Samedi the Deafness Page 4

  This was all a bit too much for James, who after all had just been abducted for the first time in his life, abducted and carried away in a car.

  —Then I can go up to my room now? he said. I can go where I like? And leave when I like?

  —We ask that you stay here for the next few days, just so you're around to speak to our little circle of intimates. It would mean so much to us. . . .

  —I just want to be clear, said James. I'm not a prisoner?

  —A prisoner? said McHale, laughing. You were never a prisoner. I'm sorry if Torquin gave you that impression. He and the others were just a bit worried after the business on Verit Street. You did, after all, throw a man out a window.

  —I did not! said James. Who do you think I am? That man jumped! I didn't even know him. He jumped!

  —Yes, yes, said McHale, laughing. They always do, don't they?

  He went to the door, opened it, and went out into the passage. After a minute, he stepped back in.

  —Oh, another thing: we ask that you leave the pistol in your room. If you want, of course, we can dispose of it for you. Better certainly that you not keep on your person anything linking you to Mayne's murder, don't you think? Yes, well, think about it. It's yours, after all.

  And with that, he went away.

  Beneath the Bell

  there was indeed a finely wrought key. The metal of the key handle curved in a circle, in the midst of which had been formed the number 17.

  —Number seventeen is this way, sir, said the maid, who stood now in the door, holding across her arm his coat.

  Up James stood and crossed the room, taking not a moment to look back as perhaps he ought to have at the relative position of the two chairs. McHale's was pointing at the chair in which James had sat, while James's chair looked meekly off towards the empty fireplace.

  With a curt nod, the maid closed the room and locked it so that no one thereafter could get in.

  Room no. 17

  was upon the fourth floor. As houses in London, so rooms in this mansion, their numbers and assignments varying not to suit their neighbors. Beside 17 was 3, beside 3 was 22. How many rooms there were, James could not say for sure.

  His room was quite nice, however, and neatly set up. A large bed before a bay window, easy chairs by a fireplace, a broad reading table with stationery stamped upon with a peculiar sigil. All bore his look well.

  To his great surprise, the wardrobe set against one wall contained his own clothing. How it had come to be there was a question he could not answer; nor did he feel capable even of asking it. So totally was he overcome by doubt as to that which he could be certain of, that he needed some time to reassemble in his mind certain tenets that he could rely upon, the others to dismiss.

  Upon the reading table, the newspapers of the last three days. Also, the book of the house.

  The Book of the House

  Beside the book of the house was an envelope addressed to James Sim. He opened it. Inside was a letter.

  * * *

  Father,

  Here is my report on the man James Sim who was with McHale when he died.

  James Sim

  a. 6' 1” tall, weight approximately 180 lbs., clean shaven, 32 years old.

  c. curiously enough did not go to get an ambulance when McHale was dying.

  d. appears to have killed a man in Estrainger's apartment building by throwing him bodily from a window (defenestration).

  e. 's reasons for doing the above are unclear. d, e. has a clean criminal record.

  f. is a mnemonist by trade. Might therefore be useful to us.

  h. has a nondriver ID that says his eyes are gray. Therefore, cannot operate an automobile?

  i. has no debts, no friends, acquaintances, wife, children.

  k. is okay to look at, but certainly not handsome.

  l. has never voted, for instance.

  m. can act rashly if forced to it. Witness: d.

  p. rarely writes things down. You are the recipient of one specimen of his writing (sample a.: napkin). Strangely enough, a search of his house yielded no other samples of writing.

  I took his wallet and gave it back to him. Should I not have? Given it back, I mean.

  Grieve

  * * *

  The Book of the House

  James folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. Why give such a letter to him? Why send the girl to follow him anyway if she was prone to lying? She hadn't lied in her report. Maybe she never lied to her father. That could be true.

  And they had searched his house? When had they had time to do that?

  He sat down at the reading table. His thoughts ran back over his conversation with McHale number two. What was wrong with it? He tried to think over McHale's logic.

  There were several holes.

  The book of the house was on the table in front of him. James picked it up and opened it at random.

  * * *

  rule 37

  It is necessary when proceeding from hall to hall and along the stairways never to speak with anyone you see, aside from servants. Should you wish to speak to someone, ring the bell that has been provided to you. Everyone in the vicinity will stop his or her movements. Count then to fifteen and approach the other person, giving them time to gather their thoughts. Then you may pose your question or voice your concern.

  Also, a better method of interaction is afforded by the system of note-sending. All the rooms of the house are provided with a small mail shelf on the near wall beside the door. Simply place your note on the shelf, and it will be received and responded to at the person's leisure. If you suspect that the person is within the room, and you are leaving a note when time is of the essence, you may knock once upon the door knocker.

  See rule 14 for the particularities of the use of the door knocker.

  * * *

  The light coming through the window was quite pleasant. He wondered if the glass had anything to do with it. Often he had wondered about the effect of glass on a room. He had even thought of writing a monograph on it, for he had been a reclusive young boy, given to long hours of study, and seldom, if ever, playing with others. Such a monograph, though he did not in fact write it, would have been typical of his occupation during those countless solitary hours. In fact, from the monograph, which, I grant you, does not exist, we could extrapolate much that would be useful in considering James's psychology. What are his feelings for thin glass? For thick? In what ways does he characterize light? Into how many categories? A monograph, in fact, might be written to interpret the first monograph. However, as we have said, neither has been written.

  James turned to rule 14.

  * * *

  rule 14

  The door knockers, in relation to private rooms.

  no. of knocks; function.

  1: announcement of note.

  2: announcement of prearranged visit. 1 + 2: maid service.

  3: announcement of sudden visit (discouraged).

  2 + 2: emergency, fire, etc.

  * * *

  There was a knock then at the door. Just one.

  James went to the door and opened it. No one was there. Upon the shelf outside the door, however, there was a note.

  It said:

  * * *

  I will visit you in what might be considered the seventh hour of afternoon, or the first hour of evening. G.

  * * *

  James looked at his watch. It was six thirty.

  Nearly Three and One Half Hours

  since he had been abducted. He had never imagined, when he had thought of how his life would be, that kidnapping would be part of it. Certainly, as a mnemonist, he had entertained the idea. If he would undertake to commit some state secret to memory, surely there would be dangers. But he had been put forward for no such detail.

  In any case, they had not abducted him. Supposedly, he had been invited to come to the house.

  Also, they thought he had pushed Mayne out the window. Furthermore, they thought tha
t, and had not gone to the police.

  This, James realized, was a pretty piece of reasoning, and might go a long way towards puncturing McHale the second and his rationalizations. Yes, the first McHale must be correct, must have been correct about everything. Only criminals would fail to turn in a man they thought to be a criminal.

  But what, thought James then, if there was actually only one McHale? What if the whole thing is an elaborate psychological experiment? What if they have been changing the newspapers on the newsstands that I pass?

  This made a great deal of sense to him. However, the implications were too frightening to bear.

  A bird that sits in a cage is likewise endowed with the fortune of domesticity and the failure of civilization. That is to say, he shall be provided for against all but death and jealousy, and one will always come before the other.

  But it was impossible, thought James. The first McHale had not been acting. Also, the newspapers were not rigged. They couldn't be. The threat was real and, James felt sure, would be carried out unless he, James, could stop it.

  He stood up, circled his chair, and sat again. He took off his coat, removed the pistol from his pocket, and whistled a little tune.

  It was a fine tune, a few notes he himself had strung together one night in a dream. He often whistled it, but was never aware of this whistling. If he had had a wife or friend, someone by now would have pointed it out to him, and the small beauty of this unconsciousness, and this invisibly pleasurable whistling, would have passed out of the world.

  The gun has a real weight, thought James. It was a revolver. He found the release mechanism and checked to see if the gun was loaded. It was. Eight bullets neatly in a circle.

  Well, then, he thought. If I have to leave immediately, they won't be able to stop me.

  Just then another knock came at the door.

  James went out into the hall. There was another note on his shelf. He picked it up and went inside.

  This note read:

  * * *

  Please read the entire manual before stirring from your room. As you will find out, there are reasons for our rules, and consequences for the breaking of rules. While you are with us, we trust you will abide by our habits.

  * * *

  The Visit of Grieve

  Grieve stood by the window. She was NOT as expected. The reason was this: James had never seen the girl before.

  She was young and rather plain with a fine figure. She wore a short dress and her hair was pulled back in a yellow scarf.

  —They're just dreadful, dreadful, she said.

  and

  —I overheard them talking, and you sounded so nice, and it was

  so unfortunate what was being done to you.

  and also

  —I just thought, I will see if I can help him. And so I came here.

  —Well, said James. Thank you.

  It soon came out that she was a maid in the house itself.

  —But, he said, I thought that Grieve was—

  —No, no, she said. That's Grieve whose father is the owner. I am named after her. Before I came here, I had a different name, but we are encouraged in this house to take the names of others whom we admire, and so, after several years, I became Grieve. Of course, I'm not the only one. There are other maids named Grieve. We all adore her so.

  The Visit of Grieve, Part 2

  James sat down on the bed.

  —So they intend to keep me here until after something has happened?

  —I'm not sure, said Grieve. I just heard him say, I won't have Sim putting them onto our scent.

  Grieve laughed as she said this.

  —It's kind of silly, isn't it? Onto our scent!?! I'm sure that's what he said, though.

  Again there was a knock at the door.

  Grieve looked over her shoulder.

  —Just a note, I think, said James.

  —So, you're getting used to the rules, eh?

  —A bit, said James.

  —I have to go, said Grieve. I'm not supposed to be here when I'm off work.

  She looked at the floor and then looked at him.

  —Truth be told, she said, I lied to you. I saw you coming in all tied up, and I thought, how dreadful, and also, how nice you looked, and so I dodged around where McHale was with the others, and listened on purpose to see if I could hear something useful. I have been useful, haven't I?

  —Very, said James.

  He went to the door.

  —I'm going to get the note, he said. Thank you. If you hear anything else . . .

  —I'll leave a note, said Grieve, but not outside your door. It isn't safe. I'll put the note in your pillowcase, where no one but you or I would look.

  The note read:

  * * *

  Expect more of your belongings when you return from supper.

  —D. Graham, H.S.

  * * *

  He looked at his watch. Supper, had he missed it? He went for the book.

  It read:

  * * *

  The appropriate attire for dinner is this: wear something you will not embarrass yourself in. Certainly, the qualifications for wearing one garment are different from those for another. One man may look good in a smock, another in an evening gown, while a third cannot go about save in full evening dress. To each one, then, his fate.

  Supper will be had alone or in arranged company, in one of the various chambers near the kitchen. In summer, or when weather permits, food may be eaten upon the veranda or on the lawn, or even, depending on the individual involved, upon the roof, as has been done at least once in my own experience. The hour for supper is nine. A nightcap will follow at either eleven or one, depending upon your habits.

  * * *

  James wandered about aimlessly for a while, his bell dampened by a flat cloth. Surely he could find the dining room.

  In the vicinity of the kitchen there were many small rooms, and other larger rooms. He wandered through. Some of them were occupied.

  A man was standing leaning against a window. His eyes met James's. They looked at each other carefully. The man's face clouded over. He stood up straight and was at least a foot taller than he had been before. He had only one leg, and it was made of curved ivory. No, that wasn't true. But he was very tall, and holding some kind of stick.

  The man was glaring at him. Maybe he did have one leg. One or three? Did he?

  James averted his eyes and hurried away, not looking where he was going. He passed through first one room, then another. He looked over his shoulder. The man was still there, following after. James ducked into a hall and crossed over an enclosed bridge. Certainly he had lost the man.

  He was in another series of dining rooms. One of these would do.

  James sat at a table by himself. Several others entered immediately. A girl in a hospital gown, an orderly, a well-dressed man, perhaps her husband.

  They sat at the next table.

  —I won't dispute it, she said quietly.

  —There's nothing to dispute, said the man.

  The orderly looked apprehensive.

  —And what if I was in love with someone else? asked the girl. Suddenly, I mean. Suddenly in love with someone else. You there, she cried out to James.

  James looked behind him. There was no one else.

  He looked back.

  The girl stood up. The orderly stood up too. The wealthy man

  had a pained expression on his face.

  —Grieve, he said, don't.

  This Grieve untied the back of her hospital gown and slid it off. She winked at James.

  —What do you think?

  James coughed and looked away.

  The orderly pulled her gown back up and forced her to a sitting position. She began to cry and hid her face in her hands.

  The wealthy man stood.

  —I'm going, he said.

  —Same time tomorrow? asked the orderly.

  —Same time, he said. God damn it. She isn't any better, is she? It's a damne
d trick.

  The orderly began to explain very patiently how she was very much improved, in fact, and this was a setback but he needn't worry himself because all that could be done was being done.

  The man left.

  No one had come to James's table. He saw that there were waiters serving the other tables in the room. He thought of the manual. Had there been a section on ordering supper?

  When he looked back at the near table, the girl was looking at him.

  —They won't come serve you, you know, she said. That's not your table.

  James looked at her sharply.

  —It's not your table at all, she repeated.

  The orderly nodded in a very professional manner.

  —It's their table, he said, and pointed to a group of men, some of whom were wearing hospital gowns, some of whom were wearing moustaches and three-piece suits, smoking cigars. All stood at the entrance to the room. They were scowling and looking over at him.

  How long have they been standing there? he thought. He got up and started towards the door. As he did, the men moved past him towards their table. One bumped him rather rudely with his shoulder as they passed.