Hannibal - Thomas Harris [21]
Mason Verger, noseless and lipless, with no soft tissue on his face, was all teeth, like a creature of the deep, deep ocean. Inured as we are to masks, the shock, in seeing him is delayed. Shock comes with the recognition that this is a human face with a mind behind it. It churns you with its movement, the articulation of the jaw, the turning of the eye to see you. To see your normal face.
Mason Verger's hair is handsome and, oddly, the hardest thing to look at. Black flecked with gray, it is plaited in a ponytail long enough to reach the floor if it is brought back over his pillow. Today his plaited hair is in a big coil on his chest above the turtleshell respirator. Human hair beneath the bluejohn ruin, the plaits shining like lapping scales.
Under the sheet, Mason Verger's longparalyzed body tapered away to nothing on the elevated hospital bed.
Before his face was the control that looked like panpipes or a harmonica in clear plastic. He curled his tongue tube - like around a pipe end and puffed with the next stroke of his respirator. His bed responded with a hum, turned him slightly to face Starling and increased the elevation of his head..“I thank God for what happened,” Verger said. “It was my salvation. Have you accepted Jesus, Miss Starling? Do you have faith?”
“I was raised in a close religious atmosphere, Mr. Verger. I have whatever that leaves you with,” Starling said. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm just going to clip this to the pillowcase. It won't be in the way here, will it?”
Her voice sounded too brisk and nursey to suit her.
Her hand beside his head, seeing their two fleshes together, did not aid Starling, nor did his pulse in the vessels grafted over the bones of his face to feed it blood; their regular dilation was like worms swallowing.
Gratefully, she paid out cord and backed to the table and her tape recorder and separate microphone.
"This is Special Agent Clarice M. Starling, FBI number 5143690, deposing Mason R. Verger, Social Security number 475989823, at his home on the date stamped above, sworn and attested. Mr. Verger understands that he has been granted immunity from prosecution by the U.S. Attorney for District Thirtysix, and by local authorities in a combined memorandum attached, sworn and attested.
“Now, Mr. Verger-”
“I want to tell you about camp,” he interrupted with his next exhalation. “It was a wonderful childhood experience that I've come back to, in essence.”
“We can get to that, Mr. Verger, but I thought we'd-”
“Oh, we can get to it now, Miss Starling. You see, it all comes to bear. It was how I met Jesus, and I'll never tell you anything more important than that.”
He paused for the machine to sigh. “It was a Christian camp my father paid for. He paid for the whole thing, all one hundred twentyfive campers on Lake Michigan. Some of them were unfortunates and they would do anything for a candy bar. Maybe I took advantage of it, maybe I was rough with them if they wouldn't take the chocolate and do what I wanted - I'm not holding anything back, because it's all okay now.”
“Mr. Verger, let's look at some material with the same-”
He was not listening to her; he was only waiting for the machine to give him breath. “I have immunity, Miss Starling, and it's all okay now. I've got a grant of immunity from Jesus, I've got immunity from the U.S. Attorney, I've got immunity from the DA in Owings Mills, Hallelujah. I'm free, Miss Starling, and it's all okay now. I'm right with Him and it's all okay now. He's the Risen Jesus, and at camp we called him The Riz. Nobody beats The Riz. We made it contemporary, you know, The Riz. I served him in Africa, Hallelujah, I served him in Chicago, praise His name, and I serve Him now and He will raise me up from this bed and He will smite mine enemies and drive them before me and I will hear the lamentations of their women, and it's all okay now.”
He choked on saliva and stopped, the vessels on the front of