Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

“Now you will demand that I establish my identity,” the white-bearded man told Skip. “Let’s get that out of the way at once. I cannot.”

“You’re asking me to take you on faith?”

“No, sir. On the testimony of my wife and my former daughter. Do you recall the Old College Inn? You and I had dinner there one evening.”

Chelle said, “I was there, too, Charlie. You told us about firing Marcia.”

“Indeed you were.” The white-bearded man nodded. “I talked about it for Skip’s sake, though. You’ll never have a secretary, honey. Or if you do, it will be some kind of dodge. The blonde was Skip’s secretary.”

“The one with the wheelgun? Not anymore. Skip fired her.”

Skip cleared his throat. “I think I’d better set the record straight, Chelle. I didn’t fire her, she quit. Now she’s my secretary again, because I hired her back.” He turned to the white-bearded man. “You told us Marcia had been doing a poor job. That was why you let her go.”

The white-bearded man nodded.

“Susan was an excellent secretary. I was stunned when she resigned. And I’d be delighted to have her back in my office, although that wasn’t the reason I rehired her.”

“What was?” Chelle asked.

“She’ll be charged when we reach port, probably with first-degree murder. I intend to defend her pro bono—to have Mick or whoever do it, nominally. It’s liable to be an expensive undertaking, one that may drag on for the better part of a year. If she’s no longer an employee, there will be questions. Chet Burton’s not active in the firm these days, but he keeps an eye on things. Ibarra’s junior to me, but he’s just as much a partner as I am. If Susan’s still working for us, that could be the difference. We try to take care of our own.”

Chelle nodded. “She was lost. I could see that even when she was holding a gun on me.”

Vanessa reached across the table to touch her hand. “You mustn’t sympathize with them, Chelle darling. It’s an emotional trap.”

“Well, she was. She was loyal to Rick, but she hated what they were doing.”

Skip spoke to the white-bearded man. “You came in after they had taken Chelle from the infirmary. Why?”

He chuckled. “Because I wanted to see Chelle, that’s all. I’d heard she was on board.” He paused, blinking. “She divorced me. You know that. It had been a long time for me, but only a couple of years for her. Frankly, I thought she might hang up on me if I phoned your stateroom, or slam the door in my face if I went there. Then I found out she’d been hurt by the hijackers.” The white-bearded man paused. “You fought them, Mr. Grison. I heard about that, too.”

Skip nodded.

“I didn’t. I offered my services and was herded into the second-class dining room with the women and children, and the other old men. I’ve never been a soldier. Neither have you, I dare say.”

“Correct.”

“You’re old when your dreams become regrets. Remember that. In time you’ll learn how true it is.”

Chelle said, “You must have known I was in there.”

“I did. Your Mr. Grison told me, though he seems to have forgotten it. Did they feed you?”

Chelle nodded. “I’d been asleep. They made me go to sleep some way. When I woke up there was food. Not much, but some. Rolls and a little butter, and a bowl of cold soup. Crackers. I ate it all.”

Skip said, “Is this to the point?”

“Absolutely. You wanted to know how I knew Chelle was in there. I phoned the infirmary, but nobody answered. So I asked Refugio—he’s my steward—to find her for me. He asked somebody else, and that person said that she was up in Signal Three. I didn’t ask how he knew. I simply assumed he’d asked a waiter who’d delivered food there.”

Skip shook his head. “A moment ago, you said I told you.”

“I did, and both are quite true. When I heard she was in Signal Three, I assumed she had been discharged by the infirmary and was being welcomed back to the glorious world of health by a dear friend. Had I been right, you would have been enraged, Mr. Grison. You were terrified instead. My dear wife, who failed to recognize me, was clearly very worried. I’d met Lieutenant Jerry Brice, and knew he had been wounded. If he and Chelle were romping between the sheets, both of them had recovered from their wounds with astounding speed. It seemed clear something was amiss, so I went up.”

Skip nodded. “Go on, please.”

“There isn’t much more to tell. I walked in on them—your secretary opened the door for me. I saw Chelle with her hands tied and pushed your secretary aside. The man she called Rick wanted to know what I was up to, and pointed a gun at me. After a little fencing, I told him I’d been sent by headquarters. He said he wasn’t supposed to signal, so I said that’s right. Don’t.”

Chelle said, “You kept telling them not to kill me. I remember that.”

“Of course I did.” The white-bearded man turned back to Skip. “They were using deeptrance on her. I told him it would be foolish to shoot her. Somebody might hear the shot, and after he shot her we would have to dispose of the body. All he had to do was to put her back under and tell her to forget the whole thing. Deeptrance suggestions last for weeks. Sometimes for a hundred-day, but always for two weeks or more. They use it to cure addicts.”

Skip nodded. “I’m surprised you know.”

“I read a lot. Any more questions?”

“Yes, several.”

The white-bearded man poured himself a fresh glass of champagne. “Fire away.”

Skip began, “Do you really expect us to believe—”

He was interrupted by the arrival of two waiters. The junior, who carried a tray and a folding table, handed each salad to the senior, who placed it before the appropriate diner.

Vanessa said, “I have a question of my own, Charles. If Skip gets so many, surely I ought to get one. Or two. Possibly two. Are you still in business? And if you are, can you tell us what business you’re in?”

The white mustache twitched. “Shall I anticipate the rest? It will be my pleasure. Am I making a lot of money? And—oh, yes—how much have I got now?”

“I would never be so rude!”

The white-bearded man winked at Skip. “You see how it is, Counselor. I have wished for a wife much younger than myself, a comfort to my old age. Our Divine Master, whose exquisite sense of fun provides Him and us with so much entertainment, has granted my wish. Here aboard the Rani , I find my wife, a lovely lady to whom I’m already wed, and lo and behold! She is—miraculously—much, much younger than I. The angels harp louder than ever in order that we not hear His chuckles.”

“I was thinking of contracting,” Vanessa said. She struck a pensive pose, endeavoring to look thoughtful. “You are going to ask me to contract again, aren’t you, Charles darling?”

The white-bearded man turned to Chelle. “You must have questions, too.”

“Thanks.” She nodded. “You didn’t buy a ticket on this cruise just because I was here. Was it Mother?”

“It was neither of you. I’m an old man, much older than any of you, and certainly much, much older than you are. My wife voided our contract long ago, and even longer ago my only child divorced me. As old men so often are, I’m alone in the world. On a cruise, I hoped to make a few friends, and possibly even one special friend, someone who might eventually become more than a friend to me.”

Vanessa said, “As you have.”

The white-bearded man ignored it. “You may laugh at an old man clinging to romantic dreams, honey. I know it’s foolish and am not offended. We cling to those dreams the way we do because we have so little left. You’ll never understand that, nor will my beloved wife. Mr. Grison may. He will, in fact, if he lives long enough.”