Tears, not the eye-welling teasers he used to gather the information-spilling sympathy of others, but choking, wretched, wracking. His voice scratches out. Ruin my life! Romeo tries to take control of Romeo Two, but it’s too late to stop. They merge. He keeps talking.
In our mutual adventure, Landreaux fell upon me from a height and broke my leg and arm—you know the story. Everybody knows the story. Landreaux’s fate is to cause death and destruction to those around him, while he always slips free into the sunset. Or to Emmaline. I mean, there we were at school. This was after we had run away. We were caught, we had surrendered. I had come back from the hospital with my whole side wrecked, arm in an itching, stinking, long-term cast, leg pinned together inside, and afflicted with the nervous damages I bear to this day. First thing, I see Landreaux.
My man! I call out to him. My man!
He looks right through me. Maybe he feels bad for what he did. But not sorry! He looks right through me.
Father Travis, that right there is why I fell from grace. Not because of my crinkled armbone or my sad ol’ leg, not because I lost brain cells in the fall, not because I am at heart a raging addict who’d do anything to feed his want, though that’s true also. But, Father Travis. That’s not why.
You ever heard of omphalosite? You know what that is? It’s a kinda parasitic twin. It has no heart. Depends on the twin’s heart for circulation. Just lives off the twin and usually dwindles away before anybody even knows it exists. That’s how it was with me—like Landreaux was the beating heart and I the fainter twin and when he didn’t know me anymore my circulation stopped. I became a dead person, Father Travis. I was dead inside after that first year when Landreaux suddenly did not know who I was, suddenly would not answer to my call, suddenly outcast me when I needed him the worst. I needed him to come to my aid and stop a nickname from sticking on me. It took all my doing to slide out from under or slap down those nicknames. I battered Crip to the earth and went after Stooper. Sank my fangs into Wing and I defined myself. I stayed Romeo. I did it, but it cost me, and now here behold: I am who I am. Not a good person, not a bad person.
Father Travis listens, impassive, his eyes cast down.
Well, maybe, says Romeo. Could be I am a bad person. Unforgiving all these days and years. But when I see Landreaux living large with the girl who marked me out, who might have loved me at one time the way I love her, then I am deader than I was dead before. I become the gray worm. Just a digestion tube, really.
So Romeo loves Emmaline too, thinks Father Travis, and the sudden fact that he and his friend the weasel are afflicted and exalted by the same emotion makes him raise his head and settle his eyes on Romeo. That little gesture of attention causes in Romeo a deeper unflooding.
Truth he doesn’t even know is true tumbles out.
I put the mark on Landreaux just now, Father Travis.
What do you mean?
Romeo loses track. What does he mean? Put the mark. He stammers, under the influence of truth-tell side effects, to piece together what he has with utter certainty divulged to Peter Ravich. He spoke with such confidence. His delivery had been dignified, fluid, impressive. Oh yes. Now he remembers. Romeo puts on his honest face.
So you know that Landreaux Iron had relapsed that day. Yes! Romeo raises his hand, testifying. We know he’s struggled, and he’s fought, and I more than anyone understand that. Acknowledge it, Father Travis. I more than anyone dislike bearing unpleasant news. But, yes, it takes a strength of character. Even if Landreaux had that strength, which I know he does, Father Travis, because I know Landreaux well, even so there are times. This was one of the times. His shot blasted a tree branch, splintered it, and the boy was struck as with shrapnel. But shallow wounds, many of them, here, here, here, etc. Not one of these wounds hit a major vein or artery. The cause of death, exsanguination. However, had Landreaux not fled the scene he might have stopped that bleeding. Had he not overpowered the boy’s mother, she might have reached her son in time to stop the bleeding. This boy might be alive. I made copies of the coroner’s report, which bears this out. It is signed by Mighty Georgie herself, yes, Georgie Mighty, unavailable right now, most sadly, or she herself could bear this out as it was also corroborated by the state coroner, who happened to be in the area and was called in on this case, so yes. Most sadly . . .
Romeo drifts a bit, then rouses himself, riffles in his pocket, draws out the report.
Father Travis puts his hand out, takes the paper. He reads the paper. He holds it long enough to read it several times over. At last he lifts his eyes to meet Romeo’s dozing-off eyes.
It doesn’t say that.
Romeo blinks.
It doesn’t say that.
Romeo sits up in his chair, mouth clamped.
I put it all together! Romeo speaks firmly. Father Travis!
It doesn’t say that, Romeo. The words you used are written here, but they don’t add up to your story. It just doesn’t say that.
Please don’t take this away from me. This is my only thing!