Death of the Black-Haired Girl

13

SHELL’S COLLEGE LIFE had lately taken the form of dodging the threatening calls and voicemail messages for Maud. Neither of them used the dorm room phone, but somehow or other someone had got the number. It was worse than after The Harrowing of Hell, when Shell had been compelled to change cell phone numbers again. And now it seemed that while people wanted to kill her and read about her being dead in the tabloids, they wanted to kill her roommate too, for more serious and worthy reasons. Three people had actually appeared at the dorm, gained access and entered in spite of the locks. All three were women; all three wanted to talk with Maud. So for Shell it was not only a matter of being herself but of being Maud’s roommate. There were individuals and groups wandering the campus over Thanksgiving break, carrying signs about Maud. Maud, Shell thought, would never be able to cope.

An added thrill arose from the fact that the whole issue had afforded yet another conversion experience for Shell’s insane ex-husband. The experience left John Clammer awash in insight. John was able to understand now that the breakup of his marriage had been caused by Hell House — his name for the college — when it cleverly placed his wife with a demon adversary who had converted her to Lesbian Law. The enthusiast Clammer was organizing an expedition to rescue her, dead or alive.

An e-mail from her mother set out to explain the spiritual adventures of John Clammer. Shell was tired of trying to make sense of her mother’s e-mails; interpreting her day-to-day speech was hard enough, but Shell thought her chances would improve on the telephone. She dialed her mother’s number.

“Tell me quick, Mom. Is John Clammer still locked up?”

“Well, he is.”

“You say he is?”

“Well, yes he is. But at times he isn’t.”

“Uh-oh. What times are those?”

“Well. John, they say, has this mentor, see.”

“That should be good, Mom, ’cuz if any man could use a mentor it’s John Clammer. Why do I have this feeling it’s not an altogether good thing?”

“Well, there’s this man and he’s a preacher and his name is Dr. Russell Fumes. Dr. Fumes used to be the chaplain at that whole place when it was the great ol’ state asylum, it was, and then of course it’s just a teeny tiny place now and his cure of souls got just smaller and smaller. So Dr. Fumes was telling people, Now y’all be sure and tell the doctors that you need my coming round and how important it is. And they, I guess, they just didn’t, or not enough of them did. So you know what was on his mind, he was thinking the hospital would stop paying him if he had no customers.”

“I’m with you, Mom.”

“Well, then he got John Clammer to accept the Lord as he sees ’um, and John told them he had to have this man Fumes. So Fumes come forward and says he’ll take this man under his pastoral care and I guess they said cool because he’s goin’ aroun’ with Dr. Russell Fumes.”

“Goin’ around with him? Where the fuck they goin’ around to? Don’t the court know I got a restraining order on that boy?”

“Well shit, honey, you don’t see him around anywhere, do you?”

“I want you to make sure you know where he is, you hear! I know you can do that. Every couple days I wanna be reassured I can rehearse and perform and like that without having to shoot that sucker.”

“Call your lawyer.”

“I mean, that would look like hell, wouldn’t it? I gotta shoot my crazy husband? Probably gotta shoot old Dr. Fumes too. Cute onscreen no more, Mom. I’ll be a Fatty Arbuckle.”

“Be what you gotta be, sweetie. He probably ain’t interested in you no more. Everything ain’t all about you no more.”