The Long Fall

49

Three Hispanic women in black-and-white maid uniforms were working in the big kitchen that we traveled through. The women were different shades of brown and of various ages, heights, and sizes. The only thing that they had in common was that they all spoke Spanish. If I were more sensitive to foreign intonations I might have discerned different accents among them because they certainly were not all from the same country.

The ladies shot worried glances at us, obviously wondering if I was some kind of threat to the child or them. I have that effect on people often.

Hannah was oblivious to the servants’ concerns. She brought us to a swinging aluminum door and ushered me through. This led to a short hallway, which ended at a small, lavender-colored oval room that had a bay window looking out over a small vegetable garden, another anomaly for a Manhattan home.

The room was furnished with two stuffed chairs covered in well-worn and cracked brown leather. The floor was pine, pitted, and somehow fitting for a room where the masters were never meant to be. I sat in one chair while Hannah settled across from me, in half-lotus.

It took me a moment or two to get my head back into the investigation. I had taken the past few minutes for myself. I was very happy in the presence of the child bearing precious gifts, in that small room, under the only sun that any one of my ancestors had ever known.

“How’s Fritz?” I asked.

“He stayed upstate.”

“Did he recover okay from that spell?”

“He’s walking and talking again, if that’s what you mean. He didn’t remember what happened. He didn’t remember you. And no, I didn’t tell anyone that you had been to the house. I thought that you wanted to talk to my father and I didn’t want to get in the way. Though I would like to know more about what it is that you want.”

“Do you really own that painting?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever offered to give away anything like that before?”

“You mean something so valuable?”

I nodded.

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Hannah’s face was long and pretty in its youth, but when she concentrated, it took on a more handsome cast. I liked her in spite of all my upbringing.

“No,” she said finally. “Never. But what does that have to do with my question?”

“A guy from Albany hired me to find four men,” I said. “I found them. One was dead, another one was in prison, one was awaiting trial for burglary, and the last guy was living the life of an honest citizen. I turned over the information and the three survivors were attacked. Two are dead and the other might be soon. After that, somebody, or maybe two different somebodies, tried to kill me.

“I don’t want to be used in that manner. I don’t want people to die because of me, and I myself do not wish to be killed. And so I have been investigating, trying to find out who was using me. The detective who hired me doesn’t seem to exist, but I’m good at what I do, and I came up with a name.”

“What name?” Hannah asked.

“Roman Hull.”

“My grandfather?”

I nodded again.

“I’m telling you this because you offered me that painting, and also because it’s true. I may have left out a detail or two but you have the gist of why I’m here.”

Hannah brought her fingers to her temples and traced little circles there.

“Are you going to kill my grandfather?”

“People like me don’t kill people like him,” I said. “I just want to get to the truth. I want to know what happened and I want it to stop.”

“Grandfather Roman used to pinch me and Fritzie when we wouldn’t do what he told us to,” she said. “It got so bad that Dad wouldn’t let him see us until we were teenagers.

“They say he murdered this race car driver a long time ago and then he married the driver’s widow. They didn’t stay together long, though.”

“I’ve heard the stories.”

“He’s upstairs,” she said.

“Right now?”

It was her turn to nod.

“Can I go see him?”

“I will take you,” she said solemnly, as if the words were a vow.

WE MADE OUR way back through the kitchen. The domestics were gone.

I glanced at the painting I coveted as we passed through the hall of masterpieces. The yellow parrot screeched somewhere when we came into the grand entrance hall but I didn’t see it.

“He’s on the third floor,” Hannah told me as we mounted the stairs.

Upon reaching the second floor we had to walk around the outer hall to get to the next stairway up. There were doors and other entrances along the hallway leading into rooms and down corridors. At the door closest to the next set of stairs a woman wandered out.

“Wandered” is the right word. She stepped from the doorway, moving at an odd angle with her head turned as if she were looking behind. It seemed as though she had gotten lost in her own home.

“Mother,” Hannah said.

Startled, the woman turned to regard us. She was a creature of exceptional beauty. From the form of her face to the deep blue in her eyes this woman, who was my age, would always be plagued by the petty desires and jealousies of others. Her form was slender and graceful. The pastel violet of her diaphanous robe struggled to match such beauty. Her hair was blond, becoming ethereally light with the white that had begun its encroachment there. When she gazed into my eyes I felt the need to swallow.

“This is Mr. McGill,” Hannah was saying. “He’s here to see Granddad.”

Hannah’s mother rested three fingers on the back of my left hand.

“Are you a friend of Roman’s?”

“No, ma’am. A guy I know said he wanted to talk to me. A guy named Timothy Moore. Do you know him?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied.

Hers was the only smile I’d ever seen that I would call resplendent.

“I hear you once had a servant named Sanderson,” I said, looking for answers haphazardly like a child searching for seashells by the shore.

“Yes. Lita was her name.”

“Did she have a son named Willie?”

“She had children,” Mrs. Hull said. “I never met them, though. Bryant didn’t like it when the staff used our house for day care.”

“But didn’t your husband help Lita’s son get into the Sunset Sanatorium?”

All those words seemed to confuse the lady. She sniffed at the air but didn’t answer.

“I met Mr. McGill up at the house in Albany, Mom,” Hannah said to break the silence.

“Oh?” She had“€€ban a mild interest. “Did you also meet my son, Mr. Mac? Mick?”

“McGill,” I said, wondering when she would remove her fingers. “And yes, I did meet him.”

“What did you think?”

“Nice young man. Serious.”

“He’s sullen and ungrateful,” she said, her lightness suddenly shot through with storm. “But blood is blood.”

“I have a son like that,” I said. “He doesn’t know how to talk to people even though he’s twenty-one. I figure it’s just because his feelings are so deep down inside him.”

My words seemed to have an impact on her. Her face organized itself so that she almost saw me.

“Deep inside,” she echoed. “Yes, yes. You’re right about that. Bryant says that there are debts to be paid, but all debt comes down to blood, don’t you think?”

I didn’t know the answer to her question.

“Blood debt,” she continued, “is the curse of mankind.”

“We have to go, Mother,” Hannah said.

Mrs. Bryant’s fingers were still on the back of my hand.

“Yes,” she said, looking deeply into me. “It was so nice meeting you.”

I moved my hand and took a step back.

“Come on,” Hannah said.

Halfway up the stairs I looked back and saw that Hannah’s mother was watching us as if in a terrible rapture.

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