Gene Wolfe: Free Live Free

“Believe me, I would never betray Madame Serpentina’s confidence, and she knows it. She’s asked me to help her.”

“Well, now.”

“Just as you’ve asked me to help you, Mr. Free. And I’m going to try to do my best for both of you.”

“Good for you,” Free muttered. “Now you have a look at that bottle gas. See the valve? Shut her off.”

Barnes did as he was told. “Madame Serpentina’s a very intelligent woman, but she has a certain view of life. A view of the world. She sees things in, um, spiritual terms.”

Free straightened up, the hose end, a hose clamp, and the screwdriver all in one big hand, like a bouquet of soiled flowers. “That’s got her loose. Smells funny, don’t it?”

“Speaking man-to-man,” Barnes continued dauntlessly, “what she told me was nonsense. What I mean to say is, it was nonsense to me, right? I don’t look at things the way she does, but I suppose if you look at them that way, she might be right. Anyway, what she indicated to me was that you told her you once had a—ah—crown, or something of that sort, and you had hidden it. Last night, she said, you told her where, more or less, and that it would be all right with you if she got it. When you—ah—have met your daughter and have no further use for it.”

Free chuckled. “A crown? That’s what she said?”

“Something like that. She used a lot of words I don’t know, but that’s what it seemed to boil down to. Regalia? I always thought that meant a yacht race, but I believe it was one thing she spoke of.”

“And she said I told her where ’twas? Mr. Barnes, don’t you think if I had a crown, and knew where it was, I’d go get it?”

“Not where it was, exactly.” Barnes was stubborn. “Only that you had hidden it away a long time ago.”

The old man chuckled again. “I gave her more than that, Mr. Barnes. I doubt she told you everything.”

Barnes smiled. “Then there is a crown. That’s wonderful, Mr. Free.”

“Not a crown.” Free’s voice grew grave. “I never said it was a crown.”

“I didn’t think so. It doesn’t seem probable, after all.”

“Trouble is, I want to tell you what it was, Mr. Barnes. Only I can’t.”

“I would respect your confidence, Mr. Free. Trust me.”

“’Taint that.” The old man shuffled awkwardly, like a boy. “It’s a treasure. That’s all I can say. A treasure. Something I brought from the High Place, and there’s no words I could use to tell you what it was and make you believe it now.” He held up his hands as if depicting a fish or a putt. “It ain’t too big. Not much wider than that.”

“But it would be worth a great deal,” Barnes persisted, “if we found it?”

“Oh, you could sell it for a sight of money, I s‘pose. ’Cept you never would. Once you had it, you couldn’t part with it. Not for money. Maybe not for anything. I never meant to, you see, Mr. Barnes. I’d used it, and I’d learned a whole lot. I only wanted to put it to one side for a while and stay where I was at. Then one thing and t‘other happened. I thought about it sometimes, but the time never seemed right to go. There was always corn to plant, or this or that. Anyway, I got older—which we all do, Mr. Barnes, treasure or none. And I knew it would be harder. I kept thinkin’ one day I’d feel better, and some days I did, only it never lasted. Then it was too late for me. I started askin’ myself what I’d do with it now, and I’ll tell you the truth, there wasn’t much of a answer.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t, Mr. Barnes. You don’t see a thing.” The old man shambled off in the direction of the water heater.

“I only meant that I can sympathize. My grandfather had a farm and lost it. I still remember how depressed he was. I understand how you feel.”

The candle went out.

“You’re wrong, Barnes.” The voice was Free’s and yet not Free’s, as though a new and different Free had come suddenly with the dark.

Barnes gasped, “Where are you, Mr. Free?” and patted his pockets helplessly. “I’ve been trying to quit smoking, and now the candle’s—”

“I know that, Barnes. Don’t be any bigger fool than you can help. A moment ago you said people don’t respect you. I said I did, and I do. But you’re involved in something you don’t understand. That’s the simple truth.”

“Don’t you have—”

“You’re trying to ask me where I put my gizmo, and what it is. A way to make me tell you what I hardly know myself about something you don’t understand. Well, I put it where I told you. In a wall. I could have put it someplace else, but it was a wall I chose.”

Barnes took a step. He hoped it was toward the stair, though he felt a chasm had opened before him.

“And I put a sign on it. I’m not sure you’ll ever see that sign, Barnes, but if you do I think you’ll know.”

Sergeant Proudy mounted the steps of 808 South Thirtyeighth and knocked at the door. It was a fine old door, high, wide, and solid. The Proudys lived in an apartment with a fireplace; Sergeant Proudy wished briefly that he might have that door. It would burn for weeks.

There was no sound from inside. Proudy pushed up the tail of his overcoat, took a blackjack from his hip pocket, and used it to knock again.

After several more knocks, Barnes opened the door. He was half a head shorter than the policeman, who wedged one of his large, black shoes between the door and the jamb.

“You still here, bud?” Sergeant Proudy grunted. “Where’s the old man?”

Barnes hesitated. “I’m afraid Mr. Free’s presently engaged, officer.”

Proudy pushed open the door. “I have to see him. I’ve got a paper here for B. Free. Where is he?”

Barnes backed away. “I think he’s—ah—upstairs. It would probably be better if I went up and asked him to come down and see you.”

“I’ll go up with you,” Proudy said firmly. He followed Barnes up the steep, narrow stair. “You’re still living here?”

“Yes, I am,” Barnes told him. The house was icy cold, but a radio banged and grumbled upstairs.

“You’re going to have to get out. You and the old man and everybody else, if there’s anybody else left.”

Barnes halted, his hands clutching at the banister. “Not now, officer. There are five of us.”

“As of noon of this date.”

Barnes shook his head. “That’s impossible. I’ve only made a couple of calls today—a few neighborhood places. I wanted to see Mr. Free myself, so I couldn’t go very far. I’d make a call or two over in the next street, you follow me? And then I’d come back and check. The first time he was still asleep, and then he was out having breakfast. Probably I waited too long because I got a good order at the second place, and I had to write it up and promise the guy it would be here in ten days or less. You know how it is?”

“You get on upstairs, and while you’re doing it, I’ll make this completely clear. What I got here’s a court order.” Sergeant Proudy had a large nose. He rubbed it. “It says you got to be out at noon because they got to wreck this house. Come noon, we carry you out, and we carry your stuff out, and we dump everything in the street. If you don’t want that, move before then.”

“I really don’t think that’s reasonable, officer,” Barnes said. “Or right, either.” The sergeant was crowding him, jabbing him just above the belt with the end of the blackjack to force him up the stairs. “People, old people like Mr. Free particularly, should have some rights.”

“The law says he’s got the right to take what the state says his house is worth. Ain’t that right? Now go get him.”

“In here, I think.” Barnes trotted past Stubb’s door and knocked at Candy’s.