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Authors: Graham Masterton
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Whenever I felt low, I cooked myself up a big plate of fettucine and clam sauce.’
He shook out two brown-paper sacks, and began to pack away my liquor and groceries.
'Fat?’ he said. ‘You should have seen me. Charlie the Great.’
I stood there for a while, watching him put everything away. Then I said, ‘Charlie, do you mind if I ask you a question?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘Well , let me ask you this. Did you ever get the feeling, after what happened with Neil - ‘
Charlie looked at me carefully, but he didn’t say anything. He waited while I tried to put into words what had happened to me up at Quaker Lane Cottage, while I tried to find some plausible way of asking if I was hallucinating, or if I was going crazy, or if I was simply experiencing the exaggerated effects of withdrawal and loss.
‘Let me put it this way,’ I said. ‘Do you ever get the feeling that Neil is still here!’
He licked his lips, as if they tasted of salt. Then he said, ‘That’s your question?’
‘Well , I guess it’s half question and half statement. But did you ever feel anything which led you to believe that - well, what I’m trying to say is, did you at any time think that he might not be completely - ‘
Charlie kept on staring at me for what seemed like a very long time. But at last he lowered his eyes, and then his head, and looked down at his meaty hands resting on the counter.
‘You see these hands?’ he said, without looking up.
‘Sure. I see them. They’re good hands. Strong.’
He lifted them up, both of them, big red joints of bacon with calloused fingers. ‘I could cut them off, these fucking hands,’ he said. It was the first time I had ever heard him swear, and it gave me a prickling feeling at the back of my neck. ‘Everything these hands ever touched turned to shit. King Midas in reverse. Wasn’t that a song? “I’m King Midas, in reverse.” ‘
‘If it was, I never heard it.’
‘Still, it’s true. These hands, look at them.’
‘Strong,’ I repeated. ‘Capable, too.’
‘Oh yes, sure. Strong, and capable. But not strong enough to bring my wife back to me; and not capable of resurrecting my son.’
‘No,’ I said, oddly aware that this was the second time in a single day that ‘resurrection’ had been mentioned. It wasn’t, after all , a concept you heard about too frequently, except on Sunday morning television. ‘Resurrection’ always reminded me of fear, and of the smell of shoe-leather, because my father used to lecture me about the two resurrections when I was helping him out in the shoe store. Resurrection into Heaven for those who were good; resurrection to judgement for those who were evil. For a long time, when I was a boy, I used to mix up ‘souls’ with ‘soles’, because of the way my father tried to educate me as a Christian when I was at work with him. ‘Don’t you ever let me catch you being resurrected to judgement,’ he used to warn me. ‘I’ll tan your hide.’
I was silent for a moment, and then I said to Charlie, ‘You never feel that - I mean, you never feel that Neil comes back to you in any way? Talks to you? I’m only asking because I’ve had feelings like that myself, and I was just wondering if - ‘
‘Comes back to me?’ asked Charlie. His voice was very soft. ‘Well, now. Comes back to me.’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I don’t know whether I’m going crazy or not, but I keep hearing somebody whispering to me, whispering my name, and it sounds like Jane. There’s a kind of feeling in the house, like there’s somebody there. It’s hard to explain it. And last night, I could have sworn I heard her singing. Do you think that’s normal? I mean, did it happen to you? Did you ever hear Neil?’
Charlie looked at me as if he were about to say something for a moment; his expression seemed to be congested with unexpressed anxieties. But then he suddenly pushed my sacks of groceries towards me,
Whenever I felt low, I cooked myself up a big plate of fettucine and clam sauce.’
He shook out two brown-paper sacks, and began to pack away my liquor and groceries.
'Fat?’ he said. ‘You should have seen me. Charlie the Great.’
I stood there for a while, watching him put everything away. Then I said, ‘Charlie, do you mind if I ask you a question?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘Well , let me ask you this. Did you ever get the feeling, after what happened with Neil - ‘
Charlie looked at me carefully, but he didn’t say anything. He waited while I tried to put into words what had happened to me up at Quaker Lane Cottage, while I tried to find some plausible way of asking if I was hallucinating, or if I was going crazy, or if I was simply experiencing the exaggerated effects of withdrawal and loss.
‘Let me put it this way,’ I said. ‘Do you ever get the feeling that Neil is still here!’
He licked his lips, as if they tasted of salt. Then he said, ‘That’s your question?’
‘Well , I guess it’s half question and half statement. But did you ever feel anything which led you to believe that - well, what I’m trying to say is, did you at any time think that he might not be completely - ‘
Charlie kept on staring at me for what seemed like a very long time. But at last he lowered his eyes, and then his head, and looked down at his meaty hands resting on the counter.
‘You see these hands?’ he said, without looking up.
‘Sure. I see them. They’re good hands. Strong.’
He lifted them up, both of them, big red joints of bacon with calloused fingers. ‘I could cut them off, these fucking hands,’ he said. It was the first time I had ever heard him swear, and it gave me a prickling feeling at the back of my neck. ‘Everything these hands ever touched turned to shit. King Midas in reverse. Wasn’t that a song? “I’m King Midas, in reverse.” ‘
‘If it was, I never heard it.’
‘Still, it’s true. These hands, look at them.’
‘Strong,’ I repeated. ‘Capable, too.’
‘Oh yes, sure. Strong, and capable. But not strong enough to bring my wife back to me; and not capable of resurrecting my son.’
‘No,’ I said, oddly aware that this was the second time in a single day that ‘resurrection’ had been mentioned. It wasn’t, after all , a concept you heard about too frequently, except on Sunday morning television. ‘Resurrection’ always reminded me of fear, and of the smell of shoe-leather, because my father used to lecture me about the two resurrections when I was helping him out in the shoe store. Resurrection into Heaven for those who were good; resurrection to judgement for those who were evil. For a long time, when I was a boy, I used to mix up ‘souls’ with ‘soles’, because of the way my father tried to educate me as a Christian when I was at work with him. ‘Don’t you ever let me catch you being resurrected to judgement,’ he used to warn me. ‘I’ll tan your hide.’
I was silent for a moment, and then I said to Charlie, ‘You never feel that - I mean, you never feel that Neil comes back to you in any way? Talks to you? I’m only asking because I’ve had feelings like that myself, and I was just wondering if - ‘
‘Comes back to me?’ asked Charlie. His voice was very soft. ‘Well, now. Comes back to me.’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I don’t know whether I’m going crazy or not, but I keep hearing somebody whispering to me, whispering my name, and it sounds like Jane. There’s a kind of feeling in the house, like there’s somebody there. It’s hard to explain it. And last night, I could have sworn I heard her singing. Do you think that’s normal? I mean, did it happen to you? Did you ever hear Neil?’
Charlie looked at me as if he were about to say something for a moment; his expression seemed to be congested with unexpressed anxieties. But then he suddenly pushed my sacks of groceries towards me,
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