The Bones of Old Carlisle (30 page)

Tamani blinked and rested her forehead on her hand. “It keeps
happening,” she said. “It wants me to not forget, but then I can’t
remember.”

“Well, bitch, why don’t you remember somewhere else?” Danielle
suggested. “I’m so sick of your goddamned act. I want you gone. Gone!”
Arrowroot knew there was nothing to be said or done. Danielle had
put herself in that place where people go that nothing can free them
from, except time. Not logic, nor truth, not love, only the ticking of
the clock. He’d been there himself, far too often. It was liquor that
did it to him most of the time. It happened when he found Robert’s
body, too. But Danielle had a natural born mean streak. Got it from
her great grandmother, most likely. Or maybe her grandmother.
“You really kicking her out?” Arrowroot asked his daughter.
“Like, right now?”
“Yes!” Danielle screamed, and she made fists and hunched her back
to add, “Now!”
Arrowroot’s brain had recovered just enough processing power to
work through the situation before him. “So, you got a place to stay?”
he asked Tamani.
“Outside,” she said.
“No friends you can bunk with for a night or two?” Arrowroot
asked.
“No,” Tamani said.
“Okay, bring your things to the truck,” Arrowroot said. “We’ll
find you a place.”
“She doesn’t have any things,” Danielle said, her voice subdued
but icy cold. “Except that fucking wedding dress. And that’s still at
your place. The shirt’s mine too. But keep it. Keep it! So I don’t
have to see your ugly naked body.”
“Let’s just go,” Arrowroot said. “Danielle, I’ll see you soon.”
Danielle snorted in disgust as Tamani quickly exited the
apartment, her face expressing no emotion. If it was bothering her to
get evicted by the woman who a few minutes before had been her best
friend, she didn’t show it. Arrowroot passed through the door after
Tamani, stopped, realized something and turned.
“So that’s all she was to you, eh?” he whispered to Danielle.
“Just someone to kill someone else on your behalf? Is that why you let
her have Guillaume?”
Arrowroot looked into his daughter’s eyes. There was rage and
hate there but also the shadow of an attempt to assess what he had
just said. Then her eyes hardened and she said “fuck” and he closed
the door.
As they reached Arrowroot’s truck, Danielle opened her window and
berated them from above. “So where you goin’, bitch?” she shouted.
“Gonna stay with Daddy? Daaaady? I was right about you all along. All
along!”
She kept shouting, but Arrowroot started his truck and the engine
drowned her out.
He sighed and eased his truck out of the apartment parking lot,
and for a time he and Tamani drove in silence.
“What did you remember back there?” Arrowroot said at last.
“Seemed like something came to you.”
“What Danielle was saying,” Tamani said. “It reminded me of the
words of someone else.”
“What part?” Arrowroot asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tamani replied.
“So can you tell me what happened, uh, before I banged on the
door?” Arrowroot asked. “Unless it’s personal, of course. But Danielle
really set you folks up. For mayhem.”
“Danielle is lost right now,” Tamani said. “Because of what
happened to Robert. Aaron made some noise, I woke up and we talked
about what had happened. He thought it was scary but sort of funny
too.”
“He wouldn’ta thought it was funny if he’d seen you toss that
fellow into the Mittelkopp,” Arrowroot observed.
“Oh,” Tamani said, sounding embarrassed, and Arrowroot imagined
she would handle the situation with Ms. Homans and Mr. Franklin
differently now.
“Okay, two choices,” Arrowroot said, nearing one of the main
streets through Traxie. “I can drop you off a hotel or let you sleep
at my place.”
“Your place,” Tamani said quickly. Arrowroot, pleased with her
answer but not wanting to show it, turned right toward High Heligaux.
“Are you at all upset?” he asked. “About what happened with
Danielle?”
“I have learned not to let certain things bother me,” she
replied. “Troubled people is one of them.”
“That’s quite a thing to learn,” Arrowroot said. “At your age. At
any age.”
“How old do you think I am?” Tamani asked.
“I never guess that kind of thing about a woman,” Arrowroot said.
“You tell me.”
“Three weeks,” she said.
“Hmm,” Arrowroot replied. “How do you arrive at that figure?”
She looked out her window for a time, and then she spoke. “I’ve
been reading the crystals,” she said. “The translation of the
crystals, on the website. It’s easier to read those than what was on
the paper Art gave me. I mean, it hurts less. And I think it’s true.”
“So what were you before you were human?” Arrowroot asked. He’d
been wavering all day in his beliefs – about the crystals, about Mr.
Smiley, about many things. He’d believed earlier in otherworldly
things, but right now he was doubtful again, so he wasn’t sure whether
he was merely humoring Tamani or discovering the truth.
“I was something else,” she said. “A different creature. I don’t
remember that as well. I see it in my dreams, but it’s becoming less
clear.”
“So you lived on another planet, huh?” Arrowroot said, trying to
sound both supportive and reasonably skeptical. “You wanna go back?”
“No,” she said.
“Then what do you see as your purpose here?” he asked.
“What do you see as
your
purpose here?” she asked him.
Arrowroot laughed. “Do I need a purpose?”
“Do I?” she asked back.
Arrowroot realized he was treading on thin ice. Maybe Tamani was,
technically, three weeks old. Maybe her spirit or essence or
personality or whatever had been transferred to human form in orbit
around the earth, after which she’d crash-landed, witnessed a bunch of
horror and finally wandered off in a wedding dress. But she was human
now, not any less – nor more – than the rest of humanity. You can’t
treat people differently, he told himself, regardless of gender or
race or wealth or creed. Or cosmic origin either, probably.
“No one needs a purpose,” he said cautiously. “But it’s better if
you have one, or several even. It’s just that, you know, here’s why I
asked that. You said early on you were doing a survey. A survey of
earth. Would it be fair to call that your purpose still? Or have you
moved on to other, uh, pursuits?”
“I’m still a surveyor,” Tamani said.
“So, you found out anything interesting?” Arrowroot asked.
“Yes,” Tamani said simply.
The streets of High Heligaux were quiet tonight. Arrowroot was
watching for anything peculiar, but particularly robot roaches. He saw
none, nor anything else strange, as he cleared the last few blocks
before his home.
He gave Tamani a good 30 seconds to elaborate on her answer, and
when it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen, he spoke again.
“So,” he began, pulling the truck into his driveway, “what’d you
find out?”
Arrowroot’s neighbor was burning their outdoor light, a pale glow
passing through the bushes, and Tamani was a shadow against it. She
touched her face with one hand, and then she touched her hand with her
other hand. “Everything hurts,” she said.
Arrowroot cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said. “Is that it?”
“But you don’t stop,” Tamani said. “The pain doesn’t make you
stop. It should, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t make me stop. No one in
the universe hurts this much, no one is stronger than you are. Than
people are. Than we. But no one is happier, too. Sometimes. There are
so many happinesses.”
“Fair enough,” Arrowroot said, opening the truck door.
Done with her report, apparently, Tamani exited the truck as well
and walked barefoot after Arrowroot to the front porch.
“Home sweet home,” he said, throwing open the door. “Been a long
day.”
He stepped back to let her cross the threshold first, studying
her legs until she turned. “Hey, I got an idea,” he said. “Go find
some clothes in Danielle’s room and let’s go pick up a little
something to drink. Store’s right around the corner.”
“No,” Tamani said. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Maybe just a couple of beers?” Arrowroot persisted. “You like
beer, don’t you?”
“Beer is a happiness,” she said. “And a sorrow. It’s pain for
you. Danielle told me.”
“Well, damn,” Arrowroot said. “You haven’t learned to, uh, mince
words yet, have you?”
For a moment, they stared at each other, and Tamani looked like
she was waiting for him to say something. To argue about drinking? To
return to the conversation about happiness and the brain? Or did she
want him to proposition her?
They were standing in his living room, the room he had built up
with sincere affection from its cherry floor to its tin ceiling. The
room where Tamani had broken an untold number of Federal and local
laws by attacking those responsible for enforcing both. Now he was
hosting her – harboring might be a better word – and he was about to
propose they make love.
He considered many words, as well as wordlessly walking up to
Tamani and kissing her. But something wasn’t right, with him or with
her or with the way of the world, and the thing he actually said came
out as a surprise to him.
“So, tell me,” he began haltingly. “You know about those things
that eat people, right? You remember all that?”
“Yes,” Tamani said.
“Any idea how to turn them off?” Arrowroot asked.
“No,” she said. “One of the other surveyors knew, but he died.”
“Drune?” Arrowroot asked.
“Yes,” she said, and she winced, her eyes closing and her mouth
going tight, as if hearing the name hurt.
“Do you remember anything about how he did it?” he asked.
“He used the equipment of the survey,” Tamani replied. “I’m not
sure how he did it. And the equipment’s gone.”
Tamani, still standing in the living room in nothing but
Danielle’s nightshirt, looked at Arrowroot sharply, as if she was
sensing his thoughts.
“I loved Drune,” she said. “I remembered it after I read the
words from the crystal. I think he’s the only person I could ever
love. I tried with other people but I won’t any more. It wasn’t a
happiness.”
Her meaning was clear to Arrowroot, and he shifted on his feet
but made no other physical sign of the frustration building up within
him. She’d walked naked through his bedroom, and he’d done nothing
except told her to get dressed. Now here she was, standing before him
in a nightshirt, alone with him in his home, and it was too late.
Of course, Drune was dead. Eventually, Arrowroot knew, pining for
a dead man was going to get old. But probably not tonight. But then,
she preferred younger men, if Danielle was to be believed.
“Any idea how he died?” Arrowroot asked, and he realized he was
clenching his fists and they were starting to hurt, so he shook them
out and braced himself against a table.
“No,” she said. “I think I saw everyone die, but I only remember
the deaths after I read about them. Drune, and the others, I don’t
know.”
“Art promised to translate that other crystal overnight,”
Arrowroot said. “Think it might be on there?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and she looked down and her voice
broke. “I don’t want to read it.”
Arrowroot paused, and then he spoke again. “Something else I’ve
been wanting to ask you about.”
“Yes?”
“That morning when you slept here,” he began. “You were looking
out my window, then you yelled. What was all that about?”
He already believed he knew the answer, but he wanted Tamani to
confirm it. She squinted at him, perhaps surprised by the question, or
made suspicious by it.
“It was Mr. Smiley,” she said. “The one they arrested. Falling
from the sky.”

Karl Arrowroot learned long ago to keep the barking dogs of fear
and uncertainty at bay when his head hit the pillow. So he didn’t let
himself ponder roach robots, or Tamani in his daughter’s nightshirt
sleeping down the hall, or what exactly she had seen from his bedroom
window as Mr. Smiley descended to the Carlisle estate.

He had convinced himself that the date with Dr. Schaumberg had
been a complete disaster, but his mind turned to her as he closed his
eyes that night. Maybe she’d let him take her out again, for a proper
date. Surely she could excuse his behavior, given all he’d been
through. He wanted to kiss her again.

As he’d been doing lately, he woke up early the next morning, the
house silent, nor anything stirring outside.
His first thought was that he wished he and Tamani had made love
the night before, and he half expected to find her at his window
again, naked like the last time. She wasn’t there, of course. His
second thought was that he was glad he wasn’t waking up hungover. His
third thought was that if the roach robots had eaten anyone else
overnight, his life was about to go to hell. Worse than it already
had, that is.
Arrowroot got up and looked in on Tamani first, sleeping in
Robert’s room, in Robert’s bed. She’d left the door wide open, and it
occurred to him that there were certain things that frightened her,
and some things she had no fear of because she had never been hurt in
certain ways nor witnessed it happening to anyone else. If the story
she had concocted with Danielle’s help were true – if she had grown up
on the streets of Paris – she would never sleep with an open door. Nor
would she if she’d spent much time in a college dormitory. Until she’d
spent considerable time living as weak, vulnerable humans do, she had
nothing to say about happiness, or any other aspect of the human
condition, Arrowroot assured himself. Same for Mr. Smiley.
It was a little after 6 a.m., still too dark to see her, but he
could hear her breathing, low and steady at first, and then suddenly
rushed. The floor creaked under his feet and she cried out, something
unintelligible. Arrowroot quickly backed up and she was silent, and as
he went downstairs, he played the sounds of her voice in his head
several times in the hopes of deciphering what she’d said, realizing
with a start her words sounded like the language Mr. Smiley sometimes
spoke.
Arrowroot made a quick breakfast and brought it to his computer.
True to his word, Art had scanned the second crystal, and it had all
been translated. Someone had devised software to do most of the
translation work instantly, apparently, and then others had gone
through it and cleaned it up overnight. The project was done.
Arrowroot skipped to the end and read backwards. He didn’t care
about the philosophy or the science fiction or whatever. He wanted to
know what had killed Mr. Smiley’s colleague.
Eventually, he settled on a section toward the end of the
narrative, featuring the final events of Tamani’s story, the things
that happened just minutes before she left the Carlisle house, met the
soldier and took his gun. These were the last moments before Arrowroot
heard her voice on the police scanner.
As he read, Arrowroot knew that the story was entirely
impossible, less likely than anything that had come before. But if it
were true, it answered a great many questions – about the survey, the
roach robots, who killed the rest of the surveyors, what happened to
their bodies, and who killed the man in the kitchen.
Arrowroot heard his phone vibrating in the living room and, with
a sick feeling, ran to answer it. It was Chief Hatfield.
“Floyd, what happened?” Arrowroot demanded.
“Damn, did I wake you?” Hatfield asked, apparently startled to
get a live voice.
“Been up awhile,” Arrowroot said. “Happens when you stop
drinking. Haven’t touched a drop in more than three weeks, you know.
Since the night before we had breakfast at Bernardo’s. Remember that?
Now, who’d those damn roach robots kill this time?”
“No one, I don’t think,” Hatfield replied. “They ate two of those
cows, though. One in Traxie, one closer to First Acre.”
“Two?” Arrowroot inquired. “Must be getting hungrier. That’s not
good news at all. But that gives us all day, and we’ve got more clues
to work with now.”
“What clues?” Hatfield asked, an edge of suspicion in his voice.
“Just that book people been translating,” Arrowroot said. “It’s
done now. Quite a story, over all. I sent you the link yesterday, give
it a read.”
“I’m not gonna have time to read it,” Hatfield said. “Not today.
And I’m not clear on the relevance anyway.”
“Maybe it’s relevant, maybe it isn’t,” Arrowroot said. “I’m still
digesting it all. And some things don’t add up, but I can’t put my
finger on it. Gonna keep studying on it.”
“Okay, let me know if you have something I can work with,”
Hatfield said. “We can’t keep dropping cow carcasses every afternoon.”
“Understood,” Arrowroot said. “But if we have to give those
machines another round on the house, leave the damned heads on this
time, okay?”
“Will do,” Hatfield replied.
“Hey, by the way,” Arrowroot said, “I made it out to Little
Chihuahua last night, someone there told me they lost two dogs in
First Acre. Eyes gone, the whole mess. No idea if that’s a clue or
just some local weirdness, but trying to be helpful.”
“You get a name or anything?” Hatfield asked.
“God no,” Arrowroot replied. “Older guy, big family, illegal as
hell I’m sure. If I send you to him, you’re gonna ship him back to
Mexico.”
“Since when did you care about not deporting illegals?” Hatfield
asked.
“I don’t know,” Arrowroot said, and he paused for a moment,
reflecting. “They were nice people, that’s all.” He hung up and
returned to his computer to read through the final scene of the
narrative again. Shocked, saddened, but still convinced he was missing
something, he printed it out and set it on his desk.
He’d be going back to City Hall, he decided, come what may. He
went upstairs to take a shower, and by 7:30, he was dressed and ready
to head out the door.
“Hey, Othercat,” he said to the purring white lump at the foot of
his bed. “You be nice to Tamani, she’s been through hell. Through
absolute hell. No wonder she forgot everything.”
He left a note for her on the kitchen counter that told her where
he was, that she should make herself at home and he’d be home around
lunchtime to check on her. He wondered how long she’d stay, and if
there would eventually be romance with her. But in the clear light of
a beautiful May morning, that seemed even less likely than it had the
night before. Less advisable too, of course, for a variety of reasons.
Arrowroot left his truck in the driveway, warmed up his
convertible and put the top down. If this day was going to mark the
beginning of the end of his professional career – and his last shred
of happiness, for that matter – he was going to enjoy it.
On the way to City Hall, he swung by National Microscopy. No car
out front, he noted. The long-haired proprietor was still asleep, most
likely. Art would probably never know the role he had played in
unraveling what might be the strangest case of intragalaxial intrigue
in the history of the universe. Perhaps the first case. Perhaps the
only case. At this moment in time, he told himself, the unique
knowledge of one Karl Arrowroot, human being, might be the most
profound awareness possessed by any living thing in the universe. And
yet, he noted, it felt entirely normal. His phone rang.
“Good morning,” Arrowroot answered.
“Mr. Arrowroot, this is Ms. Mixson,” said a female voice.
“Of course, Cecilia, I was expecting to hear from you,” he said.
“My client has been cleared of all charges and he’s been moved to
a group home,” Mixson said. “On M Path. And he wants to speak to you.”
“I’m headed to City Hall,” Arrowroot said. “Have him call me
again.”
“Again?” Mixson said.
“Oh, he’s been calling me, bustin’ into my office, you name it,”
Arrowroot said. “Go ahead and sue me, I don’t care. Sounds like you
got him off, congratulations.”
Mixson was silent for a moment, possibly due to rage, or just
bewilderment, but she finally found her voice. “He doesn’t have phone
privileges at his new residence yet,” Mixson said. “He needs you to
visit in person.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Mixson,” Arrowroot said calmly, “I’ve
got better things to do than babysit your client – and I use that term
loosely. I got all kinda hell breakin’ loose everywhere, and he can’t
help me with any of it, told me so himself.”
“What did he tell you?” Mixson asked. For the first time, she
sounded merely curious and not combative, so he offered an edited
version of what he knew, that Smiley claimed to be an extremely
intelligent visitor from another planet and that he just wanted to go
home but his communication equipment wasn’t working for some reason.
“That’s his story, take it or leave it,” Arrowroot said. Mixson
was silent, so he continued, “Chances are, if I meet up with him, he’s
got one objective, and that’s to leave. Get outa Heligaux, at least,
if not blast off the whole damned planet.”
Mixson came to life with those last words. “If he disappears
under your care, you will be held fully responsible,” she said, the
hard edges of her voice back in full force.
“He ain’t never gonna be under my care,” Arrowroot shot back.
“What, you think I’m gonna take him to a baseball game?”
Mixson was silent, and Arrowroot was once again unable to
determine if it was due to rage or confusion or something else. “Tell
you what,” he said. “I’ll swing by at lunch maybe, toss him a donut or
some chili or something, God knows what they feed people at a group
home.”
Only the railroad tracks stood between Arrowroot and downtown,
and the gate dropped just as he approached. Probably gonna stop and
back up again, he muttered, turning off his convertible and counting
the cars of the train as they thundered by.
With no windows or roof to muffle the sound, his senses were
overwhelmed with the rush and might before him.
He had counted to car 37 when it hit him – when the last few
missing pieces of the puzzle came into focus. Yes, that explained just
about everything, he said to himself. The death, the disappearance,
the roach robots, Mr. Smiley and what had happened to him after he got
to the Carlisle’s. That’s the answer, he thought, and yes, that’s the
solution to some serious problems.
Outwardly, Karl Arrowroot betrayed no emotion, no hint that he’d
solved the rest of the mystery, but as soon as the train was gone and
the gates lifted, he sped over the tracks, turned right and headed for
M Path.
The group home was on a quiet street between L Way and O Trail,
formerly a mid-sized brick ranch but converted to non-profit use
perhaps a decade ago.
Arrowroot parked under an ancient oak and nearly ran to the front
door of the establishment. “I’m here to see Nebuchadnezzar Smiley,” he
said to the receptionist. “I’m Karl Arrowroot. I believe he sent for
me.”
The man handed Arrowroot a form to fill out, and he decided not
to argue about its necessity. He quickly scribbled in his name,
address, date, how he knew the resident and why he was visiting.
Knowing that such forms were rarely read, he considered being honest
for the last two questions, but thought better of it. He set the
completed form and the pen down on the counter, and his hand was
shaking, so the pen went “tap tap tap tap tap.”
“Karl,” Smiley said when he appeared at the door behind the
reception desk. And for the first time, the strange man who said he
was from another planet smiled in a way that was human.
He was wearing what appeared to be second-hand clothing – a worn
pair of jeans and a white oxford shirt, with a t-shirt underneath. On
his head sat the military cap Dr. Schaumberg had given him.
A tall, skinny, frail-looking woman with golden hair followed
Smiley out to greet Arrowroot.
“We usually don’t let residents leave on their first day here,”
she said without introducing herself. “You’ll check him back in at
two?”
Arrowroot opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to tell Smiley
what he’d learned. He had no intention of leaving with him, at least
not until later in the day, after he’d had a chance to work on his
theory a little further. But Smiley put his hand on Arrowroot’s
shoulder and shouted “Karl!” and Arrowroot began to see the wisdom of
talking to Smiley in a more private setting.
“Now, Nebby, here’s your lunch,” the woman said, handing
Arrowroot a small brown bag with pictures of a cat and a dog on it.
“You do what Mr., uh, what Mr. Arrowroot says, and we’ll see you back
here at two o’clock. Okay?”
Smiley nodded and looked at Arrowroot, and the two of them shared
an expression that might be called conspiratorial.
“So now you got everyone calling you Nebby, eh?” Arrowroot asked
as he pulled away from the group home. “I made up your whole name,
boy.”
“Can you take me to your computer?” Smiley asked.
“I think I can do you one better,” Arrowroot replied. “I believe
I’ve figured this whole damned thing out. The whole damned thing. I’ve
got some reading to share with you.”
“I can’t read,” Smiley said.
“They don’t have writing where you’re from?” Arrowroot asked.
“I can’t read your language,” Smiley said. “I can read others.”
“Well, you can sure as hell speak it,” Arrowroot said.
“I don’t know your language either,” Smiley said. “It’s all being
translated for me.”
“How the hell you doin’ that?” Arrowroot demanded.
Smiley pointed to a place over his left ear, then to both sides
of his lower jaw. “Technology,” he said.
Arrowroot stopped for a traffic light, grabbed his phone and
dialed. “Floyd, you never guess who’s ridin’ through town with me,” he
said. “Nebby Smiley. In the flesh. Goin’ to my place, gonna talk about
how we fix all the shit that’s been goin’ on. Why don’t you meet us
there?” Arrowroot paused. “That’s what I’m telling you. I’ve figured
everything out. Come on over, I’ll tell you all about it.”
As soon as Arrowroot hung up, his phone rang again.
“Mr. Arrowroot, it’s Cecilia,” Mixson said coldly. “I understand
you’ve taken Mr. Smiley.”
“That’s right, Cecilia, he’s in my car right now, ain’t you
Nebby?” Arrowroot replied. “We’re going to my house. You know where I
live? On Nander Lane?”
“I do,” Mixson said.
“Okay, meet us there, will be good to see ya,” Arrowroot said.
Arrowroot hung up and turned to Smiley. “You like ridin’ in a
convertible?”
Smiley took off his hat and looked up. “I’m happy,” he said. “I’m
happy in a way I haven’t been in more than a thousand years.”
“Damn, boy, how old are you?” Arrowroot asked, looking at the
man. Smiley appeared to be in his mid to late 20s. He said nothing.
“Okay,” Arrowroot began, “if things work out the way I think they
might, this is probably gonna be the last chance I get to talk to you.
So out with it. What’s life all about?”