“As I said
the night you arrived, I’ve made peace with my life. I don’t need
your money.”
Peter squirmed a little in his seat and cast
a suspicious look at Walter. He reached for the brandy bottle and
refilled his glass. Walter lighted another cigarette.
“And the business,” Walter asked, “does it
take up much of your time?”
“Not really. Two foremen handle everything
in the factory. An accountant takes care of the books, the bank
transactions...”
“A business that runs itself,” Walter
mused.
“That’s right. I have almost complete
freedom to devote to my studies and researches.”
“Admirable.”
The clock in the living room began striking
twelve.
“Good heavens, midnight already. No wonder I
feel half dead. It’s time I retired. What about you?”
“I don’t usually go to bed until after one,”
Walter said.
Peter stood. “Then I’ll see you in the
morning.”
“Pleasant dreams.”
~~~
Peter lay snoring in bed. The door opened
softly and Walter entered with a jar in one hand and a small towel
in the other. He sat gingerly on the edge of Peter’s bed and parted
the mosquito netting. He opened the jar and poured some liquid onto
the towel. Averting his face, he gently placed the cloth against
Peter’s nose and mouth. Peter snorted and raised a hand. Abruptly
his hand fell back onto the bed and he heaved a deep sigh. Walter
remained motionless at his side, the towel still on Peter’s
face.
When Peter awoke, he discovered himself
bound by wrists and ankles to a wooden frame propped against the
wall of a shed. His surroundings were dimly lit by a lantern hung
from a beam. Peter looked around and saw the vague outlines of
several large whitish objects propped against the opposite wall. He
sniffed the air and made a disgusted face. He struggled against his
bonds but couldn’t budge.
Succumbing to panic, he screamed, “Walter!
Help!”
Another lantern approached from the far end
of the shed. It was Walter, with one hand behind his back. He hung
the lantern on another beam. Peter looked beyond Walter and now, in
the improved light, saw the lime-caked hulks of several dead men on
wooden frames propped against the wall opposite, each with a wooden
stake in his chest.
Peter fought to find a voice in his dry
mouth. “Walter. Those men...”
“My prisoners, my specimens... As are
you.”
Walter brought his hand from behind his
back, revealing a heavy mallet and a wooden stake. He took the
stake in his free hand and placed its sharpened tip against Peter’s
chest. He raised the mallet over his head.
Peter screamed to no avail. “Please,
no...”
~~~
Walter shaved off his beard and rinsed the
soap from his face. He toweled himself dry and ran his hands over
his smooth cheeks. He picked Peter’s glasses off the sideboard and
put them on. He regarded himself in the mirror. Lovely. He looked
just like Peter.
Walter went down to the jetty, wearing
Peter’s white cotton suit and straw hat. The supply boat bumped up
alongside the dock. The deckhands unloaded a couple of crates and
carried Peter’s suitcase, portfolio cases and net case aboard.
Walter stepped onto the boat.
“Good morning, sir,” the captain greeted
him.
“And to you, Captain.”
Have a good vacation?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Your brother’s not here to see you
off?”
“He’s busy at the moment, tracking down an
escaped prisoner. But we said our goodbyes already.”
“Right, then. Let’s be on our way.” The
captain called to his deckhands. “Cast off, there.”
Walter strolled back to the stern as the
boat pulled away from the dock. He stood there a long while,
looking back as the island slowly receded in the distance. He
picked up one of the portfolio cases, placed it on a deck hatch and
opened it. Dozens of pinned butterflies lay arrayed in neat order
within the case. He pulled the pin from a butterfly and placed it
in the palm of his hand. He tossed it up into the breeze
the night you arrived, I’ve made peace with my life. I don’t need
your money.”
Peter squirmed a little in his seat and cast
a suspicious look at Walter. He reached for the brandy bottle and
refilled his glass. Walter lighted another cigarette.
“And the business,” Walter asked, “does it
take up much of your time?”
“Not really. Two foremen handle everything
in the factory. An accountant takes care of the books, the bank
transactions...”
“A business that runs itself,” Walter
mused.
“That’s right. I have almost complete
freedom to devote to my studies and researches.”
“Admirable.”
The clock in the living room began striking
twelve.
“Good heavens, midnight already. No wonder I
feel half dead. It’s time I retired. What about you?”
“I don’t usually go to bed until after one,”
Walter said.
Peter stood. “Then I’ll see you in the
morning.”
“Pleasant dreams.”
~~~
Peter lay snoring in bed. The door opened
softly and Walter entered with a jar in one hand and a small towel
in the other. He sat gingerly on the edge of Peter’s bed and parted
the mosquito netting. He opened the jar and poured some liquid onto
the towel. Averting his face, he gently placed the cloth against
Peter’s nose and mouth. Peter snorted and raised a hand. Abruptly
his hand fell back onto the bed and he heaved a deep sigh. Walter
remained motionless at his side, the towel still on Peter’s
face.
When Peter awoke, he discovered himself
bound by wrists and ankles to a wooden frame propped against the
wall of a shed. His surroundings were dimly lit by a lantern hung
from a beam. Peter looked around and saw the vague outlines of
several large whitish objects propped against the opposite wall. He
sniffed the air and made a disgusted face. He struggled against his
bonds but couldn’t budge.
Succumbing to panic, he screamed, “Walter!
Help!”
Another lantern approached from the far end
of the shed. It was Walter, with one hand behind his back. He hung
the lantern on another beam. Peter looked beyond Walter and now, in
the improved light, saw the lime-caked hulks of several dead men on
wooden frames propped against the wall opposite, each with a wooden
stake in his chest.
Peter fought to find a voice in his dry
mouth. “Walter. Those men...”
“My prisoners, my specimens... As are
you.”
Walter brought his hand from behind his
back, revealing a heavy mallet and a wooden stake. He took the
stake in his free hand and placed its sharpened tip against Peter’s
chest. He raised the mallet over his head.
Peter screamed to no avail. “Please,
no...”
~~~
Walter shaved off his beard and rinsed the
soap from his face. He toweled himself dry and ran his hands over
his smooth cheeks. He picked Peter’s glasses off the sideboard and
put them on. He regarded himself in the mirror. Lovely. He looked
just like Peter.
Walter went down to the jetty, wearing
Peter’s white cotton suit and straw hat. The supply boat bumped up
alongside the dock. The deckhands unloaded a couple of crates and
carried Peter’s suitcase, portfolio cases and net case aboard.
Walter stepped onto the boat.
“Good morning, sir,” the captain greeted
him.
“And to you, Captain.”
Have a good vacation?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Your brother’s not here to see you
off?”
“He’s busy at the moment, tracking down an
escaped prisoner. But we said our goodbyes already.”
“Right, then. Let’s be on our way.” The
captain called to his deckhands. “Cast off, there.”
Walter strolled back to the stern as the
boat pulled away from the dock. He stood there a long while,
looking back as the island slowly receded in the distance. He
picked up one of the portfolio cases, placed it on a deck hatch and
opened it. Dozens of pinned butterflies lay arrayed in neat order
within the case. He pulled the pin from a butterfly and placed it
in the palm of his hand. He tossed it up into the breeze
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