Shadow of the Son, page 25
“That will add some spice. I could always do with some underworld connections I suppose, although their rules tend to be rather severe. I might wander up there this morning and look in on him. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“That ought to work. I think it’s time for breakfast.”
“Lead the way,” Bonnie said, standing up and putting her book on a side table. It looked like Xenophon’s Anabasis.
“Light reading?”
“I’ve read it before, of course. I love it. My edition has the Greek on one side and English on the other. Anyway, to breakfast. I could eat a horse. I love saying that but not around Mom. She gets irritated, and the whole day goes to hell in a heartbeat.”
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Bonnie and I wandered into the dining room. Johnny was there along with Malcolm, my mother, Anne, and John Sr. To my surprise, notably present were my father and Cobb. My father in a tweed jacket and button-down shirt without a tie looked unaffected by yesterday’s episode, but Cobb sitting beside him seemed to indicate that he needed watching. Seeing both of them was unexpected, and first thing in the morning, too. Regardless, I wasn’t about to object. Breakfast was the one meal that I liked to eat in peace. If Atilla the Hun had wandered in and seated himself, I would have nodded and passed the coffee. I noted that I had missed seeing my father’s reaction when he saw my mother at the breakfast table. Perhaps it was just as well.
Since the first meal of the day was informal, there was no assigned seating for guests. There were empty places on either side of my father and Cobb. Bonnie chose the one next to Cobb. I sat in my chair, said good morning to my mother who was on my right, and nodded to Johnny on my left. He looked like he was expecting trouble. His eyes were flicking back and forth, a sure sign that he was nervous. As I poured some coffee, Maw, in faded jeans and an ancient denim work shirt, strolled in with Robert the Bruce. She gave the table a once-over and sat down next to my father. Robert scooted under her chair. She wasn’t wasting any time finding out whether my father was really as bad as his reputation. All the von Hofmanstals were conspicuously absent.
I drank some coffee and, keeping my voice low, asked my mother how she had slept. “Remarkably well,” she said and suggested that we have a chat later. Before she could continue, the von Hofmanstals arrived in a somber procession. Both Hugo and Elsa, he in flannel pants and a dark cashmere sweater and she in the female equivalent, looked grim and took places on opposite sides of the table. Elsa had taken the chair next to Johnny, forcing Hugo to sit next to my mother. Judging from her expression, that was deliberate. Bruni looked at me as she seated herself and raised her eyes toward the ceiling as if to say her father and mother were having a bad day. This observation was interrupted by a loud cackle from Maw as she responded to something my father said. He was obviously turning on the charm. Sitting next to one of the richest women in the world, I thought, tended to do that.
Eggs and bacon along with triangles of white toast with no crusts were served in silver racks. John Sr. eyed Hugo, and Anne whispered something to Elsa, who sat next to her. Elsa said nothing and glanced in my direction. She looked like a queen trying to decide whether to fry someone in oil or have them broken on the wheel. For a moment I thought I was the target, until she looked across at her husband. The day was getting started, and already the softness of the night before was turning brittle.
I whispered to Johnny if there was something I should know.
He whispered back. “It’s as we suspected. Hugo’s definitely in the doghouse.”
I nodded. After having a chat with her daughter, Elsa had likely stormed into their bedroom and kicked her husband awake to confirm how bad the situation was. Judging from the volume of Elsa’s upset, it was close to a worst-case scenario. I wondered vaguely whether I might have to prepare the governess’s quarters upstairs, so Hugo would have a place to sleep tonight.
Johnny whispered, “Are you ready?”
I sighed. “Let’s finish breakfast first. I’ll speak to him after.”
“Best of luck, then. Hopefully you can pull Hugo’s chestnuts out of the fire before Elsa starts chewing on them.”
“He’s on my list. I’ll see what I can do. Anyway, speak to Malcolm this morning, if you can, but definitely have a word with your mom—and soon.”
Johnny got the message. He needed to find out from Anne why my mother wished to speak to Cobb.
As I ate, I wondered how feasible it would be to have everyone present sit down and hammer out a solution that satisfied one and all. It would be like attending an economic conference to work out a coherent policy, and likely just as impossible.
With that thought, breakfast came to a close, and it was time I got to work. As we all rose, I reached behind me and confirmed once again that the sealed envelope my father had given me was still sticking out of the back pocket of my jeans.
As my guests began to file out, I walked up to my father, who was standing beside Maw. I heard him say, “Let’s speak again at lunch.”
Maw seemed to like the idea. As I waited for them to finish, I thought it strange that no one spoke openly about my father’s recovery. I supposed it was another peculiar trait of the people here. Each of them abhorred weakness, and by acknowledging a recovery, one acknowledged the sickness, something to be avoided. I was quite sure his resurrection would be discussed among themselves in private and speculated about in minute detail.
Maw finally said goodbye and left, with Robert following close behind. He stopped and looked back at me for a second. I wondered what that meant. I was nervous. Even the thought of speaking with my father had me thinking twice about having eaten that last piece of bacon.
With no possibility of putting off what was inevitable, I said, “Father, I believe we have matters to discuss. I, too, dislike wasting time. Perhaps we might discuss them over coffee in the library?”
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“The coffee is very good.”
That was the first positive opinion I had heard my father express. We were sitting side by side in the library in front of the fireplace. Simon and another member of the staff had quickly set up a small table covered by white linen with a coffee service. I had thanked them and said that my father and I would pour our own.
While I had been arranging for the coffee to be brought to the library, I had noted that Cobb and Bonnie were deep in conversation, and judging from Cobb’s expression, Bonnie held more than a passing interest. Perhaps the Pythia knew something after all.
My father brought me back to the present. “I judge the competence of a kitchen by the quality of the coffee that is served. I drink it black, so there is nothing to disguise the taste. If such a simple thing is well managed, then competence must follow in everything else.”
I answered, “I must admit, I do the same. It can make or break a meal.”
“Quite right.”
As we savored the taste, I noted that the coffee we were drinking was outstanding.
My father sighed in enjoyment. “So … I wish to begin again. Can we?”
“I’m amenable to that.”
“Thank you. Now, before we continue, there are some preliminaries I would like to dispose of first. Would that suit?”
“By all means.”
“To begin, I must apologize for my earlier behavior. Returning here has been difficult, and seeing you for the first time has made it doubly so. I have no patience with people in general, let alone dealing with a child of my own whom I’ve never met. I’m quite aware of your age, of course. You are an adult, but I am cantankerous by nature, and old age has likely worsened that propensity. The time left to me is short, you see, and the paucity of it makes me resentful of those whose life will likely extend beyond my own.”
He looked at me and chuckled. “Actually, my being crotchety has little to do with that. At my age, one cannot hear well, see well, move, or remember details that were once easy. Sometimes even the simple act of conversing, requires performing unfamiliar mental gymnastics to say what one wishes without always remembering what one was referring to in the first place. There is also a mental blankness that can descend at any time. It is a constant threat. Halting mid-sentence is like an actor forgetting his lines. Such unexpected lapses cast a spotlight on what the elderly fear most—senility, dementia, and the losing of one’s mind.”
My father sipped his coffee and continued.
“It is also a predicament for the listener. What are they to do? Must they ignore the mishap or consider placing the speaker in a rest home with ’round-the-clock care lest he or she run naked through the streets?
“For the aged, the solution requires either ceasing to speak altogether or snarling at those in one’s vicinity, lest they think to take advantage. Old men are like the injured leaders of a pack of wolves. Old women are like the matriarchs of cackles of hyenas. Both must dominate or die. To do any less is to risk being eaten. That is what old age is like, and why I get bad-tempered. Will you forgive me my prior rudeness?”
“We are beginning anew. Old age is a daunting future we all must face, and allowances should be made. Apology accepted.”
“I thank you for putting aside what went before, but there are limits to what can be forgiven. That you can choose to overlook my tantrums says much about you. But in case I gave you the wrong impression by exaggerating the disability of my condition, old age is not all bad. One can also find oneself thrown into the past and stunned by the brightness of a memory—one more luminous than the present, and fantastically alive. The heart swells with the certainty that one might have been supremely happy then. Such random experiences are so vivid, they can bring on tears. Is life worth living, given the fallibilities of one’s memory and the shuffling of time? Oh yes. Oh yes, it is, and that is what I wish to talk to you about, but to do that we need to make a peace, of sorts.”
“What kind of peace?”
“Before I tell you, I wish to make you a wager. You do make wagers on occasion, yes?”
“I tend to be on the losing end, so I usually don’t.”
“That is wise, but this wager is a simple yes or no answer to a question once again, but different from before—less contentious. I wish to wager that your answer to what I will ask will be a ‘yes.’ If it is, then all I require is that you listen to what I have to say. In addition, the funds from the check in your back pocket will be used toward the purchase of the items as per the original arrangement, again with the understanding that no item will be removed from this estate as you requested. If it is a ‘no,’ then I will leave now, and the money will be my gift to you. As a gesture of good faith, I will sign the check immediately, and you will have the funds I promised.”
My father took out a pen from his breast pocket as I hesitated.
“Come, come. What do you have to lose? If you think I’ll trick you and refuse to give it back, the check requires both our signatures. Please, I’m serious. Lay the check on the table so that I can endorse it. I won’t even touch it, if that is your wish. My purpose for the wager is to demonstrate to you that I know you better than you think, and maybe better than you think you know yourself. We are related by blood after all, and that matters. You may be aware of that fact intellectually but not in your heart. There is a difference. Also, by taking the money element off the table, in that you will have it regardless of the outcome, I am decreasing the stakes to a more acceptable level. Should you lose, all you risk is your time. Should you win, then there will be my departure to look forward to, should you wish it. Will that suffice? Are you willing to play?”
I paused for a moment to consider the question and asked one of my own instead.
“Before I answer, I must ask about your health. Are you recovered? Should I be concerned?”
A flash of irritation crossed his face before he answered. “In other words, should my life expectancy be a matter of a few days or hours, am I worth your time? I can understand your concern. Relationships of any kind require time and effort. Perhaps you meant it differently, but from my perspective, weakness is not something I dwell on or wish to draw attention to. With advanced years, people in one’s vicinity act strangely. They question everything you do. How are you feeling? Should you really be doing what you’re doing? I ask them in return why should they care? Life is a disease that is terminal in every case, and death its only indication. Without death, how are we to know that we are alive? The old are not fragile, just more easily bruised. I count myself even now as one of the living, and contrary to what passes for geriatric care in the current milieu, being alive is not the same as running about in a diaper under medical supervision. It is my mantra that he who dares wins, and he who doesn’t, loses every time, if only incrementally. So, to answer your question. I am living my life, whatever that may be, in the way I wish. Should that be a concern of yours? I don’t think so. The more pertinent question is: are you living yours? Are you alive, Percy? Do you dare to exist on your own terms and not on someone else’s? Will you take up my wager?”
I paused once again. The similarity to one of those bar tricks that Johnny occasionally pulled off when we were penniless teenagers came to mind. Johnny would offer to cut a lime in half with a Marlboro cigarette. It was a stupid trick that involved burning the filter with a match and shaping it into a hard, cutting edge. It would win us a drink or two. Sometimes the stakes grew quite large, and I recalled running for my life after one particularly lucrative haul. This was the same, only from the opposite perspective. Was I the potential mark? I couldn’t imagine how, but from experience, that usually meant I was. The plus was that half the money I needed would be handled. There was still Hugo’s portion to secure. Perhaps it was the baron who was bluffing? There was also the matter of the shares. I delayed my answer.
“And yet you’re under a doctor’s care,” I said.
“Cobb and I have a relationship that covers a wider brief. It is not unlike you and Stanley. Once again, mark the similarities. Now, no more quibbling. Your answer, please.”
“Very well. I am willing to accept your wager with the understanding that I wish to make another wager with you in return.”
“Oh? You have my interest. What are the stakes?”
“The shares.”
“The shares?” My father smiled.
“You know the ones I mean.”
My father grinned broadly. “You’ve been busy, I see. My compliments. I am willing to listen to what you have in mind. I must say you surprise me, and for that I thank you. You are more than I expected. Now, I have a question for you in return: should we close out the bet that is currently on the table, or would you like to up the stakes by adding those shares to the pot?”
“I think a separate wager would be better.”
“I’m fine either way, but a separate wager would be quite outstanding. There is nothing like a high-stakes gamble to get the heart racing and confirm that we still exist. I look forward to hearing your terms, but first, take out that check, and I will sign it. Once that is done, I will ask my question.”
“What if I lie?”
“You won’t, and you will understand why you won’t, when you hear the question.”
“Interesting. That must be some question.”
“Oh, it is.”
I looked at my father for a long moment. Was I smart enough to go toe to toe with him and win? It was possible, but only if I set it up so that I could. This bet was one I would surely lose, but would losing really matter? Like Bruni said: this wager was likely a throwaway, and he and I had to start somewhere. That was a difference between us. My father liked to gamble, I didn’t. The reason for my dislike was obvious, even to me: I usually lost. I had to speak to Johnny. He would be in his element with what I had in mind. For now, I would have to rely on my own wits. Did I dare do that?
My hand shook as I ripped open the envelope and laid the check on the table face down so he could endorse the back.
60
“There, the money is yours. Satisfied?”
“I recall the last time I answered that question. Forgive me if I give the answer a pass.”
“Yes, I quite understand. I was disappointed then, but I have since changed my mind about you.”
“And why is that?”
“It is because the answer to my question, the one we are wagering on, and the reason for my change of heart are the same. Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Very well. You read my letter in the second envelope, yes or no?”
I said nothing as my father looked me in the eye. “I know you did. So, you might as well admit it. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I have won the bet. As far as bets go, it is a small thing but nonetheless instructive. I’ll tell you why I know you read it. You’ve read Sun Tzu. How many times, do you think?”
“Probably a dozen.”
“And well you should have. That part about knowing the enemy’s plans comes to mind. Who do you think put that book in the library upstairs for you to read? I did, along with dozens of others. I made sure that your benefactor kept you and your compatriot well supplied with suitable reading material. I played no direct part in your upbringing, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t indirectly. I had my reasons for acting in that manner. Coming into your life other than now when you are mature would have sowed confusion, and I know what that is like. You deserved peace. Any child does. Does that surprise you?”
“It does.”
“I suppose it should. There is more, of course. I also paid for all your education and upbringing. Let’s put it this way: a sum was transferred and found its way for your benefit. Alice was accommodating in that regard. She could have done that herself, and she did in her own way, but by allowing me to play a part that was significant but hidden, I tacitly agreed to keep my distance and thus secured her household from the wreck that would surely follow had I not done so.”
