Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
Nabal came to my room last night, and it was very strange. I think he's perfected a new way of holding me at arm's length: not holding me at all. In other words, I am now a platonic slut. As near as I can make out, that's his new policy.
It all feels very illicit, though. If my mother knew, I'm sure she wouldn't approve. I mean, living together is okay. Living together and not sharing a bedroom is marginal at best. Living together and not having sex has got to be scandalous.
And Seth Cain, what would he think? The reason it was okay for Nabal to be paying my probation fees was that couples are allowed to provide each other with essentials and it's not moral turpitude. But a couple that doesn't ... couple is no couple at all. In which case, what does that make me?
I was sitting in my room, it was about nine p.m. and I was reading Alvar Nu·ez's second hand account of how someone else had told him there was one tribe so mean that they killed all their women at birth ... that is, they killed all their baby girls. There were two preferred methods of doing this: the first, hitting them with a rock and the second leaving them out for a wild animal to eat. Then, when it came time for them to mate, they would barter with neighboring tribes for a woman, usually trading a bow and arrow for her. Although Nu·ez very meticulously put in that if they didn't have a bow and arrow, they would trade something else for the woman. They usually didn't keep their women very long, because as soon as they had served their purpose the women would be killed. I kept wondering why the neighboring tribesmen never caught on. Why didn't they stop trading them women. Or did they have a surplus?
As I was concerned with this perplexing problem, Nabal and his own bizarre brand of mating ritual was the last thing on my mind. So when he knocked on my door and entered without waiting for an answer, I was startled. It was almost as though I'd forgotten who he was and why I was here. For a moment I didn't remember about Nabal at all, my only thought was for Nu·ez. And when I finally remembered I was still dazed and couldn't imagine why he was there. It wasn't the middle of the night, either, his favorite time to surprise me.
"Good evening, Miss Lackland," he said.
"Oh!" It had just then occured to me that he might want to take advantage of his right as lord and master and I put the book down hastily on the nightstand. I had on jeans and a T-shirt. "Did you want me to change?"
He seemed amused. "Into what?"
I was confused, because I wasn't sure what he meant by that. He didn't seem to be talking about clothing. "I could put on that flannel nightgown of Pilar's and some fresh underwear, if you like."
"I haven't come to inspect your underwear."
"Oh." I tried to shift gear. Tried to think of something to say. Meanwhile, he'd edged over to the nightstand and picked up the book. "I came for the books."
I frowned. "You came for the books."
"I asked you to return them."
"I haven't been to the library yet. I was going to do that tomorrow."
"I'll take them tonight." He looked around. "Where are the others?"
I indicated a pile on a chair by the wall. He picked them up and turned to go. He was going to leave. He was planning to walk out the door.
"Nabal?"
"What." He was quiet, but impatient.
I didn't even know what I was going to say till I said it. "What is the connection between Hannibal and Alvar Nu·ez?"
He tried to seem unconcerned, but there was an almost involuntary curling at one corner of his lips and his eyes seemed amused, as if at his own expense. "What makes you think there is one?"
I wished I had a better answer. "Because of the book with the blue elephant on the cover." It sounded pretty lame.
He laughed. "Yes, well, we can't keep anything from you, can we, Miss Lackland."
But he was still there. He hadn't gone away. "Yeah, I guess I'm pretty sharp."
"Why do you ask all these questions?" Now he was serious and wary and there was even a touch of fear. As though I were a tax collector.
"Because I want to know."
"You want to know what?"
"I want to know you."
His voice hardened. "We can't always have what we want." He drew closer.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He came and sat beside me on the bed and took a lock of my hair in his hands as if to examine it. "Not you." He let it go and it fell out of place so I had to push it away from my face. It was like a silken slap.
Our eyes met. I turned away. But I was afraid he would leave, so not looking at him I asked: "Do you pray to Baal?"
There was a pause. When he spoke, his voice was even. "I'm not as pious as I used to be." When he said that, I turned to look at him. It was safe, because he wasn't looking at me. He was staring out the window, but there was nothing to see out there -- it was dark.
"You used to pray to him?" He didn't answer, so I said: "You used to pray to him when you were seven years old and your father gave you that book with the blue elephant on the cover?"
He winced when I said that. Somewhere between 'seven' and 'father' he winced. But he wasn't going to answer. "And at what shrine do you worship, Miss Lackland?"
"Me?" That was such a funny idea, the way he put it, I had to stop and think about it. "Oh, well, actually, I'm not religious. Never was."
"Not even as a lisping child?"
"I didn't lisp."
"What then did you learn at the knee of that charming woman, your mother?"
"Oh, Mom. She's not religious, either. We're what you might call secular humanists."
"Godless." He seemed to turn it over in his mind. "Godless and landless both."
"We're not landless. Dad works for the State Department."
"He's a Fed."
I didn't have an answer to that. So I said: "I read about Alvar Nu·ez and the burning bush."
"The what?"
"You know, when he was alone in the wilderness, because he'd lost his way picking tuna."
He laughed. "Prickly pear. It's not called tuna in English. Tuna is a fish."
"Yeah. Right. I knew that." I shifted my position on the bed. I almost came into contact with him, but he hastily moved back. "Anyway, they were all going around picking it, the .. prickly fruit, that is. And he got lost. You know, for a famous explorer, he certainly gets lost a lot of the time."
He suppressed a smile. "It wasn't a burning bush."
"Sure it was. He was out there, wandering around, not knowing what in the world he was doing, naked and cold and hungry and it was dark and all of a sudden he came upon a burning bush."
"Tree. It was a burning tree."
I shrugged. "Tree, bush, what's the difference."
"That," he said, "is a question philosophers have been debating for centuries."
"Huh?"
"Never mind. What about the burning tree?"
"Did that really happen?"
He seemed amused. "I wasn't there."
"Yes. I know that. But do you believe it happened?"
"I have no reason to doubt it."
"Well, yes, I suppose it might have happened. I mean, lightning has been known to strike trees and start fires."
He nodded. "Yes. It's been known to do that. On occasion."
"But was he telling the truth? And if he wasn't, why did he choose to make up the particular things he made up and not something else?"
Nabal's eyes hooded over. "The truth?" His voice faltered. "What is the truth to you?"
"Everything."
"Really." It dripped sarcasm. "Even in court? Did you tell the truth there?"
"I pled nolo." My voice was shaky so that I wasn't sure he heard me. "I pled nolo contendore. I never lied."
"No. Neither did you tell the truth. Not the whole truth."
We were silent. Finally I said: "Nobody made him write that book."
He nodded. "No."
"He didn't have to say anything at all."
"No."
"Why did he do it?" It came out a plea. "Why did he write it? And why was he so ... obsequious. And so extravagent and melodramatic and impersonal? And why, if he was at the end of his life when he wrote it, why was he still so subservient and ... whiny ... and meek every time he addressed the king?"
Nabal laughed. "Old habits die hard."
"Was he a pathological liar?"
"Why do you think that?"
"Well, come on, healing the sick, maybe, but raising the dead? You don't really believe that."
Nabal shrugged. "He only did that once. Perhaps it was chance."
"You know, what's really weird about the way he describes that is that he didn't actually say he saw the man rise. They bring him to this corpse and he checks and all the regular signs of life, like breathing and pulse and stuff like that, are absent. So, he says that he did his routine with the laying on of hands and benediction and stones. And then he got paid for his troubles and he went to heal some other sick people. And later on he heard that the dead man had arisen and was seen dancing around."
"Well?"
"Well, if he was lying, if he was making the whole thing up, he could just as easily have said that he saw the dead man rise up. I mean, words are cheap and that would have been much more spectacular. Sell more books. But on the other hand, if he was trying for realism, why did he have to say anything at all about raising the dead? I mean, it just makes him look wishy-washy."
"There is a possibility you've overlooked. Maybe the sequence he related was exactly what happened."
I shrugged. "I suppose. But it makes him look bad. Destroys his credibility. In fact, the whole thing is like that. First, when they set out on the expedition, he can't seem to get along with anybody. Nothing they do ever pleases him. Everybody above him in the chain of command is incompetent. All he ever does is complain. Nothing that governor what's-his-name does is good enough."
"Panfilo de Narvaez."
"Yeah. That's the one. But he didn't just argue with him about procedures. He disagreed with the priest and the accountant and the notary public."
Nabal gave me a funny look. "Well, priests, accountants and notaries can be very disagreeable. I've never liked them myself."
When he said that, I realized it sounded like an expedition of yuppies out on a retreat, rather than explorers out to discover the new world.
"The funniest part was when he told the governor that if they did as he ordered they would all end up dead. And then, he says he wants to swear out an affidavit attesting to the fact that he didn't approve of the course of action they were taking. Except that the notary wouldn't notarize it."
"A dereliction of duty, don't you think?"
"Yeah. I suppose if you take a notary out on an expedition like that, the least he can do is notarize when called upon. But he had direct orders from the governor not to do it. And the governor outranked Nu·ez, who was only the treasurer ... You know, when I gave my statement about how you shot Duncely, that notary didn't even see me sign the document. Anybody could have signed it. She was clear across the room, getting some coffee."
I felt the bed shake and tried to identify the cause. He was silently laughing at me.
"Well, she did ask to see my driver's license, but that didn't prove I signed it. It could have been forged. And then Joe Moore walked by and he looked at me and I looked at him and he didn't say a word. Just walked right past. The last time we spoke he wanted me to testify against Abner, but then he went and killed him, so they didn't need my testimony after all."
He wasn't laughing any more. "At least it saved me some money."
"Huh?"
"Every hearing is at taxpayer expense. And I pay eighty percent of the taxes in this county."
I thought about that. "And yet you only get one vote."
He smiled. "It hardly seems fair, does it?"
There was a pause. I wished he would say something, but he didn't and then I was afraid if we kept silent long enough, he would just leave. Just take the books and leave.
"What I was trying to say, about Nu·ez, is that I think it's pretty strange, his priorities, I mean. Here they are out there and he thinks they're all going to perish if they do what Narvaez says. And all he wants to do is swear out an affidavit saying he disapproves, so that after they're all dead he can say 'I told you so.' Don't you think that's a little childish?"
"No. I don't think that's childish." He looked somber.
"But, if he's right, they're all going to die!" My voice was insistent.
"Do you think then that a man has no recourse against prevailing opinion? Do you think he must cast in his lot with them, body and soul? Do you believe that having more foresight than your fellow men is of no consequence, unless you can overpower them?" His eyes were so dark -- dark and shiny. "That the loser has lost forever, even if he was right?"
I remembered the night that David had launched his campaign. "Did he tell you that he comes from a long line of losers?" he had said.
"What recourse is there? What possible use is it to be right if you can't do anything about it? What good is it to anyone?"
He smiled bitterly. "You may very well be right." He looked away and I was sorry I had said that. He started to get up.
I grabbed his hand. "No!" I urged. "I didn't ask that for you to agree with me. I want to hear your answer. You must have had some recourse in mind when you said that. You must have been thinking of something. What was it?"
He shook free of me, but sat back down, careful to keep a distance. "The future. The future and generations yet unborn. That was to be our recourse." He looked at me. "But I believe it less each day. What's done is done. And there is no future."
We sat there in silence and I thought about it. They did lose their ship and never found their way back to it again. And Narvaez eventually decided that it was each man for himself. No one survived but Nu·ez and a handful of men with him. And then he wrote that book. A book full of miracles and visions and portents, and what possible use could any of that be to anyone.
There was a long silence. I said: "I suppose this book was his recourse. But why did he write it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like a fairy tale. Or a Bible or something. Why did he keep talking about how he kept praying Christian prayers while he was performing heathen magic? I mean, if he wants to tell the truth and he believes that what he describes is the truth, why does he pretend to be such a good Catholic? Why does he pay lip service to one faith while practicing another? And who does he think he's fooling, anyway?"
"That should be fairly obvious."
"What? ... The inquisition? He was afraid of the inquisition?" I shook my head. "I don't buy that, Nabal. After all he'd been through? He told Narvaez that he'd rather die than act dishonorably. And he was going to die eventually anyway. Why didn't he just write down the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth and publish it posthumously?"
He snorted. "Have you ever seen anyone do anything posthumously?"
"Huh?"
"The dead act only by the agency of the living. Rather like the gods."
"You think the gods are dead?"
He looked annoyed. "That's not what I said."
"Then what did you say?"
He got up from the bed. "A god without worshippers is impotent." I stood up to follow him. He took a few steps back and put up his hand, like a shield, to stop me. "We serve the gods, Miss Lackland. The gods do not serve us."
I brushed the hair out my eyes. "Is that what you think? About yourself? That song that David sings. You wrote it?"
He shook his head. "Not in its present version. Not in the words that cripple used. Shall we say that David added some ... colorful language."
"The obscenities?"
He nodded. "Among other things."
But that got me to thinking. "Nabal, have you ever noticed that likeable people have the foulest mouths?" He stared at me, as though I were dithering. As though it had nothing to do with what we were talking about. But I felt that it did. I squinted. "Why is that, do you suppose?"
He shrugged. "It's the common touch."
"No. No, it's more than that. It isn't just that. It's drinking and swearing and sex. It endears people to other people, doesn't it? They can feel for someone who does that. They feel so close to someone like that. They feel they can talk to him."
He repeated it deadpan. "It's the common touch."
I shook my head and I had to brush the bangs out of my eyes again. "No. It's much more than that. It's that David is so wonderful to be with, because his affections flow freely. And he doesn't hold anything back. Love, beer, sex, sympathy, it all pours out of him, unchecked. He doesn't hoard any of it. And because he does all of that himself, they can feel comfortable with him."
"Because he's common."
"No. No, he's not common. You can just look at him and tell he's not common. Why, he looks like a god." I knew at once that was probably the wrong thing to say. Nabal's eyes hooded over. But I just pressed forward, because I felt I almost had the answer. "He's better than they are. He does everything that they do, only much better. You can't call that common. Universal maybe, but not common."
He almost laughed, only I think that bitterness overwhelmed him. "Miss Lackland, what do you think 'common' means?" His voice was quiet, but intense.
"Huh?"
"The universal is common by definition."
"It is?" I was at a loss. For a moment, I had almost had it. The answer to everything, but it just slipped away.
"Yes." He smiled, but it was a scary sight, his teeth were too white. I'd never seen such a big smile on his face. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"What?"
He drew closer. I wanted to back away, but I stood still, very still. "You'd like to be a beneficiary of his generosity? That which flows so freely from him, that he pours out to all comers, unchecked..."
I gasped. But he just stepped past me, toward the door. "Nabal ..."
He paused, but didn't turn to look at me.
My voice was hoarse. "That night ... in 29 ... you said I could keep on ..." I couldn't say that word, it seemed so wrong. I should never have told him I cared. "You said I could keep on lo... and that you would just keep on screwing me."
He seemed amused. "Well?"
"But you aren't ... you aren't screwing me."
He laughed. "Yes I am, Miss Lackland... Royally."
I just stood there, long after he had gone.
*****
FROM VACUUM COUNTY FILES
PROGRESS REPORT
VACUUM COUNTY ADULT PROBATION
2 SUBJECT: TANDER, RANDY OFFENSE: POSS'N, CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE
INTEROFFICE REPORT --- progress report
[Transcribed from a taperecording made with the subject's consent.]
SUBJECT RELATES APPREHENSION OVER NEW POSITION
--"Go ahead, Randy. It's okay."
"Man, I don't want to cause a big stir, or nothing, but like, I've got a bad feeling about all this stuff. Like, I don't want nobody hurt or nothing. And it ain't like I want to start something. But I heard 'em talking man, and it just gave me the creeps."
--"Who?"
"The Judge and Joe Moore, man. I heard 'em talking. Like, not that they were trying to be quiet or anything. I wasn't sneaking around or anything. I guess they just don't figure it matters, seeing as I'm one of the boys. You know, the gang from Hillsboro. And I like David real well, man. Nobody's ever been nicer to me. He's a good guy, okay."
--"Where did you hear them talking?"
"Well, you know how I have all this community service work and stuff to do? And like, David, he's real nice, he said to me: 'If you ever need anything, Randy, just let me know.' So like, when I was having trouble with that picking up trash by the road stuff ... man, they don't throw out half enough good stuff. I used to could do right well doing that. I mean, like I would ask for that job in the good old days. But, man, has that changed. Used to be, you could at least find an old sip of something, partly full beer can or better, but man, they're getting stingy now and it's just so hot out there and there are no babes or anything and, well, I just got sick of it. So I go speak to Joe, see if he can get me something better. He like to have tossed me right outa there, too, but just then the Judge walked in and he was real glad to see me and everything. Said: 'How's it going, Randy?' just like he was always thinking about me even though I hadn't seen him since the barbecue when ol' Abner got skewered. So I go: 'About that public service thing, man...'"
--"Randy, maybe we can speed this up. I have a luncheon on recidivism at two o'clock in Hillsboro and I have to get going."
"Sure, man, no sweat. Okay, so, like my new job is emptying out trash cans and polishing benches and stuff like that at the Courthouse, okay. And like, I'm doing the clerk's office, except the clerk, she went out to lunch. And like, the Judge's office is halfway open and I hear voices and, like, it's Joe and him talking man. And at first I don't pay much mind because it's all this stuff about the new community center that David's building."
--"I saw the plans for that. It will be quite a place. He's doing a great job with that."
"Okay, so they're talking about that and about the inner chambers and stuff like that and then they talk about the investigation up at Carmel, man. See, they figure they can help out the Feds or something because there's some law ... well, anyway, they get to talking, and like, David goes: 'I can't work it out with Gary. I tried, but it's no use. You'll have to send him in where it's hot.'
--"What does that mean?"
"I don't know for sure and Joe seemed pretty confused at first, too. But then David goes: 'Not a whole hell of a lot of point installing those bugs in his bedroom. Nobody ever goes in there. He keeps this poor kid on in a separate room. And you know that bastard doesn't even have the decency to lay her.' Well, like, first off I thought he was talking about Gary, but that wasn't right. Then he goes: 'He sleeps with a pistol, you know.' and Joe goes: 'Okay. That's fine. I'll take care of it.' Like, man, I don't know ..."
--"Well?"
"That's it, man, okay. Like, I don't like it. Gary's a good guy and everybody knows that David's knocked her up, okay. Like, she could get a divorce man, but like the judge is married, too, okay? And that Mickey, I reckon she'd put a good fight. Like it's a bummer, man."
--"Now, I'm surprised at you, Randy. I didn't expect you, of all people, to be meddling in someone else's personal business. After all the judge has done for you."
"I don't mean any meddling by it. I don't much care who the Judge screws, okay. But like, Gary's a nice guy, okay. That's all."
--"I don't see that you've told me anything that would warrant any sort of intervention. You just forget about and mind your own business, Randy. I've got to go, if I'm going to make to that luncheon."
CONCLUSION
The subject appears to be suffering from depression. Boredom with his circumstances has led to an inordinate interest in the personal affairs of others. The subject poses no threat to civil order at this time, as the tendencies are verbal and the focus of attention is easily diverted.
Respectfully submitted,
Seth Cain,
Probation Officer
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
As I was leaving the square after my meeting with Seth Cain today, in the corner by the Brown 'N Serve, I saw a couple kissing. I had my car parked there, so I couldn't just walk away, but I was drawn to them. There was something so natural and right and unselfconscious in the way he was holding her and the way she was responding. It was the tenderness, I suppose, that got to me. It was not until I had crossed the street that I realized it was David and Betsy. And then I just stood there for a moment and watched. They seemed so unashamed that I didn't feel any qualms about watching them. They might have been a pair of sparrows. It's only a violation of privacy if they belong to your own species. This was more like a nature film, a national geographic series, something like that. They were so breathtakingly beautiful, the two of them.
Betsy saw me first and she disengaged, smiled at me and slipped into her car. I watched how David's hand lingered over hers, even as she glided away from him. Only when she started the engine was the spell finally broken. She drove off. David stood there looking at me, smiling. "Hi, Verity."
I smiled back, almost laughing. I felt happy. Happy to see him and happy to be alive. "Hi."
"Everything going all right?" he asked, taking a few steps closer.
"Fine. It's great."
He gave me a once over and I felt good, as if he could see everything about me. "You're looking good. That's a pretty dress you have on. Is it new?"
For a moment, he reminded me of Eddie Haskell, except that everything about David rings true. I blushed. "I ... bought it down in the square, last week." It was a stupid thing to do. A desperate cry for attention. Nabal never even noticed.
David nodded, as if he knew what I was going through. Then he shifted gears. He didn't seem apologetic, he was very much at ease, even when he started to say: "You know, about what you just saw ..."
I shook my head. "That's all right. I think she's beautiful."
He smiled. "Yeah..." His glance said everything. That he appreciated me. That I was a good person for noticing how right he and Betsy were together. That all was right with the world. "So, what brings you into town?"
I shrugged. "Probation meeting."
He frowned. "Didn't we take care of that?"
I shook my head.
"I could have sworn I signed that release. But they have me sign so many things these days. I'll look into it, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "No harm done. I'm in no hurry." When I said that, he looked genuinely concerned, as if he were worried about me. I didn't want him to say anything about my situation or Nabal or how he was using me. Then I remembered I hadn't really seen him in a while. "Oh, I suppose I should congratulate you."
He gave me a blank look for a moment.
"About being reelected."
He brightened. "Yes. Thank you.
"Not that there was any doubt."
He cheered up. "You know, Verity, things are going to be so different. We're building a community center. If you'd like, come up sometime and I'll show you the plans. It's going to be so beautiful, with big meeting rooms and giant windows and church groups and civic organizations and AA and the Rotary Club are all going to be able to meet there."
I frowned. "But ... but how are you going to pay for all that?"
"There's going to be a bond election."
My stomach tightened. "A bond election?"
"Yeah."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, the County will borrow the money by issuing bonds and we have it all figured out that if we temporarily raise the property taxes, we'll have it all paid up in five years."
"Raise taxes?"
He nodded. "Temporarily. It's going to attract people to the area. People will be able to take a real pride in this County. Everybody will benefit."
"No. Not everybody. Nabal won't set foot in that center."
He tried to be gentle about it, as though Nabal were a problem from the distant past that didn't really concern him anymore. "That's not up to me. That's his problem."
"But you have him paying for it. The burden of this whole thing is going to fall on him. He has the most to lose."
David gave me a slantwise glance. "Maybe not. Maybe he won't have to carry any burden at all. You know, they've put a Federal tax lien on his property. Maybe by the time we're ready for the bond election, he won't be paying any county taxes at all."
"There's a tax lien on his property?"
His eyes were kind. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew that."
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