Читать книгу Regina’s Song - David Eddings - Страница 8

Mary Greenleaf met me at the front door when I got there, touching a finger to her lips. “She’s sleeping,” she said softly. “All this scampering around has her worn down to a frazzle.” She stepped out onto the porch, quietly closing the door behind her.

“She is all right, isn’t she?”

“Sure, it’s just the moving and settling in.”

“I’ve got some things to take care of here tomorrow,” I told her, “so I’ll grab a motel room for a couple of nights. If Twink’s feeling unsettled, I’d better stay close.”

She nodded. “I wonder why it is that you were the only one she could recognize when she finally came to her senses.”

“I got this here dazzlin’ personality,” I kidded her. “Hadn’t you noticed that?”

“Sure, kid,” she said dryly. “You want a beer?”

“Not right now, thanks all the same.”

“Did you find a room?”

“I think so. The landladies are away today, but I’ll talk with them tomorrow. I think it’s going to work out. The house rules should keep things quiet.”

“Sounds good, Mark,” she noted.

“The place is sort of shabby,” I told her, “but quiet’s a rare commodity in student housing.”

“We’ve noticed that at the cop shop. The riot squad’s on permanent standby alert at the north precinct. When the parties start spilling out into the street, we get lots of nine-one-one calls.”

“I can imagine. Oh, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you—you’re a dispatcher, right?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Do you have to wear a gun to work?” I already knew the answer, of course, but I wanted to pinpoint the location of that gun. Twink was a recent graduate of Fallon’s sanitarium, after all, and you don’t really want a gun lying around unattended in a situation like that.

Mary smiled faintly and pushed up the bottom of her sweater to show me the neat little holster on her left side. “She has to be with me all the time,” she told me. “I thought everybody knew that. If you’re a cop, you wear a gun—whether you’re on duty or off.”

“That could be a pain in the neck sometimes.”

“You bet it is.” Then she frowned slightly. “Do you happen to know if Ren ever took driving lessons?” she asked.

“Of course she did. Why?”

“It must be one of the things she blotted out, then. I suggested to her that maybe her dad should buy her a car—it’s a good two miles to the campus from here. But she told me that she doesn’t drive.”

“She didn’t, not very often. Regina usually took the wheel when the twins wanted to go someplace.”

“Maybe that explains it. Anyway, she told me that she’s got a ten-speed bicycle at home. Next time you go up to Everett, she’d like to have you pick it up for her.”

“Hell, Mary, if she wants to go anyplace, I’ll pick her up and drive her there. This is rain country, and I’ve never seen a bike with windshield wipers.”

“You’re missing the point, Mark. Ren doesn’t want a chauffeur; she wants independence. If you volunteer to become her own private taxi driver, it’ll just be an extension of that cotton batting my idiot brother wants to wrap her in. She may not actually use the bike very often, but just knowing that it’s here should give her a sense of self-reliance. That’s really what this is all about, isn’t it?”

“You’re one shrewd cookie, Mary. It would have taken me months to work my way through that one.”

“Oh, there’s something else, too. Ren forgot a box of tapes and CDs. She brought the player, but she left all her music at home.”

“Count your blessings,” I told her. “Kid music hasn’t got much going for it but loud.”

“I think Ren might surprise you, Mark. She’s into Bach fugues and Mozart string quartets.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I think it might have been Regina’s idea in the first place. Maybe Renata’s picking up a few echoes from the past. Stranger things have happened, I guess.”

“You’ve got that right. The human mind is the native home of strange. I’d better go rent a motel room before everything gets filled up. Tell Twink that I’ll stop back later—or give her a call.”

“I’ll let her know.”

I found a vacancy in a motel just off Forty-fifth Street and spent the rest of that gloomy Sunday reading Faulkner. Southern writers can take some getting used to.

I called Twink along about suppertime. She seemed OK, so I kept it short.

Monday was drizzly. What else is new? It’s almost always drizzly in Seattle. I called James about ten o’clock, and he told me that the ladies were home. “Tell them I’ll be right over,” I said, pulling on my coat as I grabbed my keys.

James met me at the front door. “I put in a good word for you, Mark,” he told me. “I think you’re in.”

“You’re a buddy,” I told him.

“You can hold off on those thanks until after you’ve met the ladies,” he cautioned. “Trish takes ‘serious’ out to the far end, Erika takes it in the other direction, and you never know where Sylvia’s coming from. They’re in the kitchen.”

“Let’s go see if I can pass muster,” I said.

Like all the other rooms in the house, the kitchen was fairly large, and it had the breakfast nook James had mentioned to the right of the arched doorway.

The three ladies in the kitchen were obviously waiting for me, and it occurred to me that James might have overstated my qualifications. There was a certain deferential quality hanging in the air as I entered.

One of the Erdlund sisters was a classic Swede, tall, blond, and busty. The other one was more svelte, and she had dark auburn hair. The third girl was, as James had told me, cute as a button, tiny, olive-skinned, and with huge, liquid eyes and short brunette hair.

“Here’s our recruit, Trish,” James told the blond girl. “His name’s Mark Austin. He’s a graduate student in English and a member of the carpenter’s union. Mark, this is Trish, our glorious leader.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that, James,” she scolded, standing up and looking at me speculatively. Trish was nearly as tall as I am, but that’s not unusual in Seattle, where six-foot-tall blond girls roam the sidewalks in platoons.

“Sorry, Trish,” James apologized. “Not too sorry. More like medium sorry.”

“He teases us all the time,” she told me, smiling. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Austin.” She held her hand out and when we shook, I noticed that she had a fairly firm grip.

“Did James fill you in on our house rules?” she asked.

“No booze, no dope, no loud music, and no hanky-panky,” I recited. “I understand that you’ve got some renovations in mind as well.”

“They’re part of the arrangement, Mr. Austin. I think you’ll find our room and board rate very reasonable, but that’s because Erika and I expect a certain amount of physical labor as well. Our aunt’s going to be in a nursing home from here on out, and my sister and I want to fix the house up so that we can put in on the market and sell it. We’ll try to confine the work to Saturdays so that the rest of the week’s quiet. James deals with electricity and plumbing, and you’d be our resident carpenter. Would that cause you any problems?”

I shrugged. “Probably not. I’m a fairly good knock-around carpenter. As long as we stay clear of the building code, I can probably handle things. I gather you want to avoid building permits and inspections, right?”

“Definitely. If we get into building permits, we come face-to-face with union-scale carpenters, and we don’t have that kind of money.”

“We could always take up begging, Trish,” the auburn-haired girl suggested. “Sell pencils on street corners with a little tin cup.”

“My sister Erika,” Trish said sourly. “She’s the smart-mouth in the family.”

“How can you say that, Trish?” Erika asked with wide-eyed innocence.

“As long as we’re introducing ourselves,” the small, cute brunette at the table said, “I’m Sylvia Cardinale.”

“We refer to her as the Godmother, Donna Sylvia,” James told me, grinning at her.

“Would you like to have me make you one of those offers which you can’t refuse, James?” she asked in an ominous tone.

“Oops,” he replied casually.

“We’re obviously clowning around, Mr. Austin,” Trish apologized. “We’ll get around to being serious after classes start—at least I hope so. Would you like to look at the vacant rooms?”

“James showed them to me yesterday,” I replied. “I’d like to have another look at the one on the right side of the stairs, though. I’ve got an idea that we might want to talk about.”

“Of course,” she said, and led us all upstairs. A battered bed stood against the wall I was interested in, so I pushed it out of the way and pulled out the tape measure I’d brought. “I think this might actually work,” I muttered, half to myself.

“What have you got in mind, Mr. Austin?” Trish asked.

“Permanent bookshelves,” I told her, thumping the heel of my hand against the wall in search of the studs. “Fourteen inches,” I mused. “This baby’s well built.” Then I turned. “Here’s the idea,” I told the group. “Most students use the standard brick-and-board arrangement for bookshelves, but that’s wobbly, and occasionally the whole makeshift thing collapses. It occurred to me that permanent bookshelves wouldn’t wobble, and they’d provide a lot more shelf space. I need lots of shelf space, because I’ve got books by the yard.”

“Won’t that be sort of expensive?” Trish asked me.

“Not really,” I told her. “Unless you start getting into exotic woods, lumber’s fairly cheap around here. Oh, one other thing. James tells me that there are some empty rooms in the basement. If it’s okay, I’d like to put this furniture downstairs and bring in my own.”

“You have your own furniture?” Erika asked. “That’s unusual. Most students travel light.”

“I’ve got a house up in Everett,” I told her briefly, not really wanting to go into too much detail. “I’ll be renting it out, I guess, so I’ll have to put most of the furniture in storage.”

Trish looked around at the room. “If we’re going to empty the room out anyway, we might as well paint it before you move in.”

“I gather that we’ve all sort of agreed that I’ll be living here?” I said, looking at the others.

“I think we’ll be able to get along with you, Mark,” Erika said, “and the house rules should protect you from any predatory instincts that crop up in the downstairs part of the house.”

“Erika!” Trish said in a shocked tone.

“Just kidding, Trish. Don’t get worked up.”

“There is something you might want to consider, Trish,” James said.

“This place will probably always be student housing, and permanent bookshelves in every room would definitely up the market value, don’t you think?”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” she agreed. “How long do you think it’ll take to build your bookshelves, Mark?”

I shrugged. “Two or three days is about all, and once I get the process down pat, the shelves in the other rooms won’t take nearly that long.”

“All that sawing and pounding is likely to disrupt things,” Sylvia protested.

“Not if I take good measurements,” I disagreed. “The guys at the lumberyard can cut the boards to my numbers, so there won’t be very much sawing, and I’m not going to use nails. Books are heavy, and nails tend to work loose. I’ll use wood screws instead. I want this puppy bolted to the wall.”

“You are going to paint it, aren’t you?” Trish asked me.

“No, a couple coats of dark stain would be cheaper, and stain dries faster.”

“We want you,” Erika said with ominous intensity.

“Steady, toots,” Sylvia told her.

“When would you like to move in, Mark?” Trish asked.

“Today’s what—the eighth?”

She nodded.

“Classes start on the twenty-ninth, but I’d like to get settled in a couple of weeks before that. Moving my furniture and building the bookshelves won’t take too long, so why don’t we zero in on the fourteenth for move-in day?”

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed.

I checked out of the motel and drove to Everett with my windshield wipers slapping back and forth in a sort of counterpoint to Ravel’s Bolero coming from the car’s cassette player.

When I got to my house in north Everett, I turned up the thermostat and started sorting through my stuff, moving nonessential items to another room. All I was going to need in the boardinghouse would be my bed, desk, dresser, and books.

I called Twink that evening. She seemed to be pretty much OK, so I kept it short. Then I went back to sorting and boxing.

By midafternoon on Tuesday, I had things fairly well organized, so I went by the office of the rental agency that was going to take care of the house for me and gave them a spare set of keys. “I’m a little pushed for time right now,” I told the agent. “Could you make arrangements with a moving and storage company for me and have them pick up the furniture?”

“We’ll take care of it for you, Mark,” the agent told me. “That’s one of the things you’re paying us for.”

“I guess,” I said. “Oh, another thing. The place needs a good cleaning. Could you get hold of some professional housecleaners to go in and make things presentable?”

“We’d do that anyway. We’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing.”

“Good. I’m a bit out of my depth. I’ve chalked a big red ‘X’ on the door of my room. My books, clothes, and the furniture I’ll be taking are in there. Tell the movers and cleaners to leave that room alone. I’ll pick that stuff up this coming weekend.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Don’t worry about a thing, Mark. We’ll take care of everything for you.”

Yeah, he would—for a hefty chunk of the monthly rent.

Then I went over to the door factory to check in with Les Greenleaf.

“How’s Renata doing, Mark?” he asked me with a worried look.

“She seems to be settling in, boss. It took her a few days to get used to your sister’s work schedule, but she seems pretty much OK now.”

“I still think we’re rushing into this.” Then he sighed. “Did you find a place to live?”

“Yeah. It’s only a few blocks from Mary’s house, so if Twink starts coming unglued, I can be there in a flat minute.”

“I appreciate that, Mark. Inga and I worry a lot about Renata, but you’re the one she seems to turn to.”

I shrugged. “Listen, I think I’ve come up with something that might ease her into things at U.W. It might not be a bad idea if the first class Twink audits is mine. That’ll put a familiar face at the front of the room on her first time out, so she won’t get wound up quite so tight. After she gets her feet wet, she’ll be able to move on, but let’s not throw her into deep water right from the git-go.”

“That might be the best idea I’ve heard all day, Mark. Just knowing that you’ll be around if she needs you is taking a lot of the pressure off me.”

“That’s what friends are for, boss.” I stood up. “I’ll stay in touch. If Twink starts having any serious problems, I’ll pass the word, and we can jerk her out of Seattle and bring her home again. Meanwhile, I’m going to talk with Dr. Fallon and find out exactly what I should be watching for. I’m sure there’ll be a few warning signals, and I ought to hear what they’re likely to be.”

“You’re taking a lot of time and trouble with this, Mark.”

“It’s that big-brother thing, boss. Oh, I almost forgot—Twink wants me to pick up her ten-speed and a box of tapes and CDs she left behind. If it’s OK, I’ll swing by your place this evening to pick them up.” Then I remembered something. “Would it be OK if I tapped the mill scrap heap a few times?” I asked him.

“Are you building a house?” He looked amused.

“I’ve already got a house, boss. It’s in the wrong town, but it’s mine. No, the place where I’ll be staying needs a few modifications—bookshelves, mostly. If I can rummage through the junk lumber in the scrap heap, I might save the landladies a few bucks.”

“Help yourself,” he said.

“Thanks, boss. I’d better bag on up to Lake Stevens and have that talk with Fallon.”

But the doctor was a little vague when I asked him about warning signals. He made a fairly big issue of “compulsive behavior.”

“Define ‘compulsive,’ Doc,” I suggested.

“Anything she takes to extremes—washing her hands every five minutes, ignoring her appearance, radical changes in her eating habits. You know her well enough to spot anything unusual. If something seems abnormal to you, give me a call. You might want to have her aunt keep an eye on her as well.”

“If you were going to bet on her recovery, what would you say the odds are, Doc?” I asked bluntly.

“Right now I’d say fifty-fifty. This first term at the university is crucial. If we can get her past this one, the odds should get better.”

“We’re still in the ifsy-andsy stage, then?”

“That comes close, I’d say.”

“If she goes bonkers again, she’ll have to come back here, won’t she?”

He winced at my use of the word “bonkers,” but he didn’t make an issue of it. “She’ll probably have to come back here a few times anyway, Mark. Recovering from a mental illness is a long, slow process, and there are almost always setbacks. That’s why those Friday sessions are so important. I’ll need to reevaluate her on a weekly basis just to stay on the safe side.”

“You’re a gloomy sort of guy, Doc, did you know that?”

“I’m in a gloomy profession. Just watch Renata very closely for the first few weeks and report any peculiar behavior to me.”

“I’ll do what I can,” I promised.

I drove back to Everett, where I stopped by the Greenleaf house for Twinkie’s bike and music. The trunk of my car was fairly full of all the usual junk that winds up in car trunks, so I lashed her bike to the roof of my Dodge and drove back to Seattle. I hauled into a motel, rolled Twinkie’s bike into the room, and crashed. I’d put in a couple of busy days, and I was pooped.

Mary was still asleep when I went by the next morning, but Twink was up and moving. “You actually remembered,” she said when I carried her box into the kitchen. “Did you bring my bike, too?”

“Naturally. It’s tied to the top of my car. Where do you want it?”

“Put it on the back porch for now.”

“You’ve got quite a collection here,” I said, tapping the box.

“I can’t remember much of it,” she admitted. “After I went home from the nuthouse, I spent a lot of time listening, but none of it stirred up any memories. What were you doing up in Everett?”

“I had to pick up a few things and arrange to have the furniture put into storage. I’m not going to be living there, so I’m going to rent the place out.”

“Nothing ever stays the same, does it, Markie?” she said sadly.

“In theory, it’s supposed to be getting better, Twink.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Cheer up, baby sister. In my infinite wisdom, I’ve decided to let you sit in during a class conducted by Super Teacher.”

“Super Teacher?”

“Me. I’ll teach your socks off, kid. I’m so good that sometimes I can barely stand myself.”

“Be serious, Markie.”

“I am. I teach a section of English 131, and Dr. Fallon wants us to ease you into things here—familiar faces and all that stuff. It seems to me that the two things sort of click together. You get exposed to the world of education by somebody you know, and I get to keep an eye on you at the same time I show you how unspeakably brilliant I am. Isn’t that neat?”

“You just want to show off.”

I shrugged. “If you got it, flaunt it, kid. What time does Mary usually get up?”

“About two—or so. She doesn’t get off work until seven.”

“Are you going to be all right, Twink?” I asked her. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff I should take care of.”

“I’ll be fine, Markie.” She patted the box I’d just delivered. “I’ve got my music now.”

“Keep the volume down, Twink. If you wake Mary up, she might get grouchy, and she packs heat.”

“Heat?”

“She wears a gun. She is a cop, you know.”

“I’ve got earphones. She won’t hear a thing.”

“I’ll call you this evening, Twink. Stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll be good.” she promised.

I drove over to the boardinghouse to take some measurements for my bookshelves. My room was empty now, and I’d decided to get the carpentry and painting out of the way before I rented a truck to pick up my furniture.

Trish stood in the doorway watching. “Why do you keep taking the same measurement over and over, Mark?” she asked.

“It’s one of the rules, Trish—measure three times, because you can only cut once. It’s real hard to un-saw a board.”

“I can imagine. I definitely think permanent bookshelves in every room is an excellent idea. Students always need places to keep their books.” She came in and sat down on the single chair I’d left in the room. “What’s a carpenter doing majoring in English?” she asked curiously.

“I came in through the back door, Trish. I like to read, and if I major in English, I can get paid for it.”

“Our dad works in a sawmill up in Everett,” she told me.

“Do you and Erika come from Everett, too?”

“No, we’re from Marysville—not that you can tell anymore where Everett leaves off and Marysville starts.”

“You’ve got that right, Trish. Give it a few more years, and everything from Vancouver, B.C., to Portland’s going to be just one big city—a long, skinny city. What got you interested in law school, Trish? Working stiffs like your dad and mine don’t usually have much use for lawyers.”

“Our dad sort of pushed Erika and me into what he called ‘the professions,’ “ she replied. “He didn’t want us to grow up to be waitresses or store clerks. Erika’s at least twice as smart as I am, so she was a shoo-in for a scholarship here, but after I graduated from high school, Dad finagled a job for me in a local law office. It was the senior partner there who pulled enough strings to get me a scholarship in the pre-law here.”

“Boy, does that sound familiar,” I noted. “My dad worked at Greenleaf Sash and Door up in Everett, and after I’d taken a few courses at the community college up there, I had whole bunches of people herding me in the direction of the university. It’s almost like a slogan sometimes—‘Workers of the world unite! Send your kids to college!’ “

“Upward mobility,” she said. “It’s all right, I suppose, but we tend to grow away from our parents, don’t we? Erika and I don’t have too much in common with our folks anymore. Erika sprinkles her conversation with medical terms, and I’m starting to talk fluent legalese. Half the time I don’t think Mom and Dad understand what we’re saying. It’s sort of sad.”

“At least they’re still there, Trish,” I told her. “I lost my parents in a car wreck a couple years ago.”

“Oh, Mark!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Things like that happen, Trish. We grow up thinking that everything in the world is permanent. It isn’t, though. Things change all the time.” Then I smiled faintly. “Aren’t we starting to poach on James’s territory? I’m supposed to talk about split infinitives, and you’re supposed to talk about tarts.”

“That’s ‘torts,’ Mark,” she corrected me.

“Ah,” I said. “What’s your preference, Trish? Do you like strawberry torts or raspberry torts?”

She burst out laughing. “You’re a funny person, Mark.”

“It’s probably a fault. Sometimes I think we take ourselves too seriously. A little laughter now and then’s probably good for us.”

“We don’t laugh much in law school,” she said, “or in the law firm where I work either, for the matter.”

“You’re still working for a living, then?”

“I’m a law clerk in a big firm downtown—more finagling by my old boss in Marysville. My scholarship covers tuition and books, and my downtown job puts groceries on the table.”

“Been there;” I said, taking another measurement. “Done that.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“Has Erika got an outside job, too?”

“Oh, yes. She puts in a lot of hours at a medical lab—blood tests and all that. Erika’s so good with a needle that she can pull a quart or two out of you before you even know what she’s up to. It’s none of my business, but how do you make ends meet? Are you building houses on the sly, maybe?”

I sighed. “No, Trish,” I told her. “The insurance on my folks gave me plenty of money. I can probably get by for quite a while before I have to go looking for honest work again.”

“How many shelves do you think you’ll be able to put along that wall?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Quite a few, actually. These ten-foot ceilings give me a lot of room to play with. Of course, books come in all sizes, so there might be variations. I’ll probably have to play it by ear in each room. Your law books are fairly uniform, so your shelves should be nice and even. Mine could end up pretty higgledy-piggledy.”

She stood up. “I’d better go get started on supper,” she said.

“Have fun,” I told her, going back to my measurements.