Speculative sullivan the.., p.35
Speculative Sullivan: The Collected Short Fiction, page 35
Mr. Treffen moved to one side and gestured for him to enter. Bobby stepped across the threshold and looked around. The place was really hot, and full of ferns and vines that crawled right up the walls. Flowerpots seemed to be everywhere, on wooden shelves, on tables, on a big captain’s desk, hanging from the ceiling; everywhere. Haze hung in the still air.
“Welcome to your new home,” said Mr. Treffen, leading him through the potted plants. “Let me show you to your room.”
“Thank you,” Bobby followed him up rickety stairs, noticing that the ceiling at the top was lopsided. There was another skylight above the landing, with more plants dangling everywhere.
Mr. Treffen led him through a short corridor, which turned at a not-quite right angle. Several more turns, all at odd angles, led them to a door. Opening it, Mr. Treffen gestured for Bobby to enter.
It was cool and dark inside. There were more plants on wooden stands and hanging from ceiling hooks, but not so many as downstairs. A dresser was placed against one wall, and a straight-backed wooden chair against another. Mr. Treffen deposited the bag on a bed that almost blocked access to the window at the back of the long, narrow room, where a noisy air conditioner blew. It was the only comfortable part of the house Bobby had been in yet, even though you could see your breath in the fall air outside.
“There is a bath through there.” Mr. Treffen pointed to a door on the opposite wall. “It is for your personal use, and no one else will go in there without your permission. But you must keep it clean.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bobby.
“After you’ve bathed, come downstairs for some food.”
“Okay.”
Without turning, Mr. Treffen solemnly backed out of the room and shut the door behind him. Bobby shrugged and took off his jacket, unzipped his bag and emptied it on the bed. He hung up the jacket along with his good clothes, folded the rest, and put everything in the dresser. Selecting a towel, he opened the other door and walked down a short hallway to a bathroom. His bathroom. He’d never had one all to himself before, not in the cramped apartments he’d shared with his mother. Maybe he was going to like living here, after all.
The shower felt good. He didn’t know how he’d gotten dirty, just from sitting on a train all night, but he had. He toweled himself dry, brushed his teeth, and went back to put on some clean clothes. Hair still wet, he left his room and went back the way he’d come with his host.
The strangely angled corridors threw him off somewhere, though, and he ended up at a doorway instead of at the head of the stairs. He was sure he hadn’t come this way earlier, but, on the other hand, he didn’t see how he could have made a wrong turn. There hadn’t been any branching corridors or doorways when they’d first come upstairs. He hadn’t noticed anything like that, anyway.
Well, what difference did it make if he’d noticed it or not? Here it was, and he had to go back the way he’d come. Next time he’d pay more attention.
He turned around, but then stopped, hearing a funny sound that came from beyond the door. It was a kid’s voice, mumbling to itself as if its owner thought nobody was around. It went on a few seconds, and then stopped. Bobby turned back around in the dimly lit corridor, to face the door.
The voice had been replaced by whispering. Was it the same kid? The soft sound was so steady and rhythmic that he began to think it was a machine. A fan or . . . something? Light flashed through the crack at the bottom of the door, and the rhythmic whispering sound continued. Bobby wanted to open that door and see what was on the other side, but he didn’t. It wouldn’t have been right. Mom had told him to behave in Mr. Treffen’s house, and he owed it to her to at least try to be good. Besides, what if he wasn’t supposed to see what was in that room?
If he didn’t go down to breakfast soon, Mr. Treffen would be wondering where he went. Reluctantly, Bobby turned away from the door, followed by the whispering sound, which diminished as he retraced his steps.
The hallway curved around until he came to an exit. He emerged within sight of the stairs, but not anywhere near where he’d been when he’d gone off track. Well, he would figure it out later.
He went downstairs, to the jungle of a living room. Nobody was sitting in the armchairs, or on the chesterfield sofa, which were almost hidden by the plants. He became confused, uncertain of which way to go. To his right, through some tall ferns, he saw diffuse daylight. There must have been a window over there somewhere. To his left were hundreds of orchids, and a dark hole beyond them.
He heard somebody coming down the stairs. A moment later, Mr. Treffen appeared, gracefully making his way through the foliage.
“In here, Bobby,” Mr. Treffen indicated the darkness to Bobby’s left. There was a door there, lianas creeping so thickly on the jambs that its dimensions could only be guessed at. Through the door was a dimly lit room, and at its center was a dining table, set with china plates, silver cutlery and cloth napkins. Mr. Treffen approached the table, beckoning for Bobby to come in and sit down.
Bobby took his place at the table, removing the wooden ring from his napkin and arranging it on his lap. Mr. Treffen served him out of a big bowl. The food was dark green glop with bits of brown and yellow in it. Vegetables, though Bobby didn’t know what kind. There was bread, too, but no cereal or eggs. Some breakfast.
Mr. Treffen did not join him, but stood by while he ate. This made Bobby nervous, but Mr. Treffen urged him to go ahead and finish his food.
“Can I have a glass of water?” Bobby asked.
“You may, but only after you’ve finished your breakfast,” Mr. Treffen said, smiling. “It’s not good for you to wash down your food, because you won’t chew properly.”
“Oh.” The vegetables were making his throat dry. They had a funny, tart flavor. Not salty, though, and not really bad. Just weird.
“What is this stuff?” Bobby asked. “I mean, I like it, sir, but what’s in it?”
“Things that are very good for you,” Mr. Treffen said mildly. “Be sure that you eat it all.”
Bobby did as he was told, cleaning his plate as quickly as he could. Mr. Treffen then brought him a glass of water, as promised, and Bobby swallowed it all in about three gulps.
Mr. Treffen stayed in the shadows or to one side the whole time, so Bobby never got a good look at him, not really. Bobby’s first impression had been of a much older man, but it was hard to tell what his age was. As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Treffen told him to come into the living room. Bobby sat in an uncomfortable chair, while his host reclined on the chesterfield behind some cycads. The fecund vegetable odor was overwhelming.
“How much did your mother tell you about me, Bobby?” Mr. Treffen asked.
“Not much . . . just that I was going to stay with you from now on.”
“Yes, like in a Victorian novel.” Bobby couldn’t tell if Mr. Treffen was smiling behind all that vegetation or not. “I know that it’s been difficult for your mother, but I couldn’t send for you before this.”
Bobby was surprised. “Before this?” he asked. “What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that I wanted you with me from the beginning, but circumstances made that impossible.”
“Why did you want me with you?” Bobby thought he knew the answer to his own question, and he was afraid of it. Still, he had to learn the truth. “Why couldn’t I just stay with Mom?”
“Because you’re my flesh and blood, Bobby,” Mr. Treffen said.
Bobby sat without moving until his arms and buttocks grew numb. He squirmed a little after awhile, but said nothing. What could he say? He had always believed that he didn’t have a father.
“I’m sorry. This is doubtless a bit hard for you to understand.”
“No, that’s okay, sir.” This was his father, for crying out loud. His father. About a million emotions whirled inside him, and his stomach was doing flip-flops. He wasn’t upset, though, just confused. Why hadn’t his mother ever told him about this? “I guess I sort of suspected.”
“Smart boy.” Mr. Treffen leaned forward in his chair, but Bobby still couldn’t see him very well. “I couldn’t send for you earlier, for reasons that are difficult to explain, but time has grown short. I have to share my life with you now, Bobby.”
A drop of sweat trickled down Bobby’s right cheek. He felt betrayed by his mother, hurt and resentful. She had not trusted him, had kept this all from him. He tried not to be angry, but he couldn’t help it.
“Your mother deserves some time for herself. Even though she doesn’t have to take care of you anymore, we’ll continue to send her money. Added to her waitress pay, it should make her quite comfortable.”
“She wanted to get rid of me, didn’t she?” It just popped out, a little bubble of rage that he couldn’t control.
“Your mother never complained about having to care for you,” Mr. Treffen said kindly, “if that’s what you mean.”
“Maybe she didn’t complain, but she didn’t like it.”
“Can you blame her? She’s young. Her desire to enjoy life shouldn’t be held against her, Bobby.”
Bobby looked down at his Reeboks.
“I know that you’re upset about leaving your mother. But you’ll soon get used to your new home.” Mr. Treffen paused, as if waiting for a reply.
“Yes, sir,” was all that Bobby could muster. What choice did he have? He was just a kid, and, hard as it was for him to believe, this weird guy was his father.
“And your new home is an interesting place, Bobby. This building is almost two hundred years old. I completely remodeled the top floors when I moved in, some time ago. I doubt that there’s another apartment quite like it anywhere on earth.”
“It seems so big,” Bobby said, thinking of the wrong turn he’d taken before breakfast.
“My design makes use of space that is usually wasted,” Mr. Treffen said. “We’ll explore the place later.”
“Oh.” The idea of finding out what was in that upstairs room took his mind off Mom and off Falstaff, Ohio, at least for the moment.
“Right now, we have your education to consider, Bobby.”
It seemed odd to talk about something so ordinary. “Uh, where will I go to school, Mr. Treffen?”
“Right here. With the sorry state of public education, I feel that you’ll learn more if I tutor you at home.”
Bobby didn’t know if he liked this. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of staying in all the time, but he really hadn’t been looking forward to starting at a new school, either. His friend Sue Hamer had come from Iowa to Falstaff, and she’d had a hard time getting adjusted until Bobby had made friends with her. She’d once told him that it was really hard when you didn’t have anybody your own age to talk to, and he was beginning to see just how true that was. But how could he explain it to Mr. Treffen?
“Don’t you have to go to work, sir?” he asked. “How can you be my teacher and have a job at the same time?”
“My work is here, Bobby.” Mr. Treffen sat back, watching him through the palm fronds. “People come to me, to avail themselves of my services. And there is a small but steady demand for what I can provide. I’m not rich, but I am able to afford certain luxuries.”
Mr. Treffen stood and came closer to Bobby. He definitely seemed younger than when Bobby had first seen him, even younger than at breakfast. He moved away through the orchids and creepers so quickly that Bobby wasn’t sure why he knew that.
But he did.
Though he was tired and it was very late, Bobby lay on his bed, wide awake. He wasn’t sure how many days he’d been in Philadelphia, but he hadn’t been outside once. All he did was study. Today, as usual, he had spent the late morning and afternoon—breaking only for the usual glop at lunch—reading and talking with Mr. Treffen, mostly about biology, which Bobby wouldn’t have studied until high school if he had stayed in Falstaff. It was interesting, all about genes and chromosomes and DNA. He’d read some stuff about it on his own, but it was nothing compared to what Mr. Treffen knew.
A young black woman had showed up that afternoon, and Mr. Treffen had left Bobby to go upstairs with her. Bobby wondered if they had gone through that door, and what they were doing for such a long time with the kid who was up there. If the kid was still up there. Bobby hadn’t been able to find the door since that morning. He almost wondered if it really existed. All he knew for sure was that the woman didn’t come back down, not when Mr. Treffen did, anyhow.
When Mr. Treffen joined him on the chesterfield, they resumed the lesson as if nothing had happened. Mr. Treffen never mentioned the woman. He just continued on about autogamy, isochronism, cellular coevality, and other words that were almost as hard to pronounce as to understand. Finally, Bobby started to drift off, staring at the weird creepers and flowers without really seeing them, while daydreaming of home.
“I suppose you can only absorb so much at one sitting,” Mr. Treffen said. “Your eyes are . . . glazing over, as they say.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be.” Mr. Treffen stood, stretching out his hand to a tree whose roots sank into a tub of murky water. “This is a banyan tree,” he said, “very young yet. Soon it will grow too large for this place, and it will have to be moved to a more appropriate environment. Parting with it will pain me, but it must be done. Do you understand why, Bobby?”
“Yes, sir.”
“People are like that, too.”
Bobby waited for him to make a speech, like a teacher back home. But Mr. Treffen said nothing more. He just smiled, and told Bobby that they were through with today’s lessons.
It was a funny thing, but when Bobby stood to go upstairs, he thought that Mr. Treffen looked shorter than before, his clothes hanging loosely on his angular frame. The first time Bobby had seen him, Mr. Treffen had seemed really tall, but maybe it was just because Bobby had been stooped over, carrying his bag. Mr. Treffen wasn’t really that much bigger than Bobby, when you got right down to it, and Bobby was only average height for his age. But Mr. Treffen sure knew a lot. In fact, Bobby wasn’t sure that he could keep up with these science lessons.
The bedroom was silent, but for the air conditioner. A faint, peach-colored, streetlamp radiance came in through the window behind the bed, casting leafy shadows on the walls. The idea of exploring emerged from the back of his mind, rising until it floated on the surface like a water lily. It seemed like a bad thing to do, in a way, but he really wanted to. Just creep around in the middle of the night while Mr. Treffen was asleep. Maybe he could even find out what was on the other side of that door.
Almost without realizing what he was doing, he got up and went out into the hallway. It should be easy to find the stairway even at night, since the skylight over the landing would show in the dark. Once he got his bearings, maybe he could figure out where the door was. He could hardly see anything, though, just enough to make his way down the hall. Unidentifiable plants hung like spiders, and he bumped into one along the way. It swung wildly for a moment, until he caught and steadied it.
Turning a corner, Bobby thought he saw a dim light suffusing the murk ahead of him. But he came to another angle, and then another. He still didn’t see the skylight. The glow stayed ahead of him, growing brighter at each turn. At last he saw that it came from the floor, not from the ceiling. It was a bar of brightness, originating from beneath the same door he had stumbled upon that first morning. It was as if Bobby had been drawn straight to this spot. Why hadn’t he been able to find it in the past few days, though?
As he approached the door, the whispering sound became faintly audible.
Bobby wanted to open that door very badly. Did he dare, though? What would he tell Mr. Treffen if he was found inside that room? That he had been looking for the bathroom? No, he would have to tell the truth.
Mr. Treffen had never forbidden him to go in there, though. In fact, he hadn’t forbidden him to go anywhere in the house. It was just that it didn’t seem polite to go snooping around somebody’s place like this. But he’d been told that this was his home now, so maybe he did have the right. Bobby stood in the shadowy corridor, undecided, the glare from the hardwood floor reflecting upward upon him. It seemed that he remained there for a very long time. Minutes. Hours.
Then he heard a cry from behind the door.
Bobby’s heart grew huge, thumping in his chest. As the cry was repeated, he understood that it was not the sound of somebody who was going to rush out and catch him, but of somebody in pain. He knew that he would have to go in now, but he still hesitated.
Another cry, and then another, came from behind that door. Was it the woman he had seen this afternoon? The kid he’d heard a few days ago? It almost sounded like two people, but he couldn’t be sure.
The cries followed one after another now, faster and faster. Then there was no time between them at all, as they rose in pitch and volume into a scream.
Bobby couldn’t stand it any longer. With trembling fingers, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted.
The door opened inward, and Bobby stood at the threshold, uncertain of what he was seeing. The air swirled with an oily vapor, and at the bare room’s center was a bubble of light that contained something that sweated and writhed. It couldn’t have been human, but it was. Fingers clenched and unclenched at the ends of four arms. Two pairs of legs shuddered, muscles quivering under gleaming, dark skin. A shapeless, naked torso sprouted twin necks that did not quite support two lolling, shrieking heads.
Bobby was scared. He didn’t know whether he should try to help, or run. But what could he do? He was just a kid, and he didn’t even know what he was seeing. It couldn’t have been what he thought, but whatever it was, it wasn’t right. Still, these . . . people were in pain, and he should try to do something.
Maybe Mr. Treffen could help. Bobby almost called out, but caught himself. Mr. Treffen must have been responsible for what was happening here . . . whatever it was. As he stared at the squirming limbs, Bobby remembered stories on the news about a crazy guy who locked women up and cut them into pieces. But this wasn’t like that. No, this was something he’d never even dreamed about, much less seen on TV. These girls—at least they looked like two black girls—were distorted, but they weren’t mutilated. It was as if they were somehow stuck together into one body. But that was impossible.
