Mr. Clarinet

Allain lowered his head and held it up between his thumb and forefinger.

"What happened, Mr. Carver?" Max said, firmly but staying on the right side of empathy.

Allain shook his head sadly.

"Mr. Carver, please," Max said in the same tone, only leaning over to create a sense of intimacy. "I know this is hard for you, but I've really got to know what happened."

Allain was silent.

Max heard something dragging across the floor near Gustav's seat.

"TELL HIM!" Gustav erupted from the end of the table.

Max and Allain looked up in time to see the old man standing up in his place and bringing his cane down through the air.

There was a huge crash as the cane met the table and place setting. Glass and crockery smashed and flew across the room in shards and splinters.

Gustav stood over the table, angry, tottering, and malevolent, his presence filling up the room like toxic gas.

"Do as I say and tell him," Gustav said slowly and loudly, raising his cane and pointing it at Allain. Max saw squashed kidney beans and grains of rice stuck to the edges of the stick.

"No!" Allain shouted back at him, pushing himself out of his seat by the points of his fists, glaring at his father, rage hammering at the insides of his face. Max got ready to jump between them if the younger man attacked the older.

Gustav looked back at him, defiantly, an unflustered smirk cresting his jowls. "Emmanuel Michelange," Gustav said, wiping his cane clean on the tablecloth and resting it by his chair, "was the one and only local we enlisted—" He growled the world out like it was a hair-ball he was hawking up. "I was against using the natives—dumb and lazy is what they are—but junior here insisted. So we gave it a try. He was next to useless. Lasted two weeks. They found him in his jeep in Port-au-Prince. They'd taken the wheels and engine out—and much more. Emmanuel was sitting there, in the driving seat. His penis and testicles had been cut clean off—actually, not clean off—they'd used scissors."

Max felt fear bundle up in his stomach and trickle toward his balls.

Gustav was staring at Allain the whole time he was talking. Allain was staring back at him, fists still clenched, but Max could tell he wasn't going to use them. His father had known it all along.

"Michelange was asphyxiated on his own genitalia," Gustav said. "His penis was blocking his throat. And each testicle was lodged in either cheek like so—"

Gustav demonstrated by putting his index fingers in his mouth and pushing out his cheeks. He looked grotesque but hilarious. Then he stuck his tongue out at his son and wiggled it from side to side. Now his resemblance to a gargoyle was uncanny.

"That's something Chantale won't have to worry about, I suppose," Max said.

Gustav roared with laughter and slapped the table.

"AT LAST!" he bellowed. "SOMEONE WITH OOOMPH!"

"You bastard!" Allain shouted. Max thought it was at him, but the son was still looking at his father. He stormed out of the room.

A ghastly stillness descended on the big room again, a vacuum within a vacuum. Max looked down at his unfinished food and wished himself away.

Gustav sat down and called to the maids. They came in and cleaned up around him; then they cleared away the plates.

On her way back from the kitchen, one of the maids brought Gustav the silver cigarette box, lighter, and an ashtray from the living room. He spoke to her again, mumbling, so she had to bend over to hear him. The old man cupped her shoulder as he spoke to her.

The maid left the room and Carver took an unfiltered cigarette from the box and lit up.

"I used to smoke forty a day before my first stroke," Gustav said. "Now I'm down to just the one—keeps the memory alive. You?"

"I quit."

Gustav smiled.

Some people are born smokers. Carver was one of them. He loved his habit. He inhaled the cigarette smoke and held it in his lungs, getting the most out of each puff before slowly exhaling.

"Sorry you had to witness that earlier. All families argue. It's rough but healthy. Do you have any family, Mr. Mingus?"

"No. My mother's dead. I don't know where my dad is. Probably dead too now. I guess I got cousins and nephews and stuff, but I don't know them."

"What about your late wife's family? Are you in touch with them?"

"On and off," Max said.

Gustav nodded.