The World of the End (33 page)

He noticed that she was clasping the godget in her hands. “Hey, you can’t do that!” he barked, prying her surprisingly strong fingers off the button that would send her to the kingdom of eternal sleep. Only when her hands went slack and rested daintily on his, did he relax. Just as he was sure she had sunk into a deep sleep, he felt her nails ripping at the back of his hand. He yelled and jumped back.

“Good luck with what’s-her-name,” she said, pushing the button for the seventh time and closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her smiling lips and carrying her in his arms, consoling himself with the knowledge that at least this time he had decided to stay and accompany her on this, her final journey.

26

Trunkation

To: Halfabillion, Director of the Forest of Family Trees

From: Abillionandaquarter

I’d like to call your attention to the corpse atop my table at this moment. As you know, I try not to bother you with the autopsy reports of uprooted trees, unless, of course, there’s cause for suspicion. In this particular case I can categorically say that, based on my years of experience as a tree pathologist, I have never seen a more clear-cut case of arboreal abuse. The fact of the matter is that someone has, time and again, been committing a crime that must be answered for immediately. It goes without saying that I will stand by any decision you make, even though I am sure that once you see the evidence, you will share my opinion that those who perpetrated this murderous scandal must be relieved of their jobs and punished, as you see fit.

Following are eight basic facts that have come to light during the autopsy of the Mendelssohn family tree, situated in plot 2,605,327 until 6/21/01 at 23:07.

1) The tree’s roots are strong and stable, aside from some mild rot (nothing that a routine root canal couldn’t solve)—conclusively indicating that the tree had many fruitful years left and that it was uprooted before its time.

2) The tree’s bark is new, fresh, and vibrantly brown in color. Scruff patches, caused by pointy-toed shoes, are visible at the eighty centimeter mark. The perpetrator kicked the trunk, leaving bruise marks all along its lower section. As opposed to truly aged trunks, which often exhibit “acne” all along their length, this specimen shows wounds only at the points cited above, additional proof of deliberate harm.

3) Over the last ten years, the crown has shown no signs of foliar renewal. In essence the tree has suffered an imposed autumn. With your permission I’ll quote Sevenmillion’s seminal work
On Leaves and Branches:
“When a tree loses its leaves and they do not prove to be self-regenerating, it is a strong indication of severe autumnal trauma, hinting at the beginning of a gradual decline. If disease is not a factor (the usual culprit is tri-seasonal jaundice, presenting itself in the form of yellow, lackluster leaves) then one must conclude that the culprit is external influence—unusually fast balding is a means a tree uses to signal to its surroundings that it is in distress, induced by violence.”

4) The sap marks alongside the origin of the last eight branches have faded and are almost illegible—a common sight among old growth hardwood. Radiometric dating indicates that the Mendelssohns had been around for 2,609 years, thereby discrediting the age theory. Therefore, the smudging of the sap marks must be the result of the other known factor, fear. The oversecretion of sap points to grave existential concern (see:
When the Tree Trembles: The World Wars and Their Effect on Families with Boys).
This is heightened during storms in the Family Tree Forest, storms that are both a hysterical and credible reflection of particularly violent periods. What did the tree fear? And why did it only start to fear during the last few years?

5) The smooth hollow marks typical of natural branch stubs stop at 02.01.94 (Menachem Mendelssohn). From that point on, all eight branch stubs are fibrous and pointy. In other words, they were cruelly removed from their spots, and the perpetrator of this crime did not clean up after himself. Moreover, the angle at which the branches were severed is identical in all eight cases—a forty-five degree pull to the right, a thirty-five degree pull to the left, a twist and an
intentional
dismembering. There are also clear signs of struggle. A very weak branch readily succumbs to physical strength; in this case the perpetrator was forced to employ a twisting motion, indicating, to my dismay, the branch’s temporary resistance to this abhorrent attack. That is to say, there’s no reason to believe that the branch had been naturally weakened to the point of falling, which yet again indicates wrongdoing.

6) Further thoughts on the dismembering—despite the similarities in the manner in which the branches were torn from the trunk, there are distinct signs of improvement in the technique of the assailant. The first two stubs show a clumsy method of attack, requiring
nine
counterclockwise twists to separate the branches from the trunk, but the next four show far more efficient form and the final two are downright expert (a mere three twists, executed while pulling).

7) The murders were committed by hand, without the aid of tools or implements. Had the crimes been committed with some type of sawing tool, we’d see no evidence of this type of “sloppy” result, hinting at one of three scenarios: The murders were not premeditated; they were premeditated but the perpetrator has tried to stage it so that it looks otherwise; the perpetrator is a scatterbrained, illogical character.

8) Once the outer layers of bark were peeled away, the heartwood was revealed—tall, smooth and robust. Heartwood that promises a tree many more fruitful years. Its crown is not intertwined, its branches are well spaced and symmetric, its trunk shows no unusual bulges or knots. In summation, it is one of the more aesthetic specimens I’ve seen.

Fraternally,

Abillionandaquarter

PS: If you require any help at all drafting a psychological profile of the perpetrator, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. I recommend two primary courses of investigation—a mysterious hatred for said family (perhaps there’s a connection between the criminal alias and the Mendelssohn family, if you know what I mean) or a severe psychological disorder that prompted the perpetrator to act like a merciless psychopath each time he came near the tree, may it rest in peace.

PPS: If I may, I’ll conclude on a personal note and congratulate you on your new love.

Best of luck.

Halfabillion folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Nodding, he began thinking of his next schnapps with Billion. He decided to call the two main suspects to his office the next day and demand answers. It was high time this episode was brought to an end.

27

Turning Back the Wheel

“Adam,” Shahar called out in a childish voice, his fists monotonically pounding the tabletop between them.

Adam approached his brother’s chair slowly, his red eyes riveted on the sore sight before him. Eyes wide, hair disheveled, shoulders stooped, stubble sprouting across his face, Shahar grinned luridly as he watched his brother draw near.

“I’m so happy to see you,” the actor whispered hoarsely.

“Your throat,” Adam said, sitting down, “clear your throat.”

“I haven’t spoken for three days,” Shahar said.

Adam nodded. “I know. They told me you didn’t say a word to anyone, not even the lawyer.”

“What took you so long?” Shahar asked. “I told them you were the only one I was willing to talk to.”

“They wouldn’t release me,” Adam said, looking down at the dirty floor.

“What do you mean?” Shahar asked, gazing at him curiously.

“I’m here with a police escort. They arrested me yesterday.”

“What are you talking about, Adam? The police arrested you? Because of me?”

“No, Shahar, nothing to do with you,” Adam said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “They came by yesterday morning. There was a complaint. To a sex crimes unit or something. I told them it was nothing. That it was all platonic. But just as they were getting ready to leave, this policewoman asked to use the bathroom. When she got back, I realized something awful had happened. While I was talking to the other two, she walked into the room ‘by mistake.’”

Looking at the confusion on his brother’s face, he repeated. “The Room.”

Shahar shook his head in disbelief. “I always say lock the door. I’m always saying…”

“You’re right,” Adam said, placing an unsteady hand on Shahar’s agitated one. “I acted irresponsibly. This is what you get when a policewoman opens the door to a room and sees a wall of naked children. They marched me straight to the back of the patrol car. Read me my rights. And since then I haven’t had a moment’s rest. They took all of the pictures and made me give them the names of each one of the kids. Then they put me up on the national list of pedophiles and said they wouldn’t let me go until each and every one of those kids had been spoken to and had convinced them that they hadn’t been touched.”

“Oh God, this isn’t really happening,” Shahar said, rolling his eyes back. “Who filed the complaint?” he asked after a brief pause.

“Tom’s mother,” Adam said, twisting his lips in derision.

“That annoying kid again?” Shahar said, kicking the table leg. “Will he ever leave us alone?”

“It’s not him, Shahar, it’s his mother.”

“Oh, please. And last time? In the amusement park it was his mother’s friend. I told you then and there that kid is trouble.”

“Shhh,” Adam hissed, “they’re listening to every word.”

“What are you talking about? There’s no one here,” Shahar said, pointing to the glass window.

“Don’t point,” Adam grunted. “They’re sitting behind the glass. It’s like on TV. What do you think, that they let me meet you out of the goodness of their hearts? Shahar, they know it’s the only way to get you to talk.”

“Adam, about her…”

“Don’t say anything about her, Shahar, they’re listening to every word.”

“I have to,” Shahar said, clenching his teeth. “If they do what they said they’re going to, I won’t have a choice. I’ll have to tell the whole story.”

“What? Shahar, what’s going on? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m scared shitless, Adam.”

“You can’t let them get to you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about them. She’s the one who scares me. They said they were going to bring her in for a confrontation.”

“What’s keeping them?”

“She flew out of the country and they’re waiting for her to get back.…”

“Okay, confront her, what’s the big deal?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Shahar yelled, eyes popping. “I can’t be in the same room with that woman. Every time I close my eyes I see her chasing me. The one time I managed to go to sleep I saw her chasing me on one of those old turn-of-the-century unicycle-type things. Wheels, Adam, that’s all I’m able to see … wheels, circles, spheres.…” And then without another word he spun around in his chair, examined the cracked wall, and began to trace circles in the air.

“Shahar, enough,” Adam said, swatting his drawing finger out of the air. “Look at me. Listen. No one is chasing you!”

“Easy for you to say,” Shahar protested, “your little brother did it all for you. Well, I got news for you. Turns out big brother doesn’t see everything. In your case, all he sees is half the picture.”

“What do you want?” Adam asked. “You sound like a lunatic. Shahar, buddy, let’s agree on one simple fact: The reporter who came to our house, the one you attacked, was flesh and blood, not a ghost, right?”

“I don’t know what she was,” Shahar said.

“No, no, no, Shahar, that’s not good enough. You’re getting confused with that damned script. The woman from the movie, the fictitious one, she’s haunting you. Her! The reporter who showed up, at the worst time, looks exactly like…”

“No,” Shahar cut him off. “She doesn’t look like her; she is her!”

“That’s impossible,” Adam said. “If she died, and you’re responsible for her death, how could she show up on your doorstep one year after the fact. Unless, of course, she miraculously survived the fall, which would clear you of any guilt. You can’t be held responsible for the death of a living woman. That’s why you went so crazy three nights ago. You wanted to finish it off.”

“I can’t listen to your idiotic explanations any longer,” Shahar said, pushing the table away and abruptly rising. “You keep trying to distort the truth because of them.” To Adam’s amazement, he turned to the glass, yelling, “I killed her in her previous incarnation! Yes, friends, you waited three days to hear me open my mouth, well then, here’s the director’s cut.”

“Shahar, please, calm down. You’re out of control. You’re spewing nonsense.”

“Pay no mind to the crybaby behind me. Adam is a tortured pedophile. A moral one. It doesn’t matter. The two go hand in hand, no? Torture and morality. That’s Adam: most guys hit and run—not my brother, he runs the kids off and then hits it alone in his room. Who’s the wiseass who lit a cigarette and asked smugly, ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’”

“I’m begging you, Shahar,” Adam said, rising from his chair, approaching his brother deliberately and directing his cries at the one-way glass window. “You are responsible for the mental health of the incarcerated. He needs a psychiatric evaluation. Did you see him drawing circles in the air like some kind of psycho? He’s not…”

“Enough already, idiot,” Shahar said, pushing Adam strongly as he tried to pull him away from the window. “Come near me again and you’ll be sorry.” He turned back to his invisible audience and giggled. “You see how I must constantly restrain him? Watch that he doesn’t cross the line? Like that other morning, when I saw the look in his eye and knew that hunting season was on. He seemed more stressed than usual and I had a good idea as to why. Three months he’d made do with the pictures, didn’t lure a single kid to the house. Tried to kick the habit. You got to give him credit for his powers of denial. On the night that I attacked that ghost bitch he even had a woman over at the house. But on that critical morning, it was clear that the twelve-step program to kick the kid-addiction had gone down the drain. He was burning up inside. Barely finished his morning toast. His leg was bouncing like a sewing machine. I asked him if I could tag along. As you see, even pedophiles need nannies. He said there was no need. I saw that my instinct was correct and said we’d meet at the amusement park. I showed up an hour later, dressed as a beggar. You remember
From Hand to Mouth
? The one that won me the prize? Back then I used to go around like a beggar, to try and get used to the feeling of nothingness. I’d come home once a day, in the mornings, for breakfast with my brother. That’s it.