Dialogues of the Dead (53 page)

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Perm's translations which he used to leave lying around in what 'was always a vain effort to engage Rye's affections. It's from the poem which begins 'All night long when dreaming I see your face . ..'

dick; That's right. How does the last verse go?

A word in secret you softly say And give me a cypress spray sweetly. I wake and find that I've lost the spray .',; And the word escapes me completely. '»';< . .H sergius: Well remembered. Pity Rye's memory didn't work as welli^ She got thrown out of the car and I was in no state to get out aftel^ her. I just slumped across into the driver's seat and died. And it wasn^ a churchyard, wall we hit, but a garden wall, and the nearest thing (at|l a cypress tree in it was one of those ghastly leylandii hedges. But Rye^fi had such a powerful false memory that when she read this particular^ effort of Mr Penn 's, she immediately saw it as one of these signs she a was always looking for. There were plenty of others. You yourself beaft^ some responsibility in this, Mr Dee. You made her aware of that ganUt '': of yours, Paronomania, and she worked out for herself long before you, ^ told her what was the significance of the third tile rack bearing thf, ; name Johnny. Here, it seemed to her, was a perfect example of bringing ' someone back to life through the power of words. : dick: But it was never like that with Johnny . . . I refuse to accept any responsibility here ... it's only a game ... was... sergius: Of course it was. With Rye, too, it was only a game to start with. But before we leave your game, Mr Dee, you should be aware that in fact its very name was one of the most significant triggers of her subsequent course of action. In the beginning was the word, remember? And the word in this case was PARONOMANIA.

dick: 1 don't understand. How could a name . .. ? Ah ... ses.givs: I think you're getting there. After all, you too are a wordman. That's right. Try rearranging the letters. dick: Oh God . .. Paronomania .. . Raina Pomona! But I can't be blamed for an anagram! sergius: Why not? You have taken power from words and their construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction all your life. The man who splits the atom must bear some responsibility for all that springs

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therefrom, surely? Dear Rye saw in these and many other small signs evidence that I was trying to show her a path which would lead to direct communication with me.

geoff; By killing people? Don't get it, old boy. s e r g i u s; That was still to come. The nearest thing to an unmistakable sign came the day the shelf collapsed during the grand tour of the library. Most of you were there, which of course seemed significant later on. You remember the occasion, Mr Dee? dick: Indeed. It was quite comic really the way everyone scattered as the books came tumbling down.

percy:/ didn't think it was comic. I've never been so embarrassed in my life.

brose: Not even now, dear boy.

percy: This hardly counts as life, does it? So there! dick: But what ... oh yes. It was the OED. All twenty volumes. What a crash they made! And it was this that... ? sergius: Yes. Rye didn't see an accident. She saw all the words in the language come flying off the shelves to send the great and the good of Mid-Yorkshire into undignified flight. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The path to communion with me must, she felt, lead through all these words, but how? So many, so very many .. . how to traverse such vast distances . .. she needed a chart to show her the path ... and then it came to her .. . what if the OED was her chart. .. what if the limits of each volume were signposts... ? A to Bazouki... BBC to Chalypsography ... but how? And now she told herself, or imagined she heard me telling her, that messages to and from the dead require messengers, and for these messengers to be efficient, they must leave her living and come to me dead. These ideas were all swirling madly in her mind, and might still have come to nothing had she not driven out that fatal morning, and broken down, and saw you come bowling merrily along the road, Mr Ainstable. andrew: This is all beyond me. Is my van on the other side then, mate? sergius: Of course it is. Everything any of you need is over there. After your death, Mr Ainstable, which she merely observed, she was

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almost convinced. After Mr Pitman's, which she contributed to but not necessarily fatally - he might after all have kept control of his bike and continued on his way home, cursing lady drivers - she felt sure that this was the path 1 had mapped out for her. And when you, dear lady, went on television, and practically invited her to prepare another Dialogue, everything seemed clear. jax; What a story! You say everything we need is on the other side. Computer terminals? Fax machines? Mobiles? That's great! Come on,' let's not waste any more time. Let's go! s t u f f e r ; Hold your horses. 1 want to know what she mean by scraping away at my poor old head. I mean, killing me were bad enough, that were adding insult to injury! '; sergius: Oh yes. That was quite amusing really. She had to mark. you to get the sense of steel engraving across. But the police experts''' interpreted it as an attempt to inscribe RIP, in Cyrillic script. Thef were right about the script - a macabre little joke on my sister's part - but in fact all she was writing was her initials, R. P., as an artist. might inscribe a work of art. This was part of her desire for confirmation^ of my protection, for assurance of her invulnerability. Tell the world ft was her; even as in your case, my lord, lead the police to the body. ti^ didn 't matter what she did, she felt couldn 't be caught, no matter what clues she left. sam: And that makes it all right, does it? So what clues did the cow leave after she did for me? sergius; Well, she left the book open at that poem about the loved,, long lost boy. That was me, of course. And then there was the chocolate, bar ... .

sam: What chocolate bar, for God's sake? w, sergius: The Yorkie bar. Yorkies have the letters of its name printed1, on them, one on each segment. She broke it up and rearranged it on'f the mantel shelf above the fire. If anyone had found your body before't the chocolate melted, they'd have read her message. ; sam: Message? What message? Some reference to The Chocolate Soldier? Very subtle! : s e rg i u s: Oh no. Much clearer than that. The letters read I RYE OK. Surely even Mid-Yorkshire's Thickest would have got that? Perhaps not. I mean, none of them spotted that the illuminated P at the beginning of the first Dialogue represented a tree and there were apples among the pile of letters lying alongside the roots. Pomona, the goddess of fruit trees, remember? From the start she was telling you who she was. Later you even gave a little lecture to that young constable on why man in combinations like chairman need not be gender specific, and neither of you transferred it to wordman. But why should we be surprised? Even when the police more or less caught her in the act of slaying you, Mr Dee, she still got away with it. Of course, love is blind, and when that poor young constable rushed in, what he saw was you assaulting his beloved. Happily for Rye, when befell backwards in pulling you off her, he hit his head so hard, he was rendered almost senseless, a condition she maintained by breaking a bottle over his skull and blinding him with wine. It was easy then for her to make sure his hand found the knife which he proceeded to stick into you with such great enthusiasm. Not that it was necessary. You were going to die from Rye's first blow to the stomach anyway. dick; But why? Why did she do it? We were going to make love. She felt the same way as I did, I'm sure.

sergius: You're right. She liked you; and she felt extremely randy; and being a modem young woman, saw no reason not to enjoy herself. But naturally on seeing the approach of the young man she really loved, she changed her mind. She's not that modem! Then she saw you naked, and that was it. But I'm afraid it wasn 't your rampant loblance that so compelled her gaze, Mr Dee, it was the rather large reddy-grey birthmark running across your belly. If ever a man was haswed, it was you. This was a sign from Serge, she thought. Time stopped for her. Which meant, of course, that very soon time had to stop for you also. Don't take it personally. Do take it as a comfort, if you will, that your death affected her more than anyone else's. And, of course, it had the bonus of giving the constabulary the best kind of ready-made culprit, a dead one who spared them the inconvenience and expense of a trial. dick; Oh God. You mean that's what Pm going to be remembered for? Being a serial killer? sergius: Well, it was always your ambition to make your mark as a wordman, wasn't it? And you did contribute to your own downfall. She wouldn't have come to the cottage if you hadn't asked her. And she

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wouldn 't have seen your birthmark if you hadn 't set out to seduce her. And the police wouldn't have had you so firmly in the frame if you'd come forward to admit you'd been in bed with Miss Ripley the day she died. That was an amusing irony, really. Rye had actually covered up your presence there by removing your watch which you 'd left under the pillow! She did it out of affection for you. But if the police had found' it and therefore questioned you earlier about your relationship with Miss Ripley, who knows? Perhaps the whole course of events may have been changed. Well, that's fate. Now, unless there are any more questions, ^ let's start getting you aboard. You first, Messrs Bird and Follows, as .^ you are potentially the most awkward. ..'

percy; We will get separated on the other side, won't we? '! sergius: Oh yes. Nothing Dante-esque about the place where you're ^ going. Now, Miss Ripley ... excellent .. . Mr Ainstable, perhaps you, '| could give Mr Pitman a hand ... he's a bit broken up . .. you'll lovf, it over there, Mr Pitman. Very Greek. Mr Steel... stuffer; What's the nosh like, mate? sergius: Ambrosia. With chips. Drjohnson ... sam; I don't know about this... sergius.-^w think of it as sailing to the rock in the ancient waves,..,. Doctor. And there's a young friend of yours waiting to see you. That's ;! right. He may have a couple of things to tell you which you 'II find surprising. There we go. Now, Mr Dee .. . dick: Do I gather that we'll get the chance to meet people we once knew ... ?

sergius: Don't worry. Young Johnny knows you're coming. He's very p excited. Last but not least, you, my lord. ,;| !^ geoff: Oh gosh, not so much of that lord stuff, eh? Not the place ft» 'i| be putting on the style from the sound of it. ' sergius: You may be surprised how hierarchical we are. And of course when you 're connected. .. geoff: So long as there's a bit of good sport. Shall I push off then? Right. Here we go. Just one thing that bothers me, as they say in the tec novels. Has all this worked out for Rye? I mean, was it really you leading her on all the time? And if her motive was getting in touch with you, why can't we hear her? Or did she have to get right through the whole twenty volumes of OED before she wrapped it up? In which case, sounds like she's got a long way to go? And won't the police get a bit suspicious when the Wordman killings carry on even with Dick here dead? Left hand down a bit, I think, old thing. Don't want to hit that rock or whatever it is out there . .. can't see a thing in this mist ... oh yes, I can . . . it's getting a bit clearer ... it's . .. it's . .. Oh my God...'.

And so their voices fade in the mist, or rather in my head, which is maybe the same thing, with Geoff's questions unanswered. Silence. The same silence which began as I stepped back into time and looked down at dear Dick's ripped and bloody corpse, and dearer Hat's pale and bleeding face. Oh, Serge, Serge, why have you deserted me? In all the other dialogues, I heard you, sometimes faint, sometimes loud and clear, always unmistakably you. In this one I have invented words, for you, for all of them, hoping like a nurse giving the kiss of life, that eventually my breath would give you strength once more to take your own. But here I sit in what used to be Dick's chair, with all those old wordmen staring down at me from the walls, and I know that I am alone. Except for my memories. Such memories. How can I live with them? I am of course mad by any normal standard of judging sanity. And will be mad in own judgment if I conclude that this has all been delusion, all done for nothing. The questions I put into Geoff's mouth need to be answered. Perhaps others will answer them for me. Even if the police are so blind that they let me get away with this, theirs are not the only eyes that I have to fear. Through the open door into the library, I can see Charley Penn sitting at his table, looking towards me with a gaze by turns speculative and sceptical and accusing, and always angry, Beside him is that strange young man, Franny Roote, who whenever he catches my eye gives me a small, almost complicitous smile. Or is it guilt that makes me see these things?

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