Black Chalk (43 page)

Chad has taken his phone from his pocket, is tapping out a message. His knees are parted and the phone is small between his legs. He looks up at me. Remember the green-pen letters I told you about? he says. Well, the last one provided me with a phone number to which I was instructed to send the result of our encounter. But screw them if they think I’m going to send them a play-by-play. Chad holds up the phone and presses send with a sarcastic flourish.

When Shortest finds out, he says, I guess he’s going to be very disappointed. There is the twitch of a grin at the corner of Chad’s mouth. Look, Jolyon, he says, I might as well admit something else to you now. I already told you that Shortest was my backer. Oh and Dee was his other runner, by the way, just imagine his smug delight at the composition of the final three. Anyway, Shortest helped me, Jolyon. I could never have thought of all those things to do to you on my own. Like the soccer match stuff. What do I know about soccer? How could I ever have thought of that on my own? But we lost, both of us, so now it doesn’t matter. Back into the Game. I guess I’m going to be seeing a whole lot more of Shortest.

No, Chad, I say, I think whoever sent you those letters is a fantasist and a liar. There’s nothing left for you now. You don’t owe them anything.

Chad is pale, his arms limp slabs against the sides of the chair. I wish I could believe that, Jolyon, he says.

And do I believe it? I don’t know, maybe not. Because for the last fourteen years there has been something troubling me about Game Soc. If Shortest knew I was on the roof with Mark and decided not to tell anyone, then he must have been scared of something, right? Maybe he was just scared of becoming embroiled in the story of a death. What if I’d been arrested and told the police everything, right from the start? What if the newspapers got hold of the story? So maybe Shortest was only worried how Game Soc’s behaviour would reflect on him, affect his future. But what if it was more than that? What if Shortest was terrified that Tallest would find out about him being at Pitt that night? And if so, if such a trivial and simple piece of information was enough to keep Shortest quiet, there would have to be something larger at play, something worth being afraid of, wouldn’t there?

I don’t know. I can’t decide what Shortest’s silence means. But whatever it means, I can see Chad is afraid.

You know, I think it’s time for a cup of tea, I say.

Chad explodes with an enormous laugh. Fine then, let’s have tea, he says. Sure, let’s break out the best china, invite the vicar, the Queen.

Strong, no sugar, just a thimbleful of milk? I say.

Oh, perfect, Chad says. Christ, that’s perfect, Jolyon, just how you trained me to take my tea. Jolyon my guide, my mentor. Chad smiles as if he has just said something enormously droll.

*   *   *

LXXV(v)
   As well as carrying mugs into the living room, I bring something else with me, something that caught my eye among the wreckage spread across the kitchen floor. I have to put the mugs down at Chad’s feet. And then I unfold it, round and white, made of delicate lace. I spread the tablecloth over the square of green felt that lies on the coffee table and place our tea on top.

How very civilised, Chad says. We both stare at the tablecloth, then reach for our mugs at the same time. We blow at our drinks and take small noisy sips of the too-hot tea.

Chad, will you answer me one question? I ask.

Anything, he says. I mean, sure, you deserve that much at least.

Why did Dee go along with everything? I understand why you did it. But why Dee?

Chad stares at me, a trace of bitterness returns to his eyes. Go along with it? he says. Dee didn’t know half the stuff that was going on. I came up with everything. Dee even fell in love with your story, she wasn’t lying to you about that. But she’s my wife, Jolyon, she loves me. And I’ve done very well in life,
very
well, and I’ve looked after her for years. When I told her I was coming here, when I explained it all to her, I suggested we might need some kind of an umpire. That if things got really bad between us, we would need someone else around, someone who understood what was going on. And she always felt guilty about what happened at Pitt between you and me. As if she should have stepped in earlier.

And then, when she still wasn’t sure, I told her I was scared. I said to her I was trying to protect us both, you and me. That you were in no fit state to survive if Game Soc got hold of you. I had it all worked out, I said. She trusted me. She’s
my
wife.

And then, once we got here, I didn’t even tell her half the stuff I was doing. She was busy sinking down comfortably into your words and I was moving around your apartment, thinking up what to do next. I didn’t tell her about your whisky and pills, how much I was increasing them. And she was even worried about you, she wanted us to find a way to make you stop, or cut down at least. She didn’t know, she didn’t see me washing your glasses, drawing new black lines that crept higher and higher every few days. And while the two of you were meeting in the park at night she had no idea what I was doing in here.

Chad looks briefly victorious again. But then his smile drops. He picks up his attaché case and places it on the coffee table. And Dee didn’t know about this, he says, snapping open the latches. I feel really bad about this, Jolyon. Chad reaches into his case and pulls out a large book as thick as a wedding album, red leatherette. He places it between us on the coffee table. He hangs his head low but then looks up at me. And then came my final assault on you, the five hundredth poem, he says. Dee did a great job, don’t you think? She didn’t want to write it, not at first. But I told her you needed some kind of a jolt to help you remember where you’d left her book. Everything went down
precisely
as I planned it.

I pick up Dee’s book from the table and start to flick through its pages covered in red ink until I pass poem four hundred and ninety-nine. The rest of the pages are blank. Suddenly I realise something. I look up sharply at Chad. So Dee never finished reading my story? I say.

Me neither, Chad says. Well, you stopped going for your walks after you thought you’d lost Dee’s book. And I thought I’d done enough by then, it didn’t matter to me any more. Anyway, we all know how your story ends. Mark jumps and you leave Pitt, Chad says. And we’re all just as much to blame as each other.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then takes a sip from his mug. Chad doesn’t see me looking up and breathing out hard, offering my silent prayer of thanks.

I slap my hands on my thighs. You know what I feel like right now? I say to Chad. I feel like going for a walk. Let’s blow off the cobwebs. Would you like to take a walk with me?

A walk? Chad says. You mean one of your medicinal strolls? Shouldn’t I stay here and rewrite your life for you? he says.

*   *   *

LXXV(vi)
   We turn left out of the building toward the park.

Chad’s hands are pushed deep in his pockets. So how much do you know about what happened with my father? Chad asks.

The cancer story, you mean? Your mother told me everything, I think.

Chad sighs. The one thing in the world I wouldn’t do, he says. Unbelievable.

Your mother wants to meet you, Chad, I say. Without your father there, you don’t have to see him. She said she’d come to the city, or anywhere you want. She’s waiting by the phone every day. Five past twelve, she said to call then and she’ll answer, your father won’t ever know.

Still feeding those damn pigs at noon every day, Chad says. I don’t know. She stayed married to him, didn’t she?

Going and seeing your mother doesn’t mean your father’s won, Chad, I say. Anyway, I promised her I’d pass on the message.

Thanks, Jolyon, Chad says.

We fall silent for a moment but I can sense there is something Chad wants to tell me. He pushes back his hair, begins to slow down. Jolyon, there’s something Middle said to me back at Pitt. I never told you, I never mentioned this to any of you. Just before he left Game Soc, he said to me it’s possible we would be told things. Not about Game Soc but something much larger. And he said he didn’t know if it was all just ghost stories but the only sensible way to behave would be to act as if it were true. He said, the longer you stay in the game, the more dangerous things become. I thought about what he said every time I opened one of those letters in green pen.

Our pace has slowed to a standstill. Chad turns and drops down onto a stoop, he sits with his legs wide apart.

Why didn’t you tell us? And why was Middle talking to you? I ask.

He told Emilia as well, Chad says. I suppose he assumed we’d pass on the message. Half an hour later Emilia got hit by a truck and she only remembered the dare we had planned for her. So I had this whole can of worms to myself. Chad stares off to the side. Truthfully? he says. I think perhaps it gave me a secret thrill. It was as if the whole thing were an adventure. But then I grew up. And I’m happy with where I got to, Jolyon. I don’t want any more adventures.

Chad looks small now, hunched down on the steps.

I think Shortest is a sadist, Chad, I say. The only game still going on is the one inside his twisted little mind.

That’s easy for you to say, Jolyon, you won. There’s nothing left for you to be afraid of any more. Anyway, I always thought it was Tallest behind the whole thing. Why Shortest?

Come on, I say, pulling Chad to his feet. This was supposed to be a medicinal stroll, remember? Let’s not talk about the Game any more.

We walk on in silence until we reach the end of the block and cross the road.

Around the grassy knoll? Chad says.

It is gloomy beneath the trees at the entrance to the park. Clouds have gathered overhead, hot clouds, and the air is pushed low.

No, I say, let’s just keep going on Seventh.

So you married an American, Chad laughs.

Worse than that, I say, I’m a bone fide American citizen. Four years now, it came through just before my divorce.

Then you beat me to it, Chad says. I got my British citizenship three years ago. He bites his lip, makes a sucking sound. Man, look at us, he says. You an American, me now a Brit. It’s almost as if we swapped places.

We walk on and begin to talk about old times. The day we first met, my strangled hands. Named after a Third World fucking country. Country and western singer, suede tassels, big hooters.
Hooh-durrs
, I say, mimicking Chad.

A decade in this country and you still can’t do the accent, he jokes.

I feel a spot of rain hit my nose and a few seconds later the first great gush of the downpour lands all at once as if a large bucketful of water has been thrown from a tall building nearby. We look at each other and then toward the shelter of the trees in the park. We both start running in the direction of a grand old elm. It is not far but when we reach the tree’s cover already we are soaked to the skin. I lean back against the elm tree and we both begin laughing. We laugh together like we used to before some other kind of life came along.

And then Chad puts his arm around my shoulders and looks up at the canopy sheltering us. Man, look at this huge gnarled old thing, he says.

Garlands of dried flowers hang from the trunk. Chad slaps his hand affectionately against the back of my neck and turns away. He begins to trace his finger around the bark, beneath the string of flowers. As Chad moves around the tree, I get down on my haunches and start rubbing my hair, my back fitting smoothly into a hollow in the trunk. I wipe the rainwater from my face. It feels good to be happy and wet. I let my head flop back against the tree and close my eyes.

I’ll help you, Chad, I call out. Whatever it is you have to do for them, if it’s anything at all, then I want to help you. Please, promise you’ll let me help you.

Chad doesn’t answer me. I open my eyes but can’t see him. I stand and I circle around the tree, following the garlands of flowers.

But he is gone. The rain is steady now, a maze of beaded curtains. And Chad is nowhere to be seen.

*   *   *

LXXVI(i)
   I stare at the clock, waiting for its final digit to change from a four to a five. And then I make the call.

Her gratitude is overwhelming, before I can ask her a question she is full of thank-yous and tears.

When did you see him? I ask.

Just a few days ago, Chad’s mother says.

Where? I ask her. Down here in Manhattan?

No, she says, a Johnny Rockets in a mall near Albany. It was only for a few hours. He said he had some important matters to take care of back down in the city. You haven’t seen him since he got back?

I’m sure I will, I say.

We talk some more. I let her tell me about her son, that she baked him cookies, they were always his favourite, he hasn’t changed one little bit … And then I tell her I have to go.

We say goodbye, Chad’s mother thanks me some more. And I hang up.

Dee looks at me, all of the hope gone from her face, and I shake my head. He went to see her near Albany, I say. Then he said he was coming back here.

Maybe he just needs some time, Dee says.

Maybe, I nod.

But that’s not what you think, is it, Jolyon?

I don’t know, Dee. I don’t know if he believes in them or not.

Oh, Chad believes in them, Dee says.

Did you see any of the letters?

He showed me a few. And he admitted it was perfectly possible the whole thing was ridiculous, a sadistic game.

And what do
you
think, Dee?

What do I know, Jolyon? The only things I know about the world I got from reading books. Good people do good things, good people do bad things, bad people do worse things. What more is there? My husband was scared, that’s all I know.

So what will you do? I say.

Continue to wait for him.

And if he doesn’t come back?

I’ll find him. I’ll look and I’ll never stop looking. Dee picks up one of the cushions from my sofa and hugs it to her belly. And how about you, Jolyon, what will you do?