The Last Darling (4 page)

On his release, he would form a small church that would grow into a televangelistic conglomerate stretching across the globe. His sermons would be translated into eight different languages and his books would go on to sell millions of copies. At the age of forty-seven he would confront his would-be father, the bishop, only to discover that the bishop was born with a genetic defect making it impossible for him to have children. The news would be devastating and the once young bank robber would spend the rest of his life, a meager five years, in a state of confusion and doubt, not preaching a single word up to his death.

His four brothers, after escaping with the money, took their mother and fled to Europe. Their fortune was large enough to completely restore their mother’s beauty, but when she discovered how they acquired their wealth, she refused every operation they offered. With little else to do, they invested almost everything they had into a French vineyard and spent the rest of their days making and selling wine. They refused to learn the language and instead hired a permanent translator to live and work with them. The translator was an old man known for his subtle kindness and large bulbous nose. He was blind in one eye after a tenuous bar fight and walked with a limp due to an almost deadly case of frostbite. His many misadventures had given him a calm and wonderfully quiet demeanor. He fell in love with the grotesque woman and, eventually, he not only shared a roof with her, but also a bed. They never married, but also never parted, dying on the same day and only moments apart.

Clover and Francis would never learn of these events, and in fact, the bank robbery would have little effect on their financial and emotional outlook for
The Five Desperados
had failed to inspect, or even notice, the two pillowcases slung over Francis’ shoulder. The banks in the region had suffered several blows over the course of the year, starting with an exploding package that nearly killed a board member, to an accidental fire that claimed half a building – not to mention a series of failed investments and a generally slow economy. The robberies were the last in a long list of problems, which is why, when the teller saw two pillowcases full of cash, the CEO instructed her to open an account immediately and without the regular precautions.

It was in this way Clover and Francis unknowingly revitalized the local economy and returned the Wall Street mogul’s money into the banking system he so despised. The CEO, a man by the name of Thomas Stearns, was so grateful for the influx of cash (that most definitely saved his job and reputation) that he wrote Clover and Francis a series of poems, delivering one every Friday over the course of the following year.

Thomas Stearns had inherited his small fortune and career from his father, who had inherited it from his father before him, who had in turn inherited it from his father before him and so on, liberally tracing their lineage and finances to the Mayflower. Their lineage was, at most, half true. A distant ancestor had, in fact, crossed the Atlantic, but with his heart set on Canada. And his fortune was not made in banking but in furs. His eventual residence in America was completely accidental and somewhat tragic. He was a clever man, but unfortunately also very clumsy and absentminded. He would design the most elegant and impressive animal traps of his time, but he would often forget where he had placed them. One afternoon, while pacing in his dimly lit cabin, the gnarled teeth of one his own designs clamped shut around his left leg. It would be four days before another person heard his screams. By that time his leg would be almost completely sawed through. His leg would be removed just below the knee, and it would be almost five months before he had the strength to speak. The event, though traumatizing, was a revelation, for the person who found him was a beautiful young girl by the name of Melinda. Despite her young age, then only fourteen, he made an oath that she would be his wife. However, during his recovery, she turned fifteen and was immediately engaged to another trapper farther north – a man she was very much in love with.

The clumsy trapper, after hearing the news, cried profusely. He went to humbly congratulate her father and, to his great satisfaction, learned that Melinda and her family had never actually seen the fiancé and communicated with him only in the form of letters. Melinda and her mother were, at that exact moment, heading north to meet him. The clumsy trapper readied his sled, riding day and night in order to arrive a full day before Melinda and her mother. He tricked the over-excited fiancé into drinking more alcohol than he should have, then subdued and stripped the unconscious body in a back room of the cabin.

When Melinda and her mother arrived, he assumed the role of her fiancé, always keeping a handkerchief or cloth covering his face, claiming a case of frostbite had made him unsightly. The wedding was immediate and quickly consummated in the hallway of the adjacent tavern. The clumsy trapper, knowing he could not stay disguised forever, took Melinda and fled to America, far from the young girl’s family. Once there, he revealed his true identity and enforced the strictest bonds of matrimony. He did his best to cherish and support her; her happiness, however, can only be guessed at.

In his haste, he forgot about the subdued fiancé – an error which led to the poor young man’s death after a particularly bad and abrupt snow storm covered his cabin with snow and sleet. When the locales removed the snow and found his body naked and bound, they assumed Melinda had killed him in a perverse and sexual way. Four other sexually motivated murders were attributed to her despite the victims being women. For a brief time Melinda was considered Canada’s most depraved and deviant killer, though no official police reports linked her to the crimes.

How the clumsy trapper discovered an aptitude for banking is uncertain, but what is known is that he was able to triple his wealth over the small span of two years. As each new generation inherited the company, its wealth and influence diminished. By the time Thomas Stearns had acquired the title of CEO, only four branches remained and, due to a fire, only three were operational. The truth was, Thomas Stearns had little interest in banking, and in fact, cared little for money in general. He would lock the door to his office and spend hours writing poetry – most of it bad and all of it unpublished.

When Clover and Francis singlehandedly saved his failing business and bohemian lifestyle, he decided, with nervous resolve, to share his poetry with them. Clover, having been forbidden to read poetry due to its sensual nature, was overjoyed and immediately impressed with the verses Thomas Stearns gave her. Francis, having little interest in books, simply smiled and nodded encouragingly – an act which would secure Thomas Stearns’ everlasting friendship and loyalty. With this new encouragement, Thomas sold his rundown mansion to the Darlings for nearly nothing and moved into a tiny utilitarian condo where he spent the majority of his time transforming his short and terrible poetry into much longer and even more terrible poetry. Over the course of his life he would write 11,240 poems, none of them published, not even posthumously. His greatest poem, which was of average quality, was written for Clover Darling the day after she died. This poem he valued over all others. He had the original copy buried with him in the romantic hope of sharing it with Clover and Francis in the afterlife.

Clover and Francis, eager to settle down and start a life suitable for a baby, began making repairs to the old and almost unlivable mansion. Mold and termites had claimed large chunks of the walls and floorboards. Pipes on the second story had cracked and water stains speckled and spread along the ceiling and walls. The electricity was permanently off due to a set of rats that gorged themselves on copper wires. Fires had erupted two different times and the scorch marks were still visible. The house had three bathrooms, but only one toilet worked and only half the time. Thomas Stearns had enough money to fix these obvious imperfections, but he felt the destructive atmosphere would be conducive to his creative endeavors and so allowed the old house to slowly and quite literally fall apart.

Francis had never thought of himself as a craftsman, but when he saw the aged mansion he was enraptured by its ancient beauty and elegant design. He knew little about carpentry or wiring, and even less about architecture, but he loved the idea of building a home for his wife. He purchased the land and house for a tenth of its value.

Clover, having grown accustomed to the drafty and isolated cabin, was satisfied by any house with four walls and a ceiling. What excited her more was the proximity of the houses and the possibility of talking, face-to-face with another human being – in essence, making friends. She introduced herself to each neighbor, making sure to silently stare at them an ample amount of time, as she thought was the custom. The neighbors, at first confused and then later amused, fell in love with Clover’s eccentric and often alien behavior – the rumors that circulated concerning her incredible wealth may have helped soften the neighbors' otherwise bitter resolve.

Clover was so excited by the prospect of making friends, she stared at everyone she met, waiting patiently and motionlessly for them to speak, smile, or respond in some way that she could mirror. Most people were so stunned by her beauty, they could think of nothing to say, in which case the silence could last as long as twenty minutes. The more eccentric and strange Clover acted the richer and more respected she seemed. Eventually the whole city was captivated by her beauty and oddities.

Only one person overlooked Clover’s peculiarities, almost entirely due to the fact that he could not see them. Leo Vega, once a renowned artist, owned and operated a small lumber yard on the outskirts of town. Though he had only been a resident for three years, he had already built a reputation for his beautiful statues and stone work which were displayed haphazardly around his shop. His blindness had occurred at the age of thirty-one almost immediately and completely by accident. In his early twenties he created a series of oil paintings that garnished him with fame in Mexico and parts of Europe. The unexpected notoriety only agitated his lonesomeness and perfectionism. He considered each of his paintings a disappointment for failing to capture the wonderment of his heart. Colors were perversely plain and lines meandered mildly. If he hadn’t sold the paintings, he would have burned them all. And in fact, in a drunken stupor he tried such a thing while his painting still hung on a benefactor’s wall. The rich man managed to put the fire out, but only after it had burned a quarter of the work and a small portion of the wall. Leo Vega, before being thrown out, called the singed canvas an improvement.

Hoping to create a work matching his vision and reputation, Vega spent eight months mixing chemicals and compounds producing colors so vivid and intense, crowds gathered outside his window attempting to catch just a glimpse of his creations. After constructing two new shades of green, three new shades of blue, and one of purple, his ambition was still unsatisfied.

He took the little amount left of his fortune and acquired chemicals that were illegal and unknowingly toxic. While mixing, the fumes burned his eyes and nostrils. The next day he was blind. His eyes had failed in every way except in their ability to make tears.

With his money gone, his fame diminishing, and his sight consigned to a single shade of black, Leo Vega embellished his drinking habit and eventually spent most of his nights sleeping in an ally outside a bar – usually the bar with the cheapest liquor.

In an act of desperation and melancholy, he returned to the rich benefactor, pleading for pity and a job. The benefactor was pleased to see his old friend, hugging him and kissing his cheeks. The rich man offered Vega food, money, and a room with one request: the young artist must produce a piece of art worthy of the rich man’s mistress. It was not a secret that the rich man had a mistress. Everyone in the city knew, even his wife, though she viciously pretended not to.

Vega, overcome by the man’s kindness, agreed, though he had no idea how or what he might create. It was the rich man who had suggested a statue, life-size, and of the finest marble. Vega had almost no experience with stone, but he knew no way of refusing. Over the next five weeks Vega regained his strength and sensibilities, submitting himself completely to the study of stone. Since his eyesight had been taken, his sense of touch and sound had improved exponentially. He allowed his hands to caress the rough grooves, finding and following the grain hidden within the slabs of stone. His ears articulated every chip and crack as the metal tools fragmented the marble into smoother shapes. He quickly became a master, achieving a degree of precision that was unrivaled.

Once he was secure with his skill, he met with the mistress. She undressed and stood naked before him. He slowly moved his hands and fingers along the softness of her skin, memorizing the contour of her legs, the softness of her stomach, the curvature of her breasts, the small bend of her shoulders, her sharp chin, warm lips, high cheeks, and long silken hair. He then began to find the same shape in the cold stone. Each day he dedicated his hands to a different part of her body until he could mimic its shape with a chisel and hammer. For seven months she stood naked before him. During that time, they talked of many things and became closer than any touch could bring them.

Vega knew his heart belonged to the mistress, but he also knew his debt belonged to the rich benefactor. He yielded to his conscience and begged the rich man to release him from the work, if only to release him from the woman it was for. The rich man refused, attributing the artist’s skittery behavior to that of a creative and emotional mind. The blind artist returned to the statue.

Late one evening, while the blind artist was smoothing the final blemishes out of the marble, the mistress found him. The lights were off and the room was dark, as it often was when he worked. For a moment the mistress was blind like him, slowly wandering with her arms stretched out in front of her. Her fingers touched his chest and arm. He laid down his tools. She unbuttoned his shirt and pants so that he stood naked before her. She closed her eyes and slowly moved her hands and fingers along his skin, memorizing the shape and contour of his body, the strength of his thighs, the sharp cut of his chest and arms, his warm lips. She kissed him and his heart could not contain itself.