The Caterpillar King (14 page)

“I can see in the dark, you know,” said the
dragon.

And that was the end of my second
attempt.

It’s not easy falling asleep when your
life’s in danger, but somehow I managed a couple hours. I even had
a great dream, where someone was tickling my face. Then I woke up
and saw a big, fluffy bumblebee resting right on the tip of my
nose.

“Aaaahh!” I jumped up and started running in
circles. I also might’ve screamed in a slightly feminine way. I
wasn’t too scared of bugs (especially after hanging out with Tika
for so long). But I’ll admit it, something about bees always gets
me.

After I calmed down, I heard the dragon
laughing at me.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Your face…I wish you
could’ve seen your face.”

He couldn’t stop laughing. But
I
didn’t think it was so funny.

“How does a bee get in here, anyway?” I
said.

The dragon nodded towards the skylight.

“It’s cracked,” he said. “All kinds of
things can get in.”

“That’s just great,” I said.

No sooner had I spoken, than the bee buzzed
right by me a second time. Again, I shrieked and swung at the air
all around me. It probably wasn’t the smartest move. But the dragon
was
loving
it.

“This is the best,” he said. “This is the
greatest day of my life.”

He roared with laughter. His laugh was so
powerful that it pulled him back up on his hind legs, and then he
crashed back down to the ground. The next time he reared back, I
noticed an empty space underneath him, and what looked like a
staircase leading underground. Maybe I couldn’t get around him, but
I
could
get underneath him, if I timed it just right.

The bee had already flown away, but I kept
shouting and running. Only now, I ran right at the dragon. I waved
my hands in front of my face.

“Get off! Get off! It’s following me!” I
screamed.

The dragon laughed and kicked up again. He
came back down a second later. I was only a few feet away.

“I THINK IT WENT UP MY NOSE!” I said.

That really did it. The dragon reared back
and laughed so hard that fire shot out of his mouth. I dove
headfirst down the stairway in front of me. My body skidded down a
few steps, and the gold coins bounded down the stone. A moment
later, the dragon crashed back down on top of the hidden staircase,
and everything went dark.

Once my eyes adjusted, I saw the gold coins
just a few steps away. I picked them up and carried them with me,
lighting my way. At the bottom of the staircase, there was a wooden
door with a wooden handle. I turned the knob, and it opened, no
trouble at all.

Inside, I saw the exact same room from my
one and only memory. This time, it was in color. All around the
room, there were tables with cards and dice and old-looking coins
on them. Off to the side, there were a couple roulette wheels. From
the looks of it, somebody had quite the gambling problem.

In the center, there was the huge, flowing
blanket. The blanket happened to be white, though. Behind the
blanket, a woman sat in a chair. She had the same wrinkled hands
and the same necklace, and I could finally see her face, which was
actually very beautiful…

“Mom?” I said.

“Come here,” she said. Her voice sounded
nice and soft, and it pulled me right in. For a moment, I even
thought about giving her a hug.

“You’re tired,” she said. “Lie down.” She
pointed to the huge blanket. After a few weeks of sleeping on stone
floors and dirt, I wasn’t about to argue. I lay down right in the
middle of the blanket. It was the softest feeling in the world. By
the time my head touched the comforter, I was nearly asleep.

“Good,” she said. “Now here you go.” She
wrapped the blanket around me, so it covered my whole body, just
like a cocoon. Then, with the last fold, she covered my face. It
was dark, but it felt great. I was happy to be wrapped tight and
warm. I lost track of all my worries, and I slept for a very long
time.

When I woke up, it was still dark. I moved
my arms and legs, and I figured out pretty quickly that I wasn’t in
the blanket anymore. Instead, I was on a cold dirt ground. I felt
my way around, and found a wall. I tried to find for an exit, but
the curved wall was solid on every side. Then I looked up, and saw
a circular light. The light grew brighter, and I could make out my
surroundings.

Once again, I was at the bottom of a very
deep ditch. But this time, I was completely alone.

17.

The boy swells like a tumor. Most apparent
victim is Galla. She plays the role of host rather well- for every
ounce Tate gains, she loses one. Would call it a parasitic
relationship, if not for the fact that it’s mutually beneficial.
Galla looks better than she has in years. Same can’t be said for
me, sadly. Don’t remember the last time I felt rested. A handful of
weeks have blurred by in a disturbing haze. If time were a
structure, it has now collapsed. The architecture was shoddy to
begin with.

Only decent news: I’ve got a meeting with a
client today. Just happens to be the very lovely Ms. Sabonne.
Phoned her the minute Tate came up with a decent product on frosted
glass. She told me she was “intrigued.” What a word. Full of
mystery, sensuality. Asked me to meet her at some horrid-sounding
café. Not hard to read between the lines. Businessmen meet for
lunch, lovers meet for coffee. Don’t mind if I do.

Now, pass Galla and Tate in the den. They’re
in the midst of some idiotic hand-slapping game. Galla hasn’t been
to work since the birth. Claimed she was severely ill, and got on
leave. They believed her, because who wouldn’t believe their own
daughter?

“How’s the illness?” I ask her.

She pauses. “He’s doing quite well,” she
says. “Best of luck today. She’ll love it, I’m sure.”

Stand there for a moment, stunned. Was that
actual kindness on Galla’s part? Seemed oddly like it. World gets
more confusing every day. I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes. No
time for distractions.

Been keeping the glass in the freezer to
finish it off. Take it out, then set it inside a cardboard box.
Into the car it goes, with utmost care. Head out for the café.
First time leaving the house in days. Feel like an animal escaping
his cage. Windows down, sun shining, the afternoon destined for
perfection. Till I run into a jammed road, that is. Row of cars
roughly a hundred deep. Overpowering smell of petrol, windows back
up. Minutes flick by a bit faster than usual, realize I might run
late. Dare I call Sabonne? Consider it, but then the cars come
unglued. There’s hope yet.

Road clears up after a messy intersection,
floor it. Arrive at the café a solid two minutes early. Leave the
art in the car- don’t want to show my hand too soon. Scan the
crowd, but no sign of a lovely blonde. Sit down at an outdoor
table, order a pair of Chai teas. All that’s left is to wait for
the angel.

Fifteen minutes pass. Tea comes but she
doesn’t. A gaggle of hideous women stroll by; I briefly consider
homosexuality. Fifteen minutes turn to thirty. The tea goes cold.
Give Sabonne a ring, she doesn’t answer. The message is fairly
clear. Should never have gotten my hopes up. Leave the money and
the two teas. Starting to wonder if this’ll become a pattern.

Take the long way home. Feeling slightly
downcast, to be honest. I’d pinned my future on Sabonne, it all
seemed so
possible
…and then, inevitably, disappointment.
Truth was, she’d been showing me professional courtesy, nothing
more. Have to wonder if the artwork’s even any good. Pull over to
the side of the road, just to check. Open the trunk, unbox the
tableau. Another self-portrait. In this one, Tate’s depicted the
earplug scene with stunning accuracy. The simplicity of it astounds
me. Only seven lines or so, but each is suggestive of much more.
Yes, yes it
is
good. Can’t believe I ever doubted the boy.
But now, no idea where to find a wealthy matron. No idea where to
start.

Come back home defeated. Walk inside and am
greeted by what can only be a dream. Galla and Tate sit at the
dining room table. In the center, a dazzling array of foods.
Galla’s wearing makeup and a fine chiffon blouse. Tate’s few hairs
are combed, and he’s even got on some kind of robe. What madness is
this? A trick? A trap? A last meal before my execution?

“Welcome home,” says Galla. “Join us.”

Follow her instructions mechanically. Feel
like I’ve entered some alternate universe where life is…decent.
Complete nonsense.

“Are you hungry, dear?” she asks.

“It’s half three,” I say. “No one eats at
half three.”

“Don’t worry about everyone else,” she says.
“Are
you
hungry?”

“Suppose so,” I say.

“Good.” She passes me a plate with a
mountain of glazed ham. “Now eat.”

She wants something from me. She absolutely,
without a doubt, wants something from me. That or she’s fattening
me up for slaughter. Decide to push these questions to the back of
my mind. The ham’s just too good.

“Delicious. Where’d you order in from?” I
say.

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “I cooked.”

Stare her down, wait for her to break
character. She just gives me a playful grin and piles
haricots
verts
onto her plate.

“You’re a fan of vegetables now, are
you?”

“More for Tate than for me,” she says.
“Important to keep him healthy.”

Entire meal continues in this bizarre
fashion. Keep waiting for her to end the charade, lift the
tablecloth, and dump a week’s worth of food in my lap. But she
never does. No sarcasm, no bitterness, just pleasantries and
smiles. Even Tate’s in on the act. Boy hasn’t expelled any fluids
since we’ve sat down. It all feels so very wrong.

“By the way,” says Galla, “How’d your
meeting go?”

Nearly choke on my pudding.

“Meeting?” I parrot dumbly.

“Oh, don’t be so humble,” she says. “Tell me
about…how should I put it? Your
business venture
.”

Galla conveying genuine interest. Strange.
Next moment, she reaches over and places a hand on top of mine, a
gesture that’s utterly foreign. Is this an attempt at
affection?

“Meeting had its moments,” I say. Crack a
thin smile. “Managed to sell the piece. And got another two
commissioned.”

Galla squeezes my hand and gasps.

“I
knew
she’d love it,” she says.

Tate gets caught in the excitement, starts
applauding the news, too. Wonder if he can see through the veneer.
No Galla, it’s not my work, and no Galla, it didn’t sell. Lies
stacked on lies, and for what? Galla’s hand is warm and her smile’s
bright. From the looks of it, I’ve told her exactly what she wanted
to hear. Perhaps that’s its own end.

***

Next day, Galla pesters me about my art and
my meetings till I finally divulge details. Next imaginary project
should be done in two days. Next imaginary meeting’ll take place
that night. Sabonne again? she asks. Of course Sabonne again, I
say. In the art world, once you find a matron, you stick with ‘em.
It’d be disrespectful to jump ship the moment one’s tasted a little
success. Galla eats it up.

Spend the next couple days sitting in the
bathroom pretending to work. Even get the steam going for the full
effect. Sometimes bring Tate in with me, sometimes not. Figure he
can use the big mirror as a kind of sketchbook, before he completes
his final work on the smaller panes. But even Tate seems to be
running out of subject matter. A lot of useless squiggles and not
much more. Consider dropping him on the floor again, just to give
him something else to paint.

Day of meeting comes, along with an endless
torrent of questions from Galla. Meaning an endless torrent of lies
from me
.
Will you be going to the same café?
No,
she’s on the other side of town, we’ll meet at her office.
How
long will it be?
Don’t expect me back any time soon.
And
remind me, when’s all this planned for?
First thing in the
evening….oh look, just got a message. Sabonne wants to meet as soon
as possible. Hate to leave darling, but duty calls. And with that,
I’m out the door.

Hours to kill and nowhere to go. Should be a
thrilling prospect, but circumstances make it mildly depressing.
Can’t help but think I
should
be selling my art right now, I
should
be charming a lovely minx…instead, I’ve made twelve
left turns in a row. In desperate need of a destination. Realize
I’m only a stone’s throw from Whiteline Park. Remember it as a
place where women in revealing outfits take small dogs for walks.
Head that way posthaste.

Arrive, doesn’t take long to see subtle
changes. Now, men in revealing outfits take small dogs for walks.
Sit down on an ornate bench and wait to be propositioned. Dancer
and Prancer and Comet all pass, all flamboyant, all without a word.
Quite deflating for one’s confidence. Not that I would’ve agreed to
it. But it’s still nice to be acknowledged.

Get up and follow the white line. Walk till
my feet hurt and walk some more. Park looks so much nicer than
before. Tasteful landscaping, classically-inspired sculptures, a
gazebo here, a cottage there. Chance upon the old cave. Nearly
forgot about this place. Legend says it’s haunted, and that one can
hear strange noises coming from inside. Think there’s a much
simpler explanation than ghosts. Nevertheless, decide it’s best to
avoid entry.

Take an awkward step on the side of the
path, and my foot goes through the ground without any resistance.
Nearly break my ankle. Yelp in pain, have five concerned men
tending to me in no time. So that’s what it takes. Shoo them all
away, assure them I’m fine, etc. They leave, I manage to extricate
myself. Peer down at the false floor and feel a surge of anger.
Some days, the world’s against you.