The Care Heirs

by Kjetil Jansen

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

“Hello, Father!”

“Well, hello...”

“You know, the frolicky lagoon was a bit deserted and streamy that day. Lucky for me, I hitched a ride in a barrel as it went over. I say, what a rush.”

“Oh, Tarquin. We must celebrate your return. Secry! This is the original surfboard from Gidget Goes Hawaiian. Use it. Like now.”

“At the beach the cool kids call Boardbite Beach? Already there.”

* * *

Other circumstances the same, the hammerhead was bloated and covered with flies.

“Gnarlamox, you better watch out. Humans are coming. Death and destruction!”

“Are we?”

The biologist scratched his full beard as others would a goatee. “Well, we should. In the meantime, every woman should stop having sex with others and start having sex with me.”

“You have to be a cult leader to make that rule.”

“Right. I’ll make a note of that. Start... a... cult. I guess I must get myself a house.”

“A compound. Cults have compounds. And you should have the cult up and running before you do the sex move.”

“Yes. You are so helpful, Ralpfh!”

“I try.”

As Ralpfh did the back to the studio thing, the hammerhead exploded just as the anchorman said, “Take my wife, please!”

* * *

Passing Trilbardou, I noticed the first spots of cabbages among the corn. As days went by, the spots became clusters and now, no corn, only endless fields of cabbage. The simple farmers are so simple they harvest by hand. In their strange patois, they feign ignorance about the legend. Always a little farther to find someone who might know.

Now, off the map and off the grid, I find myself in a spot of bother. I am caught between two rivers of cabbage, unable to cross. I managed to kill one but, before I could skin it, the flies spoiled the meat. As I weaken, my thoughts blur together, but I also have moments of profound clarity. Oh, if I had something to write on and something to write with, I could reach mankind with my newfound wisdom!

Flies circling. Very weak. Didn’t find golden cabbage, perhaps golden cabbage was inside me all the time. I take my leave... Tilt!

* * *

“What a zap!”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t mind me, Secry. I was thinking about the old Batman television broadcast. Sound effects right there on the screen! Really the golden age of television. Not to be confused with the gilded age of television when television didn’t exist.” He did the cane bang. “Well. No more sons. Time to sell out.”

Secry coughed. “You do have two more sons, Mr. Callender. At this very table.”

Jebediah did a double-take. “Yes, I have wondered about those chaps down at the end. I assumed they were the resident chimney sweeps or a result of my stints with some charwoman or chamber-pot chambermaid. Speak up! You, the pretty one.”

“I am Gork.”

“Other one.”

“And I am Pnpp, your most youngerest child. And she is Syb.”

“Why are you pointing your silly hand at Secry? Syb? The daughter child? I thought you were just skulking and brooding somewhere in the mansion. Why this masquerade?”

“I was skulking, yes. Tired of you mumbling something about why did we give them the right to vote every bleeding day. When I interviewed for secretary, I had a wig made, I put in brown contact lenses, I even changed my perfume. As weeks passed, I slowly changed back to my old self. You didn’t even notice.”

“All three to the library. Now.”

Climbing the Escher stairs, he got them to repeat their names. “And is Syb short for Sybil?”

“No.”

He shook his head. “Your mother really lost it near the end.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps she was tired of having children. She met you at thirty-six and was not prepared to be your heir machine. She tried to send you a signal.”

“You women and your signals. Well. Here we are. No, I want to talk to Syb only.”

“Father, please how is mother?” asked Pnpp. He looked like he wanted to pee.

“Pnpp, how common of you to speak out of turn,” said Gork.

Pnpp brushed him off. “Is she still at the farm where women with tired wombs go to rest?”

“Yes, son and she is very happy.”

“Is she close to the farm where Sparky is?”

“They are adjacent.”

Jebediah closed the door with force. “The future looks bright,” he rumbled.

“Send me to the brownstone,” said Syb.

“My dear Syb. I have watched you all these years. Your absence of virtues is repelling. You have an aquiline nose. You can’t sing. If you oversaw the making of the Bayeux Tapestry, it would end up the size of a postage stamp. You roast a turkey less well than another turkey would. You make the clavichord sound like the harpsichord!”

“Nose? Yet you admire Gidget.”

He caned a Maugham. “Gidget was just for... recreational purposes. Spunky women are hot.”

“Strong, demure, defiant, accommodating, easy, difficult. Able, non-able. We can’t win.”

“What is there to win?”

“Oh. So now you pretend there is no game.” A silence passed between daughter and father. “I did hide for a while. In the room with the old model railway. The power disconnected. Dust. You haven’t even bothered to cover it up. My only clear memory of mother. Laughing. Pointing at the trains. So many, so fast. Almost crashed, but never did. At night I fantasized about trains gliding, with that beautiful wispy noise they make, through the house with tracks leading to my room, bringing me treats, keeping me company.”

“I abhor sentimentality.”

“Yeah, I have noticed. Have a look at this.” She handed him a Maugham. “I found it.”

“What do you mean you found it?”

“This library is not a collection of failure; it is a concealment of victory. I searched through old papers, and already in 1922, seven years after Of Human Bondage was published, I found correspondence between your grandfather Joshua Callender and Maugham, culminating in a letter of payment of the sum of four hundred and fifty guineas.

“He made him write it. And you found it.”

“Already on page four, Emma the nurse will be quite hot under her bustle. There is a style clash, and I suspect he used a ghost writer, it could even be a young Noël Coward. Funny, as you called Maugham a coward, remember. A close dialogue comparison—”

“Syb, how dare you!”

“Sorry, Father.”

“Very well. But take Gork and Pnpp with you.”

* * *

“Nice to see you in a white dress this morning. The eager beaver snatches the worm from the early bird.”

“Good morning, Papa. There will be plenty of time for darkwear in the days to come, believe me. No caning today?”

“With only two at the table, why bother? Report.”

“I have given this a lot of thought, and I think my brothers were right. I will add to it fixing the wiring and the rotten floorboards and making stairs instead of using a system of ropes. During the estimated four years of reconstruction, we will install our tenants in available apartments and hotels, covering the bill, after deducting our rent.”

“Interesting. I so wanted to keep the surfboard from Big Wednesday. What do you say? Some gnarly waves today. Wait. That is your mother’s smile. Report.”

“Just after midnight, we locked ourselves into the building. Armed with a bucket of gasoline provided by the insurance company, we set the place ablaze. Alas, as he was leaving, Gork took a stumble and his foot got caught in the not as empty as it should have been bucket.

“His not being able to keep still made the situation worse. He sauntered down the street as the fire licked at his body. His flesh began to ooze and fuse with his clothes. Still on his feet, he was fatally hit by a trolley where a movie company was rehearsing a shot for The Trolley Problem. His screams will haunt me. Inside, Pnpp fell through the floor and into the basement, to land backside first into the jaws of a mechanical white shark.”

“Poor people often have peculiar hobbies.”

“Yes. As he struggled to get free, he hit a mechanism, and the jaws began to chomp and grind until teeth met teeth. He screamed, too.”

“What about the tenants?”

“Their cabbage diet has made them nonflammable. Well, kind of. They are still among the ruins, sifting through their burnt stuff while moaning to reporters. The fire department and the police have ruled the fire an act of Baby Jesus. What do you say we combine our dear departed into a cost-effective mass funeral?”

“It is what they would have wanted. This Secry and Syb merger. It is not unbecoming. Could you pass me the deep-fried rhubarb?”

They finished a hearty meal as the sun crept the table. Jebediah belched in a way that made Syb chuckle. “I am curious,” he said. “How did you become the capable one?”

Syb took a moment before answering. “I realized it is not about hating the poor or showing off to other rich people. It is all about leisure. To be able to afford a room filled with the same novel, or clavichords, if you want. The poor are just a means to this end.”

“On that note, I think I will retire for a couple of hours.”

Syb grinned. “With a spunky book?”

“Perhaps I should grab one of the originals. I have never read it, and it might make the spunky version more enjoyable.”

“Worth a try.”

He got to his feet. “And later, we can make plans to add some more railway tracks, perhaps have a second train room and connect them. Trains coming through in the most unexpected places.”

“Oh, daddykins, I could kiss you! But I won’t. I didn’t say that.”

“See you in a bit, kiddo.”

“Sleep tight!”

Dressed for bed, he unscrewed the top of the cane. The hidden dagger. Ice-pick sharp. Syb. Better be prepared. The next culling could be his own. He lay down on the sheets, steel hidden among the pillows. A minute later he changed his mind and put the dagger back into the cane.

The natural order is for children to die before their parents, but not if the children is your only child. And heir. He smiled. It took him back, all those years sleeping with one eye open. Come what may. Syb? Or the poor, pitchforks in hands? He began to laugh into his pillows, bellows of mirth. That will be the day!