Reversible Errors (44 page)

"What stage is that?"

"If you were twenty-five or fifty-five the difference in our ages might matter less. But you should have children, Arthur. Don't you want children? Most people do."

"Don't you?"

"It's too late, Arthur." That was the ultimate calamity of the penitentiary: it had taken the last of her childbearing years. But that thought was down there in the valley with the broken bodies of a million regrets.

"Why is it too late?" he demanded. "Are we talking about biology? The world is full of children who need someone to love them." In her presence these days, Arthur was often impetuous, even inspired. Was there any difference greater among human beings than between the abject fatalist who had been run down by living, and those determined to shape their lives to the contours of a large idea? And she was his idea. Oh, she willed herself to reject that, to cross her wrists before her face and forbid his exhilaration in her company, as her father forbade blaspheming. But it was far too wonderful, far too much of what she had assumed she would never have again. He did not see her yet.

And when she came chillingly into focus, he would be gone. But she was determined to savor the moment. She took him into a lingering embrace, before she resumed the slow march to the truth.

"Don't you see, Arthur, you're already trying to find a way to have with me everything you want in your life. This is an adventure for you, this entire period. But when it ends, you won't be able to abandon what you've always imagined for yourself."

"Are you saying you'd never want to be a parent?"

It was inconceivable. Her own survival still required her full attention.

"It would be an enormous change, Arthur."

"But that's the point of life, isn't it? Changing? To be happier, more perfect? Look how much you've changed. You believe you've changed for the better, don't you?"

She had never thought of it that way.

"I really don't know," she said. "I like to believe I have. I like to believe I wouldn't make the same mess of my life. But I'm not certain."

"I am. You're sober."

"Yes."

"And you've had no trouble doing that."

She felt a superstitious reluctance to agree. But Arthur was correct. Formally, she adhered to the mantra of one day at a time. Yet except for her most dismal moments of panic, she had not felt even a remote yearning. Clarity, in fact, seemed much more her quest. The completeness of her release from addictive hungers was troubling at times, because it seemed at such odds with the reports of other persons who battled dependencies. One night she'd asked Duff}' if she was fooling herself. He'd taken his time looking at her. 'No, Gil,' he finally said, 'I think you already accomplished everything you meant to.'

She repeated Duffy's answer to Arthur now, but he was too intent on his own point to linger over the meaning of the remark.

"So you're free, then," Arthur said.

No. That was the word. She was different. But not free.

"Have you changed, Arthur?"

"Are you kidding? This is the happiest I've ever been. It's not close."

"Truly, Arthur, wouldn't you be happier with someone your age?"

"No. Never. 1 mean, I'm an old-fashioned guy. I like things that are against all odds. Love as destiny. I still watch '30s movies and cry."

"I'm not that old, Arthur."

He poked her but continued. "I'm happy," he insisted. "Nothing could make this better, Gillian. I'd like to break into song."

She groaned at the thought. Challenged, Arthur, round and short, stood up naked in the center of the bed and crooned.

I dreamed of someone like you.

You seem too marvelous for it to be true.

The second line was like a stake through her heart. But he continued. Typical of Arthur's ability to surprise, he had a fine voice, and he had clearly spent hours listening to schmaltzy show tunes. At peak volume, he sang every line, every chorus, until Gillian, for the first time in years, had lost herself in laughter.

Chapter
30

july 24, 2001

Bad for M
e f
or erno erdai, the deathwatch had begun. Even as a state prisoner, Erno had been granted the benefit of many of the latest hightech treatments over at the University Hospital, not only surgical procedures but alpha interferon and experimental forms of chemotherapy. But an ancient enemy had caught him at a low point. In the midst of a new round of chemo, Erno had contracted pneumonia, and despite enormous intravenous doses of antibiotics, his lungs, already compromised by the cancer, did not seem healthy enough to recover. The doctors with whom Pamela and Arthur had spoken were increasingly pessimistic.

Erno was again in the jail ward in County Hospital. Effectively, Arthur needed the consent of both the Superintendent of the House of Corrections and Ernos family before he could see him, and one party or the other had been holding him off for weeks. Finally, Arthur had threatened to go to Judge Harlow. Harlow would not order Erno to speak, but he would forbid any obstruction by those who either were doing Muriels bidding or thought they had her interests at heart. Arthur had twice won delays for filing a response to Muriels motion in the Court of Appeals to terminate Rommy's habeas by claiming that further time was needed for investigation, which basically meant seeing Erno. The court had given him a final deadline of Friday this week, which had added to the urgency of getting to Erdai.

After more than an hour in the ward vestibule, Arthur was admitted at last. He was searched cursorily and escorted back along the linoleum corridors, where the light of the schoolhouse fixtures spread generously before him.

The deputy assigned to Erno explained that the family was agitated because their visit had been interrupted to make way for Arthur. Drawing close to the room, he saw two women in the hallway. One was shorter than the other and somewhat dowdier. She proved to be Mrs. Erdai. Her nose was red and a balled-up Kleenex grew from her fist. The other, wearing a straight skirt perhaps too short for a woman of her age, was Erno's sister, Ilona, the mother of Collins, the man whom Erno had started out to save. She was tall and sturdy, with long hands and light hair losing color, overall a better-looking version of Erno -the same thin face, and a hardness that crept through it. With little said, the two women made clear that they resented everything about Arthur, his intrusion and, worse, the humiliation he'd wrought for Erno, which would survive for them long after his passing, even as it went for naught. Ilona, who had her brother's piercing light eyes, delivered a haunting, magisterial look of reproof. Arthur promised to be only a moment.

On the phone, the nurse had said Erno was feverish but usually lucid. His condition was complicated by the fact that his cancer had reached his bones and was causing great pain. At this point, the principal problem in his care was balancing the opiates against a respiratory system on the verge of collapse.

When Arthur entered, Erno was asleep and looked very much a man about to die. He'd lost more weight since his court appearance. The new round of chemo had killed off about half his hair, leaving little weedy patches here and there. Several IV's ran into his arms, an
d h
is nosepiece had now been replaced by a plastic oxygen mask that clouded with each shallow breath. Erno was also experiencing some kind of liver involvement. His skin was virtually the same color as a legal pad. Another yellow man, Arthur thought.

Pulling up a chair, he waited for Erno to awaken. In his mind, Arthur had tried out a hundred scenarios in the hopes that Erno would redeem his credibility, but Arthur hadn't seen yet how both Genevieve and Erno could be telling the truth. Muriel, who had called Arthur yesterday to remind him that she would oppose any further extensions in the time to respond to her motion, had a new theory about Ernos motive for lying.

'He's against the death penalty now,' she said. 'He fingered Rommy for execution and now he's gone through this big Catholic revival and won't die in mortal sin, so he's trying to prevent it the only way he can.' It was not very persuasive, but Arthur regarded it as an improvement over Muriel's earlier approach in that it didn't make Erno out to be a monster. In fact, as he sat here, Arthur felt quite a bit of tenderness toward Erdai. He could not fathom why at first, but as the minutes passed with the nurses' voices and the bells and beeps resounding from the hall, he realized that Erno looked a good deal like Harvey Raven had in his final days. The thought of his father and the valor of his supposedly ordinary existence as always filled Arthur with sentiment, but the chasm seemed less deep now that Gillian was in his life.

Returning to the present, he realized that Erno was staring at him through the horizontal bars of the bed rail. Arthur had been asked to wear a paper face mask and he pulled it down so Erdai could recognize him. Erno's disappointment was plain.

"Hoped you were. My nephew," Erno said. His voice had been whittled to a husk and he had no breath. Nonetheless, Erno smiled faintly at the recollection of Collins. "Coming tonight," he said. "Good boy. Turned out fine. Hard time. But fine. Beautiful kids." Erno closed his eyes, content with that thought.

Arthur gave him a second, then asked if Erno had heard about Genevieve. He nodded. Suddenly, after waiting weeks for this conversation, Arthur could not figure out the next question.

"Well, shit," he finally said, "is it true?"

"Course," whispered Erno. "Why I. Blamed Squirrel."

"Because you knew he'd threatened to kill Luisa?"

"Right." Eveiy effort at communication seemed to require a tautening of Erno's whole body, but he appeared to be tracking well. Erno was saying he'd pinned Luisa's murder on Squirrel in the first place because he'd known about the threat. Erno had killed Luisa for his own reasons, but Squirrel had made himself a scapegoat in advance.

"Told Larry. Subpoena Genevieve." Erno wiggled his chin side to side, chagrined by Larry's stupidity. "Should have figured this out. Ten years ago."

"The tickets, you mean?"

"Not tickets. Not good for me."

"Because you were head of security?"

Erno nodded and tossed his hand around. It was an involved story, apparently, but Arthur was close enough for the purposes of a man without breath to explain.

"Genevieve." He coughed weakly, swallowed, and closed his eyes to contend with pain that had arisen from somewhere. When he recovered, he seemed to have lost his place.

"Genevieve," said Arthur.

"Didn't think she knew. About tickets."

"Why?"

"Wouldn't have told me about Squirrel. Bad for her friend." Bad because of the peril to Luisa of getting caught for pilfering tickets. Thinking it over, Arthur realized Enro had been close to correct. Genevieve hadn't known about the ticket scam when she reported Rommy's threat. She learned of it only afterwards when Luisa had upbraided her for involving Erdai.

"Right," said Arthur. "So what was Larry supposed to figure out?"

"Luisa. Squirrel. Threat." Erno wove his fingers and tied all ten together. "The rest-" He whittled his face in the air again, to indicate it wouldn't matter. The most likely conclusion, if Genevieve had reported only Rommy's threat to Larry, was that crazy Squirrel had been disappointed in love. It would do fine for a motive.

"Christ, Erno. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Complicated." Erno waited out some kind of spasm. "Ba
d f
or Squirrel." He was right about that, too. A story that started with Squirrel threatening to kill Luisa would never have gotten much further. Yet even accepting the good intentions, Arthur could feel his heart falling, for it was clear how conniving Erno had been with the truth.

In pain or reverie, Ernos eyes were still. The full measure of his illness showed there-a web of veins, sallow streaks, a glassy thickening. His lashes were gone and the lids looked inflamed.

"Me too," he said suddenly.

"You too what?" asked Arthur. "It would have been bad for you, too?"

Erno reached up in time to catch a cough, but nodded as he shook.

"Why?" Arthur asked. "Why would it be bad for you?"

"Tickets," said Erno. "Stole tickets, too." "You did?"

Erno nodded again.

"Hell, why would you do that, Erno?"

He gave his hand a disgusted little toss and looked toward the ceil- ing.

"Stupid," he said. "Needed money. Family problems. Was two years before."

"Before Luisa was doing it?"

"Right. Stopped. But afraid."

"You were afraid?"

"Catch her, catch me." Erno stopped to breathe. "Why I went to restaurant. Stop her. Fought. Gus came with gun." Erno closed his eyes. The rest did not bear repeating.

"So there was never an affair?"

Erno smiled thinly at the notion.

"Jesus Christ," said Arthur. His voice was too loud, but he was suddenly desperate. He had the feeling that often overcame him when things went disastrously wrong, that he was deeply at fault, and that as a consequence he would have liked nothing more than to escape his own skin, shirk it, even peel it off if that was necessary. "Jesus, Erno. Why didn't you say this?"