The Shipbuilder of Bellfairie Page 16
“Ha,” he heard the Old Man bark. “What are yah? Some kind of fag?”
What am I, Quark wondered, aware of the shaking only as it slowed to a stop.
It took a great deal of courage to ask the question. He whispered at first, so softly even he barely heard it then, after a deep breath, raised his voice to ask again.
“Am I a monster?”
She was silent for so long Quark began to despair, but when he finally found the strength to face his old friend, discovered her head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth agape. How easily she sleeps, he thought, carrying the tray back to the house where he carefully washed the cups and saucers patterned with violets, the little plates, spoons and teapot. From the window over the sink he could see her silver hair, and the slope of shoulders beneath the shawl flittering in a breeze. He leaned closer, almost touching the glass with his nose, to watch a swarm of tiny white butterflies flit around her as though she were a giant flower, or a globe of light.
He felt aware in a way he never had before, as if he died out there under the arbor and joined the spectral plane, which was nonsense, of course. Yet, he observed the killer go about the ordinary tasks of placing dishes in the cupboard, check that the burners were turned off, walk down the long hallway to the parlor to ascertain that the fire was properly contained. When he stepped out the front door Quark was surprised and saddened to find the gull still cawing and pacing in distress over its dead mate. He wished he could think of some way to alleviate the pain. To be in mourning was a solitary state. Maybe by dawn, he thought, she’ll have forgotten. Maybe by sunrise she’ll have flown away. Maybe forgetting wasn’t the worst thing, after all.
25
Quark tried to believe people weren’t looking at him funny, but then he’d catch someone eyeing him with revulsion. When he paid for envelopes at the Emporium and slid a ten dollar bill across the counter, the cashier (not Felix, a man Quark had never seen before) waited for him to lift his fingers before taking the money as if contaminated. Relieved he was able to buy stamps there and avoid the post office entirely, Quark barely minded being treated like a leper; it reminded him of his childhood. When had he ever been able to count on the kindness of others?
Inhaling the sweet aroma that emanated from the candy store, he decided to treat himself well even if others did not. He selected an assortment of salt water taffy, and was feeling better about his state in life but, while perusing the caramel apples in the window, discovered he was being followed by those boys again. They were huddled across the street, pretending to play a game on their phones until one of them saw him watching through the forest of apple sticks and said something that made the others look up then run, expletives trailing in their wake. When Quark turned to pay for the small assortment of taffy, he was surprised to find a woman holding two children pressed to her side like shields against some dire element.
“Pardon me,” he said as he passed, tipping his hat in her direction.
“Murderer,” she hissed.
Time stops so rarely, but Quark had a clear memory of how once, as a boy running down a hill, he took flight—both feet hovered above the earth—a brief experience of transcendence he longed to replicate. And once, when they lay beneath the Aurora Borealis, the Old Man had reached across the gulf that separated them to pat Quark’s hand, which caused the whole world to hold its breath, even the lights paused their undulations to hang, momentarily suspended, across the sky. It happened again that day. The sun shone through the glass jars of peppermint sticks and lemon drops, causing candy colored rainbows to rest like confectionary butterflies pinned to the air, the girl behind the counter stuck too, her mouth agape.
“Murderer,” the woman said again, louder.
It was a horrible accusation, one that Quark had recently leveled against himself, but hearing it spoken by the stranger made something rise within him. He had been an innocent boy. It was a tragedy. He didn’t kill his mother, the lightning did. “It was an accident,” he said.
When the young cashier looked at the pastel colored discs of salt water taffy Quark placed on the counter as though they were radioactive, he was reminded of how, one day when he worked at the diner, he had been asked to attend the register, which he’d done successfully until a man who looked remarkably like Thayer stepped up. Even as it was happening, Quark knew it wasn’t real. The stranger’s hands never formed into fists and he never said an unkind word. But, as the doppelganger’s gaze turned into a sneer, Quark began to shake his head. The next thing he knew, he was back in the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans.
The cashier stared at Quark, her mouth agape. It saddened him to realize how universal pain was. Clearly, he reminded her of her own tormentor.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, softly.
“What did you say?”
He glanced back at the woman, still pressing the children against her side, but chose not to respond. He did not have to share his private conversation with the nosy stranger.
“Three twenty-eight,” the cashier said, pulling the five dollar bill from his fingers as though plucking a dirty feather. She counted and recounted the change, then dumped it on the counter. Quark had to pick each coin up with his long fingers.
When he tipped his hat at the poor girl, she took a step back. What could he do about her unreasonable fear? How could he help her, or any of them? For the first time in his life Quark suspected everyone suffered both personal and broad maladies of illusion. Seeking to offer some small repair to the damaged world, he tipped his hat on his way out of the store. Her eyes widened then slit, in as quick a reversal from astonishment to anger as he’d ever seen, though Thayer had often done it adroitly. Quark wished he could do something for her and the children who tried to wiggle out from beneath the long blue fingernails pressed against their arms, but the best he could manage was an awkward wink which, once executed, caused the boy to cry.
Quark paused on the sidewalk—envelopes held in one hand, the small white bag of salt water taffy clutched in the other—closing his eyes to inhale the Bellfairie scent of ocean infused with the familiar stench of decay, all wrapped in a sweet swirl of sugar and chocolate. When he opened his eyes he had to blink away spinning sunspots before he could continue walking. Had he always been too self-absorbed to realize the world was populated by people so afraid to make eye contact they turned away as if threatened? Had he crossed to the other side of the road to avoid personal exchange so often he never noticed how others did so as well? Even the young hoodlums scattered when he turned in their direction. What they were so frightened of, he had no idea. What everyone was so afraid of, he couldn’t guess.
All he knew was that finally understanding the composition of his own fear made him less afraid. It was a terrible thing that happened a long time ago. A little boy raised a wand and destroyed his world, but he was neither magician nor monster. Sometimes, he knew, the best intentions cause great harm.
“Look up, look up,” he wanted to say, and maybe would have, had anyone paused in their fearful course to acknowledge his presence. A perfect sky, devoid of clouds, a beautiful day, he thought as he leaned back, one hand pressed against the back of his hat to prevent it from falling.
*
The Old Man used to say Quark’s mother had become sea foam. Nonsense, of course. Yet, that night, he indulged the fantasy of her existence as vast and continual. Was that the gift Thayer had tried to give all along, a story a son could feel good about? He liked to think of her undiminished by death, expanded beyond the borders of life, and he, a conduit for her transformation.
When he awoke that next morning, after having slept deeply and without interruption, Quark remembered the vague whispers of a dream. Mrs. Winter stood beneath the arbor, dressed in bridal attire, holding a bouquet of feathers, hundreds of seagulls silently swooping through the blue sky. Though she was smiling, it gave him a bad feeling.
26
“Found beneath the arbor,” Healy said.
Coral, who chec
ked on her aunt every evening, phoned, then drove to Wintercairn, already fearful of what she might discover; steeling herself against the sight of her aunt fallen to the floor, blood pooling from a gash in her head, or clutching her chest and gasping. Only after all the rooms were inspected, left with the horror of a mystifying absence, did Coral look out the kitchen window and see, in the moonlight, the familiar slope of shoulders beneath that silver aura of hair.
“The boys tell me they saw you over there yesterday.” Healy, perched at the edge of the saggy couch, appeared to expect a response but Quark could barely find the strength to nod.
“You wanna tell me about it?”
He shook his head no, which went on for a while. Stopped at last, he realized Healy had spoken. “Excuse me. What did you say?”
“Riddle’s gonna bring the truck back. We didn’t find any signs of Phoebe.”
The sheriff’s comment was baffling. Why was he talking about the girl and the truck? Was the man incapable of understanding grief? Quark wondered if solitude was, after all, preferable to the loneliness of being misunderstood.
“Got a call from Angela Kalin. You know Angela? Her daughter, Heather, works at the candy store?”
Quark nodded. “I don’t actually know her,” he clarified. “I was there yesterday.”
“Yep. That’s what she told me.”
“Would you like a piece of salt water taffy?”
Healy shook his head no. It was so quick and abrupt Quark felt envious.
“Also got a call from Betty Sheveally. She was there with her two kids.”
“Oh, yes. She has blue fingernails,” Quark immediately felt embarrassed. What difference did the color of her nails make?
“She was very upset.”
He hadn’t expected to find a companion of concern in the woman who had been so unkind, but of course she, too, had been witness to the cashier’s distress. “Then you know what happened.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Quark took a deep breath, unsure where to begin. “I’m very worried about her.”
“Oh, yeah? Who are we talking about now?”
It was distressing to realize that the man in charge of investigations couldn’t even keep track of a simple conversation. “We are talking about the girl at the candy store.”
“All right. Let’s talk about Heather.”
“There is something wrong with her,” Quark said, too loudly.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I don’t mean like that.”
“Like what?”
“I think she’s in trouble. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I wasn’t sure what to do.”
“I’m here to help. You know that, right?”
Quark nodded, though he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He had come to understand that the sheriff was inept. “She was nervous,” he said.
“Who?”
“We are talking about the cashier at the candy store. Remember?” Quark had often experienced mean interrogation, and did not wish to cause Healy similar distress.
“Okay. Go on.”
“She appeared quite frightened.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you should know.”
The sheriff nodded a few times, his brow furrowed. “Well, why do you think that is? That she was frightened?”
“I suspect I reminded her of someone. I wonder if I look like her father.”
Healy leaned back slightly to asses. “You don’t. You have a very unique appearance.”
Quark didn’t know what to say next. After all, he had no experience with the law, he was a taxidermist. Besides, Mrs. Winter was dead! He had almost forgotten the bitter news but, once recalled, had to fight back tears.
“Mrs. Sheveally confirmed what Heather told her mother.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Sheveally. Blue fingernails?”
“Oh.” Quark had to concentrate very hard not to shake his head at the memory of that woman. How was his life her business, anyway? It was bad enough he had to deal with the boys taunting him. “That reminds me,” he said. “I would like to report some prank calls I received.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think it might have been those boys. Those teenagers. They also came to my house during the storm. They follow me, actually.”
“Is that right?”
“I would like them to leave me alone.”
“So you say the boys were here?”
“Yes.”
“Was this before or after Coral’s visit?”
Quark was startled to learn Healy knew about that. What else did he know?
“Did they do anything? Harm you?”
“Harm me?”
“What, exactly, are you reporting?”
“I don’t know why they came.”
“Let’s take one thing at a time, all right?”
He nodded.
“I’m not gonna beat around the bush. Mrs. Sheveally was very upset. They both were.”
“Both?”
“Heather’s mom was upset too. As was Heather, of course.”
“Yes. That’s what I noticed.”
“What’s that?”
“She was very frightened.”
“Oh, yeah? How could you tell?”
“She was trembling. She wouldn’t look at me. She had trouble counting change.”
“Why was she acting that way, Quark? Can you think of anything you said that might have made her uncomfortable?”
“Anything I said?”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt her, didn’t you?”
“I, that is…”
“Go on.”
Healy’s dark gaze was suddenly reminiscent of the way the Old Man used to look at Quark as if he were hideous.
“I only just remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“I thought I was doing something good.”
“What did you do?”
“I was just a kid.”
“You’re a grown man.”
Quark’s pleasure at being so described was quickly vanquished by the memory of all the other things he had been called throughout his life. Boy, Monster, Freak, Frankenquark, Murderer.
“Help me out, here. What am I not understanding?”
“I’m a grown man now, but I was a boy when I killed her.”
“How’s that?”
“It was an accident. I think that is significant.”
“Who? Who are you talking about now, Quark?”
“I thought you knew. She told me everyone did.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Winter.”
“Who did you kill?”
Quark looked down at the floor, searching for the screaming face in the whorl of wood. “My mother.”
“So let’s just back up here a minute. Mrs. Winter told you everyone knew you killed your own mother?”
“Yes.”
“When was that?”
“When I was a child.”
“Right. But I’m asking when did she, when did she tell you?”
“She?”
“Charlotte. Mrs. Winter.”
“Oh. Yesterday.”
“Are you saying you only just remembered this about your mother?”
“I still don’t remember it, actually.”
“Huh. You forgot it for all these years?”
“Yes.”
“Must have been pretty upsetting to learn about what you did.”
“Yes. Yes it was.”
“Did you have one of your fits? After she told you?”
“I. No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“I did not.”
“You have a problem with memory, don’t you, Quark?”
“No one remembers everything.”
“Is it possible you don’t remember having one of your fits yesterday? With Charlotte?”
Quark felt pained by the searing truth of his own question. What if he was forgetting things all the time? What if nothing in his life was what he thought it had been?
“I appreciated you stopping by the other day. To tell me about Phoebe.”
Quark, rarely complimented outside his work, enjoyed the small swell of pleasure that fluttered from his chest even in the midst of such an unpleasant exchange.
“Mrs. Winter dropped you off that day, right? At my office?”
“Yes.”
“How’d that come about? She see you out walking and offer a ride?”
“Well, actually, she came here and said I needed to see you. She insisted.”
“You don’t mind if I take notes, do you Quark?”
“Oh. It’s just…”
“Yes?”
“Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Healy leaned back into the couch. “I won’t lie to ya. I have some concerns.”
“You do?”
“For instance, you were the last person who saw Phoebe alive.”
Quark nodded.
“And you were the last person with Charlotte.”
Quark sighed. Mrs. Winter! Dead!
“Then, of course, there was Thayer.”
“What about him?”
“People seem to die in your company, Quark. That’s what I’m saying.”
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled with a surprising lip blurt. “Yes. It keeps happening. It’s terribly upsetting.”
“I talked to Charlotte.”
Quark was confused. Was this a confession of sorts? Did the sheriff see ghosts too?
“She reminded me about your special name for Phoebe.”
“What?”
“Snow White. Isn’t that right?”
If there was anyone Quark considered a real friend it had been Mrs. Winter. He was disappointed to discover her spirit was gossiping with the sheriff.
“When you came to my office you said…”
Healy flipped through his little notebook. Quark looked out the window at the sky, so grey it reminded him of a giant net.