Embracing Darkness (27 page)

A contrast between Willy and Zachary is that Zachary had a father who was always around, a father who would beat him every chance he got while his mother did nothing to stop it since she had never cared about Zachary because of what he represented—a terrible act of cruelty and a merciless crime. And her rape-engendered offspring reminded his mother of all the things she couldn’t be, the wife and mother of a loving family. Zachary was the brick wall that kept her from all the things she could never have: a close relationship with her parents, family, and friends, the life she had known as a child.

Willy respected the wishes of his wife and never once attempted her during their marriage. Instead, he would go out every night, get drunk at “The Watering Hole,” and stay that way the rest of the night. He’d sometimes find women whom he didn’t have to pay to sleep with him, and when he did he’d always take them out to the back alley. He once said to such a woman, “Let’s go out behind the bar. It’s where I do my best work.”

Eric and Agnes Lindsay grew to despise Willy for his drunkenness and his cruelty toward their daughter. They thus visited less and less, then eventually stopped coming at all. However the bank drafts didn’t stop. As promised, Olivia and Willy would be supported financially for life.

By the time he was fourteen in 1929, Zachary was exactly as his father had been at that age—vicious, spiteful, and sadistic. Because Eric and Agnes Lindsay hadn’t visited since the boy was three, they didn’t know what their grandson was becoming. He always refused to come to the phone on the few occasions they called, and when they’d ask Olivia how Zachary was, she’d say he was out playing with his friends or in his room studying.

The year before Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay gave their grandson a puppy for his thirteenth birthday, which he promptly tortured and garroted in his bedroom closet. Zachary left the animal’s body there for a whole day, and when it started to smell he took it outside, poured some kerosene, and set the carcass on fire.

The following day Olivia walked into Zachary’s room. Finding her son reading one of his father’s dirty magazines, she asked, “Where’s that dog of yours got to?” By now Olivia was even talking like Willy Black. The boy replied, “He ran away,” continuing to bury his nose in his magazine.

Zachary Black inherited everything from his father: his appearance, his behavior, his cruelty, his aloofness. There could never be any doubt that Willy and Zachary Black were father and son. Like his progenitor Zachary was tall and skinny. He had narrow eyes whose color was such a light brown that they actually looked yellow. The boy’s nose was long and pointy, and he had a small mouth. Many people said that he resembled a rat.

The Blacks attempted to send their son to Wheelwright Academy when he turned twelve. Until then he’d been home-schooled by his reluctant mother. Both Willy and Olivia were well aware of Zachary’s poor social skills with children his own age.

His first assault came at five years old when he was sitting in his front yard tearing grass from the lawn. A neighbor, young Bobby Criss, walked up to the white picket fence and asked Zachary what he was doing. Zachary ignored him.

Bobby then asked, “Why ya doin’ that for?”

Zachary gave a nasty scowl. “You mind your business,” he replied, “and don’t be fussin’ ’bout what I’m doin.”

In the interest of making a new friend, Bobby Criss was driven to pursue the matter, unwittingly fueling Zachary’s anger even more. “You know,” said Bobby, “I think pulling grass out like that is bad for the lawn.”

“Really?” replied Zachary, softly as he slowly stood up. “Maybe I’ll just pull out somethin’ else instead.” Zachary approached the white picket fence. Staying on his side, he was now face to face with his neighbor. Smiling deviously, he reached up to Bobby Criss’s face, seized the boy’s left eyebrow, and ripped it off. Bobby immediately covered his forehead with both hands, as blood trickled between his fingers, and ran away screaming for his mother.

Zachary then dispassionately examined the intact eyebrow, along with its flange of skin, and began picking the little hairs off one by one, saying to himself “He hates me; he hates me not. He hates me; he hates me not.”

Zachary Black was mean to anyone whom he’d encounter. He was particularly fond of mocking people. On his first and last day at Wheelwright Academy he noticed Sarah Gordon, a student in his class. Zachary couldn’t help but notice that she had as flat a chest as he did. This was too much of a temptation to resist. He went up to her and said, “Hey! You know my Adam’s apple protrudes more than your chest!” Although Sarah didn’t know what the word “protrudes” meant, she knew that Zachary was making fun of her, and she ran to report him to the principal.

By lunchtime Zachary was in the principal’s office for trying to strangle another student who had refused to give him his lunch as well as for his remark to Sarah Gordon. Olivia was told to collect her son and not bring him back to the Academy ever again.

For the next two years Zachary continued to be home-schooled by his mother, who did a poor job of it. She’d let him sleep until he was ready to wake up. Then he’d stroll into the kitchen to have a piece of toast drowned in honey, after which Olivia would give him various books from which he’d select a chapter. He’d sometimes take the whole afternoon for this task before giving his mother a synopsis and perhaps answering a few of her questions. While Zachary read his pointless chapters, his mother would shop for new furnishings for the house in her latest Sears & Roebuck catalogue.

He was inactive to say the least. Many times the boy would stay downstairs all day, only because he didn’t feel like climbing the staircase to go back to his room. Instead he’d go into the living room, pull a dirty magazine from under one of the sofa cushions where he’d hidden it, lie on the couch, and thumb through it again with his hand shoved into his pants.

In November of 1929, Zachary Black went to Kensington Street to search for his father. His mother had been gone since he’d gotten up that morning, and he wanted money to buy candy and an ice-cream soda. After he found a note Olivia had left for him on the kitchen table, Zachary went immediately to look for his father.

Zachary made it to Kensington Street just in time to see his father crawl out of an alley. When he ran up to him, his father flinched. Realizing that he had gotten too close, Zachary took a step back and said respectfully, “Daddy, I’d like some money, please.”

Hearing the word “money” made Willy reflect back on the night before just as he was on his way out to “The Watering Hole.” Olivia had told him, “My father’s lost most of his fortune in the stock market. He can’t afford to support us anymore. He’s going to sell our house, so there’s no reason I have to stay with you. I have an old aunt up in Maine. I have told my parents everything—who you are and where you came from. If my father weren’t on the verge of doing himself in on account of losing everything he worked for, he’d have you hanging by your own pecker. You’re going to have custody of Zachary, so you can take your son. I don’t want to see either of you ever again.”

Willy drank more than he had ever consumed in one night. As he gritted his teeth, the word “money” kept echoing in his ears. He thought that the boy had said it just to anger him.

With a swipe of the back of his hand, he cracked Zachary across the face. The boy’s nose gushed with blood. Father Poole saw the assault from across the street and, forgetting all about little Jessica, ran over to Zachary. He knelt down, put Zachary’s head on top of his thigh, and pulled out a handkerchief. He held it to the boy’s nose as quickly as he could manage.

“Good God, man!” the priest exclaimed. “Why, he’s only a child!”

Teetering back and forth as though he were about to topple over, Willy slurred, “He’s mmmy boyyy. Yyyou juss ssstay away, preacher!” Willy pushed Father Poole out of the way and went right for Zachary again. “MONEY!” he screamed. “YOU WAN’ MMMMONEY? WWWELL GUESSSSS WHA’? THERE AIN’T NNNO MMMORE FFFUCKIN’ MMMONEY!”

Willy then laughed uncontrollably as he pounded again and again on Zachary’s head. He hit him on the ears, both eyes, mouth, and bridge of his nose, so hard that this time the boy’s nose broke. With all his force Father Poole managed to knock Willy away from Zachary.

By now a crowd had gathered. They held Willy back as he struggled to attack Father Poole. Weakened by inebriation and a bad night’s sleep, he soon desisted and yielded to the people who had been restraining him.

Just then everyone’s attention turned to the street when a car horn sounded feverishly. The crowd turned to see a little girl standing in the middle of the street, a car about to hit her. “Jessica!” Father Poole shouted. As badly injured as he was, Zachary Black watched assiduously as the vehicle bore down on the child in the hope that it would crush and kill her. Suddenly another figure emerged. It was the retired schoolteacher, Arthur Nichols, who ran into the street, grabbed Jessica, and pulled her out of the way just as the car drove by.

Father Poole ran over and took Jessica from Mr. Nichols, hugging her tenderly. After thanking God out loud, the priest turned and thanked the rescuer over and over again.

“I only ask, Father,” Arthur Nichols said, “that you be more vigilant in the care of this child.”

The two laughed and shook hands. Zachary had followed Father Poole over to little Jessica. Arthur Nichols suddenly felt his heart sink. Something about this boy gave him a bad feeling. Working with children for as many years as he had, Mr. Nichols had a knack for telling which children were good and which ones weren’t.

“Hello, young man,” Mr. Nichols said to Zachary, a bit uneasy but still willing to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. “I say, you look familiar. Were you by any chance once at Wheelwright Academy? I taught there until this past June. I think you were in my class for a spell.”

“My mamma taught me. I learned from home,” Zachary replied, holding a handkerchief over his nose to staunch the bleeding. Willy had already gone.

“So son, what’s your name?” asked the priest, putting his hand on Zachary’s shoulder.

The adolescent immediately shook it off and snapped, “I’m not your son.”

“My boy,” Mr. Nichols said. “Can’t you tell us your name? We want to help you.”

“I don’t need no help,” Zachary replied. “I can take care of myself.”

Father Poole and Arthur Nichols didn’t like any of this. They hated how the boy’s father, publicly drunk, had beaten him, and the boy’s demeanor made them uneasy. After a visit to Dr. Honigmann, who inquired after Zachary’s identity four times, to reset the child’s broken nose, the two men decided to walk Zachary back to his house. Father Poole felt it his responsibility to learn who this boy was so that he might follow up on him in a few weeks.

“We’ll find out the name once we reach his house, I’m sure,” Father Poole said to Arthur Nichols, who had drawn a blank in remembering the boy’s name. “Are you sure you can’t remember any part of his name?”

“Come now, Father,” Nichols said. “I had him in class for only one day, and that was a few years ago.”

As they made their way past Hemlock Street, Father Poole said to Zachary, “I look forward to seeing where you live, friend.”

Zachary glanced briefly at the priest. “Suit yourselves if y’all wanna come back with me. My mom ain’t home. She’s gone. Left a note sayin’ she wasn’t comin’ back.”

When they reached the boy’s home, Phineas noticed the name on the mailbox:
Black
. “Is that your name?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Father Poole whispered something in Arthur Nichols’ ear and Nichols shrugged. He still couldn’t remember the boy’s first name. After they entered the house, Zachary showed them the note his mother had left: “ZACHARY. I’M LEAVING FOR GOOD. STAY WITH YOUR FATHER. YOUR GRANDFATHER HAS TO SELL THE HOUSE SO YOU’LL HAVE TO LEAVE. YOUR FATHER ALREADY KNOWS. DON’T BOTHER TRYING TO FIND ME BECAUSE YOU WON’T.—OLIVIA.”

Arthur Nichols, feeling even more uneasy about the boy, directed his attention to Jessica, who now seemed interested in exploring the house. He picked her up and said to Father Poole, “I think I’ll bring this little one to the kitchen and see whether I can’t find her some juice.”

The house was large and nicely decorated, not the kind of place where the two men expected a drunk and his son would be living. Judging from her note, however, the mother was apparently as heartless as the boy’s father, and for this Father Poole’s heart ached for Zachary Black.

“So this is where you live,” Father Poole said, trying to break the thick ice that Zachary had erected between himself and the priest.

“Yeah,” replied Zachary

“Your family is well off,” said Father Poole.

“I suppose.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

The priest paused before saying, “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here until your father returns.”

“It’s alright,” said Zachary.

“I’m afraid he’ll just continue beating you. I can’t take that chance.”

Zachary abruptly turned away from Father Poole, walked into the living room, sat on the couch, and put his feet up. “I’m used to it, preacher,” the boy said. “I’ll be fine. Maybe things’ll be better without my mother, just me and my old man.”

“How can you say such a thing, Zachary?”

“I just mean that now she’s gone maybe he won’t drink so much. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“I know what it’s like, Zachary, being an only child,” replied Father Poole. “And when your parents don’t get along, you seem adrift, not knowing exactly where you fit in.”

Father Poole turned back to the room. Zachary was attending to his shoes, slowly wrapping his index finger in the loose part of a shoestring. “Are you ever scared here?” asked Father Poole.

Zachary did not respond, but Father Poole knew that his answer would have been “Yes.”

“Well, you’re not an orphan, so unless your father leaves as your mother did, you won’t be able to go to the orphanage.”

Then Father Poole remembered Dolores Pennywhistle’s telling him that as of four days ago there was no room for any new children right now, and he was worried that, once he went back to the orphanage with Jessica, Dolores’s answer would still be the same. Still Father Poole was glad he’d come into town. Another child needed help, and he wasn’t going to go anywhere until he was sure this boy would be alright.