Chapter 38

 

Pennsylvania, April, 2005 CE

I opened my mouth but couldn’t think what to say. She turned and looked at me, answering the question I hadn’t asked.

“I never killed… for sport… again.” She said it flatly, matter-of-factly. But she was looking at me, a question in her eyes.

I stood up and walked to the bar next to her and poured myself a drink. I thought about stealing one of her cigarettes but thought better of it. I took a sip and then just looked at her. I didn’t know what to say, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t afraid of her anymore.

“So now you know the worst of me,” she said, finally. Her eyes were hollow and empty. She had a look in her eye I couldn’t quite make out. It wasn’t remorse and it wasn’t exactly a question. But she was watching me, looking for… for what?

“I think I need to go get my head around all of this,” I said, and put down my drink. She just nodded as I walked to the parlor door. I picked up the recorder and snapped it off as I reached the door, then turned and said, “You know I’m not really a religious guy,” not sure what I meant to say.

She just nodded calmly and took another drag off her smoke.

“But you were right about one thing, I did grow up religious, and I guess… I guess I do believe in redemption.” I wasn’t sure she’d like that, but it’s what came out of me.

She just stared and then did something strange. She turned and poured herself another drink and stared at it, then looked at me and smiled gently. She gestured with the drink in her hand.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti,” she said, delivering it like a benediction. Then she tossed the drink back, and swallowed it down. “Bless you and thank you, but this is all I need.” She poured herself another drink, then leaned back on the bar, watching and waiting for me to leave. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes were far away. It was almost like I was already gone.

I shook my head. “Sleep well,” I said.

I made my way upstairs to the guest bedroom and lay down on top of the bed, thinking but trying not to think. I mean, what do you say to a story like that?

Some time later I woke up hot and sweaty. It was the middle of the night, but I was still dressed and I needed the bathroom, bad. I took all but my pants off, wiping the sweat off with my shirt and crumpling it to the floor, and then pulled on a fresh t-shirt. I grabbed my shaving kit and made my way to the bathroom. Quietly I did my business and brushed my teeth. As I left the bathroom, I heard what sounded like muffled gunfire downstairs. The TV, obviously, and I could see its glow. Feeling a little more awake, I quietly crept down the stairs and was surprised to find Edna in the den watching TV. I hadn’t even known she was in the house. I thought she was asleep, but as I entered quietly she suddenly looked up.

“Been wondering where you got off to,” she said.

As I reached for the light switch a movement back down the hallway caught my eye. I saw Zsallia heading to the kitchen with what I swore were two bottles of liquor in each hand. Edna was going on about how this had been the ladies’ tea room back in the day, but I stuck my head out into the hallway and watched as she turned out of sight. Then I heard a door banging open.

Trying not to be too obvious I crossed the room and looked out into the darkness outside. There was a light out there, like a hurricane lamp or some such, already lit. I saw her walk into the circle of light and then sit heavily. Next there was the clear silhouette of a bottle being raised.

“You probably should just let her be,” Edna suggested, “I suspect this’ll be a yearly thing for her.”

I looked out the window again. I could barely make her out, sitting with her back to something—a stone or a box of some sort, I guessed. But I could easily see the bottle as she raised it again. Then I felt Edna’s surprisingly strong hand grip my arm and I turned away from the window.

“Why don’t you come and have tea with me? I’ve been dying to talk with you ever since Jenny told me about you, and she’ll be out there for a while I’d guess.”

“Um, make mine coffee and you’ve got a date.”

She led me into the kitchen where she set an old coffee percolator going, then turned to making her tea. Suddenly I was famished and Edna found a fresh loaf of bread and some butter for me. We settled down at a table in the breakfast room and I started to evaluate this woman again. Edna was small the way very old people get small, but she seemed like someone who’d just contracted and gotten harder and tougher as she aged. Her face was round and cheerful, with long white hair in loose curls. Her blue eyes blazed with energy. I had a hard time believing she was ninety-nine years old—she was just so vigorous.

“So,” she began, “how much has Jenny told you about this place?”

“Nothing, really. I know it’s tied up with the man she married in the 1830s, but she hasn’t really talked about that yet.”

“His name was Jeremiah Henry McAllister, Jeremy to his close friends and family. He met her in California in 1829. When Jeremy’s brother and sister-in-law died in a fire in 1836 he came back to Pennsylvania to take care of the family. Bit of a scandal that was, him showing up with this pretty young wife nobody’d heard of before. Jeremy was a black sheep, disinherited by his father, spent his life traveling the world. The only person he’d stayed in touch with was his brother. Lots of suspicion there.”

“I’ll bet there was. So they showed up and moved in…”

“Oh, not that simple. This house,” she gestured about us with one hand, “was burned to the ground, and there were the four surviving children, along with Jeremy’s sister and her husband. They tried to force Jeremy and Elaine, that’s what she was calling herself then, to live with them. Wanted to keep an eye on ‘em, I expect. Something happened in that time because Catherine, Jeremy’s sister, did an about-face and started supporting her brother and his plans to rebuild the house.”

“Sounds like Zsallia’s handiwork to me,” I noted. Edna made a sour face, but nodded. She didn’t seem to care for the name Zsallia at all. I took a sip from my coffee cup and then asked, “How long was she here?”

“Jeremy passed away in March of ’51. She stayed another year, then left for Boston. Kept up a correspondence with Jeremy’s niece, Catherine, for a few years, but then disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” I asked, a little confused, “I thought she’d stayed in touch with the family.”

“Oh, no, she dropped out of sight, left it all behind. Why would you think that?”

“Just the way you two relate I guess. She defers to you so much I just thought you must have known each other a long time.”

“Heh, well, I have my ideas about that. Anyhow, she disappeared, but my great grandmother knew about her. Jeremy’s niece, she was my great grandmother, you see. For some reason Jeremy confided in her. It’s a little complex, I suppose, but I knew about Jenny—well she was called Elaine back then—since I was maybe twelve years old. Great Grandmother told me all about it when I was just a girl. She set up the McAllister trust to hold the house and property for two hundred years just in case her Aunt Elaine ever decided to come back.

“I have to admit, I didn’t really believe it. Figured it was just a family folk tale, but I loved the story. I had this journal of Jeremy’s, read it over and over—he was absolutely insane in his love for Elaine. It was intoxicating, especially for a young girl like me.”

She fell silent then and looked toward the back of the house while I thought about what she’d just told me. It was a graphic example of what Zsallia had been trying to impress upon me almost since the beginning: this entire family had had its destiny changed because one member ran into her. Over one hundred and fifty years later they were still dealing with the repercussions of that chance encounter. And Zsallia seemed painfully aware of that fact.

“What happened?” I finally asked. Edna gave me a questioning look, so I rephrased it. “How did you finally meet her, I mean?”

“Oh, that. Well, Jeremy had written her a letter, sort of a deathbed good-bye, and in it he told her that he’d spilled the beans to his niece. She found the letter a couple of years ago when she was going through some of her old papers, finally read it, then came down here to see if it was something she should worry about. She’s very skittish, you know.”

I just laughed at that. Edna chuckled, too.

“She walked into the Historical Society in town and like to gave me a heart attack when I saw her. There’s a big oil portrait of her hanging there, very good likeness, too. My niece, Sarah, saw her first. Jenny just claimed to be a descendant of Elaine and, honestly, I believed it. It made sense.

“But she was like a guardian angel. The Trust was out of money and the town was hiking our taxes, trying to force us to sell the property, and here came Genevieve, with a plausible story about being related to Elaine, and a big bank account. Turned the whole situation on its ear, she did. But something about her nagged at me. I thought maybe I was going nuts, old age finally making me batty, but it just wouldn’t go away.

“On the day she was planning to leave I talked her into taking a trip up to Great Grandmother’s grave. When I saw her standing there, looking at Catherine’s marker… she just looked… I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but sort of lost and like she’d just seen too, too much of this. And for such a pretty thing she looked old, old in the eyes.

“So I tested her. Out of the blue I told her I knew she was Elaine and I knew her secret.”

“Jesus… you had no idea how dangerous that might be?” I could only imagine what Zsallia’s first impulse would have been in a situation like that.

“Well, I’ll tell you… the look on her face was what we used to refer to as ‘eloquent’. For a minute there I thought she might do something drastic. She has this pistol…”

“I know,” I said. “She scares me the way she plays with it sometimes.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have shot me. At least, I don’t think she’d have done it.” She chuckled a little morbidly. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it? She’s here. That’s what’s important.”

That led straight to something I really wanted to know, so I asked her flat out, “Why? Why is it important?”

“Oh, sonny, she’s got to find a place to set down roots. She’s going mad, you know.”

I started when she said that, staring at her for a moment. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh come now, surely you’ve noticed she’s not entirely stable? She’s been skulking around the underbelly of humanity for a long, long time. I think she’s sick of it and she’s been trying to put an end to it for a hundred and fifty years now. She married Jeremy because she wanted to stop running, but the habit was too hard to break. And now… well, here she is.” Edna stopped talking and took a careful sip of her tea, watching me through the small round lenses of her glasses.

“You could be right,” I finally offered, “but it seems to me she’s being pretty rational about this now. That’s what this book is all about. No more running, no more hiding. She wants the world to accept her on her own terms…” I stopped because this wasn’t what I really wanted to talk about. I took a deep breath and asked, “What is she doing back there?”

Edna looked at me with obvious surprise. “She hasn’t told you?”

“Not a word.”

She thought about that for a minute, then sighed, “Today is Jeremy’s birthday,” she said. The way she said it, it was like she thought that explained everything.

“Oh… well, maybe that explains why she’s been so…”

“Sonny,” she interrupted, “that’s his grave she’s sitting on out there.”

“Damn…” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Hours later I rolled out of bed again and looked out the back window. She was still out there. I couldn’t stop myself; I just pulled on my pants and a sweatshirt and made my way down to the door to the rear patio. Outside it was cool, almost cold, the sky clear and star-filled. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze, so I heard it almost immediately as I stepped out the door.

She was singing.

The words were unintelligible and the tune was odd, a little flat, but her voice was clear and firm; beautiful, really. I stopped in my tracks and just listened. She went quiet for a minute, and I decided I should either join her or go back to bed. So I started walking towards the light of her lamp. I saw her take a drink, and then she started up again.

O tekos, heion escho ponon.

Sei dth’aoteis,

Galatheno dth’etori knosseis

En aterpei dthourati

  chalkeogompho

Todthe ingktilampei

Kyaneo dthnopho tatheis.

Halman dth’hyperthen tean koman

 batheian pariontos kymatos

Ouk alegheishoudth’anemou phthonggon

  prophyrea keimenos en chlanidthi,

Proseopon kalon

Proseptheanon.

Ei dthe thei deinon to ge deinon en,

Kai ken emon rhematon

Lepton hypeiches ouas.

Kelomai s’eudthe, brephos

Eudtheto dthe pontos,

Eudtheto dth’ametron kakon.

It sounded sad, but I couldn’t be sure. It seemed to lack certain tones I expected to hear and the meter was strange. But it was haunting.

“You have a beautiful voice,” I finally said.

She turned her head and smiled up at me. “Thank you. Have a drink?”

Relieved that she wasn’t angry, I took the bottle of Raynal and put it to my lips. I’m not a brandy fan but this wasn’t too bad. As I handed it back I started. Despite her friendly greeting and clear voice, it was obvious she’d been crying. A lot. She had three entire empty bottles sitting next to her and another of Chivas. She saw my face and laughed.

“I hardly even feel alcohol unless I drink steadily and brandy barely touches me. But it was his drink, and today is his birthday.” She lifted the bottle towards the headstone across from her and then took another drink. I leaned in and read the marker: Jeremiah Henry McAllister.

I settled down next to her and took the bottle from her hand. It was just a little chilly, so I swigged some of it down. Then I decided to probe her again.

“We’ve been talking about your life for six months now and you haven’t said anything about him. Do you know why?”

“No… yes…  I suppose that’s an honest answer. I don’t talk about him because I don’t know what to say.”

“I read your on-line journal. You made it pretty clear you felt he was special… more so than other people you’ve talked about, but it’s pretty hard to get a feel for who he was from that. I don’t feel like I know Jeremy the way I got to understand Att, or Rufus…”

She sighed, sagging against the old headstone behind her, then turned her eyes towards me again.

“It’s too close… I thought I had put this away, that I was done mourning him. I even came here in secret to finally say goodbye. I was all done…” She laughed then, not with any bitterness but like she was really amused. “Two weeks later I read his letter and suddenly it was all alive again, all right in the center of me. And here I am.” She lifted the bottle to the headstone again, “It’s all your fault! You horny, meddling sailor.” Her voice got quiet on those last words and then she laughed again.

“Why didn’t you tell me what today was? We didn’t have to go through… all of that. Not today.”

“It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t even going to do this, but when we were finished… I don’t know, I guess I needed to be here right now.”

I’d never really seen her like this. Despite what she said she was clearly a little drunk and not lost in some deep funk. My hand slid into my pocket and I drew out the little digital recorder. I turned it on and set it on Jeremy’s headstone. She stared at it, then looked at me.

“So, how did you meet him?” I asked.

Zsallia put the bottle to her lips for a moment, drinking deep, then handed it back to me.

“No… not tonight. Another time. I had my diaries sent down from Boston. We can go through some of them together. Promise.” She grinned. “But not right away.” I took another sip of brandy, then nodded.

“So that song you were singing. It was pretty, but I didn’t recognize the language…”

“Greek. Danae and Perseus. It’s ancient. Like me.”

She took a deep breath and began singing again. Despite the language I could sense the melancholy in it, yet there was also something of the heroic resonating through her voice as she sang with her eyes closed, her head resting against the stone. She went on and on, repeating the refrain three times before finishing. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me again.

“I’ve been thinking about Joshua’s proposal, about the research corporation,” she said.

“You’ve made a decision?” I asked, keeping my voice as carefully neutral as I could.

She drew a deep breath. “I’m going to do it. I still can’t escape the notion that of all my mistakes, of all my crimes, this may prove to be the worst. Yet what am I to do? In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“I think it’s the right thing to do… the best thing to do, really. I’ve never understood why you were so disturbed by it.”

“Hmm, no, I never did explain it, did I?” She paused then and took another drink.

“Looks… looks are deceiving. You look at me and you see a human being. All the outward appearances are what you expect so it’s nigh on impossible for you to see me otherwise. But it’s a lie. How many lifetimes can one live before she is changed so deeply, so fundamentally, that she cannot remember what it means to feel normal? To feel as if she belongs? To not be… warped by the weight of years upon her?”

“You want my opinion?” I asked. She nodded, and I continued, “You’re here for a reason. Here with me, I mean. Here in Pennsylvania.”

“I’m here in defiance of my better judgment. I am here because… I think it might be preferable to embrace this, rather than to continue as I have. The centuries have changed me. I can feel it, deep in that part of me that defines who and what I am. You said you were not sure I had the right to decide for everyone else, but you assume that there is only good to come from all of this.”

I didn’t assume that. But I stayed absolutely still and just listened as she went on.

“If I choose to allow this, to let your doctors and your scientists see what they can tease from me, then I am responsible for the consequences, am I not? No, I see your objection, but you are wrong. No one can be expected to be rational in choosing between a life of perhaps one hundred years, and a life of thousands. Mortality is the ultimate driving force for your kind. It drives you to accomplish. It drives you to procreate. It drives you to build today for the betterment of tomorrow. It also removes the weight of old ways from the path of the new.”

I opened my mouth to object but she interrupted me.

“I understand your optimism. You feel that people will make their own decisions about what is learned, that it is wrong to withhold access to knowledge. But my fears are not mere selfishness. I could be the undoing of much of the good in humanity, and once the choice is made it seems unlikely it can be unmade. That’s why I am unmoved by pleas to my obligations to mankind, or all the good things that could be had if I would only be reasonable.

“I am not merely looking at tomorrow; my gaze is fixed far, far down the road. Unlike you, I know what it means to fail to consider the coming thousand years. And what do I say, centuries hence, if it comes to pass that my decision was horribly, irrevocably wrong? It’s not as if keeping this knowledge secret dooms mankind—you will live out your lives as you always have. Perhaps you will learn to make yourselves like me in your own time, in your own way. Then the choices are yours and yours alone.

“So, what’s more selfish? To allow mankind to march forward on a path of its own making, or to fundamentally change the definition of what Man is, merely to assuage my own fear and loneliness?” She tipped the bottle again, drinking deeply this time, then handing it to me before asking, “Can you answer that question?”

“Phrased like that? No, I doubt anyone can.”

“Hmm, well I just did. I’ve made a decision that all of mankind will have to live with.” She sighed then, sagging back against the marker again with her eyes closed. “My choice. My decision. My responsibility.”

I started to object, but she gently held up her hand. Without making me feel small, she was making it clear: she didn’t want to argue. So finally I just said, “You’re not going to change your mind in the morning?”

She opened her eyes and glared at me, but then she smiled and shook her head. “No,” she said, “I made the decision sitting here… but I’ve known for days what I would decide. I just haven’t been able to say it…” she trailed off and her eyes settled on Jeremiah McAllister’s headstone. She just sat there, not even blinking, for an uncomfortably long time. Not sure what else to do, I just took another drink.

Finally she straightened up and stretched. “Enough of this,” she said, “I’m off to bed.”

We gathered up the lamp and the empty bottles and made our way back to the house, but she walked as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. We reached the porch and put the bottles into the garbage before she shut off the lamp, then she stopped and put her hand on my forearm, looking up at me. It was so dark I couldn’t really see her face, just its dark oval. Then she spoke.

“I would be lying if I didn’t say I was afraid of this. It’s all going so fast… so fast for me especially. Before the accident I was planning to spend the next 50 years getting ready to reveal myself. I can’t tell you how often I’ve considered dropping everything and disappearing since November.”

“I figured,” I said. “I think you’re making the right call, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Your optimism is encouraging, but I can’t allow myself to share it so casually. It brings me to another matter, however.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you remember why I told you I’d hired you? That I’d seen certain things in your work? And seen them confirmed upon meeting you?”

“Well, yeah, kind of,” I said.

“I find you to generally be without guile or ill intent. You’re also fairly worldly without being cynical.”

“Well, shucks…” I started to say, but she interrupted.

“If I’m to do this thing, I need people around me whom I can trust. I have all but convinced Dennis Novak to move here and accept a job with the new corporation. I’d offered him a make-work job before just to get him out here, but now with this new business he can see that I have a genuine need for him.”

“That’s cool,” I said, wondering where she was going.

“I’d like to make you a similar offer.”

“Me? Your ghost writer?”

“I need people who can keep a steady head. I need people who understand my… moodiness?” she said that last with a little laugh. “People to stand by me and help me make rational decisions.”

“And won’t put up with your crap,” I said, grinning.

She laughed lightly. “Yes, well, there is that,” she said.

“Well, offhand I’m not sure. I’ll have to talk with my wife….” I said.

“Of course. We will speak more of this in the morning, then?”

“Sure,” I replied.

There was a moment of still silence and then I felt her hands on my chest. She gripped the front of my shirt and pulled me forward and she kissed me. I was surprised, not sure what to do, but she just pressed her lips to mine for a moment before pulling back. It was soft and sweet, and… innocent.

“Thank-you,” she whispered.

That suddenly I knew I would take the job and she knew it as well. Everything else was a formality.