These were, overall, good times. Tad might even have been tempted to say the best he could remember. He had, for the first time, friends that he felt close to in a way that he never had previously. Friends that he felt connected to, in some way. He experienced a level of excitement on waking up every morning unequal to anything he’d experienced up to this point in his life. But his time spent with Daddy, whether romping in the woods or exploring the house, was never entirely comfortable. There were too many questions surrounding his friend that Tad couldn’t bring himself to ignore, and he thought he’d be a fool to put them aside. True, Daddy was a regular fount of knowledge. He was eager to speak with his young companion on any one of a variety of topics. In fact, there wasn’t a subject that Tad could bring up, whether in his personal life or in the world at large, that Daddy didn’t have an opinion on or advice to share. Tad was an inquisitive boy, with interests ranging from philosophy to psychology, biology to theology, literature, history, sports, travel, current events and social trends, and Daddy was fully capable of talking about any of these with all the intellectual aplomb of a true expert in whatever field was being discussed. Tad prided himself on being a good conversationalist, and he found Daddy to be a true master of the give and take; he was not only astonishingly well informed, but hilarious too. His antics were often enough to have Tad in stitches, particularly in conjunction with his outlandish accents, facial expressions, and whatever costume he had chosen for the day.
It was all in good fun, until such time as Tad tried to steer the conversation toward his companions’ personal life, either past or present. Then Daddy became as cagey and truculent as a prisoner in an interrogation chair. He would fix Tad with any one of a number of truly awful expressions, and with those bulging, bug-like eyes, this level of intimidation was, in the early part of their acquaintance, enough to cause Tad to rapidly change the subject, or stop talking entirely. But gradually, as the days wore on, Tad began to be a little bolder, and to press a little harder. For the fact was, he was dying of curiosity. It was as if everything about Daddy, from the physical appearance, to the accents and costumes, to the strange house and living companion, to the powers that Tad had perceived lay at his disposal, were all intended to tease, to tantalize. And they had done their job well. Tad was hooked, and he knew that; he could admit it to himself. Daddy was what he went to bed thinking about, and going to see him was his first thought when he woke in the morning. Daddy invaded his very dreams, flouncing through his mind, making faces, in a different outfit every moment, speaking nonsense words. And he knew that it was the story of his origin that Daddy was telling him, and the many secrets of the world that he kept so carefully hoarded, in his ruined, sagging castle in the woods. For more than anything else, that was what Tad wanted to know. Daddy’s origin. The story of who he was, and how he came to be, and how he came to be living in the woods of northern West Virginia only a couple of miles away from where Tad had grown up, on a patch of ground that he’d always thought belonged to Roy McKenton. He felt that it was all there. All the clues were close. They were hidden in that house, in some decaying room that had not seen the light of day in many a long year. Waiting. Waiting to be discovered. He would discover them. That was his duty, his quest. It was becoming clear to him now.
And so, as he came each day for his visits, he kept this in the back of his mind. He compiled a list of mental notes, things that he thought might be useful, scraps of conversation that he tallied up when he was lying in his bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. He began to work out strategies beforehand. For he found that subterfuge was his best weapon against Daddy, the element of surprise. Because the man’s human, isn’t he, and humans make mistakes. He guards his secrets carefully, jealously. But everyone slips up once in a while. Early on he had thought of his conversations with Daddy like a game that they were playing, lobbing the ball back and forth, say.Now he began to view them as a kind of dance, the steps of which he was learning as he went along. Sometimes he pressed too far and trod on the man’s toes. This, is course, had to be avoided at all costs, because not only would it cause Daddy’s hackles to rise, but it would also clue him in as to what Tad was attempting to do. Above all he had to remain casual, to slip in under the radar.
It was difficult to say how much of Tad’s thought process Daddy was aware of, if any. That was a part of the whole business too; Tad never knew how much Daddy was monitoring his end of the conversation. Was he aware of the verbal game of cat and mouse that his young companion was trying to engage him in? With Daddy you just never knew. He was too difficult to read. The outfits, the abrupt mood swings, the accents. Were they all just an elaborate smoke screen specifically designed to keep Tad guessing? He could see two possible answers, the first being no; Daddy simply was the way he was, all the time, whether Tad was around or not. If so, then it was probably possible to accept the entire scope of his eccentricity as genuine, and if that was the case then he should probably proceed with caution, as that suggested that the man wasn’t right in the head. Then there was the other possibility, which was yes, the whole thing was an act, and when Tad left for the day, Daddy stripped off the makeup, abandoned the accent, and went back to being his normal self, whatever that might be. And in some ways, this was the more disturbing of the two options. For if the whole thing was an act designed for his benefit, then that meant that not only could the man not be trusted, but he probably had some sort of unpleasant designs on Tad, some ulterior motive, the details of which he didn’t even like to think about.
But the thing was, he did think about it. How could he not? The reality of the situation was that on many occasions he was off in the woods by himself, alone with a strange man (and strange definitely being the operative term here), far from any possibility of aid. He had kept Daddy’s existence a secret, having told only Daisy about it up to this point. His parents remained oblivious as to how he spent his days. The man introduced himself to me as Daddy, for God’s sake! What better way to announce himself as a sexual predator! Of course, to Tad the realm of sexual and romantic experience was still very much a closed book. At fourteen, he had very little to draw upon. Still a virgin, though fully in the grip of puberty, he had never so much as kissed a girl. He had thoughts, undoubtedly, and urges, but had never, as of yet, taken action on their behalf. But he was a bright boy, both intuitive and perceptive, and in the end, he had his instincts to fall back on. And what did his instincts tell him, in this particular case? That indeed, Daddy had an interest in him, in that way. He felt this on some level, sensed it. And this he perceived as a possible weakness, the one chink that he’d spotted in Daddy’s armor. When playing a game like this one, any weapon has to be used to the best possible advantage. For the more time he spent with the man, Tad had gradually been developing a theory, in response to the question of whether Daddy’s behavior and persona was all an act. What he had settled on, rather than yes or no, was yes and no. He was coming to believe that while Daddy may not have been right in the head, he probably wasn’t as over-the-top, bouncing off the walls crazy as he sometimes appeared. Tad thought that sometimes the man was in control, and sometimes he wasn’t, but that usually, usually, it was somewhere in between.
Of course there was no way to prove this. As far as the sexual undertones of their relationship, there were moments, during a lull in the conversation, perhaps, that Tad caught Daddy looking at him out of the corner of one eye, and while he effected not to notice, it was at these times that he thought he was seeing a glimpse, just a fleeting glimpse, of the true Daddy. A wanton, sexual hunger might have been a part of these looks, and young as Tad might have been, he wasn’t ignorant of this fact, but it seemed to him that there was more there as well. It was a certain wistfulness, the look that comes across an old man’s face when he chances to walk by a schoolyard where children are playing at recess, a look of longing for something that is lost and can never be attained again. They were brief, so very brief, these glimpses
. Here and gone in the space of a moment. But Tad took them for cracks in the façade, and so made careful note of them. And how did he feel about these inclinations that he perceived? That too was a complicated question. True, his main intuition was to use them to his best advantage, to try to manipulate Daddy, but there was another dimension to it, one that Tad was reluctant to admit to himself, but there it was. In some shadowy, secret place, some far corner of his mind that he didn’t care to investigate too closely, he was actually flattered by this attention. The thought that someone wanted him, desired him, had appreciation for who and what he was. It was a little thrilling, to have that power. For power, as we have seen, was something that interested Tad Surrey, and in this case would lead him to take risks, risks of a type unlike anything he’d dared attempt up to this point in his young life. It was because of all this that he was willing to accept Daddy’s overtures, at least up until the point where the older man was more forthright with his desires. But this point did not arrive. Daddy was, in this sense, a perfect gentleman, for all his dementia. He did not go where he was uninvited, and so his intentions remained unclear.
For we have explored what the friendship meant to Tad, a lonely child with an uncomfortable home life and a perhaps overly active imagination. This leaves the other side of the coin, that being what Daddy was taking from their time together. For all friendships are give and take, and the ones work best where this is portioned out more or less equally between the two parties. When an amiable alliance is formed, a pairing of two souls that look to each for companionship, encouragement or succor, seldom will it last where one is doing all the giving, and the other all the taking. We have identified (or Tad thought he had identified, at least) sexual longing as part of Daddy’s interest. What were the other facets? What was going on behind the bulging eyes? Only Daddy himself knew the answer to that, and he wasn’t telling. For Tad felt, again sensing what he could not prove, that part of the man’s joy in life came from toying with people’s heads. It was as though, through those sly smiles and manic grins, the man was waiting for Tad to reach the breaking point, where it all became too much and he was forced to yell out, “Enough! What does it all mean? For the love of God, who are you and what do you want?” Tad knew, knew in the deepest parts of his being, that this was what would cause the man the greatest joy, to break Tad, to make him lay his cards out on the table all at one go, to submit under the weight of all the questions. That was the action that would end the game, the dance, draw it to a sharp and sudden halt. And Daddy was willing to play for as long as Tad was. He was conniving, he was patient. And Tad would not, could not, allow him that satisfaction. For he could feel too that there was something at stake, something terribly important. But what a frightening notion, to plunge headlong into a game where the stakes were never discussed at the onset!
Perhaps the wild card in the equation was the other resident of the crumbling house in the woods, the man who contented himself the majority of the time with watching the interplay between Tad and Daddy from the sidelines, his only regular contributions to the conversation the steady click-clack, click-clack of his sewing needles or the occasional rhyming couplet. Stitch seemed to be content with his role of observer, happy to fade into the background and let the man and boy attend to their business while he tended to his own. A few occasions arose where Tad arrived at the house to find Stitch at home but Daddy absent. At such times the man was perfectly willing to keep him company, and Tad enjoyed their time together also. The vibe from Stitch was entirely different from Daddy’s. For one thing, the palpable sense of hysteria that was always present with Daddy, even at those times when he was momentarily catatonic, was never in evidence with Stitch. Tad found that his first perception of the man remained credible; he struck Tad as good natured, wise, and generally pleasant to be around. His presence had a calming effect. While soft spoken, he was evidently just as well educated and just as capable of holding up his end of a conversation as Daddy was; Tad also appreciated his sense of humor, which was understated but somehow charming. What’s more, Tad detected none of the unpleasant undertone and subtext that was a constant with Daddy. To be around Daddy was to be in a permanent state of uneasy excitement. True, this was part of the man’s appeal, but it could also be mentally draining. Being around Stitch elicited the polar opposite of such emotions. With this man, not only did Tad feel that he was considered an equal, but there were no games. There was no hidden agenda.
At a certain point, the idea had entered Tad’s mind to tap Stitch as the logical key to learn the origins of Daddy and his playhouse. After all, what better place to start than with the person who lived there with him? Besides, truth be told, Tad was just as curious about Stitch as well, and what his connection might be. He had tried to ease into the conversation, warming up to it gradually as he had with Daddy, but Stitch was no fool. He had caught Tad’s eye and given a little shake of his head, along with a small but knowing smile. The look spoke volumes, as did the rhyme that Stitch produced from his seemingly inexoustable source.
Recall the tale of Icarus, whose flight plan was unsteady
He flew too high on makeshift wings, so mentally unready
“Got it,” Tad had said, although he didn’t much care for being called “mentally unready.”
“Bright lad,” had been the response. Perhaps this was just as well, for Tad had felt uncomfortable pumping Stitch for information. He liked the man too much, and didn’t want to manipulate him.
Invitation and Warning
And so the days of June faded, each one lingering as if reluctant to pass into history. But one by one each flickered and went out, like the Morse-code blinking of the lightning bugs in the West Virginia woods in the evenings. The temperature climbed steadily as the season wore on. I’m hot. Anyone else hot? It was a sticky heat now, a tropical heat. The Feral citizens’ clothes stuck to their bodies. Their brains baked in their fragile protective membranes. On the twenty-sixth of the month it topped out at a hundred and one, a state record. All the windows of the Surrey house were open. Every box fan the family owned was running full blast. It was so hot that Daisy was actually comfortable up in her attic, for once. The other members of the family might have been melting, along with the rest of the town, but she was quite content. Anyhow, she had other things on her mind besides the weather. Something had been bothering her with increasing intensity over the past few weeks, though she couldn’t have said what was causing it, nor could she have easily described it in words. Not that she would have spoken about it anyway. Young as she was, Daisy had already developed into a fully functioning isolationist. She thrived on solitude. She ate and drank of it, and it sustained her. Were it not for her mother’s Governing Principles of Family Life, during the summer she would never have left the attic at all, other than to steal down to the kitchen for scraps of food in the middle of the night, when the biological urges of her growing body overcame her creative impulses, and she needed some form of nutrition to continue her projects. Once she might have spoken of her unease with Tad, the one family member who understood her and her moods, but he was living another life now, changing, rapidly becoming something else, something inaccessible. Something Daisy didn’t trust. She was worried about her brother. What was ironic, of course, was that Tad was worried about her too, though neither of them was voicing their concerns to the other. But Tad had other issues in his life just now that he considered more pressing than the welfare of his baby sister, and it was on these that his mind lingered. If Daisy was depressed, he thought, or moody, then that was hardly out of the ordinary. And so, when she entered his mind, it was in a fleeting way, and the train of thought always concluded withat least she’s safe up there in the attic. It was true, at least, that she hadn’t engaged in any nighttime wandering since the incident a few weeks before.
As far as Daisy was concerned, she was somewhat surprised that the rest of the family hadn’t picked up on the changes in her older brother that she’d been noticing over the
past few weeks, changes that she thought were quite visible. Somewhat surprised, but then again, not exactly shocked. The others had always been out of touch with the goings on in the lives of the two black sheep, the middle and younger child. Why should this be any different? Walt pretty much ignored them both, Tad in particular. His younger son might have been able to get his father’s attention if he’d come down for breakfast one morning spouting blood from a head wound into Walt’s morning coffee, but even then it wasn’t a guarantee. And as for Casey, he thought of his brother as a wimp and his sister as a freak. He didn’t have any use for either of them, and things that he didn’t have a use for, he ignored. Then there was Marta, stalwart enforcer of the Governing Principles. Marta meant well. She loved all three of her offspring. But she was no more able to decode the inner workings of her younger children’s minds than she would have been able to deviate from the rules that she had so stringently laid out for them. At one point she had been dead set on dragging Daisy down from her attic and forcing her outside to “act normal and play with the other children for once,” but Walt had convinced her that applying pressure was the wrong tactic. As long as the children were obedient, didn’t curse where she was within hearing distance, and showed up for meals on time, she didn’t interfere, or look too closely.
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