Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
ISOLATIONISM FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
What's happened lately is that Nabal accidentally shot the the IRS agent, when he was sneaking into his room in the dark. That sounds pretty silly, but the longer I live here, the less I'm surprised by anything. The agent became very hysterical, but for a while we couldn't do anything about it because the roads were impassable, since the creek had flooded. He kept raving that we were trying to kill him and that he would have Nabal prosecuted for attempted murder. When it was all done we ended up having to go downtown and give statements, every last one of us. Even Anadora. I've never seen her set foot in town before this. She said it was because of Saul, since he had banned fortunetellers, and as she couldn't help being one, the best she could do was stay hidden away.
Nabal thought it was pretty funny. I mean, he didn't laugh or anything, but somehow I could tell he was relieved. I suppose it's partly because he's used to being accused of murder, but tax evasion is quite a different thing. Something trickier. And besides, it was hard to be scared of Duncely when he was carrying on that way. And I know Nabal was scared, very scared, when he was waiting for Duncely to show up that morning. Or at the very least, depressed.
I ran into him in the library. I was reading about how for seven years or so, while he was lost, Alvar Nunez kept going around the countryside, being a merchant. I can just see him trudging around, stark naked, trading seashells with various tribes. That and practicing medicine. Raising the dead every so often. He's so stiff about it, too. As if he had no personal feelings on the subject. As if that were a perfectly normal thing for an explorer to spend his time doing. And all in the name of Christ, of course. At least, that was as much as I could make out with my Spanish. And Nabal came in with a stack of papers and looked at me suspiciously. "Do you never leave?"
I didn't know what he meant. "Leave? Did you want me to leave?"
He sat down in a chair across from me. "You are always here. Every time I come in, you are here."
"I'm just reading," I said, apologetically. "I've just been reading a lot."
He wasn't paying attention to me, just leafing through his papers, but he muttered: "It's not good for the eyes."
I laughed. He looked up at me and I was still laughing, I couldn't stop. He gave me a strange, disapproving look. "Are you all right?"
Gradually, the laughter dried up. I felt sad. It was just that he had never asked me how I felt before, not even in passing. He has never cared enough to ask. "Yeah," I nodded, "I'm all right."
He looked back down at his papers.
"Nabal," I tried. He didn't look up, but ignored me, just as if we were having sex or something. I mean, just as he would have if we were, but of course we weren't. He wasn't even within touching distance. So I persisted. "What does crede vaccam mean?"
He looked up, surprised. Or puzzled. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I looked it up. Even the grammar parts. As far as I can tell, it means 'believe in the cow' or 'believe the cow' or 'have faith in the cow' ... or, in somebody named cow."
He smiled. "That's close enough."
"It's carved into the Courthouse cornerstone."
There was a subdued irony in his voice. "Yes, I know that."
"Well, what is it? And what's it doing there?"
He looked up, not at me, but at the stern portrait of Jafnez on the wall behind me. "It's our family motto."
"Then what's it doing carved into the courthouse?"
He fiddled with his papers, but then he looked at me. "When they were organizing the counties, they asked our family for its crest. They were going to name the county after us."
I frowned, thinking. "But it's called Vacuum County, not Vaca County."
"Their Latin wasn't very good. They got confused."
"Oh." I started to see it. "They took it from the motto?"
"Accusative ending and all. And they turned the double 'c' into two 'u's for some unknown reason. Perhaps because it made more sense."
I nodded. "It does, doesn't it? In a way."
He raised an eyebrow.
"People just get sucked up," I said. He seemed to think about that for a moment, but I was sorry I had said it, because he looked sadly back down at those papers in front of him.
"If you'll excuse, Miss Lackland, I have an appointment with my inquisitor in fifteen minutes. You're free to stay until he comes ..." Which I understood to mean that he expected me to clear out as soon as the IRS agent showed up.
I tilted my head. "Why are you meeting him here? Why not at your office?"
He was silent a moment. He swallowed before he spoke, as if he had trouble admitting it. "I felt the interview might be ... disruptive. In the barracks" --they call those buildings out there that --"I am not accustomed to being ... demeaned. But in this house" he spread out his hands and there was a near smile, wry and delicate "it has been known to happen."
I shook my head. So that's what he was doing there, preparing to be demeaned. I was suddenly bold. "What have you got there?"
"You've run out of reading material?" I was prepared for a flat out refusal, but he relented and handed me a piece of paper. He didn't really hand it to me, he pushed it fast across the table, and it stopped against me on the other side.
Your Federal tax return for the above year(s) has been assigned to me for examination. Because I need additional information to verify certain items reported on your return, I would like to meet with at the time and place shown above.
If you filed a joint return, either you or your spouse may keep the appointment -- I could just see Abby making it in for the appointment via seance. I'm sure Anadora would oblige --, or you may have an attorney, a certified public accountant, an individual enrolled to practice before the Internal Revenue Service, or a qualified unenrolled individual represent or accompany you. --I wondered what sort of person that would be. A minister, or a financial faith healer, or maybe the taxpayer's slut. I was ready to volunteer. He seemed to need someone. --Form 2848-D, Authorization or Declaration, may be used for this purpose and if your representative does not have copies of this form, they may be obtained from one of our offices. Also, any other individual, even though not qualified to represent you, may accompany you as a witness and assist in establishing the facts of your case.
"Why don't you have a lawyer with you when the agent comes?"
"I don't trust lawyers."
It made me think how his ancestor had outlawed lawyers in order to cut down on lawsuits. "Well, what about a CPA."
"I don't like CPAs."
That was funny, because as far as I can tell, he doesn't like anybody. So I went back to reading the letter.
About the records needed to examine your return --
To help make the examination as brief as posssible, please have the following information available if applicable to your return:
Workpapers used in preparing your return;
All books and records concerning your income, expenses and deductions;
Bank statements and cancelled checks;
Duplicate deposit slips;
Savings account passbooks;
Information on other invested funds;
Records of loans and repayments;
Purchase invoices covering acquisitions of capital items;
Records covering purchases or sales of real estate and other property;
Information on any nontaxable income;
Your copy of your Federal tax return for the above year(s);
The law requires taxpayers to substantiate all items affecting their tax liabilities when requested to do so. If you do not keep this appointment or do not arrange another, we will have to proceed on the basis of available return information. --That had me wondering. Because I would expect that if taxpayers are required to substantiate all items affecting their tax liabilities, failure to do so would end up being a crime or misdemeanor in its own right. Or, if there was going to be some kind of default, it wouldn't be that they, the IRS that is, would have to "proceed on the basis of available return information". If they did, surely they'd come up with the same liability that the taxpayer had reported in the first place and he would suffer no harm. That is, unless he'd made some kind of arithmetic error. I asked Nabal: "What would happen if you didn't meet with them?"
He shrugged. "That's very unclear." He paused and a wry self depracating grin appeared. "Something bad."
I laughed. They really are trying to scare everybody.
About the examination and your appeal rights --
We realize some taxpayers may be concerned about an examination of their tax returns. We hope we can relieve any concern you may have by briefly explaining why we examine, what our procedures are, and what your appeal rights are if you do not agree with the results.
We examine returns to verify the correctness of income, exemptions, credits, and deductions. We find that the vast majority of taxpayers are honest and have nothing to fear from an examination of their tax returns. An examination of such a taxpayer's return does not suggest a suspicion of dishonesty or criminal liability. In many cases, no change is made to the tax liability reported, or the taxpayer receives a refund. However, if taxpayers do not substantiate items when requested, we have to act on available return information that may be incomplete. That is why your cooperation is so important.
"Why do they work so hard to make it seem that meeting with them is voluntary?" I asked Nabal. "They're bending over backwards to make it sound that way."
Nabal stirred in his chair. "Why do they call it voluntary self assessment?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
He said: "Slavery is shameful enough when it's out in the open and the whips and chains are in plain view..."
"I thought you were in favor of slavery."
He smiled. "I am."
"Then why is it shameful?"
"Can't you feel it?"
I blushed. He was looking at me that way again. "Yes." I met his gaze. "But if slavery is okay, why should we be ashamed?"
He looked away. I thought for a moment that he didn't have the answer, that he didn't know it any more than I did. "It's bad enough when they whip us into subservience, but how much more so when we must fetch the whip ourselves." There was a strange look in his eyes, too deep and black and I was scared for him. I didn't want to see it, so I turned back to the form letter.
I will go over your return and records and then explain any proposals to change your tax liability. I want you to understand fully any recommended decrease or increase in your tax, so please don't hesitate to ask questions about anything not clear to you.
If changes are recommended and you agree with them, I will ask you to sign an agreement form. By signing, you will indicate your agreement to the amount shown on the form as additional tax you owe, or as a refund due you, and simplify closing your case. --Dad told me once that before they would execute somebody in the Soviet Union, they would make the condemned sign his death warrant, just to have it all neat and tidy and legal.
Most people agree with our proposals, and we believe that this is because they find our examiners to be fair. --I shouldn't have pled nolo, he was right. I'm glad they killed Abner. I'm glad I didn't have to go to court and testify how scared I was and that I let them do this to me. I let them.
I looked up from the paper at him. "You don't have to meet with him. You could just tell him to go away." My voice was funny-sounding, too urgent and high pitched. "You could tell him that if he's got some problem with your returns, he can notify you what it is first. Then you can decide if you want to meet with him. You can tell him that, can't you?"
Nabal got up. He took the letter away from me, so that I never got to read the rest of it, which was about appeal rights, as far as I could make out. "It's past nine o'clock," he said. "You'd best be on your way. Take your books with you." He examined Naufragios Y Comentarios suspiciously. As I was leaving he said: "You know, I'm not paying you to get an education." He didn't sound angry. It was not so much a remonstrance, as a comment.
Which is really weird, actually, for a number of reasons. What he said, I mean. It's not entirely clear to me why he keeps me on at all. And as for education, I realized I'd never done so much reading in my life. Certainly not in college. There were too many classes to attend and papers and things to write.
So that was that, except that I came around and tried to peek in once at ten. He was still sitting there with that pile of papers. But there was no one there with him.
Pipa kept pestering me. I could have sworn Abner's death affected me more than her. She kept asking me all sorts of questions, the purpose of which seemed to be to figure out how often Nabal and I spend the night together. I tried to keep her guessing. Because the real answer is: never. Not since room 29.
Everything was very depressing. In the afternoon I went back to the library, but no one was there. And then Angelo brought the IRS agent to wait there and he was trying to find out what everybody's status was, tax-wise and otherwise, and I had a hard time attempting to determine whether I was an employee or not.
But after Nabal shot Duncely, I felt much better. It was an accident, of course. He wasn't really trying to kill him at all. It's just that Pipa had let Duncely into Abby's room. She wasn't supposed to, it was one of her tricks. I can never tell whose side she's on. She hates Nabal, or so it seems, but she's always very interested in everything that concerns him. I think that this time she helped more than she hindered. Because David would never allow them to prosecute Nabal for shooting a tax collector. It would be too unpopular. I know that because when we went downtown to give our statements, everybody kept laughing and joking with us. The stenographer and the Assistant D.A. and everybody there. And one of them said that if a revenuer went sneaking into his bedroom, why he'd have shot him, too. So that all in all, it has bought us time and Nabal is in better spirits.
When we heard the shot, we all rushed out and assembled in the corridor, where Anadora was ministering to the IRS agent. For a moment I got a brief impression of the interior of Nabal's bedroom, something crimson and black and sinister looking, like a Satanic Chapel, but he blew out the candle there and shut the door behind him. Anadora called out behind him. It was unintelligible and foreign sounding and I couldn't make it out at all. Duncely, who had been whimpering in the candlelight while Anadora examined the wound, suddenly turned to Pipa and asked: "What did she say?" in a desperate stage whisper.
Pipa shrugged. "I don't know." She pronounced the 't' in 'don't' very clearly, it was almost too clear.
"What do you mean? You're a hispanic, aren't you?" Which was not unusual thing for him to say. He seems to like to peg people that way.
Pipa was unperturbed. "So?"
"So you know the language, right? You speak Spanish?"
Pipa smiled. "Yeah. I speak Spanish. But I'm not a bruja."
He looked helplessly at me, so I said: "A witch."
And Anadora, ignoring Pipa, said to me: "Hold the revenuer, child, while I remove the lead from his flesh."
He squirmed. "Miss Lackland ... Verity ... would you call the police? I think they're trying to kill me."
Anadora said: "Don't be a fool, Mr. Duncely, if we intended to kill you, you'd be dead by now." At which point she sank what looked like a very long pair of tweezers into him and he screamed and passed out. Gary watched in bemusement. "What actually happened?" he asked.
Pipa said. "Everybody knows he sleeps with a loaded pistol by his bed. He's such a coward." And she turned and walked off in a huff, her candle bobbing up and down in the darkness. Only for a minute there I wasn't sure she hadn't said `cowherd.'
The next day, Duncely kept trying to make all sorts of attempts to contact the authorities, but actually they'd already been informed and everybody agreed he'd be brought into town as soon as the roads were passable.
I saw Eb briefly. He'd reopened the Brown 'N Serve and Duncely was in the process of getting a room. He asked me to accompany him, because he's somehow gotten it into his head that I am less of a barbarian than the rest of them.
Eb seemed glad to see me. "Hey there Verity."
"I ... I'm sorry about Abner," I stammered.
His face clouded over. I would have given anything to know what he was thinking. But he just nodded and checked Duncely in. So I made my way to the courthouse. They were taking Anadora's statement, so I waited out in the hall. I was in no hurry, so I sat there on the bench and tried to make sense of things. It was quiet for a while, but then Mickey came running down the hall, yelling at the top of her lungs: "Bashful Jones, you come right back here with my datebook, you hear?" She stopped short when she saw me. "Oh." She straightened her hair. "It's you." The way she said it I had the feeling she didn't remember my name. "You in for a hearing? Probation revocation?"
I shook my head. "Just giving a statement."
She nodded. "You haven't seen my kid brother by any chance?"
I shook my head.
"I swear, that child has got me fit to be tied. If I told David once, I told him a hundred times, that boy is disturbed. We need to send him to a special school. I mean, gosh, even when Daddy was alive he had him shipped off to one of those military academy things. And now that he's a cripple, he's just twice the trouble. But David, he's so stubborn. Said he promised Bashful he'd be eating at our table for the rest of his life. Makes you just wish he'd fall down that elevator shaft. You know they installed that contraption just for Bashful? It clashes with everything."
I suppose my response was not sufficiently sympathetic, because she sauntered off down the stairs. A little while later the elevator door opened and the boy wheeled himself out. He looked me up and down. "You're Nabal's slut." It wasn't a question.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"I heard he shot the tax collector. He dead?"
I shook my head.
He received it philosophically. "That's too bad."
"Yeah."
"Maybe next time."
I laughed. This seemed to please him. "Wanna see Mickey's calendar?"
I shook my head.
"She's got the days marked when she wants David to screw her. Here, look." I declined, so he continued: "See, she wants to have a baby, so she can hold onto David. But it won't work. Brother Nathan says the Lord's done closed up her womb, on account of her sinful ways."
"He said that to you?"
"Well, not right directly. But I heard him." He wheeled himself around in a circle. "Says Nabal's going straight to hell, too."
I held onto my purse tightly. "Did he say when?"
The boy shook his head. "But I expect you could ask that witch and she could tell you. They say she's got warts all over and she kills cats."
I shook my head. "Calves, not cats. And she hasn't any warts."
"She teaching you how to conjure?"
I hesitated. "No." Except I remembered how she told Saul I was her apprentice, the night before it all happened. Before Jon died and the boy was crippled and Saul blew his guts out.
"You're lying. She is so teaching you how to conjure."
"What makes you think that?"
"I heard tell. At the Brown 'N Serve. I heard the help talking." He brightened. "I guess if you get real good at it, you could brew a love potion. Use it on Nabal."
I stiffened. "Why would I want to do that?"
"'Cause he doesn't give a flip about you. Everybody knows that. He's just using you. David said that. David wouldn't lie." He did another twirl. "Wam, bam, thank you Ma'am." He laughed. "But if you learn them spells real good, why you could get him to do anything you want. He'd buy you jewels and furs and let you go shootin' at people with him, when he has a mind to. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
I smiled. "Well, I don't know about the jewels and the fur, but the part about shooting people sounds promising."
He wheeled himself closer. "Wanna hear a secret?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Betsy Hittner's gone and got herself in trouble."
"In trouble?"
"Yeah. She's gonna have a baby. But it doesn't show yet."
"Why is that trouble? She's married."
"Yeah. But see, everybody knows, 'cept for Gary. He's been spendin' all his time at Carmel, see, and he wasn't home in the sack when he ought to have been."
"How do you know that?"
"I heard Pipa telling Mavis, down at the Brown 'N Serve. Pipa knows everything."
"Does she?"
"Yeah. And she tells David things. Like how you and Nabal haven't been doing it, and how Gary hadn't been home in weeks. David tried to fix it, though."
"Fix what?"
"He tried to fix it for Betsy. Had Gary over the other night, for dinner and all. And he kept letting on as to how Gary ought to go home, spend some time with Betsy. And Gary said he wouldn't hear of it. That he had pressing work down at Carmel and he was going right back, soon as he was done with his dinner. He was so dense. David was trying to be real subtle like, but finally he says: 'Gary, go home. Sleep with your wife.' And Gary says: 'No Sir, I wouldn't hear of it. Not when I'm needed back at the ranch.' It was the funniest thing. I almost laughed myself under the table, but then Mickey hit me with a spoon."
The door to the investigator's office opened abruptly behind him and Anadora stood on the threshold. Her voice sounded heavy with portent, as though uttering an invocation to a demon. "Ashbel!" she roared. I almost expected thunder.
The boy wheeled around to face her. For a moment, he was dumbstruck. Finally he said, in an awed whisper: "You know my name ..." Then louder: "Nobody knows my name."
"I gave it to you."
"You did?"
"Don't you know, child, I'm your fairy godmother."
He was struck mute, and Anadora turned to me: "They're ready for you. I'll be waiting in the car. I watched her make her way down the stairs. The boy and I exchanged glances. Then I went in to give my statement.
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