Part 15 (1/2)
”Dad takes good care of the grave.”
”He loves your mother.”
”And because of that he hates me.”
”Your father and I talked about you and your mother yesterday evening. My impression is that he's confused.”
”Why are you here,” he asked. ”Out of curiosity?”
”I wanted to see how...” How the dead really lived. ”Your father talked about her a lot. He even got me to drive him here to the cemetery before taking him home.”
”He had to spit-s.h.i.+ne the stone.”
”I think he missed her and was trying to figure out how to connect with you.”
Wil faced Liliana.
”When I was a boy I used to spy on my Dad. See that tree over there?”
An oak nestled its roots outside the cemetery; many of its branches hung over several stones near the fence.
”Yes.”
”I climbed that tree as a child. Used to watch Dad cleaning the stone, planting flowers, even kneeling in prayer.
”I had to be careful, though. See that big branch that glides out over the fence?”
”Yes.”
”Sam, a boyhood friend, used to climb up there with me sometimes, until once he nearly fell right down on top of the spiked fence. I grabbed him in time, but he never climbed that tree again. Almost found himself truly staked out over the cemetery.” Wil laughed.
”Bet Sam didn't think that joke was funny.”
”How did you guess? Do you know him?”
Liliana turned away and began her walk back to the cemetery gate.
”Wait up,” yelled Wil.
She stopped for a second, then continued. When Wil did catch up, he was slightly breathless.
”You doing anything special tonight?”
”Yes, I am.”
”Okay. How about tomorrow night or anytime within the next six months would you go out with me?”
”No.”
”Because of your grandmother?”
”No. I don't want to.”
”But let us consider matters from another viewpoint. Is this a personal chastening I'm getting? and as if I were a naughty little boy, the idea is to spank me into good behavior? Wasted efforts, Madame. If the wretchedness and ignominy to which I have been reduced by the Ma.r.s.eilles judges' absurd proceedings, who punished the most commonplace of indiscretions as though it were a crime, have failed to make me mend my ways, your iron bars and your iron doors and your locks will not be more successful.”
LETTER (1777).
To Madame la Presidente de Montreuil.
by the Marquis de Sade.
Chapter 26.
It had been just over a week since Garrett had met Letcher and his dog, and Garrett's body had just started feeling better. Not well enough to have s.e.x with his wife or to return to his regular workout program, but comfortable enough not to mind the potholes his chauffeur couldn't avoid.
Garrett set aside the legal pad on which he had been doodling and leaned against the back seat of his Lincoln. Useless. His brain was useless today. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't forget. He glanced out the window. The road they were on did not lead home.
”Philip, where are you going?”
”It's Tuesday, sir. I always take you upstate at this time.”
They were coming up on La Maitresse's home. He could see the house and the bright colors of her garden. He had no appointment with La Maitresse. She had told him she would call when she could take him back.
Philip turned and pulled up in front of La Maitresse's garage. The chauffeur immediately got out of the car and opened the back door to allow Garrett to exit.
An older man stood on the porch of the house and stared at the car. He had white hair and his stance appeared haughty. Could he be the favored slave?
Garrett stepped out of the car and walked up to the porch.
”Is Marie expecting you?”
”Marie”. Garrett had never known her real name. Hadn't wanted to. Fantasy began when he crossed the threshold of her home. The home of Maitresse la Presidente. He paid in cash and never asked anything about her own life.
”Is... she here?”
”No. But I am. Perhaps I can help you.” The man's smile was a cross between a leer and humor.
This man knew why Garrett came here.
”Do you live with her?”
”No, monsieur, but I'm quite familiar with the place.”