by M. E. Kerr
There is Easter break after The Charles Dance, and that would be a good time for me to get clean. It will be the last time you have to pay out for me, Lowell. I promise. There is a place called Oxford Farm outside of Philadelphia. I’ll find out more details. It’s not just this girl making me determined to get off these pills. She’s okay, but the novelty there is she’s Lasher’s twin and we use his apartment, which would kill him! No, it’s more that I’ve finally grown up. You’ll see, Lowell. I know you’ll find it hard to believe, but wait! Oxford is supposed to do miracles very fast, too, and I think I could kick this thing in about a week. Come back, graduate, then get my tail down to Miami to become your right-hand man!
Think this over and we’ll talk when I’m home. Please save some time.
Yours,
Cyr
Scribbled across the bottom in fresh ink were the words Self-explanatory … Lasher paid for what he found out. Now it’s my turn. You’ll never see me again, either. CC
And we didn’t. Not alive, anyway.
His body was found in a snowdrift at the bottom of The Tower. His frozen neck was broken from the fall.
Chapter 20
I am a Sevens. Sevens is part of me as twilight is part of the day, connected and vital to me as the heart to the bloodstream, always and forever.
I am a Sevens, brother to any Sevens, there for him as the sun and moon are for the tides, always and forever.
“Be seated,” said Lionel Schwartz after we recited the oath.
We were in the Sevens House reception room, summoned there through the intercom.
Everyone on The Hill that Sunday morning was dorm or house campused until chapel at eleven.
“At this very moment Dr. Skinner is telling the dorm boys most of what I am going to tell you,” Schwartz began, “except for this preamble.
“Before I begin, I call on Fisher to swear us.”
Ozzie Fisher stood up. He was the only black Seven that year. A senior, an ardent political activist when I arrived on The Hill as a junior, he had named his tree for a black hero of South Africa, Mandela.
Some of us were still in our bathrobes. I was. Ozzie was. He stood in front of his chair and waited until The Lion said, “Sevens.”
“Richard Wright, Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, LeRoi Jones, Gloria Naylor, Counte Cullen.”
“Seven black writers, so be it,” Schwartz said.
Normally, Schwartz would have given him an argument. The rule of this Sevens ritual was to name seven things that went together, not seven that were alike, but this was not normally, not the occasion to rev up Ozzie’s motor. He knew it, and sat down with a glimmer of triumph in his dark eyes.
“This is for Sevens ears only,” said Schwartz. “Late Friday evening Cyril Creery came to me and told me he was ready for Twilight Truth, but he hoped meanwhile word would get out that what he had to confess was an accident, and not a deliberate action. As a brother, he would not place me in conflict or jeopardy by giving me information I would be honor bound by Sevens to withhold from the authorities, at the same time legally bound to report to them.” Schwartz’s voice thundered suddenly: “WHY do you think he felt obliged to say that?”
Silence.
“Because,” said Schwartz, “of The Sevens Revenge! He was terrified that we would get to him before he got to us!”
Schwartz peered around the room at all of us through his John Lennon glasses.
“I believe it caused his suicide! … I believe he hoped I could prevent this alleged revenge … then feared that no one could. The legend of The Sevens Revenge is too overpowering! It overwhelms reason and in the long run it overwhelms justice! That is what it did to Cyril Creery.
“You may say he had no right to be a Sevens, because of his apparent admission that his father told him of the significance of the tree-naming ceremony. BUT … he did have a right to Twilight Truth, to speak his piece … and where his conflict with Lasher at the top of The Tower is concerned, Cyril Creery had a right to a trial!
“We cannot be anything but ashamed, this morning, that the ugly gossip of The Sevens Revenge forced him to kill himself.
“For once and for all, then, I tell you in this preamble, there is no such thing as The Sevens Revenge! It is a fantasy, a myth, a very dangerous one. Any Sevens who perpetuates it is ultimately destroying Sevens. Remember that.”
Then The Lion told us what every boy on The Hill would hear that morning.
1. There would be no memorial service for Cyril Creery. Dr. Skinner opted to deny him such an honor due to his part in Lasher’s death.
2. No one on The Hill was to talk with reporters.
3. The police would be investigating. Anyone approached by them was to tell the truth. Sevens would not be expected to explain the Sevens selection process to them, since it was not pertinent to an investigation.
4. The Grief Counselor would be back on campus Monday for individual and group consultation.
5. Everyone on The Hill was to bear in mind that the Gardner Board of Trustees would meet after Easter vacation to vote on the proposal for Gardner to go coed, an idea the student body was resisting. The sooner Gardner was back to normal, the better the chances for Gardner to remain as it was and had been for 123 years.
6. The Charles Dance, a tradition at Gardner for 101 of those years, would take place as scheduled next Saturday evening.
• • •
Schwartz took off his spectacles and wiped them clean as he concluded. “This morning, of all mornings, every Sevens member should be present in chapel…. We are Sevens …”
“Always and forever” came our answer.
• • •
The phone call from Lauren Lasher was announced over my intercom just as I had finished knotting my tie.
I put on my suit jacket and went down to the phone booth at the end of the hall, pushing the button that signaled I had picked up.
“Have you sent Paul’s writings to my father, Fell?” She started right in, without a hello or any other comment.
“No. We only talked about that yesterday.”
“Good! Don’t! Daddy doesn’t want it mixed in with his other mail. Hang on to it all.”
“Lauren, how are you feeling?” I wasn’t even sure she knew about Creery’s suicide, or the letter he’d posted.
But she knew.
“I’m feeling the same way my family feels,” she said. “Very litigious.”
“Very what?”
“We’re going to sue, Fell. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m not all right! Someone murders my brother, then tells the world he’s screwing me because he hated Paul so much — migawd!”
“It wasn’t put exactly that way.”
“It’s close enough. I read it, Fell.”
“Who did you that big favor?”
“It might not sound like a favor, but it was. I have to know, since all of you do. Lowell wasn’t in any shape to tell me. He could barely get out the words ‘Cyr’s dead.’ Lionel drove over here last night, and we talked way past lock-in. Miss Tyler’s allowed a man downstairs after one A.M. for the first time in its history, I guess…. I’m a mess, so don’t smart mouth me, Fell.”
“I had no intentions of — ”
She cut me off. She wasn’t in any mood for small talk.
“We figured out Cyr probably found a way to let Paul know about us, since that was his main interest: getting even with Paul.”
“And how did your brother get Cyr’s letter?”
“The way Cyr suspected, probably: went into his room, found the copy.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Fell? Do me a favor, hmmm? Stop being boy detective. I don’t care, at this point, how Paul got the letter. I don’t care about any of the little cow pies you might come upon. It’s enough for me to know about the cow. Do you get my meaning?”
“Yes. I’ll cork it.”
“Than
ks…. I’m going to The Charles Dance with Schwartz.”
“How come?”
“He said Paul would have wanted Sevens to give me support. He said the sooner I faced people, the better it would be for me.”
“Well, that’s probably true, Lauren.”
“Or maybe he just suspects my family will hold Gardner and Sevens liable for Paul’s murder … Maybe he’s trying to soften me up.”
“No. It sounds like something Schwartz would think to do. He’s very conscientious and thoughtful.”
“I don’t trust anyone at this point.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Stop being so agreeable! I hate all of you right now!”
“Okay.”
“Maybe not you. Sorry, Fell…. Something else. I hope you saved the microwafer with Paul’s letter to Schwartz on it.”
“Yeah.”
“Naturally Schwartz claims he never got the letters, didn’t know anything about them, doubts Paul put them in his box. We need Paul’s as evidence.”
“Evidence for what, Lauren?”
“It proves Cyr really had reason to kill Paul, and that Sevens knew he did … or Schwartz knew it, anyway.”
“Maybe your brother never printed it out. He’d been stalling since Christmas.”
“You don’t believe that, and neither do I!”
“Why would Schwartz lie?”
“Because he’s protecting Sevens, Fell! He puts Sevens before any other consideration! He was probably conferring with other Sevens to try and decide what to do, how to handle it! … Daddy says that little delay is going to cost them!”
Where had the simple life gone? Days I’d only have to worry about Keats playing around behind my back, my mother loose with her credit card in some shopping center, Delia’s soft smile lying lovingly into my naive eyes, small, everyday occurrences in the life of a growing boy? Not homicide, suicide, and now litigiousness in preppydom.
I could hear the chapel bells tolling.
“Lauren? I have to go now, but before I do — I’m sorry all this had to happen.”
“Some of it didn’t have to happen. Cyr didn’t have to put that letter up on the bulletin board for the whole world to see! Damn him! If he wasn’t dead, I’d — ”
I could hear the sob.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry, Lauren.”
“We’re still going to do the memorial book, grim as Paul’s writings were. Mother thinks it’s like Jungian synchronicity, that he probably had a premonition of his early death…. We’ll talk at The Charles Dance, Fell. You’ll have time, won’t you?”
“I’ll make time.”
“Because we want to go ahead as soon as possible. Paul would have wanted vindication. Nobody at that school cared but you and that Dibble kid! You and he and Daddy were the only ones who gave Paul the benefit of the doubt!”
“There’re still some unanswered questions,” I said.
“FELL?” she said threateningly.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
But after chapel I did take care of one last loose end.
• • •
First, I tried to get Dib inside and make a date to talk. I hurried out of chapel after him. He waved me away and jumped into the old Mustang with Little Jack at the wheel. It was parked just a few cars behind Dr. Skinner’s long, black limousine.
I walked down to The Tower by myself then, the cold winter sun warming me. I couldn’t help think of Creery, seeing his face in my memory ways I’d never viewed it before. Sad ways of seeing the vacant eyes and silly punk paraphernalia. Alive, he’d angered me, reminding me of an old self maybe still around somewhere inside me … but dead, no longer any kind of threat to me, he made me think only of the waste, and how he wrote his stepbrother: I think I can kick this thing. … I thought of the dumb idea he had that he could be clean in just a week … and the stupid bravado bragging about having Lauren, getting laid … all the very personal things a guy could write, I could have written, never thinking it would get into someone’s hands it wasn’t meant for.
Rinaldo was in the kitchen, and the smell of rib roast wafted from inside as I called through the door.
While I waited for him in the empty library, I thought of the fear of The Sevens Revenge that Schwartz had spoken about that morning.
Maybe Lasher had delayed giving Schwartz those letters purposely, to feed that fear in Creery. Maybe Lasher had known The Revenge was fictitious but counted on the idea Creery would be left to wait for Sevens to act…. and the longer the wait, the worse the imagining of what would be done to him.
I could still picture Creery with the little rat tail behind his head, running around in his long gabardine coat and his Timberland boots.
Death brought it all back and colored it in softer hues, so even Creery seemed more human dead, and I felt differently about him. Sorry or something. But I felt for him, and it surprised me.
So did Rinaldo surprise me, coming up suddenly behind me, his hand over my eyes.
“Guess who?”
I took a chance while he was grinning down at me. “Lasher left something in the word processor about how he got Creery’s letter to his stepbrother.”
Rinaldo pulled out a chair. “Can I sit?”
I shook my head.
“And how he found out about Creery and Lauren.”
“What do you want, Fell?” He wasn’t grinning any longer.
“You took the mail from the CORRESPONDENCE box every night,” I said. “One of Creery’s letters for a watch? That was a fair price.”
“Now you’re going to try and do blackmail, Fell?”
“No blackmail…. Another letter, a pen. Right, Rinaldo?”
“I don’t play the twilight game. That’s for you guys.”
“Just tell me about the mail game. I promise you it’s just for my information.”
“I gave him nothing, and if he wrote I did, he’s lying.”
“But he got into the mail.”
“I turned my back and he got into the mail. He was looking for a way to connect Creery with dope, and he found a different connection. The sister. That ate at him until just before Christmas. Then the letter to the stepbrother was like butter on a burn. I knew from his reaction he’d struck gold. But I never saw any one of the letters, not one. He copied them on the Xerox machine over there. I never touched a letter, never handed one to him…. He showed up the last thing at night when I came here to unlock the box. I turned my back.”
“And accepted payment.”
“No money.”
“I’m not saying you took money.”
“I made an error in judgment, yes I did. He knew my weakness: nice things I could never afford. I learned to like those things from Sevens. Everything but your taste in clothes. I live surrounded by the good life.”
“How many Sevens have Gstaad watches and apartments in town?”
“You know what I mean, Fell. You all live like you have them. I am part of Sevens, and I’m not. I have my steak on Wednesday nights, but I eat it in the kitchen on a stool. You get a chance to eat at the table for once, you take it.”
We could hear other Sevens arriving at The Tower for Sunday lunch.
“I know Creery suspected me, too. Maybe he didn’t know I let Lasher see the mail, but he believed Lasher told me things that Lasher never would. So-o-o — ” He turned up his palms. “I was afraid too, for a while. I thought always that Creery killed him. We were the only ones here that day. I was sure of that…. Can you erase this thing in that machine?”
“There isn’t anything about It in there. It was just my hunch, Rinaldo.”
Outside, in the hall, Outerbridge was singing the hymn he’d sung in chapel.
“Ride on! ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die.”
Rinaldo stood up. “I don’t fear you, Fell. Warn me if I should … I have always feared your curiosity, but not you. You have not been in Sevens long enough for that.”
He didn’t wait for reassurance.
And I was thinking back to a day on Long Island when a stranger offered to pay my way to go to Gardner, posing as his son. It was how I’d gotten there. My own chance to eat at the table. Never mind all the foul-ups that had come as a result — I’d made quite a trade, too, for a better life.
Chapter 21
The afternoon of The Charles Dance, I felt as though I was carrying Nina’s entire closet when I lugged her garment bag into Sevens House. She said I wasn’t that far wrong. She’d brought a lot of changes, because she wanted options in case things she tried on looked awful.
“At home I always change at least three times before I go anywhere important. Do boys?”
“Not boys going to The Charles Dance. One costume is enough.”
I’d already rounded up a handlebar mustache and a monocle, to go as Damon Charles. The rest was easy: a rented tux and a pair of evening shoes borrowed from Dib.
He wasn’t going. He was dorm campused. Last Sunday Little Jack had been pulled over for drunken driving. He and Dib had spent Sunday afternoon in Cottersville Tavern. Dib wasn’t charged with anything, claimed he hadn’t been drinking. But the place was off-limits to Hill boys, so Dr. Skinner decided, finally, to suspend Dib’s privileges.
We were on the kind of speaking terms that just barely spoke. When he got the dusty pumps out of the bottom of his closet, he threw them at me. I wanted to apologize for not calling him from Nina’s, after I’d left Playwicky that morning, but he gave me the finger.
“Cork it, Fell! You got what you came for! Take them and get back to your Sevens!”
“We’ve got to talk sometime, Dib.”
“About what? How wonderful you are?”
“Let’s talk about how wonderful Little Jack is!” I said. I could see a Charlie Chaplin costume in the rental box on his desk, the cane and derby on top.
He saw me look that way, and he snapped, “Little Jack did me a favor! I’m not into kids’ parties. You guys ought to grow up!”
I took the damn shoes. Then I was out of there.
I’d managed to get Nina assigned to my room, with Outerbridge’s sister and Kidder’s date, while I bunked downstairs, dorm style, with six other Sevens.