The Bird Artist (19 page)
Authors: Howard Norman
If in fact my mother had ever seen Mitchell Kelb back in 1900, she did not recognize him now, nor did she remember his name.
“Congratulations,” Kelb said to me. He lifted my hand and shook it.
“A tourist?” Klara said.
“Of sorts,” Kelb said.
“Well, it's kind of you to help out,” Pavel said.
“Not at all.”
My throat went dry and suddenly I said to Grey, “How much do you charge? I want to get this settled.”
“Fabian, pleaseâ” my mother said.
“No, no, that's fine,” Grey said. “Four dollars. It's understandable. Newlyweds often like to know just what they have. You'll have just four dollars less than you had before, Mr. Vas.”
“Mother, give him that amount, will you?”
My mother reached into her snap purse and handed me four Canadian dollar bills. I handed them to Grey.
“That's taken care of,” Grey said. Mrs. Hagerforse handed him a Bible. “Please, now, Cora, Fabian, your hands clasped on the Good Book.”
Cora put her folded hands on the Bible. I put my hands on top of hers. The ceremony was mercifully brief. At the last moment Cora stepped out of her shoes. I could not possibly know why, except that it was her one personal choice in the matter.
Grey said a few words about life from his own experiences, not mine, not Cora's; then we said the vows. “By the powers invested in meâ”
“Fabian, you may kiss the bride.”
“No, first the rings,” Pavel said.
My mother handed me the rings. She had got them from Romeo Gillette. We exchanged rings. They fit perfectly.
“Fabianâ”
My tipsâor was it Cora'sâwere dry as paper.
We posed for Quonian. His head disappeared under the black canopy. The black apparatus connecting the box and lens was ridged like an accordion. Feet wide apart, voice muffled, Quonian called out, “Smile!” He pressed the shutter
bulb. The powder gusted. Quonian emerged from under the canopy, slid out the film, looked at us, and said, “Perfect.”
bulb. The powder gusted. Quonian emerged from under the canopy, slid out the film, looked at us, and said, “Perfect.”
Even to this day I feel, as though it is in my blood, the acceleration of events that followed, and the bewilderment that accompanied them.
Mitchell Kelb reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out and shook loose a pair of handcuffs, then clamped them over my wrists. He took a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and said, “I have a warrant for the arrest of one Orkney Vasâabsent. For one Fabian Vas, present. For one Alaric Vas, present. For suspicion of the murder, or conspiracy to murder, one Botho August, citizen of Witless Bay, Newfoundland Territory, on or approximately on October 8, 1911. The execution of this warrant is so witnessed by all gathered here on October 24, 1911. I'll have each witness sign the warrant. It is my sworn duty to return Fabian and Alaric Vas to Witless Bay to stand trial. But I'm willing to wait, out of heartfelt courtesy, for the groom. Fabian, you may sit with your bride for one hour. No more.”
Kelb removed one handcuff, led me to a chair, pushed me down into it, fastened the loose handcuff to the table, then looked at my mother.
“Mrs. Vas,” Kelb said, “I'll now escort you to the mail boat. Courtesy of Mr. Enoch Handle, whom I've only recently spoken to; we'll leave first thing in the morning. I've already added unlawful flight to Orkney Vas's warrant. Fabian, I'll be back to take you in one hour.”
“What the hell is this all about?” Pavel said.
“Didn't you hear what I just said?” Kelb said.
“I'll slip over the side,” my mother said.
“Will she try to do that?” Kelb said to me.
I stood up as far as the cuffs allowed.
Pavel Holly all but tore the ring from my finger. Klara threw her arms around Cora. Pavel picked up the wedding certificate and tore it into confetti. “This marriage is no longer!” he said.
“Shut the goddamn hell up and control yourself,” Kelb said. He turned to me again. “Would your mother go over the side of the boat?”
“She might.”
“Well, as for anyone in my custody going over the side, fine. Mrs. Vas, you go right ahead. Do that. Public opinion will no doubt consider it an admittance of guilt, and what's more, it won't exonerate anyone else. Son or husband. It'd just save England a little time, having to try two instead of three, should we catch Mr. Orkney Vas, that is. Four, if we add Miss Margaret Handle to the mix.”
“Why in God's name did you ever allow this wedding to take place?” Klara shouted, swinging her cane at Kelb and falling to the floor. Pavel helped her up. She sat back in her chair. “Why weren't we spared this humiliation? This is our daughter, brought all the way in from Richibucto. This is her wedding day.”
Kelb folded the warrant into his pocket again. “Forget the signatures,” he said.
“I asked you a question,” Klara said.
Mitchell Kelb clipped the handcuff key to his belt. He stared at his shoes. “I don't know for certain,” he said. “I could have prevented it. I apologize. I got caught up in a romantic moment.”
Pavel Holly stepped forward and slammed his fist into my jaw. I reeled backward, table and all, into the camera. Sprawled on the floor, I looked up to see Quonian dragging the camera from the room. From out in the hallway I heard him say, “There's been damages.”
Kelb had drawn his revolver and pointed it at Pavel. “It's over now,” he said. “Fabian Vas here may be a witness to a murder. Don't strike him again.” He tucked the revolver into his belt.
Looking down at me, Pavel took Cora by the arm and said, “My daughter won't spend a single minute further with you.”
And she did not. The Hollys moved to the door. “Mr. Kelb, you are correct,” Pavel said. “This is over. We are going home.”
“Goodbye, Fabian Vas,” Cora said. The Hollys left the room.
Kelb said, “Mrs. Vas, let's go. The boy no doubt can still use an hour to think. He's woke up from a bad dream into a worse one.”
Quonian was gone. Mrs. Hagerforse was gone. My mother, Mitchell Kelb, and Grey followed. Grey closed the door.
Dragging the table, I moved to the bay window. My
mouth was bleeding. My jaw felt broken. I pulled myself up and looked out. On three parallel clotheslines stretching across someone's back yard, there was an abacus of sparrows. I don't know the birds in this city, I thought. I did not even know the drab sparrows.
mouth was bleeding. My jaw felt broken. I pulled myself up and looked out. On three parallel clotheslines stretching across someone's back yard, there was an abacus of sparrows. I don't know the birds in this city, I thought. I did not even know the drab sparrows.
T
he
H
earing
he
H
earing
I
n clear weather we returned to Witless Bay in two days. Immediately we were put under house arrest. We could not leave our house, except under Mitchell Kelb's supervision. Romeo brought us groceries. On our fourth day back, sunny, cold, Kelb took my mother out rowing in the harbor. My mother had simply said, “Mr. Kelb, I'm cooped up here. Would you take me rowing,” and Kelb had obliged her without a fuss. Except that he did handcuff her to the thwart she sat on. When they returned, my mother said, “It was a perfectly nice morning. Mr. Kelb preferred not to talk, so he was especially good company. He's a bachelor. I think I'll knit him a sweater. I assured him I wouldn't leap into the sea. He said the handcuffs assured him more.”
n clear weather we returned to Witless Bay in two days. Immediately we were put under house arrest. We could not leave our house, except under Mitchell Kelb's supervision. Romeo brought us groceries. On our fourth day back, sunny, cold, Kelb took my mother out rowing in the harbor. My mother had simply said, “Mr. Kelb, I'm cooped up here. Would you take me rowing,” and Kelb had obliged her without a fuss. Except that he did handcuff her to the thwart she sat on. When they returned, my mother said, “It was a perfectly nice morning. Mr. Kelb preferred not to talk, so he was especially good company. He's a bachelor. I think I'll knit him a sweater. I assured him I wouldn't leap into the sea. He said the handcuffs assured him more.”
At night my mother kept to her bedroom. I kept to mine. Margaret slept on the sofa and Kelb would lay out a rucksack
on the kitchen floor. We would sit together at meals. “This arrangement is hell on earth,” Margaret said one evening. No one disagreed.
on the kitchen floor. We would sit together at meals. “This arrangement is hell on earth,” Margaret said one evening. No one disagreed.
On our seventh night under house arrest, Romeo brought us a pot of cod stew, two loaves of bread, and a pan full of cod tongues. “Young Marni Corbett made this fruitcake for you,” he said, putting the cake on the table. “Wasn't that nice? I don't know all what a child her age can understand about your situation. But she baked this on her own and said it might cheer you up.”
“Stay for supper?” my mother said.
“I can't. We're meeting a new lighthouse keeper tonight. Me, Boas, Enoch, some others.”
My mother drew up a pained expression, looking away from Romeo.
“What's his name, this new lighthouse keeper?” Margaret said.
“Odeon Sloo.”
Despite our somber mood the name made us burst into laughter. “Sloo” was local slang for “get out of the way.”
“Well, odd name or no, he seems just right for the job,” Romeo said. “He's brought his wife and daughter with him, all willing to move in promptly and get used to things over the winter. The wife is Kira, the daughter MillieâMillicent, I imagine. He's brought his family. He's a family man. And he's had lighthouse experience in two places north of St. John's.”
“What drove him from those?” Kelb said.
“I asked him that. He said that he wanted to live south of St. John's.”
Even though it was none of his business, Kelb seemed satisfied with the answer.
“Has he been in our lighthouse?” Margaret said.
“He's toured it, yes. He, his wife, and his daughter all did.”
“Did he show interest in the gramophone?” Margaret said.
“As a matter of fact, he commented on it. He said he admired it but didn't want it. He said if hired he'd bring in his own possessions.”
“What day has been settled on for our hearing to start?” my mother said.
“Ask Mr. Kelb there,” Romeo said.
“Tomorrow,” Kelb said.
“Romeo,” said Margaret, “please ask my father not to forget to bring me what I asked for. He'll understand.”
“I'll tell him tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Late that night, after my mother and Kelb had fallen asleep, Margaret and I sat at the kitchen table. “I notice you gave Kelb your bed tonight,” she said to me.
“I told him I wanted to stay up painting. To get my mind off things. But I won't paint. I'll just sit here.”
Margaret stood up, stretched, and said, “Groan my bones, a woman my age shouldn't be so tired. But I am.” She sat down.
“Margaret, what happened after we left Witless Bay, my father, mother, and me?”
“Mitchell Kelb was sent for right away. He began snooping, a regular detective. All but door-to-door. I knew that
sooner or later he'd come to my house. Do you know how I prepared for that?”
sooner or later he'd come to my house. Do you know how I prepared for that?”
“Tell.”
“I hoarded away five bottles of Enoch's whiskey, plus three I bought myself. They're all smuggled in and hidden in your pantry, right here.”
“Then Kelb arrested you?”
“Yes. But he was polite about it. He knocked on my door. I looked him over. I said I remembered him. He said, âI remember you, too, Margaret. May I call you that?' I said that he could. âI'm going to officially place you under house arrest,' he said. âSuspicion of murder, or being part of a conspiracy to murder Botho August.' Words to that effect. âDo you want to put up a fuss?' I said I didn't. He took me directly to your house. He assigned a deputy, a man named Llewellyn Boxer, to keep an eye on me while he tracked you and Alaric and Orkney down. Boxer showed up a few hours later. Kelb was right out front about his plans. No secret there. He said he was going overland to the south to try and catch the
Doubting Thomas.
Romeo had told him your wedding date. Kelb said he had to leave right away. He went out on the porch, then came back in. âI've seen you twice in my life,' he said to me. âBoth times I find that you're in trouble. If coincidence were otherwise merciful, we'd have run into one another, just to nod in passing somewhere in Newfoundland, on a day that you were happy.'”
Doubting Thomas.
Romeo had told him your wedding date. Kelb said he had to leave right away. He went out on the porch, then came back in. âI've seen you twice in my life,' he said to me. âBoth times I find that you're in trouble. If coincidence were otherwise merciful, we'd have run into one another, just to nod in passing somewhere in Newfoundland, on a day that you were happy.'”
“Did you have a reply?”
“I said, âI'm a girl who looks to the future.'”
“The future, even for the next day, looks pretty bleak to me. In fact, it scares the hell out of me.”
“I sit here. I look at you, Fabian. I think, I'm sitting across from a man who was married for less than five minutes. My father told me that news. He said that Mitchell Kelb was holding forth in Gillette's store one morning. He had everyone enthralled, a regular talking whirligig, for such a composed man.”
“I was hoping you wouldn't hear details of the wedding.”
“Hear them or not, they'd still be the truth. You're the village idiot, Fabian. You deserve what you get. An arranged marriage can't mean you can arrange how the marriage will go. I laugh. Our time in the marriage bed alone would've been hours. Not five minutes, that's for sure. What was the room number you got married in?”
“Twenty-three.”
“I've jotted that down in my mind.”
Margaret went to the pantry. She opened a bottle of whiskey, poured a glass for herself, then came back and sat at the table.
“The night Botho was shot,” she said. “Do you remember it raining cats and dogs? Well, inside the lighthouse the rain was drumming in my ears. Botho had come down from the housing and he got me right into his bed. When we were done, he went up to the foghorn again.”
“I asked about after we left, not that night.”
“I'm starting my little tale earlier. Don't interrupt a guest in your house, Fabian.”
I poured a glass for myself.
“Back down from the housing later,” Margaret said, “Botho got it into his head to show me his hobby. Hobby other than the gramophone, that is. This was a man who didn't just stare at the walls between foggy nights. No. He invented a whole menagerie, hours' worth of animals, and he had all of these ways of clenching and bending his fingers to make shadows. It was child's play, but he took it deadly seriously. And he was showing me his skills when you shot out the window.”
“I saw your hand helping his out. I was in the yard looking up. I saw your hand.”
“I'd had a good bit to drink.”
“Had I gone to your house earlier that night, it might have kept a murder from occurring.”
“I don't know.”
“You might not have gone to the lighthouse. I might not have shot Botho August.”
“He still would have died, is my bet. You just got there first.”
“Maybe so. Maybe my fatherâ”
“You know, I didn't actually see you shoot Botho. But I know that you did, Fabian. I know it. I heard the shots. But at first I didn't dare go to the window.”
“I heard that goddamned gramophone.”
“God, he was stingy with those records. Would not let me touch a one, or even make a selection. That night I was reeling around. I laid a hand on a record, tore a rut. A terrible sound, really. Louder than a gull close-up.”
“Why, Margaret? Why did you go there that night?”
“To punish you for being a moron. I had half thought out a plan. First, I would go see Botho. Second, I'd tell you about it. And third, I'd tell Romeo, so everyone else would know. Then I was going to go up and live with my aunt for a week or so, and let you think me over. I hoped that jealousy might shake a clear notion into your head, or shake the arranged marriage out, one and the same. Every plan's really half thought out, isn't it, because you can't know the consequences. But any plan was better than none, and it was getting close to your wedding.”
“They might ask you intimate things at the hearing, you know.”
“Of course they will. What's a hearing for? They'll cross-shackle me, make me tell my part in it. What I was doing in the lighthouse, as if they don't already know. They'll want to hear me say it, though. It's only natural.”
“I suppose so. What did you do once you heard the shots?”
“I walked down the stairs. Botho was coughing up blood, all down his shirt. You'd left him for dead, maybe because he looked dead. But he wasn't. Not yet. I looked close, too. I saw the revolver. I started for it, but thenâhow could this happen?âBotho went for it, too. It was like the first moment of his being a ghost; he mustered up enough strength. He tore off his nightshirt. He went for the gun. I got to it first. I looked at him. It went off. Bang! Fabian, I don't remember pulling the trigger. I swear. I don't know what happened. I hated him, true. I had just lain with him. But did I want to kill him? That I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to finish what you'd started, then hope you'd
get blamed, I was that angry at you. I did shoot him, though. Then I heard someone slapping through the mud.”
get blamed, I was that angry at you. I did shoot him, though. Then I heard someone slapping through the mud.”
“That must have been my father.”
“It was. It was Orkney. I went back up into the lighthouse. I stood at the window. He took Botho's pulse. He picked up the revolver, then dropped it and ran off. I went back down the stairs. I took the revolver and went home. Enoch was asleep. I sat on my bed, drinking. ThenâI don't even know what timeâAlaric and Orkney were in my house. I heard their voices. They woke up my father. They were talking, then they were gone.”
I finished my drink. Margaret poured herself another. “Your father didn't fire a shot,” she said.
We sat awhile in silence.
“Was there a funeral?” I said.
“The morning after the murder, a lot of people actually saw Botho lying in the mud. It was like a procession. And guess what? I got right in line. When that old buzzard Sillet got wind of what had happened, he took over. He got to Botho's body and he was just fuming. He waved everyone off. He got some men; it was Giles, Peter Kieley, and Romeo. They carried the body to the funeral parlor. Peter Kieley dispatched himself to St. John's to report the murder. Two days later Mitchell Kelb showed up. He moved into Spivey's. The rest went as I told you.”
“But, Margaret, was there a funeral?”
“Yes, but the strange thing was, who could people offer condolences to, really? August had no family. And people over the years hadn't exactly come to feel family feelings
toward him, or vice versa. In the very next Sunday's sermon, Sillet took a moment to remember Botho.”
toward him, or vice versa. In the very next Sunday's sermon, Sillet took a moment to remember Botho.”
“You were in church?”
“I sat front and center. Me and my paramour, Llewellyn Boxer.”
“And what did Sillet say?”
“Not much of anything. But he called on Patrick Flood. And Patrick stood right up. He recounted close scrapes he'd had out in his boat, how Botho threaded the needle with his lighthouse beam, and how heâPatrickâappreciated being alive. âWhen a sudden gale catches youâ' and, âI have other thoughts about Mr. August, but that's the one I think is most fit, seeing as he's deceased.' Patrick was evenhanded and calm throughout.”
“Where is Botho buried?”
“Tucked to the northeast corner of the cemetery. A flat stone.”
“And who buried him?”
“If you're wondering, Fabian, was there a nice, respectful ceremony graveside, no, there wasn't. NO SACRED TO THE MEMORY on the marker. But at the same time, it was a clear, beautiful day, and people did turn out. Not many, but some. I was escorted by Llewellyn Boxer. If it was all a lark to him, he was still a gentleman about it. Just a young man of eighteen, I'd guess. Early to the law enforcement profession. Maybe ten others were there. Counting Sillet, naturally. Counting the gravedigger, Darwin McKinney. Counting Isabel Kinsella, the seasoned griefmonger; she was there. No tears were shed as far as I could see. But
there were a few people who looked to be barely holding back tears. Any funeral will cause that.”
there were a few people who looked to be barely holding back tears. Any funeral will cause that.”
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