The House That Jack Built (17 page)

    'Can you really see me going back? "Y'r honour, my clients have been trading in ngapi for five generations. Medical records show that nobody in the United States has fallen ill or died as a consequence of consuming ngapi for over forty-seven years. Why now has the Food and Drug Administradon suddenly taken steps to ban its distribution? After all, it's only semi-rotted shrimp paste." '

    'But what are you going to do?' asked Effie.

    He kissed her again. 'I'm going to start taking risks. I'm going to gamble. I'm going to put my life on the line, every single day. In fact, I'm going to live, like I never lived before. By the time I'm through, Valhalla is going to be too small for me.'

    'You don't seriously mean gamble? Not roulette, or poker, or whatever?'

    'Maybe…, but there are much bigger games than that.'

    'Such as?'

    He looked at her and his eyes were dark. In fact they were just like Jack Belias' eyes, as he stood on the boardwalk in Deauville, with a flag waving in the distance, and a little girl running out-of-focus just behind him. That little girl would be an old lady today, if she were still alive; but what of the beach at Deauville, and the flag, and what of Jack Belias? His Lincoln Zephyr coupe parked by Bear Mountain Bridge, its lights gradually dimming and its driver-door left open?

    Effie said, 'Valhalla will cost us a fortune. We couldn't run it on… luck… or whatever it is you're thinking of doing.'

    'Listen, I was lucky that night in K-Plus Drugs. They could have killed me. But they didn't. They sent me here, to recover. They sent me to Valhalla, didn't they? The hall of fallen heroes. And I've discovered myself; and that's all I care about.'

    'What about me? Do you care about me?'

    'Do koi care about water?'

    She kissed his freshly-washed hair. 'Koi? Those Japanese fish? I guess they do.'

    Although later she thought:
no, they probably don't.
Any more than birds care about the air. Koi take water for granted the same way that birds take the sky for granted; and the same way that Craig took her for granted. He needed her. He couldn't live and breathe without her. But being needed wasn't the same as being loved.

    Craig dialled the Hungry Moon. Effie was close enough to hear the rich, breathy voice that answered. 'Hungry Moon… Natural Nourishment.'

    Craig glanced up at Effie and grinned. Then he said, 'You must be Norman's mother.'

    'This is the Hungry Moon. Who is this?'

    'I'm sorry. This is Craig Bellman. Norman may have mentioned me. My wife and I have been thinking of buying Valhalla.'

    'I see. Yes. Norman did mention that somebody was interested in it.' The voice was just as breathy, but suspicious.

    'Is Norman home? The reason is, I wanted to borrow an inflatable bed, or a camp bed, or a futon, or something like that.'

    'You want to borrow a what?'

    'An inflatable bed. Or maybe a camp bed. Or even sleeping-bags. My wife and I are planning on spending a night there… you know, just to get the feel of it… we were wondering if-'

    'You were planning on spending a night at Valhalla?' The harshness in Pepper Moriarty's voice made Effie's scalp prickle like the effervescence from a freshly-opened bottle of tonic water.

    'Sure,' said Craig, nonchalant male, winking at Effie. 'You were planning on spending a night at Valhalla, after everything that happened?'

    'Ms. Moriarty, I don't know what you mean by "everything that happened", and I don't think that I want to know. Norman told me that you had some views about Valhalla having a non-conventional ambience, but I don't think that it's anything to get excited about.'

    'Non-conventional ambience? Are you a lawyer?'

    'Yes, as it happens.'

    'Let me tell you this, then, Mr. Lawyer. I've been to Valhalla, and I know what's wrong with Valhalla, and "non-conventional ambience" isn't it. Valhalla has seriously bad psychic vibrations. Valhalla is not the place for you to spend the night; or for anybody to spend the night.' Craig put on his flat, padent, attorney-speak voice. 'Mrs. Moriarty, I know what you think about Valhalla. Norman told us. But personally I'm afraid that I'm not a great believer in what you call psychic vibrations. And I really would take it as a favour if you kept your views to yourself, in case we have trouble hiring builders, or staff, or anybody else who might be deterred by the idea of working in a haunted house. I presume that's what we're talking about, isn't it? A haunted house?'

    Pepper Moriarty said tightly, 'I'll go find Norman. Don't hang up. Or do, if you can't afford it.'

    'I can afford Valhalla, Mrs. Moriarty.'

    'Then you can afford to stay on the line, can't you? And it's Ms.'

    

    

    Norman was waiting for them when they arrived at Valhalla. He was slouched in the passenger seat of his Dodge Charger wearing a red check overshirt and a black T-shirt with a picture of Kurt Cobain on it, and he was eating a hamburger stuffed with kumquats. 'Brown, orange, they're complementary colours.'

    'You could have had cheese. That's orange,' said Effie, wrinkling up her nose.

    'I don't know. It's all to do with karma too. You can't eat the flesh of a domestic animal along with the curdled milk of another domestic animal. You have to have something completely inanimate, and remote. Something that came from a long way away and can't answer back.'

    'Well, that probably makes sense,' said Craig, slapping him on the back. 'I never heard of a kumquat that answered back. But come to that, I never heard of a hamburger that answered back.'

    'I guess you never went to McDonalds.'

    He carefully folded up his paper napkin and tucked it into his glovebox. Then he climbed out of the car and stretched and shook himself like a dog. 'The day I've had. Me and two other guys, we're restoring a Dutch barn over at Nelsonville, and we, like, replaced the pentice and we hung new doors, all in one afternoon. Seventeen-hundred seventy-five that barn was built, the year before Independence. They knew how to build a barn in those days. That barn's going to be standing in another two hundred years, I'll bet you.'

    'How much?' asked Craig.

    'How much what?'

    'How much do you bet me?'

    Norman frowned at him from out of his hair. 'What does it matter? Even if you win, you won't be around to collect it.'

    'You want to bet on that, too?'

    Norman opened the Charger's boot and took out a large bundled-up futon, tied with sisal string. 'Hope this is okay. It's all I could find. It used to belong to some old hippie but mom washed it since then.'

    'Looks fine to me,' said Effie. She could smell herbs on it, and flowers. Obviously Pepper Moriarty had kept it in the storeroom at the Hungry Moon. Norman carried it up the steps for them, past the statue of the headless woman, to the front door.

    The sky was dark blue and glossy as lapis lazuli, and it glittered from one horizon to the other with millions of stars. That was one of the things that Effie missed, living in the city. They gave the night such depth, and such a feeling of timelessness. She loved the idea that she was seeing the stars as they used to be, thousands of years ago. She loved the idea that somewhere far away in space, if they had telescopes that were powerful enough, people could look towards Earth and see her as she was when she was a little girl, skipping up the steps of the Red Oaks Inn, hand-in-hand with her father. They would still be able to see her hundreds of years in the future, when she was long dead and lying next to her parents in Cold Spring cemetery.

    If someone in the furthest reaches of the galaxy can still see you, dancing and laughing, how can you ever die? 'What are you looking at?' Craig asked her.

    'The stars. Look, the Dragon, Draco - and there's Ursa Minor, the Little Bear.'

    He grasped her elbow and led her to the house. 'You always were a romantic, weren't you?'

    But all that Effie could think about was that Valhalla's black bulk completely blotted out a whole section of the sky. She could feel its coldness and its vinegary dampness; and as Craig turned the key in the lock, she could feel its unwelcoming atmosphere, too. The wolfish bell-pull glared at her through the shadows, and she remembered what Norman had told them about it: that it would bite off your hand if you rang it when you weren't welcome. She could almost believe it.

    Norman tossed back his hair and followed them into the gloomy hallway. 'My mom wasn't too pleased with what you said about psychic vibrations.'

    'Oh, no?' said Craig, with a conspicuous lack of interest. 'She said that people who can't sense psychic vibrations are suffering from mental gangrene. Like, a piece of their consciousness has gone dead, and has started to rot, and gives off this very offensive odour.'

    Craig turned and stared at him. Norman shuffled from one foot to the other, an odd little skip of embarrassment. 'Your mom said that?'

    Norman looked uneasy. 'She has a way of saying what she thinks, like right out front.'

    'Maybe she should keep her thoughts to herself.'

    'Come on, man, she's my mom. She's entitled to have her opinions. Besides, she may be right.'

    'And she's lent us a futon that was slept in by Wavy Gravy?'

    Norman shrugged, and gave a slopy smile. 'I guess that's an opinion in itself.'

    'Craig, for goodness' sake,' Effie interrupted. 'Where are we going to sleep? I didn't realise this place was going to look so creepy at night.'

    Craig walked to the centre of the hallway and looked around. The starlight fell through the broken windows like chilled milk. He stood in the middle of the marble floor, tall and dark and unsmiling. Effie could sense that he was trying to pick up the feeling that Valhalla had given him before: the feeling that he belonged here, that the house wasn't just meant to be his, it was him.

    'This place is going to be amazing,' said Craig, his voice echoing from everywhere. 'Can you imagine it?

    'Chandeliers, polished marble floors, music.'

    'Isolation,' put in Effie.

    'What are you talking about, isolation? We'll have house parties every weekend!'

    'Oh, yes? And how are we going to pay for them?'

    'We'll have a few card games. Win a little here, win a little there. That should cover it.'

    Effie couldn't believe what she was hearing. ' "We'll have a few card games"? Are you kidding me, or what? You're going to invite your friends up here for house parties, and then you're going to fleece them at poker?'

    'People love to gamble. Especially people with lots of money. We'll be famous; we'll be rich; and we won't have to answer to anyone.'

    'What the hell are you talking about? I can't even understand what you're talking about! Take me back to Pig Hill, I really don't like it here.'

    He stepped towards her. The soles of his shoes squeaked on the fine grit that covered the marble floor. He laid his hands on her shoulders and stared directly into her eyes.

    'Effie… for my sake, try to like it. This is where I belong. This is the house that I always wanted. This is the house that I always needed.'

    'I just don't like it. Besides, it's unsafe. Look what happened to that poor surveyor.'

    'Oh, Effie,' he said, and she could feel the warm breath on his face, and for some reason his closeness disturbed her. 'You're just feeling tired, that's all. We'll stay well clear of the library, and all of that side that has dry rot. We don't we go upstairs to the bedroom and make ourselves cosy.' He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of playing cards. 'See, look what I brought. We can even get some practice in.'

    'I don't believe you sometimes,' said Effie. She didn't know whether to feel angry or exasperated or whether to laugh and admit defeat. But he stroked her forehead, touched her hair, and kissed her, and that made her feel good enough to look up at him and smile and say, with exaggerated reluctance, 'O-kayy. Maybe it could be fun.'

    'Listen,' said Norman, 'if it makes you guys feel any better, like, I'll stay, too. I've always wanted to spend the night in a haunted house.'

    Craig looked up. 'Norman... no matter what your mother says, Valhalla isn't haunted. Damp, I'll give you. Derelict, yes. But not haunted.'

    'Whatever you say, supremo. But I'd still like to stay. It'll give me some time to look around, make you up some estimates. That roof is going to take some serious fixing.'

    'I don't know,' said Craig. 'This was going to be a private party. Just Mrs. Bellman and me.'

    'Hey… I won't get in your face. I'll have to do some measuring and some tapping and some running up and down stairs, but that's the only way you'll know that I'm here. Mr. Discreet strikes again.'

    Craig said to Effie, 'What do you think?'

    'I don't think we have very much to fear from a kid in a Kurt Cobain T-shirt, do you?'

    'I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anybody who worships the dead.'

    Norman said, 'Come on… serious for a moment. Houses are different by night. During the day they show you all of their good side, do you know what I mean? By night they give up their secrets. All their creaks and groans and bad little memories. I always do a night inspection, when I'm planning to work on a house. You like catch the house unawares. It doesn't expect anybody to be looking at it, and you can be surprised at what you find… like a floor that didn't creak at all, during the day. Or a damp patch that you couldn't see by daylight.'

    Effie gave Craig a direct kiss on his mouth. His lips were unexpectedly cold, as if he had been pressing them against a winter window. 'Norman can stay,' she told him.