Black Chalk (42 page)

I remain perfectly calm. I have no idea of what? I say.

And at last his rage rushes out. Of
everything
I’ve done to you, Chad shouts. He pushes down on the arms of his chair as if he’s about to rise, as if he might attack. But instead Chad falls back, and suddenly his strength is gone. When next he speaks it is as if there has been a key change, the slide from major to minor. You don’t understand, he says. You have no idea of all the ways I’ve beaten you. So you can’t do this to me, Jolyon. I’m winning. I’m … Chad closes his eyes and his voice trails away.

I’m sure you’re right, Chad, I say, nodding thoughtfully. So it’s simple. Just go and see your parents.

No, Jolyon, Chad says, his anger pitched quietly now. This can’t be happening. This is not how it ends.

Chad falls silent. He stares over my head, out beyond my windows, his arms flat at the sides of the chair as if he is waiting, as if he wants to feel the earth turn beneath him and the truth will have drifted away.

I say nothing. I watch Chad’s chest heaving up, falling back, as little by little the heaviness in his breathing subsides.

Finally he tips back his head. Jolyon, this is what you don’t understand, Chad says, his voice turning bitter-sweet now. I haven’t been in New York for four days. I’ve been here since before I called. I’ve been beating you
every single day and night
since that phone call. Chad lowers his head to stare at me. Jolyon, I’ve been running your life for five weeks.

And now it is my turn to pause, to think everything through. And the earth doesn’t turn beneath me, it lurches wildly. It feels as if I am staring through the side window of a speeding car and I can’t turn my head, I can’t find anything on which to focus. Snatches of the last five weeks go spinning through me. My routine, my story, my life. Until gradually everything begins to slow – the world, my thoughts – and my eyes find something on which to focus. I am looking at Chad, his mouth foreshadowing a smile. I stiffen at the sight of it, remembering my edge, recovering my game. Bravo, Chad, I say. That’s really very impressive. Yes, I understand now. So why not simply go and see your parents…? I reach out my hand as if offering him a gift.

Chad’s smile dissolves. No, you really don’t see, he says, beginning to sound impatient. Don’t for one single second make out you understand what I’ve done, he says. I’ve … Chad is rubbing his forehead in disbelief … I’ve been leaving your
notes
for you, Jolyon. I’ve been inventing and placing mnemonics, writing half your book. I’ve been pulling the strings of this pointless life of yours every day for five weeks.

Chad begins to look desperate. If you’re high on pills, Jolyon, that’s because of me. More whisky every day? Me! Don’t pretend you understand. I’ve beaten you every single day. Who took away your water? Me! Well, except for the one glass you kicked over yourself, I’ll admit you provided the spark for a good number of the ideas yourself. And who made you drink whisky instead of your water? Who kept gradually changing the line on your glass? And more pills as well, more drugs whenever we felt like it, whenever we thought you were starting to get suspicious.

Chad sees me flinch.

Oh, what’s that, Jolyon? he says. Did you mishear me or did I say
we
? Yes,
we
, Jolyon! Me and Dee, both of us together. So you can’t do this to me, you haven’t won, because everything I’ve done, everything I’ve … Chad runs out of words as he fights to take in enough air.

I try to hide my feelings. Dee as well? I want to leap up and attack him, I want to punch and kick and choke him. But I know this isn’t the way to defeat Chad. Instead, I lift a knee to my chest and rub the sole of my foot in circles as if fighting off an impending cramp. I applaud you, Chad, I say, feigning a distracted air. I’m truly impressed. If anyone were keeping score, how much do you think they’d say you were winning by? A thousand points? A million? But, to use an old sporting cliché, it ain’t over till it’s over, right? I suppose I’m like a boxer in one of those movies. Bloody and reeling, only one punch left in me. I throw it. And out of the blue, smack. You fall. The count begins, one two three … Will you make it up? Seven eight nine …

Please, Chad says, spare me your metaphor. I’ve read it a thousand times. The boxer, the fighter. He rolls his eyes.

Wow, I say, smiling appreciatively. You know, using Dee as well. That’s really very clever. I had no idea.

Of course
Dee was part of it, Chad says, outraged. And do you have any idea as to
why
she did it, Jolyon, any guesses? Chad taps at his head with his forefinger. Because she’s married to
me
, he says. Because she’s my wife, Jolyon.
I’m
her saviour, not you.

I can’t stand to look at him any more. I turn away. Married? Chad married to Dee. Jack married to Emilia. And where am I? They loved me first. I can almost smell Chad’s pleasure at having wounded me and quickly I turn back to face him. Then I suppose my invite got lost in the post, I say.

Chad snorts.

Seven eight nine …

And now I think it is time to end this. So when we head upstate, I say, obviously Dee should come with us, right, Chad? A family outing. I suppose now it’s clear that the whole suicide poem thing was just another part of the act. A truly audacious move, I really am impressed. But yes, definitely bring Dee along. Because don’t you think your wife should meet her in-laws? Your mother would find her charming. Your father also, I bet he’d just love her. What do you think about your father?

Chad’s head drops and he puts his hands to his eyes. Soon he is rubbing his face as if trying to work soap into a lather.

Seven eight nine …

Chad? I say, as if perhaps he didn’t hear me. Chad, I said,
what do you think about your father?

He sits up stiffly and blinks several times. It takes him a minute to gather himself. A minute during which I try to piece together Chad’s revelations of the last five weeks.

My shoes and WALK NOON. Dee’s framework and my strict adherence to a fixed schedule. Mnemonics and routine. Pills and whisky.

I cannot say with utter certainty that all of the words in this story have been written by me. It seems that some of them may not have been my own.

Perhaps I am not the washout who stumbled pathetically through his life every day of his comeback. Maybe I am stronger than I thought.

Chad takes a sharp breath and I look up at him. And then, in a voice no louder than a whisper, Chad says to me, OK then, Jolyon. You win. God knows how, I truly have no idea. But you win.

I feel a weight departing my body, the everyday strain of it, fourteen years of dark accumulation. And now the slate on the wall is scratched one last time, the tally complete, its final black line.

Chad tries to look brave. Well, I guess that’s it then, he says. Except for one thing, Jolyon. Please, will you grant me one favour? Hear me out, let me explain it all to you properly, the whole thing. Chad’s shoulders slump a little, and then he says, It was beautiful, it really was something to behold. And you know, I think that of all people, you will actually appreciate it more than anyone else. Honestly, Jolyon, I do.

I nod at Chad. I feel life in my veins, a lightness returning. And I settle back comfortably to listen to his tale.

*   *   *

LXXV(iii)
   One of the letters told me where to find you. There it was on an index card, your address written out neatly in green pen and clipped to a few of your pieces for the newspaper with some helpful annotations. Six months ago.

So, we arrived nearly a week before I phoned you. I rented an apartment across the street, hoping to spy on you, I hadn’t decided what I was going to do. But we couldn’t see into your place, Jolyon, you never once opened the curtains. You didn’t even go out. Correction, you left just once to go to that store on the corner. Early, of course, but I was jet-lagged and couldn’t sleep so I saw you. By the time I got dressed and ran down the stairs, you were already on your way back with a bag of rice, some tins of chilli.

That’s why I had to phone you, just to shake the tree a little, see what fell down. Then we waited.

And you opened the curtains. It wasn’t much but at least it was something. The next day I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Out you went for that first walk.
The outside world is my medicine
– one of
your
lines, by the way. Well, I knew it was going to be easy after that, as soon as I started to read your story.

You again –
I leave the apartment in something of a trance
. Exactly right, Jolyon, the sort of trance that meant you didn’t lock your door. So Dee followed you while I went through your things. I didn’t have long. You saw that airplane, HELL ONE, and Dee phoned me to say you were running back home.

But that was long enough to take some files from your computer, your precious story. And also long enough for me to see all those objects arranged around the place, your strange little reminders. Well, of course I remembered what they were right away. So there I was in your apartment, you running back, I had some of your files, and suddenly on a whim I decided to take away one of your glasses from the floor. After I left, I thought I’d been stupid, you were bound to notice. But actually that was the spark for the next stage. You didn’t notice at all. That’s when I knew what to do, when I realised just how far we could go.

Back across the street, I read your story. And it was clear how to begin. I had to get into your apartment on a regular basis and I had to rearrange your life. When it came to the final round I wanted you vulnerable, drugged, traumatised … Well, I achieved my goal, everything and more. And in the end, even that wasn’t enough.

Remember you wrote how you wanted to go outside but your water glasses stopped you. And then on that second day you were brave enough to go out for a walk. Well, at that point I thought, right, this is perfect. From here on I can do whatever I like while he’s out – read his words, do whatever I want with his mnemonics. So I waited. But you didn’t leave. And day four you didn’t go out either. Well, this started to worry me.

But you gave me the idea for my next trick yourself, Jolyon. Remember inserting a note into your story?
Note to self: Must remember to place some trinket on the breakfast plate to remind me to breakfast al fresco
.

So I thought, how about if I augment his sense that regular walks would do him the power of good? And then I got really brave. I decided to insert my own note into your story.
Note to self: Remember to place your shoes on the bed, post-lunchtime walks
, and so on and so forth.

And what happened next? Within a couple of days you had those sneakers in place with a reminder scrawled on their toes. It worked, I mean, it worked literally like a charm. And that was going to give me a lot more time in your place.

Then came the snag. Your next walk, you locked your door. I mean, come on, Jolyon, how to ruin the best-laid plans … And maybe you’d have kept on remembering to lock your door, who knows, you were writing about how you were getting stronger all the time. The boxer, the fighter, blah blah blah. I decided it was time to give the tree another shake.

That was the night your buzzer sounded. You answered the call and there was a woman screaming through the intercom for help. And it was such a dilemma for you. Gallant Jolyon at the parapet, the maiden in distress down below. I have to say, I was very disappointed in you. What if it had really been a maiden in need of your help instead of Dee? But never mind, halfway down the stairs gave me just long enough. I was a neighbour fumbling for keys. You passed me on the way down and I ran upstairs with my fingers crossed. And bam, in your panic you’d left the door unlocked. All I needed was a few seconds to plant the pill in the appropriate hollow of the ice-cube tray. And we’re not talking here about one of the varieties of drug that can be found in your own collection, Jolyon. No, this particular pill came from another family of pharmaceuticals altogether, a family not unknown to certain unpleasant and predatory males.

So we waited a while for the pill to take full effect. And then Dee turned up at your door, knock knock knock. And off you plodded to ACE bar. ACE bar, Jolyon, the joke was so lost on you. Fourteen years and that’s where I sent you. Anyway, Dee kindly held on to your keys for you, dropped them at our prearranged spot, I got your keys copied and went up to your apartment.

Everything we’d done to you up to that point had worked. All we had to do was continue. It was like training a dog, Jolyon. Repetition repetition repetition. Once we had you walking regularly, we were free to do whatever we liked. We had a few hours in your apartment each day, left more notes, played with your mnemonics, increased your pills and whisky whenever we wanted … We even rewrote your book to our own ends, filled in some of the gaps. But I suppose you get the final say, Jolyon. History is written by the victors, isn’t that what they say? Oh, but it was so flawless, Jolyon, it was as if we had this zombie we could move around by remote control. It was easy, it was all just so perfect.

Another little shake and out of the tree falls Dee. Behold the old flame.

Anyway, I’m sure you can fill in the rest yourself.

It was all falling perfectly into place. It was beautiful, it truly was. And I’m sure you can see that. You understand how perfect it was, Jolyon. You know that now, right?

*   *   *

LXXV(iv)
   I am quiet for some time. Chad’s words whirl high in my head and I wait for them to trickle down, to offer me some essence of emotion. And then I surprise myself. I am not angry. And further back in my mind there is even a trace of admiration. The gallant winner should always make the effort to praise his opponent’s game.

Yes, Chad, I understand now, I say. You know, I think I got lucky, I add.

Chad smiles. Thank you, Jolyon, he says. Thanks, I appreciate that.

And now more emotions settle inside me, the small flutter of victory, a vast sense of relief. It feels as if my whole body can breathe for the first time in years. Even in the lighter moments of the last fourteen years I always felt a sense of unease. Clenched jaw, stiff chest, balled fist. A feeling that if my body wasn’t fighting to hold itself together, then I could simply fly apart, I could be scattered like ashes in the wind.