Imola (6 page)

He turned in to the kitchen. “Sorry to barge in. I was just up in Mendocino. At Agnes’s U-Store space.” He waited for an objection, but it didn’t come. “I found something about Eddie. It’s really important.”

April reached into the cupboard and pulled down an extra plate. “Go wash up. Can we eat first?”

He turned in the doorway. “I don’t think so. I’ll tell you while we eat.”

Jason reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few papers before tossing the jacket onto the adjacent chair. He didn’t wait for the food to be served. “It seemsour Eddie was a war hero. In World War Two. He came back with a Purple Heart and a few other decorations. But it seems like the experience changed him, even before he was wounded.”

April divided the slab of fish and scraped half onto Jason’s plate. “What do you mean?” She loaded her plate, slid the pan onto the stove, and quickly sat down.

He unfolded one of the pages. “Evidently Gert saved a few of Eddie’s letters from before and after the war. This one was written while he was stationed in France. Listen to this: ‘I killed my first German today. Shot him right through the neck. The others guys in my unit took everything from his body. They even pulled some of his teeth. They get mad if we call them Germans. We’re supposed to call them Gerrys or Krauts. Like they aren’t human. It’s all about good versus evil here. We’re fighting the noble war against a band of devils. We’re trying to save the world from evil. I can understand it to a degree, but I don’t want to accept it. It might make killing easy.’” Jason refolded the page. “What do you think about that?”

April took a small bite and smiled. “Mmm. Got it right. Try the fish.”

“What about the letter?”

“Sounds like Eddie was a very rational, sensitive person. Fertile ground for a post-trauma syndrome. Did he kill more Germans?”

“I don’t know. That was the only letter in the file from before he was wounded.”

April took another bite. “How was he hurt?”

“There were some military medical records, from after he returned to the U.S. He was shot in the head. He had a steel plate the size of a silver dollar, and there was significant damage to his left frontal lobe.”

“So at least some of his ability to consider consequences of future events was probably blurred. Maybe obliterated.”

“Whatever. But listen to this.” He unfolded the next letter. “This one was written when he was in the hospital. Here in the States. ‘The nurse here says I’m good when I don’t bother her, but she yells at me when I have to use the bedpan or want some food. Evil doesn’t only wear a German uniform. Evil is everywhere. So is good. You can’t tell one from the other by looking. You have to feel it. I can feel it. I can feel the difference.’ What do you think about that?”

Agnes dropped her fork on her plate. “Wow. He seems to have developed a fixation. And he did have decent memory. So far, the landscape isn’t looking too good for Mr. Eddie Hahn. Fixation about good versus evil. A sense of clairvoyance about it. Memories of traumatic events, framed in terms of the noble fight. Did he receive therapy? For more than his bodily injuries?”

“I found a single record only. Evidently, he committedhimself to a VA mental hospital for a short time in 1949, but there’s nothing about the reason or the treatment.”

“Too bad. I wonder if I can get the records. They’re pretty old.”

“I like your fixation idea. I think it extended to the twins. Maybe Eddie saw them as opposites. Good and evil.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Their names. I looked in one of those books of baby names. Do you know what Agnes means?”

“No. Spinster? Shy one?”

“Close. It means pure. Chaste.”

“What about Lilin?”

“I didn’t find it in that book. Its origin is different.”

April sat up straight. “How so?”

“Are you familiar with any ancient Jewish stories on the origin of humans?”

“I’m Catholic.”

“Have you heard of Lilith?”

She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “That was the name of Dr. Frasier Crane’s wife on the sitcom
Cheers
. Right? And a bunch of female rockers organize concerts. They call them Lilith Fair.”

“Cheers
had great writers. And one of those rockers did her homework. Lilith was supposedly Adam’s first wife, not created from his rib, but from the same soil as he was. She refused to submit to him in the standard missionary position. She thought it demeaned her. Likeshe wasn’t his equal. She demanded equality.”

“So far I like what I hear.” April put her hand on Jason’s arm. “And I think I remember something from last night. And it wasn’t missionary.”

He pulled his arm away. “Come on, April. Let me get this out. You said you wanted information to help Agnes.”

“Agnes. By all means, continue.”

He avoided eye contact. “Lilith abandoned Adam and became a demon. The versions go every which way from there, but there is one common thread. She preyed on unbaptized children. And on men. She was able to invade a sleeping man’s dreams and seduce him. Then she’d devour him. Some versions say she ate the men. Others make the vampire tie-in and say she sucked their blood. Pretty close parallel, huh?”

“Are you going to try your fish?”

“Yeah. But there’s more.”

“Okay, but I’m a little lost. You just described Lilith, not Lilin.”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot. Lilith had a number of offspring who were just as bad as she was. Collectively, the offspring were called Lilin.”

April pushed her chair back a few inches. “So Eddie didn’t think much of his daughter, the twins’ mother. Denise, right?”

“Yeah. And it’d be an easy way to rationalize what he did to her. She was evil and seduced him. The unionproduced two offspring. One good and one evil. He couldn’t resist Denise. It was her fault.”

“Or evil’s fault.”

“Good point.”

“Anything else?”

“Just one more letter. This one really bothered me, and it seems to back up what we just talked about.” His hands shook as he unfolded the note.

“Are you okay?” She put her hand back on his arm. “This one that bad?”

“It’s a short letter. Eddie pleaded with Gert. I can only read a little. I get emotional. It says, ‘Please take Agnes. She’s one of the good ones. Not like Lilin. More seed has been spilled. Come get Agnes. Quick.’”

April was silent for a few moments. “What does he mean, ‘more seed has been spilled’?”

“I had to search for that one. It goes back to the Lilith mythology. It seems her seduction of men caused them to spill their seed. In some interpretations, that means to masturbate. That seed was used to produce more of her demon progeny. The Lilin.”

“So you think masturbation was part of his molestation?”

“I don’t know, but maybe it has something to do with Lilin’s use of the severed … uh.”

“Penises. You can say it.”

“Yeah. I hate to think of what Agnes saw.”

“Saw?”

Jason refolded the letter and put the stack back in his jacket pocket. “I don’t think Agnes was molested.”

April’s cheeks puffed with a long exhalation. She tipped her head up, eyes on the ceiling. She nodded as she tilted her head back down. “This fits with everything I’ve been able to get from her, and from the way she reacts. I think I told you I suspected all this. Anyway, with his fixation, I bet he did make her watch when he abused Lilin. And killed her. It was probably a lesson from him to her. Can you imagine? Her twin sister. She must have turned a blank screen during the abuse. But I bet she absorbed all the hate Lilin felt for her father. Transferred it to all men. At least when she was Lilin. This really helps. And it lines up perfectly with my therapy.”

Jason slumped in his seat and looked down at his plate. The fish looked good, but his appetite was undecided.

April swigged her wine and dug her fork into the fish, emitting a whiff of strawberry. “Come on. Try the fish. It’s really good.”

He flaked a few segments and scooped them with a generous coating of garnish. “Whoa. This is really good.”

Jason flashed on his father’s words of caution. The chase was on again.

Agnes was the first to see him. Her favorite reading chair gave a clear view of both hallways that ran from the Day Room at forty-five-degree angles from the far wall.

Stuart the Stud closed in, but his usual stalk posture didn’t fool her, nor did it fool Marsha Herman, who sat across the room.

“Red Alert,” Marsha announced from the line of chairs in front of the TV. “Cover up.”

Agnes swiveled in her chair. Patty was reading in a far chair, over by the high windows, apparently engrossed in a romance paperback.

Stuart picked up his pace. His right hand reached out, fingers spread wide.

“Patty. Watch out.” Agnes stood.

Stuart stopped at the chair and reached his handaround toward Patty’s right breast. The spine of her book came down on the top of his wrist, knocking his hand into the metal chair arm. Stuart whimpered, then grabbed his arm and ran for the men’s hallway.

Patty was up in an instant and on Stuart’s heels, with Agnes just a few yards behind. Stuart turned to look at the women and nearly missed the hall. He shuffled against the wall and sprinted to his door. In a single motion, he opened it, slipped in, and slammed the door behind him.

Patty reached the door a moment later and stood panting. Agnes stopped halfway down the hall. Patty twisted the doorknob and pushed the door in. Her voice echoed in the hallway—every syllable perfectly clear in the Day Room. “You total loser. Your dick’s never going to touch anything but your hand. I know you’ve never had a woman. You’d know something about how to treat one. Go ahead. Do your hand. It’s about the ugliest hand I’ve ever seen.” She turned in the direction of the Day Room and shouted down the hall. “He can’t even get a decent-looking hand. It’s
ug-ly.”

The door slammed hard on the Day Room laughter. Patty jumped. The door swung open again, and Patty dodged to her right, in a half-crouch.

Stuart stood in the doorway. Tears streamed down his face. “You’re going to get it. Bitches!” The door slammed again.

Agnes hurried back to her chair. She knew Patty had needed to do what she had done, but she wished there was some other way. Stuart needed help, and this would just make him turn inward even more. And it would ratchet up his fury. She felt like he was building for an eruption. But where else could they put him? All in all, though, she was proud of Patty.

Agnes had learned that prior to her arrival, Patty Figley had been Stuart’s favorite target. He liked large breasts, and Patty’s were the largest in the place. But he also liked new meat, as he called it.

Patty had confided in Agnes, about how before coming to Imola, she had continually struggled with her weight, and seldom made any headway. She had the shoulders and hips of a stereotypical Midwestern farming woman, and they were padded, but not overstuffed. Just enough to make one think that she’d be a bombshell if she’d lose only twenty pounds. Those twenty pounds had turned out to be her downfall. That and her weightlifter husband, Bud.

Bud Figley pumped himself full of steroids so he could be king of the gym. As his lean muscle mass increased, his acne and quick temper battled for second place on his short list of personal attributes. And the larger he got, the more he nudged Patty to slim down. “Don’t want a chub-o on my arm,” he’d say. “I’m getting in shape for you. You’d better do the same, or I’ll find someone who will.”

And that’s how it all started—her downward spiral. Bulimia made throwing up so easy she started having spontaneous episodes. Anywhere, anytime, it could come up. And if her stomach was empty, she doubled over in dry heaves that produced loud wheezes that would turn heads for tens of yards. It took a while, but she eventually realized that her stomach lurched every time she saw a model-thin woman or a ripped man. That realization gave her a chance. But she never strayed into the middle of a room, and curbside bushes were her best friends. She sought counseling and made progress, and ultimately it saved her.

She was checking her e-mail one day and accidentally called up Bud’s list of internet favorites. He’d book-marked eighteen porno sites. Patty pulled up one. It was a “fat chicks” site. Another, the same. All eighteen featured grossly overweight woman doing things that slender women would decline in favor of a good headache.

It was a bad time for Bud to walk in. He went ballistic. But his fury was no match for hers. She went for his eyes and got one of them. She went for his unit, but had to settle for his shriveled scrotum. She got one of its inhabitants, too.

That’s where her earlier counseling saved her. That and a great lawyer. His main point was made when a skinny woman walked into the hearing room. Patty had puked her way out of jail and into Imola.

Agnes sat back and smiled. She imagined a personalad in the newspaper and on the Web. Single white male, weightlifter, one eye, one shrunken nut, seeking meaningful relationship with a plus-sized woman without fingernails.

Her thoughts went to Stuart. What was brewing in that darkened room? Would he look at his hand the same after what Patty said?