by Gene Wolfe
It would be well, perhaps, to send flowers to Doris. Why not? And perhaps I could get something else for the girl who joined me on my mattress. I have the robe, and it is by no means a trifling gift. But still--
Perfume? Chocolates? I'll think things over during lunch. Meanwhile, love to you and your dear and beautiful Millie. I hope you are both well.
Yours sincerely,
Bax
Number 15
WOMEN
Dear Shell:
Thank you for the tip. I will keep it in mind, even though my financial situation is much better these days.
Let me tell you, that is a great relief. During the time I was inside I had forgotten just how important money is out here; my first few months out were a sharp refresher course.
Have I said I am trying to keep my nose clean? I am. I have even phoned my parole officer about my change of address. Now I have to remember to see him next week. I still haven't gotten a job, but I am starting to see some possibilities. Not office work, but something that might keep him off my back.
As to women, I have become intimately acquainted with two recently. (That is not the way you would phrase it, Shell, but it is the way I am going to phrase it. I think you know what I mean.)
One is a small oriental, very pretty and very, very far from frigid. I am quite sure that I am not the first man in her life and almost certainly I will not be the last. I feel tenderness toward her just the same. Love, and I know she loves me. Beyond that, I know nothing at all about her, not even her name.
The other is a widow. Doris has chestnut hair and hazel eyes, and although she is not slender she is not at all bad looking. I know her name and where she lives--I slept there the other night--but every so often something surprises me. She has tattoos in unexpected places, for example. She likes money, but I cannot hold that against her. So do I.
No, I do not pay her. I did not mean that. She is not particularly intelligent, but quite shrewd. I am more intelligent but less shrewd, and if I am really as smart as I like to think I am, I can learn something of shrewdness from her.
As for technique, I have learned quite a lot from both of them.
Thank you again, Shell. Do not forget to write. Tell me about your new cellmate. All those things. You are a part of my life I do not want to lose.
Yours sincerely,
Bax
Number 16
BE CAREFUL!
Dear Bax,
George has shown me some of your letters. I find them very interesting and really creative, but you must know the effect they have had on George.
He is furious. Yesterday he said that he would see you back in the penitentiary if it was the last thing he did, and today he said that he was going to fly out there and force you to see a psychiatrist. He is trying to find out what city has the nearest airport, and arranging for a two-days' leave from work. It will have to be a Thursday and Friday or else Monday and Tuesday so that he will have four days. Or else Friday and Monday, but not Monday and then Friday. You know what I mean, I feel sure.
Also is there a good golf course?
I wanted to go with him but he said NO.
So I talked all this over with Madame Orizia. She is my psychic adviser. I said, "Do you think George will hurt his poor brother?" She tried the cards and looked terribly frightened. After that, the little crystal. That is the real one, as she told me two years ago. There is a big one, too. It is plastic but it looks like crystal and it tells everybody what they want to hear. She uses that one all the time.
But the little one is real. She said she saw great danger for George and his brother (you), too. BE CAREFUL. She said for me to keep George at home if I could, and I will try. He will be safe here and sometimes I wish that something bad would happen to him. I lie awake wishing that sometimes, but you cannot pray for bad things so I pray for JUSTICE.
Most of your letters I have gotten out of the garbage are interesting, too, even though I have had to piece them back together with tape and sometimes the grease makes that hard. I do not think I like Doris. If I were you, I would say Mrs. Murrey. But you have seen them both, which I have not. Seeing a person changes everything, and perhaps I would feel different if I were to have Doris to lunch at the Tapestry Tea Room. Only I do not think so.
Besides, Doris is a trashy name.
I am very glad you found all that money. Life is such a chore without it is what my father used to say.
Your letters tell me all over again that I married the wrong brother, but I have known that ever since George said so many bad things about my family!
Fondly,
Millicent Kay Dunn
PS: If I can find George's plane tickets I am going to tear them all up and flush them in my bathroom. He will not know. If I cannot find them something else. If you were to write to me George would not see it. The mail is at three and he does not get home until six. Or later. I would hide your letters, so please write.
Kisses,
Millie
Number 17
A TRAMP
Dear Millie:
It was marvelous to hear from you. What a treat! My brother has never understood what a wonderful, wonderful woman he married--I know that. I have told him more than once, but he just sneers. You know that expression, I feel sure.
Let him come, please. If I thought he were really in any danger, I would not say that; but he will be as safe here with me as he could ever be at home, and it has been years since I last saw him. He will have a chip on his shoulder, I know; but I will be prepared for it and will do everything in my power to make peace. Has he gotten fat?
Not a lot has happened since my last letter to George, which I assume you have read. Les the Locksmith made keys that fit the doors and the ignition of my car, which I think very clever of him. He also recommended a friend ("Joe") who restores old cars. Joe will come tomorrow to look at mine. Les says--correctly, I feel certain--that it will fetch a much higher price in working condition; an antique car in working condition can be taken to car shows more easily, driven in parades, and so on.
Here is a sad piece of news, I fear. I believe I have mentioned in some letters that tramps appear to have camped in my house from time to time. I find empty cans, soiled rags, and so forth. There is a bedroom on the second floor that has a fireplace, and it seems to be a favorite spot of theirs.
Today I went up there wishing to see Emlyn's brother's room again, and perhaps have it out with him. He was gone, as were the dead animals. You may be shocked to learn that I was tempted to pry; some of his possessions looked quite interesting. I resisted and left, pursued by curses from a dwarf whom the brother (his name is Ieuan) has chained to a staple in the door frame.
Need I say, Millie, that I would have freed the dwarf had he not attempted to attack me as I went out the door? He was not expecting a stranger to come out of the room--that much was quite clear--and though he snatched at my belt I got away.
In another room I discovered an ugly old tramp playing with his dog, a mongrel resembling a small terrier. The old man begged piteously, but I insisted he must go, and at last threatened to call the police. (I do not believe I would have had the fortitude to carry out that threat, but I said it.) He agreed, gathered his meager possessions, and hobbled away, leaning on a crutch. I saw him and his dog down the front stairs and out the door.
To confess the truth, I was tempted to give him a few dollars, although I knew that he would certainly return if I did. I felt horribly guilty about turning him out, as I still do; but I simply could not see letting a tramp share my home. The old man (Nick is the name he gave) will have to find shelter elsewhere.
Shortly after that, my gloom turned to sunshine. The mail carrier came; I went out to my box expecting nothing, and discovered your letter. Have you any notion what it means to a friendless man to learn that he has one friend after all?
Only one friend, but what a friend! Thank you! I will never be able to repay you. If only George knew what a treasure he has
!
With sympathy and admiration,
Bax
Number 18
LUPINE
Dear Millie:
George has disbelieved out of hand many things I have confided in my earlier letters. I know that. This letter I would surely disbelieve myself, if I could. By the will of the gods, I cannot. I was there.
Yesterday I chased a poor old tramp out of my house. Today he hobbled into my living room bearing a rusty tin tray covered with a shining silver bell. When I looked up in astonishment, he made me a small, stiff bow. "I bear ill news, I fear, sir."
I rose and got my stick. "Indeed you do. I ordered you out and told you what would happen if you disobeyed. You have disobeyed, and can only blame yourself for your bruises." I can be stern, Millie, when I must; and I was stern then.
"I returned, sir, out of concern for your welfare. If you choose to beat the harmless old servant who strives to do you a good turn, I cannot prevent you. Yet the nobility of your countenance, sir, and the forthright gaze of those blue eyes, say plainly that there is no touch of the brute or bully in your character. There is a mechanic, sir, an electrician, working at the rear of our house. Were you aware of his presence?"
"No. I was not."
"From the painted side of his truck, sir, I conclude that he was dispatched by the Conjoined Edison Corporation. Upon his arrival, he went to the connection box. There is a lever on the connection box which, when pulled, deprives the house of its electrical energy, sir. Doubtless you are aware of it."
I shook my head.
"He went there, sir, as I said." The old man's manner was as grave as a bishop's. "I, for your sake and at great personal risk, arrived before him. What I took from that locality, sir, I bear upon this tray. Allow me to display it to you. After I have done so, you may thrash me if you wish."
He bowed again, handed me his tray, and removed the silver cover. Beneath it lay the severed head of a woman. I have seen a great deal in the course of a misspent life, Millie, but I had never seen the expression of mingled fear and horror I beheld then.
"You would not wish the electrician to trip upon this, sir. So it appeared to me."
I conceded that I would not.
"Which might have occurred, sir, had I not forestalled it." He replaced the cover. "You will not wish to look at this much longer, sir, and I hear boots upon our porch."
As he spoke, chimes sounded in the hallway. I put down the tray and would have started toward the door, but the old man said, "Permit me, sir. It is my office."
He soon returned, followed by a middle-aged technician in coveralls. I said, "Please excuse our appearance. Our furniture hasn't arrived, and my man and I have been trying to clean the old place."
"Sure. Must have been hard with no juice."
I nodded. "It is."
"I come here a couple days ago and switched it on for you. Only somebody turned it back off. Did you do that?"
"Certainly not." I paused to reflect. "I'd been at Mrs. Murrey's, and had caught a ride back here. When I got here, there were lights on all over the house. Before I reached the front door, they were extinguished, leaving the house dark again. At the time, I thought your company had done it."
"No, sir. I'd have known, 'cause there'd have been a order on my computer. There's a master switch that can be locked either way. Up and you're on." He illustrated by a gesture. "Down and you're off."
"I see."
"When I was here before, I unlocked it and pushed it up. Then I locked it again like that. You're not supposed to touch it. It belongs to the company."
"I haven't touched it," I said.
The old man added, "Nor have I, sir."
"Well, somebody did. Somebody busted our lock and shut you down."
"Why would anyone do that?"
He shrugged. "Just mischief, most likely. Now I need you to try the lights and sign for me. I couldn't get you to sign the first time 'cause you wasn't here."
I had been forcing myself to keep my eyes away from the tray, but as soon as he had left I told the old man, "We ought to dispose of that."
"My own thought precisely, sir. I might bury it in the wood behind the house. Have we a spade?" The contrast between the old man's exceedingly correct manner and his torn and soiled clothing could not have been greater.
"We do. But that--that thing would still be here and might eventually be found. I'll throw it in the river, but I don't suppose I should do it before dark."
"I would counsel you against it, sir. A prudent act may be less prudent by day."
"Doris is coming, too. Doris Griffin. We're going to have a look at some property I seem to have inherited."
"If I may offer a suggestion, sir?"
At that very moment, Millie (I do not blame you in the slightest if you do not credit it), Doris's horn sounded in the driveway. If I left, I would be leaving a destitute old tramp alone with a mattress stuffed with money; I have never been so tempted to call the police in my life.
I got out two twenties instead and gave them to him, saying he had earned that much and more.
"Thank you, sir! You needn't keep your lady waiting. Rely upon me."
"What are you going to do?"
"You have purchased groceries, sir. I observed the plastic bags in which such commodities are packed in the kitchen."
I nodded. "What of it?"
"I shall tie that"--he glanced toward the covered tray--"in one of those bags, sir, after adding stones to weight it. When it has been thus prepared, I shall cast it in. You may rely upon me, sir."
"And you can rely on me to be properly grateful for your help," I told him.
Doris's horn winded again, and I dashed out.
She smiled at my breathless entrance and we shook hands; but I do not believe either of us spoke until we were a mile or more outside town. Then she said, "You've got boots, I see. That's probably wise."
"Blue jeans, too, and a manly shirt."
"Not to mention a hat fit for an explorer."
"Precisely. I feel sure it will be too warm, but as a fan it should serve me well."
"Aren't the sides mesh? I thought I saw that."
"Yes, but I can fill it with fallen leaves when the weather grows colder. You know where this place is?"
"Of course I do. Have you always kept your hair as short as that?"
"Not really. It's often been shorter. Since you know, how about telling me?"
"We drive down to Port Saint Jude and cross the river there. Turn left on State Thirty-seven and head back up. Mr. Hardaway briefed me on the Skotos Strip this morning, and it begins at Greenwood Road and ends at Old Willow."
"Its southern edge is the river?"
"That's right. It's one of the things that makes it so valuable."
I considered that. "I'd like to go down the river in a boat sometime."
She glanced at me, a slight smile playing around her lips. "So would I. We'll do it as soon as I can set it up."
"Good."
"I'll pack a picnic lunch. It'll be fun."
"Provided we watch out for poison ivy. You say we're going to Port Saint Jude. Could we stop at a coin shop there for a moment or two? I believe the address is one sixteen Main."
"Of course."
"It's fifteen miles to Port Saint Jude, isn't it?"
"From town? That's right. Probably eleven or twelve from here."
"So that's thirty miles of riverfront, counting both sides--thirty miles of woods and farmland. I'd like to see what makes a three-mile strip on the wrong side of the river so valuable."
"I'll be happy to show you, but I can tell you right now. First, it isn't all woods or farmland, on this side particularly. There are homes here and there. If you wanted to put in a major development, you'd have to buy them."
I nodded.
"Which is bad enough. Then you'd have to tear them down, and all the woodsheds, and barns, and detached garages, and so on. All that costs, and you'd be sure to find a few owners who wouldn't sell at
any reasonable price. We cuss them in my business."
I said, "I imagine you do."
"But they've lived there for thirty or forty years. Pretty often, they grew up in that home. Would they sell if the offer was high enough? Sure they would, but you wouldn't want to buy a home for twice what it's worth."
"I understand."
"Swell. Second, a lot of it's flood plain. Land that's covered with water every time the river rises. People will build homes on flood plain, and people will buy homes there. But not pricey homes. We're talking two-bedroom starter homes, mostly."
"Yes. Go on."
"You still haven't heard the worst. A whole lot of it's swamp. There's nothing worse than swamp. If you can build on it at all, you've got to bring in tons and tons of fill, and that costs more than tearing down the old homes. If it's protected wetlands, you can't build on it at all. You can own it, sure. But you can't do anything with it that might scare the ducks."
I started to speak, but she said, "I'm not finished. The Skotos Strip's not like that. Not at all. It slopes up, away from the river. Slopes pretty steeply, but not too steeply. Because of the slope, it's never been farmed. There are big old trees that could be left when the homes are built. It's ideal, and you don't want to be on this side of the river. There's too many gas stations, garages, and groceries." Doris pointed. "Knitting supplies, honey, and live bait. Did you see that?"
"Yes, I did."
"Look at this one coming up. Saws sharpened. This's where poor people live. The north side's a lot more rural, which means less spoiled. You'll understand what I'm saying better when we take that boat trip."
I had hardly heard her second and third statements. "I find it hard to look down on those poor people," I said. "After all, I'm one of them, a poor man living in an old house on the wrong side of the river."