off into the night. Well the wolf grabbed hold of that coat, tore it to pieces and left it bloody and shredded at the foot of the mulberry tree. And—you guessed it—right about the time that wolf wandered off the boy showed up. He sees the wolf running back into the woods and when he gets to the mulberry tree all he finds is the girl’s torn and bloody coat. He figures because he got there too late and wasn’t there to protect her, she got attacked and eaten by the wolf. Of course he’s just beside himself, doesn’t want to live without her. So he picks up her coat and starts kissing it, telling her how sorry he is and how he killed her sure as that wolf did. The boy takes his knife and cuts his throat. The blood sprays all over the tree, turning the berries dark red.”
Betty was hanging on his every word, watching him intently.
“Just about this time, the girl decides, scared as she is of that wolf, it’s worth the risk to be with the one she loves, so she turns around and goes back. She gets there just in time. The boy is dying but still alive. With his last breath, he looks into her eyes, the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, and with a smile, dies in her arms. Your love for me killed you, she says. Everyone’s tried to keep us apart, and not even Death’s going to get away with it. And with that, she falls on the same knife and dies under the mulberry tree beside him. See, the berries are like a memorial for all time to remember those two. In the end, the two were together forever, but in death. Some say their families felt so bad over keeping the two apart that their bodies were cremated and put in the same urn, so they could be together in that way too. And that,” he said, raising his beer bottle up, “is why mulberry fruit is a deep, dark red.”
“Pyramus and Thisbe,” I said.
He and Betty looked at me, stone-faced.
I’d lied. I actually was familiar with the story. I should’ve let it go, and normally would have, but for some reason I wanted to embarrass him. “The story you just told. It actually has its origins in classic Greco-Roman Mythology. The boy and girl were Pyramus and Thisbe. And it wasn’t a wolf, but a lion. The original story came from Ovid. Publius Ovidius Naso, to be precise. He was a Roman author, known primarily, though not exclusively, for his erotic poetry. He also wrote Metamorphosis, a classic poem in Greek and Roman mythology. He was quite prolific, and his work has influenced such literary heavyweights as Shakespeare, Chaucer, even Dante and Milton.” I gave him the best condescending smile I could muster. “But that’s a nifty down-home and westernized version you’ve got there, Bob. Lots of fun, and nicely told.”
Betty looked like she couldn’t decide whether to crawl under the table or beat me to death with one of the kitchen chairs.
An awkward silence filled the air.
After a moment, Laurent began to laugh. “I admit I’ve got no idea what any of that means—all I was doing was telling one of my grand-mamma’s old stories—but I tell you what, Will, I believe you!”
Betty laughed along, lightly slapping the table for effect as she shot me a dagger-laced glare apparently designed to burn directly through my skull. “Yes,” she added, “you’ll be pleased to know we’re both thoroughly impressed.”
“Just trying to be helpful,” I mumbled. I already regretted what I’d done. I’d embarrassed no one but myself and knew the moment Betty and I were alone she’d call me out for it. I just couldn’t help myself. There was something about this man that caused me to instinctually dislike and distrust him, and that brought out the worst in me. But what concerned me most was that Laurent seemed well aware of this and was purposely trying to provoke me. I could see it so clearly, how could Betty be oblivious?
“So where did you and your wife move to?” I heard Betty ask him.
“South Carolina. Beautiful down there, let me tell you. Ever been?”
“No, never have.”
“How about you, Will?”
“I’ve driven through a couple times.” I finished my beer, set the bottle in the sink then went to the fridge and against my better judgment, got myself another. “But that was years ago.”
Laurent nodded, as if he deemed my answer acceptable. “So you’ve only been in town since this morning?”
“Yes,” I explained. “Been putting this off for months but now it’s time to get this place cleaned out and on the market.”
“Maybe you’ve been putting it off because you got more to do here than settle Earl’s affairs.”
“What do you mean?”
Laurent grinned and shrugged.
“I could’ve kept the place as a rental, I suppose,” I said, ignoring his cryptic comments. “But it needs a
lot of work, so it made more sense to just sell it off. Besides, keeping this house would’ve been…difficult.”
“Wouldn’t be the same without ole Earl wandering around in it, that’s for sure.” Laurent stretched dramatically, like his body had grown painfully stiff. “Probably best you stay down there in New York anyway.”
“Got at least another day of work cleaning this place out and doing some dump runs,” I said, hoping he’d get the hint. “Between that and donating the rest of the furniture and whatnot to the local Salvation Army, the place should be ready to put up for sale. Still quite a bit to do though.”
“Well, nice as this is,” he sighed, “I’ve bothered you long enough this evening. Time to get a move on.”
“Don’t be silly.” Betty touched his wrist. “No bother at all.”
“Thank you, darlin’, but I really should get these old bones moving.”
“Be careful in this rain,” Betty said. “Especially making such a long drive like that, sounds exhausting.”
“It is, but I’ll be fine. Hoping once I get through this mess it’ll be smooth sailing.” He powered down the remainder of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “Hope you two don’t have to drive in this mess tonight.”
“No,” Betty told him, “we’re spending the night here.”
I wished she hadn’t shared that information, but it was too late to stop her.
“Good. Stay safe.” Darkness crossed his face. “You have my deepest sympathies on the loss of your dad. Earl was a good friend and a fine man.”
“Thank you so much.” Betty rose to her feet. “It’s been great to see you…again.”
“You too, darlin’. And Will,” he said, thrusting a hand at me, “a pleasure.”
We shook hands. His grip was a little stronger this time, subtly more forceful. In response, I squeezed a bit harder myself. “Pleasure’s mine, Bob.”
“Thank you for inviting me into your home.” He continued to pump my hand. Neither of us loosened our grips. “A man should only go where he’s invited. Always found that to be the best policy, least for me anyhow.”
Seemed an odd thing to say, but then nearly everything that came out of his mouth sounded odd to me. I responded with a quick and decisive nod then released his hand. “Drive safely now.”
“You bet.” He gave Betty another big hug then kissed the top of her head, the way a parent might, and made her promise she’d take good care of herself.
Arm-in-arm, they sauntered to the door. Laurent took his raincoat from the hook, slipped it on then pulled his baseball cap on tight and waved back at me with a smile I could only describe as smug.
And then he was gone, released back into the rain from which he’d come. The door was closed and it was just the two of us.
Betty immediately went on the offensive, as I knew she would. She wasn’t being nasty, she was only trying to understand why I’d behaved the way I had. What she didn’t realize was that I was struggling to understand it too. I didn’t want a fight, so I made an effort to prevent things from escalating.
“What was all that about?” she asked, arms folded over her chest.
“I don’t know.”
“You made a total ass of yourself. Why were so rude to the poor man?”
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“You just what? Why would you behave that way? He could not have been sweeter to us. You don’t even know the man, and here you are—”
“Do you know the man, Betty?”
She calmed a bit and considered my question. “The name Laurent does sound familiar, but honestly, I can’t seem to place him at all.”
“You remember the name but not him.”
She made a funny face. “Weird, huh?”
“Maybe he’s not who he says he is.”
Her expression left no doubt as to her thoughts on that theory. “And why would he lie about who he is? Why take the time to stop here and pretend to be someone he isn’t? What point would there be in that? Seriously, do you hear yourself? Sweetie, come on. Obviously he’s old and confused, has his dates and times mixed up. Even if he did move away around the time my mother died, like I said, I’ve blocked a lot of that out. Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
“Do you remember calling one of your father’s friends Uncle Bobby?”
She looked as if she were thinking about it, which struck me as odd. “No,” she finally said. “Maybe I’ve just forgotten.”
I watched the headlights of Laurent’s truck disappear along the dirt road before vanishing completely in the storm. “Well, doesn’t make much difference now, I guess. He’s gone.”
She reached out and gently rubbed my back. “You OK?”
“I don’t know what got into me tonight.” I sighed and gulped some beer. “I thought the guy was creepy right from the start, and I didn’t like the way he was running his fingers along your back like he was checking to see if you had a bra on and—”
“You really think that’s what he was doing?” Betty bit her lip in an effort not to laugh. “Honestly?”
“Don’t you?”
“No, sweetie, I don’t.”
“Fine,” I said, waving at the air between us, “then I must’ve been mistaken. I’m sorry, I’m tired and—”
She gave me a quick kiss. Vintage Betty, she never stayed angry long. “That cellar was grotesque. Think I’ll call it for today and take a shower. Want to go to bed early? That way we can get an early start tomorrow. The sooner we get this finished the sooner we can get home. Plus, there’s snuggling to be had. Serious going-to-bed-early snuggling.”
I felt myself smile. “Sounds good.”
“Just one condition. You take a shower too. You worked up as big a sweat as I did today, and you know me, I’m partial to funk-free snuggles.”
“We could always take one together.”
“Then neither of us will get clean.”
“I’m thinking of the environment here. Conserving water and whatnot.”
“Uh-huh.” She grabbed a suitcase she’d packed for us from the other room and headed upstairs. “Be down soon.”
Once she’d gone I found myself at the window watching the night, the rain and the darkness. Laurent was gone, but I could still feel him there, lingering.
Like a bad odor.
A man should only go where he’s invited.
A chill crept through me. There, then gone.
Pretending the cold beer was to blame, I sipped some more and watched the night a while longer.
I have no idea how I knew, but right then, I did. I knew. I knew I’d not seen the last of Bob Laurent. He’d come to this house for reasons far deeper than paying his respects. And he was far from done with us. He’d be back.
Soon.
3
In the dreams, teardrops fell like rain from a black sky, every path led to nowhere, and in the dark, the vague silhouette of a man danced at the edge of a shadowy forest with the jerky movements of a marionette, its inhuman face white as chalk, its eyes ringed in black. A demonic clown eerily skipping through the pain and horror of a night gone mad, it greedily lapped the falling tears with its bloody tongue, like the agony the rain represented might somehow sustain it.
Then it looked right at me, right through me. And it saw the truth.
* * *
Betty and I not only hailed from different areas of the country, we came from divergent backgrounds as well. My father was an engineer, my mother an executive with a clothing company. Ours was a middleclass family, back when the middleclass still existed. Betty’s was working-class. Her father was a mechanic, her mother a school bus driver. I have two older sisters and an extended family. Betty is an only child with few relatives. My family was never wealthy, but we were relatively comfortable. Betty’s family lived paycheck-to-paycheck and struggled financially. Education was a given in my family. Didn’t matter where you went to college or even what you studied, just that you went and made something of yourself. In Betty’s
family, she was the first to earn a college degree, as few had even graduated high school, much less attended college. No one was any better or worse than anyone else, our families and lifestyles growing up were simply different. Each had its own sets of advantages and disadvantages, positives and negatives, and while some members of both families struggled with those differences, Betty and I never had. It was largely irrelevant to us. We were together, happy and in love. That’s what mattered.
The decision to live primarily in cities was a joint one, and while I rarely missed living in a small town, from time to time Betty did. We’d spent close to the first two decades of our marriage living all over the eastern seaboard, mostly following my career path from university to university, and Betty’s career as an accounting executive at a series of huge corporations that paid well but left her little time for anything else. For Betty, returning to her hometown even for the two or three days it would take to settle her father’s home, represented a chance to truly put that part of her life behind her once and for all. Earl had been the last tie to town she had, and now that he was gone there was no reason to hang on. It was more complicated for me of course, not only because my relationship with Earl had always been strained, but because this town was a small, insular community of people who had lived there for generations and viewed those who hadn’t as oddities, nuisances or threats. During the wake and funeral I’d been disrespected, ignored, ridiculed and treated like some sort of lowlife by waves of townsfolk I didn’t even know. Betty didn’t notice much of it, she was burying her father after all, why would she? But even when she did she dismissed it as the ignorance of the locals and suggested I do the same and not take it so seriously or personally. Easier said than done. Particularly when so many of them had gone out of their way to be rude to me for no apparent reason.
Although Betty had always been relatively close to her father, there was a bit of distance between them as well. They were very different in some ways (and frighteningly similar in others), and their relationship struck me as decidedly lopsided, with Betty as submissive caretaker to her father’s ironfisted patriarch of one. And as sweet and accommodating as Betty was, Earl was difficult even with her, and I witnessed firsthand how debilitating that could be for her. It was hard enough being his son-in-law; I couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like to be his only child. Luckily, we’d always lived fairly far away from him, so our time together was largely relegated to holidays and the occasional visit.
The Rain Dancers Page 3