Candlemoth (41 page)

    I
hoped that would be the case.

    He
asked me if I was bothered by her.

    'Bothered?'
I asked, feigning surprise at his question.

    'Yeah,'
he said. 'You know, bothered that she's obviously into me.'

    I
smiled and shook my head.

    'You're
welcome to her, Nathan,' I replied, and in my tone was the intended intimation
that I knew something about her that he didn't. Something that he perhaps
wouldn't like. The purpose of what I said went over his head completely. He
merely grunted in acknowledgement and poured himself some coffee. He possessed
thicker skin than I, and cared little for what people thought.

    'She's
coming back,' I commented a little later. 'Gonna make us some Christmas
dinner.'

    'Shit,
hell yes, it's Christmas Eve,' he replied. 'I'd completely forgotten.'

    'So
you didn't get me a gift?'

    He smiled.
'Sure, I spent about the same amount of money on you as you did on me, you
asshole.'

    We
laughed, just for a minute we laughed, and for that minute it seemed that we
were ten years younger, ten years more naive, and whatever had transpired through
that decade was now gone and forgotten.

    And
then the moment itself passed, and I realized that the things we had shared
were now just memories and could not be recreated. What was gone was gone, and
despite whatever I might have wished Nathan had no desire to see them return.

    We
were no longer kids. I think I missed that more than anything else.

    Linny
came in a whirlwind of noise and laughter. She stumbled through the front door
carrying two or three grocery bags, and across the hall rolled fruit, cans of
beer, bread and cheese and vegetables.

    We
went out to help her, and as she called for Nathan from the front drive I
realized that she was advertising his presence.

    Nathan
went without thinking, an automatic response, and even as they returned, even
as I warned them to be less public, the only reaction I got was a casual lack
of concern.

    'Hell,
Danny, take it easy,' Linny told me.

    She
reached out and touched my face, and for a second she looked at me: looked at
me just as she had when we'd gone down to Port Royal Sound, when we'd sat out
on some pier eating lobster and watching boats on the Savannah River.

    And
then nothing. Holding her attention was like trying to hold a ring of smoke.

    She
breezed past me, again calling for Nathan, and I stood in the hallway and
watched as they unloaded bags and started preparing food.

    I was
not hungry. I went upstairs and lay on my bed. I could hear the indistinct
murmur of their voices downstairs. I imagined what they were saying.

    
Want
you.

    
Want
you too.

    
Fuck
me here, right now, right here on the kitchen floor.

    
But
Danny -

    
To
hell with Danny -

    
Christ,
Linny, he's my friend.

    
And
I'm not?

    
Sure
you are.

    
So
fuck me, Nathan, fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…
.

    I
turned over and closed my eyes.

    I
thought of Caroline Lanafeuille, and for the first time in… well, more than
four years, I really missed her.

    
Really
.

    They
called me down when food was ready and I went.

    I ate
with them, I drank red wine, I sat and listened and smoked cigarettes, and for
all the hours we spent together I couldn't have said more than a dozen words.

    I
didn't want to be there. It was my house and I didn't want to be there.

    'Where
did you want to be?' Father John asked.

    I
smiled, shrugged my shoulders. 'Somewhere else… anywhere else, I s'pose. Two's
company, three's a crowd.'

    'Did
you resent her being there?'

    'No,
I didn't resent her. She had every right to choose where she wanted to be. I
just felt it would have been better for the both of them to be elsewhere.'

    'Did
you wish Nathan gone?'

    'Wish
him gone? No, I didn't wish him gone. I wished he would come back.'

    Father
John frowned. 'What d'you mean?'

    'So
much had changed in those eighteen months. I don't know why I thought it
wouldn't, but it had. I think I expected everything to be back the way it was
before we left. The thing with Linny wasn't the only thing. We had changed,
both of us, changed in ways that I didn't even realize then. What I wanted was
for everything to be how it was before, that's what I meant.'

    Father
John nodded. 'And what happened then, after the dinner?'

    'I
went out, took a walk.'

    'And
that's when you met them?'

    I nodded.
'That's when I met them.'

    'Two
of them?'

    I
nodded again. 'Two of them.'

    'And
they didn't say who they were?'

    I
shook my head. 'They didn't need to.' 'You knew who they were?' Father John
asked. 'I didn't know who they were, but I knew where they'd come from.'
'Linny's father.' 'Right. Linny's father.' 'They said that?'

    'No,
they didn't say that, but they were the kind of people that Linny's father
would use.' 'Would use?' Father John asked. 'For any kind of action like that.'
Father John paused, and then he leaned forward across the table towards me.
'You know that he's dead now.' I looked up. 'Who?' 'Linny's father, Richard
Goldbourne.' I shook my head. 'No, I didn't know he was dead.' Father John
nodded. 'Yes, died about six months ago.' 'And Linny?'

    'She's
okay, okay as can be expected as far as I know.' 'You know her?'

    Father
John shook his head and looked away. 'I don't know her, no.' He looked back at
me.

    I
opened my mouth to ask him how he knew of her at all but he interrupted me with
his next question. 'So what happened when they approached you?' 'They warned
me… well, they warned me on behalf of Nathan.' 'And you told this to the
police?' I frowned. 'I thought you'd read the trial records.' 'I did.'

    'So
you know the answer to these questions.' Father John smiled. 'Humor me, Danny…
tell me again.' 'Why?' I asked.

    Father
John shook his head. 'I don't know, I just feel I need to understand everything
that happened.'

    'And
this serves some purpose?'

    'Gives
us both something to do,' he said, which surprised me.

    'You
really want me go through all of this again?' He nodded. 'Yes,' he replied.
'All of it again.'

    Today
is October 11th. A month from now and I will be in the Death Watch cell. A month
from now and it will be three or four hours until I die. I thought of this when
I woke, and I cried. I cried for the first time in almost twelve years.

    Before
now I don't think I was capable of crying, but all this talk of Nathan, all
this talk of the things that brought me here have served to bring me to the
surface. That's the only way I can describe it. I have
surfaced.

    Sometimes
I hate Father John Rousseau. Hate his questions. Hate his weatherworn Bible.
Hate the sound of his voice as he asks me to go over these things time and
again. Hate the plain walls of
God's Lounge
where I seem to have spent
more waking hours than anywhere else. He says he means well, but until now I
had somehow managed to keep reality at bay. Who's to say it would not have
happened whether he had come or not? Who's to say that this
surfacing
would not have begun regardless of anyone asking me anything? All I know is
that with his arrival came the first real thoughts, the first real emotions
about everything that had taken place.

    The
years I have lived here at Sumter seem to have merged one into the other. I
cannot even recall the names of the people I have spoken to through the bars of
my cell, in the Visiting Room, in the Interview Section when civil rights
lawyers and youthful law graduates have questioned me again and again. Seemed
to me at one point everyone had something to gain from my death. It would prove
to the blacks that there was no prejudice in the Court systems. It would prove
to the whites that no matter your color you couldn't kill a man and expect any
kind of leniency. It would prove the relentless and committed attention to the
letter of the law of the District Attorney's Office. What it would prove to me
I didn't know.

    Perhaps
I would find out in a month.

    They
came to take some blood after lunch.

    Took
half a pint through a needle the size of a pencil lead which they put into the
vein at the top of my leg. Hurt like fuck. Didn't say a thing. Didn't even
move.

    
Fuck
'em, I thought. Fuck 'em all
.

    Clarence
Timmons came down to talk with me. He told me about the Death Watch cell. Told
me I'd be moved there on November 4th, a week before the date. Told me there
was twenty-four-hour surveillance. They didn't want you offing yourself before
the party started.

    He
told me there'd be an open line to the Governor and the District Attorney's
Office from the moment I moved to Death Watch until 12.01 p.m. on November
11th. He told me they'd ask me what I wanted to eat for my last meal.

    'Baked
ham sandwich,' I told him.

    'You've
thought about it?' he asked, and seemed surprised.

    I
shook my head. 'Don't have to think about it… know what I want, that's all.'

    He
said
Fine, just fine,
but if I should change my mind I should tell him
or the Duty Officer because I could pretty much have anything I wanted.

    I
told him I wouldn't change my mind.

    He
let it go.

    Then
he told me about the Procedure Room. That's what he called it:
The Procedure
Room.

    'When
they take you to the Procedure Room they'll ask you if you want a sedative,'
Mr. Timmons said, and his voice was hushed, like he was telling a bedtime story
to a little kid.

    'They
move you into the Procedure Room an hour before the Procedure is due to begin,
and they'll put you on a glucose drip and put in a line in case you need to use
the restroom. You see, once you're in the Procedure Room you can't come out
again -'

    'Unless
the Governor or the D.A. decides to call,' I said.

    Clarence
Timmons smiled understandingly. 'Unless the Governor or the D.A. calls,' he
repeated, and in his voice was the certainty that such a thing would never
occur.

    'And
once you're cooked you can come out, right?' I asked.

    Clarence
looked embarrassed.

    'Otherwise
it would get too crowded for the next guy… and the smell -'

    Clarence
Timmons raised his hand.

    I had
made him feel bad.

    Fuck
him,
I thought.
Fuck them all.

    'I'll
be going now,' Clarence Timmons said. 'You let the Duty Officer know if there's
anything you need, okay?'

    I
nodded, didn't say anything. Didn't have anything to say.

    I lay
down when he'd gone, lay down and put my pillow over my head. I closed my eyes
and thought of Eve Chantry's place, how it had looked that late Christmas Eve
afternoon, the russet leaves, the wind gathering them in handfuls and
scattering them along the path…