Gene Wolfe: Pandora by Holly Hollander

“But now your father is rich, and your uncle is poor.”

It wasn’t a question, just a statement thrown out for me to let pass if I wanted to, but I could tell from the way he said it that he knew something already—maybe more than I did. “Not exactly,” I said. “My grandfather—he was Herbert Hollander, Junior—was kind of a nut, in one way anyhow.”

“He founded the Hollander Safe and Lock Company and made a fortune.”

“Right, but he was kind of a nut just the same. He had a partner when he started, and there was a lot of trouble between them.”

“I didn’t know that,” Blue said.

“He bought this partner out pretty early, while the company was still small, but I guess he always remembered those fights and felt that they could have done a lot better if he’d been the only boss.”

“And—?”

“And so when he died he left my father some money. But he left all the stock in the company to Uncle Bert, because he was older. My father had been working for the company, too. He was a vice president, and because he’d been doing a good job Uncle Bert kept him on. Then when Uncle Bert had his breakdown, the court made my father his guardian. It seems like when a person goes crazy, they don’t take their property away, it’s just like the person was a kid.”

“But if your uncle recovered, he’d be able to take control of his company again.”

“Yeah, only I don’t think that’s going to happen. Because another thing I know about Uncle Bert—I believe this’s the last one—is that he’s still in Garden Meadow and he’s pretty sick. That’s why I’m going to see him now. Are you going to tell me why you want to know all this?”

“Because I knew some of it already. It’s an odd situation, and I’m insatiably curious by nature. You wanted to know how I knew as much as I did, but as I said, it should’ve been obvious from what you already knew. I didn’t learn it from you, or from your father or mother—who have, I’d say, excellent reasons for keeping it quiet. By the way, you were supposed to give me all the information you had about your uncle. You referred to him as ‘crazy’ but never told me what his insanity consisted of. Do you know?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never heard—or even thought about it.”

“Then we’ll let that pass for now. As I said, the source of my information should have been clear to you almost from the beginning. I’m going to Garden Meadow, too, to visit a friend. My friend—he’s Judge Bain, of whom you may have heard—”

“I thought he was in jail.”

Blue nodded. “The judge was sent up in connection with a racing scandal, but when his grasp of reality failed, and he was transferred to a state hospital for the criminally insane, the governor commuted his sentence. His family sent him to Garden Meadow, where he’s become quite a crony of your Uncle Herbert’s. He’s a charming man, the old judge, and they must be nearly the same age. Understandably, your uncle doesn’t feel obligated to conceal his ownership of Hollander Safe and Lock.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Now for my last question. Answer this, and we’re even. What’s in Pandora’s Box?”

It was like a spa, if you can imagine what a spa would be like if every guest stayed a long, long time—a big old threestory house, part limestone and part wood, with pillars in front and a lobby with chairs and books and a big TV. The main difference between the staff and the patients seemed to me to be that the patients had better clothes but looked—most of them—a little sloppy.

A nurse took Blue right up to see his friend the judge like they’d been expecting him; but he’d made a phone call from the station in Chicago, and I’ve always figured that was why and he hadn’t been going there until I’d said I was. I had to go in to talk to Uncle Bert’s doctor, which I had expected, and he tried to phone our house, which I hadn’t. But when Mrs. Maas told him my mother and father were both gone, he decided to let me go up. I was cussing myself for not having worn a nice dress and more lipstick; if I had I could have passed for twenty-one and there wouldn’t have been any trouble. But everything worked out okay. Be yourself, as TV guys who spent two hours in makeup are always telling us.

Uncle Bert had a big room with three windows on the second floor, but as soon as I saw him he stopped being Uncle Bert for me and turned into Herbert Hollander III to stay, or at least no chummier than Uncle Herbert. He looked a little like my father, but not much. My father’s what people call a tall man, around six foot one or two, I guess. Uncle Herbert was six five or six easy, but stooped. He was quite a bit thinner, too. His hair was starting to go, and what was left was white; but he moved around almost like the guys on the hardball team, and if I’d had to pick the winner in a fistfight between him and my father, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have picked him. He was wearing one of those really wild black-and-red sportcoats you see now and then, with a bright blue knit shirt and white slacks. There was wire over the windows, but for all you could tell it might have been there to keep the pigeons out.

“So you’re Harry’s little girl,” he said, and took hold of my hands. The doctor had phoned a male nurse on this floor and told him I was coming up.

I said, “Call me Holly,” wondering whether he was going to let go of me or try something.

He let go. “That’s fine, Holly. Fine. Sit down, won’t you?” There were a couple of armchairs besides the bed and a dresser, both with tapestry seats and back, and ball-andclaw legs.

I sat. “How’re you feeling, Uncle Herbert?”

“So they’ve told you about me, and that’s why you’ve come. Certainly, certainly. I feel perfectly fit, Holly. Would you believe I played a round of golf this morning? We’ve a nine-hole course, and I think that I might win the National Open, if only it were played here. I know every bush and hummock.”

I said that was good, and we made quite a bit of small talk, me telling him all about Sidi and school and so forth, and him asking me about my father and Elaine. He’d never ridden a jet, he said, and he was surprised when I said I’d gone to Chicago on the train, because TV and magazines had given him the impression that there were only freight trains left.

Then he got off onto prices, and he asked so many questions that I thought, uh-oh, here it comes, pretty soon he’ll get mad or start singing or something.

Except he never did. He was amazed at how much everything cost, and talked a lot about how the government was selling out the country, but everybody does that, and I’ve heard people in our living room get a lot madder than he was. He wanted to know how much his sportcoat had cost at Marshall Field’s, but I could only guess at it because I don’t know much about men’s clothes. Then he wanted to know how much it cost to ride the train (a dollar eightyfive back then, if you’re curious) and how much a cheap meal might be. So I told him how much at McDonald’s for a shake and a Big Mac with fries, and then I had to tell him all about McDonald’s, the golden arches and all that.

When I was about to go he kissed my hand, bowing from the hips the way he had, I guess, been taught to in dancing school about 1929. It made me feel funny. Then he took both my hands like he had when I’d first come and asked me if I could give him some money. I started to say that my father had just been there—which he had, because Uncle Herbert had told me—and he could have given him whatever he needed. Then I thought, well, if he were really on the ball about all this he wouldn’t be in Garden Meadow, now would he? And probably by asking me for money he’s testing me, and the money represents love to him. I’ve got my return train ticket, and even if that Aladdin Blue guy doesn’t have a whole lot of cash, he’d probably help me out and I could pay him back.