House of Leaves (74 page)

Local pilot, Donnie
____________,
died last
Sunday
on route
—
when the Mack truck he was in
swerved into a
ditch
and
caught
tire. Reportedly
the driver, who survived,
had fallen asleep
at the wheel.

Throughout his life, Mr.
___________
was
a dedicated flier. As R. William Notes said of his friend, “Donnie always seemed most at home in the sky.”

Born in Dorset, Vermont on
________
19___, Mr.
__________l
family soon moved to
Marietta,
Ohio where he
graduated from
________
high school.
After
a stint in the Air Force, he
worked for
several years as a crop duster in
Nebraska, a mail carrier in Alaska, and
for
one
winter flew a
spotter plane
off
the
coast of Norway. Eventually, he took a job
as a commercial
pilot for
American Airlines,
though on
time off,
he enjoyed
performing aerial
stunts in regional shows.

Late last
year, Mr.
________
decided to take
a job
as
a pilot for
______________
in order to spend
more
time with
his
family. Tragically, during the standard physical examination, doctors
discovered
he
had
unknowingly suffered some time ago—probably in
his
sleep
—
a
cardiac
infarction. The results were sent to
Oklahoma
where the
FAA
voted to suspend his
AT? license
for six months,
pending further evaluation.
No longer able to
earn an income
as a pilot, Mr.
____________
sought work at a
trucking company.

He is survived by his wife,
_____________,
and
one son,
___________.

—
The
________ -
Herald,
July
,
1981

E.

The Three Attic Whalestoe Institute
Letters

Mr. Truant wished to make known that though some names here were not deleted many were changed.

—
The Editors

July 28, 1982

My
dear child,

Your mother is here, not altogether here, but here nonetheless. It has been a tough year for her but no doubt a tougher one for you.

The Director tells me you have a foster family now. Open your heart to them. They are there for you. They will help you recover from your father’s untimely death. They will also help you comprehend the reasons for my stay here.

Remember your mother loves you, despite her crumbling biology. Also remember, love inhabits more than just the heart and mind. If need be
it
can take shelter in a big toe.

A big toe for you then.

I love you.

Mommy

August 30, 1982

My dear child,

Another family already? That’s fine. I’m told you worked yourself up into quite a
fit,
throwing things and making a general mess of your room. That’s fine too. It pays in this world to play out your passions.

Have no fear, you will find your way. It’s in your bones. It’s in your soul. Your father had
it.
Your mother has
it
(in excess). You have
it
too.

If I were with you now, I’d hug you and tender you and shape you with sloppy wet kisses the way mother
cats shape their
cubs in
the
wild.

Unfortunately since such excursions are strictly prohibited from The Whalestoe, this tongue of ink will have to do.

Felicities my felix feline boy,

Love,

Mommy

November 7,
1982

My sweet baby,

I knew you’d find a home. Are you happy now? Do they serve you hot chocolate and large slices of lemon meringue pie? Does your new mother tuck you in at night and read you stories full of opal and jade?

I trust your good head keeps you from squandering too many hours in front of the television. Beware of that lazy eye,
it
only teaches you how to die.

The Director, who does his best to keep me au courant on your travails, said you’re handling your father’s tragedy very matter a factly. I’m so impressed by your maturity. Apparently your new family thinks of you as “clear eyed” “exceedingly bright” and
‘.
very strong reader.” Imagine that! Daddy would have blistered with pride.

You have so much inside you that you have yet to discover. As long as you keep striving, inspecting and exploring, you will come into possession of untold glory. I promise you.

Love,

Mommy

January 20, 1983

Dearest Johnny,

You would have received a hundred more letters before now if the Director had not “strongly recommended” I curtail my epistolary efforts. Apparently your nouvelle mere objected to the intrusive and divisive nature of my communiques. Well, hard as this is for me to say, she’s probably right. So is the Director (he is a good man). You don’t need to be troubled by your mad mother. You need to build a new life, a solid life.

As old Goethe wrote, “Wouldst shape a noble life? Then cast no backward glances toward the past, and though somewhat be lost and gone, yet do thou act as one new born.”

Open your heart to the kindness and stability your new family offers you. All of
it
will serve you well, and as for me, I only wish to serve that purpose.

A happy new year. Good things

are coming your way.

You know I love you dearly,

Mommy

February
14, 1983

My dear dear boy,

You have your father’s Zest for extravagance. Another family? For an eleven year old you certainly do possess a great deal of spirit. Do you know that when you were born all the nurses were absolutely dazzled by your charms and without a single exception all of them declared you an old soul.

I only found out today from the Director how exceedingly unhappy you had become with your last family. He told me you had runaway twice. Good lord Johnny, where does an eleven year old go for three days? He said some policemen found you in a park heating hotdogs over a can of sterno. Is that true? You are sturdy, aren’t you?—my cunning, resourceful little boy.

Send me a postcard if you like. I would love to hear even one detail of such flight. (Though I understand perfectly if you continue to keep your silence. It’s your right and I honor
it.
I promise.) Whatever you do, don’t despair. You are exceptional and require the company of the equally exceptional. Never feel compelled to accept less. Time will grant you a place. Time always does. Trust me.

If only I could be there to lick your wounds, swallow your hurt and with kisses mend you whole. C’est vraiment triste. Ah well, once again written words will have to serve the young cub.

Happy Valentines.

I remain lovingly yours,

Mommy

April
17, 1983

Dearest son,

Do not think I did not write you in March. I was just writing badly. Again at the Director’s urging (he is a decent man) I didn’t send you my notes. Qpite rightly, he brought to my attention how indelicate some of their themes might be for a boy your age. I’m silly. I keep forgetting you are only eleven and go on treating you like a grown man. Perhaps in the future sometime, I will share with you my thoughts over the last few weeks and you can advise me on their content. Until then savor your youth and I, albeit in absentia, will do my best to protect
it.

Good news to hear you are finally settling down. There are better meals in this world than hotdogs and sterno. The Director tells me you’re getting along well with your new guardian—a former marine?—and have a few siblings as well. Hopefully this all means you have succeeded in wrestling a modicum of happiness for yourself. (Modicum? Is that a word you know? If not, let me offer you some instruction in at least one area: get thee to a dictionary and be relentless about your visits there.)

Never neglect your mind Johnny. You were born with substantial faculties. I’m sending you several books, including a Concise Oxford English Dictionary. The volumes of poetry may be too advanced for you right now but in time your own curiosity will unlock their secrets.

Eternally yours,

Mommy

May 9, 1983

My dear, sweet, sweet child,

You are most, most welcome!

Your letter arrived last week—the first ever!— and I’m still a fountain. ‘Who would have thought such a young boy would succeed where Ponce de Leon failed?

Never could I have imagined how your tender words would repair so much of my failing heart. I have been walking around on clouds, dancing on air, blushing like a school girl in dark green knee socks.

Do
you really love your mother so much? I
shall guard this letter forever and even if there’s never another one
it
will always restore me. I will wear
it
like a heart. It will become my heart.

More kisses than you can count,

Mommy

June
21,
1983

My gentle Johnny,

—bambino dell’oro—

Born on the day most suffused with sun, you

have always been and always will be my light.

Happy Birthday.

All my love,

Mommy

August
19, 1983

My cherished Johnny,

I dreamt about you last night. You had long hands which glistened in the starlight. There was no moon, yet your arms and legs seemed made of water and changed with the tides. You were so beautiful and elegant and all blue and white and your eyes, like your father’s eyes, were infused with strange magic.

It was comforting to see you so strong. Gods assembled around you and paid their respects and doted on you and offered you gifts your mother could not even begin to imagine let alone afford.

There were some gods who were jealous of you, but I shooed them away. The rest kept close to you and said many great things about your future.

Unfortunately the dream would not permit me to hear the exact words. I was only privy to an impression, but what an impression!

Of course dreams are tricky things but since this one seems so full of positive omens, I decided to share
it
with you here.

May your summer be full of rootbeer, joy and play.

With terrible amounts of love,

Mommy

September 29, 1983

Dearest Fighter,

Another gushing letter! Number two! Solomon was a poor man. And yes, I return
it
all and look what interest you receive in just a few days.

Do not fret over school yard fights. Marine Man Raymond, qui patriam potestatem usurpavit, cannot be expected to understand. Fire has always coursed though your veins. It’s only natural that some of that tremendous heat will now and then forge fists of your wrath.

Let me, however, correct one

misunderstanding: this quality does not come from your father or his family. Your father was an exceedingly gentle man and never once locked horns or even remarks with another person, man or woman. As you’re well aware, he loved more than anything to fly. His sole conflict was with gravity.

I’m afraid responsibility for your sudden interest in pugilism (Get thee to your COED) falls squarely
on
the shoulders
of your mother and her
contentious family. You come from a long line of aggressors. Some valiant, many down right

scoundrels. Indeed, if ever you decide to design some crest for yourself, you would find it impossible to accurately do so without incorporating at least some of the accouterments of Mars along with the consequent symbology of carnage and bloodshed.

I’ve little doubt your current lust for physical engagement is the result of this questionable genetic bequeathal. Do what you must, but realize greater strength lies in self-control. The more you learn to command your impulses, the more your potential will grow.