The Alienist - Caleb Carr [185]
I felt a twinge of real sympathy when a tear appeared on Dury’s cheek. “When Japheth was—oh, nine or ten,” he said softly, after taking another deep pull from the flask, “we spent a few days up in the Shawangunks. Hunting and trapping small game—squirrel, possum, coons, and such. I’d taught him to shoot, but he wasn’t much for it. A born trapper, Japheth was. He’d spend a whole day searching out an animal’s lair or nest and then wait for hours, alone in the dark, to spring his scheme. It was a talent. But one day we were hunting separately—I’d gone to trail some bobcat tracks I’d spotted—and as I came back to camp I heard a strange, terrible scream. A wail. High-pitched and faint, but awful. As I came into the camp I caught a glimpse of Japheth. He’d trapped himself a possum, and he was—he was cutting the thing to pieces while it was still alive. I ran up and put a bullet in the poor creature’s brain, and took my brother aside. He had an evil sort of light in his eyes, but after I’d hollered at him for a while, he began to cry and seemed truly sorry. I thought it was a lone incident—the kind of thing a boy might do if he knew no better, and wouldn’t do again once he’d been told.” Dury began to poke at his pipe, which had gone out.
Kreizler offered another match. “But it wasn’t,” he said.
“No,” Dury answered. “It happened several times over the next few years—several times that I knew of, that is. He never bothered the big animals, the cattle or horses on the farms around us. It was always—always the small creatures that seemed to bring it out in him. I kept trying to put a stop to it; and then…”
His voice trailing off, Dury sat and stared at the ground, seemingly unwilling to go on. Kreizler, however, kept after him gently: “And then something worse happened?”
Dury smoked and nodded. “But I didn’t hold him responsible, Doctor. And I think you’ll agree that I was right not to.” One of his hands became a fist and he slammed it into his thigh. “But my mother, damn her, just took it as another example of Japheth’s devilish behavior. Claimed he brought it on himself, as if any boy would!”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain, Mr. Dury,” I said.
He nodded quickly, then took a final sip of whiskey before handing the flask back to Kreizler. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry. Let me see—this would have been during the summer of—hell, it was just before I moved away, the summer of ’75 it must’ve been. Japheth was eleven. At the farm where I’d been working they’d recently hired a new man; he was just a few years older than me. A charming character, to all appearances. Seemed to have quite a way with children. We got to be friendly, and eventually I invited him along on a hunting trip. He took a great interest in Japheth, and my brother took a real liking to him—so much so that the fellow came along on a few more outings. Japheth and he would go off trapping together, while I hunted larger game. I’d explained to this—this thing that I thought was a man that Japheth was to be discouraged from tormenting any animals they might catch. The fellow seemed to understand the situation thoroughly. I trusted him, you see, to look after my brother.” A dull knocking sound came from the outer wall of the barn. “And he betrayed that trust,” Dury said, getting to his feet. “In the worst way a man can.” Opening the filthy window and sticking his head out it, Dury called: “Now, you! Go on away from there, I’ve told you—go on!” He came back inside, scratching at the few hairs on his head. “Fool horse. Covers himself in burrs to get at a little patch of clover that grows behind the barn, and I can’t seem to…I’m sorry, gentlemen. At any rate, I found Japheth in our camp one evening, half-naked and weeping, bleeding from the—well, bleeding. The fiend I’d left him with was gone. We never saw him again.”
From the exterior of the barn came the same muffled pounding, prompting Dury to grab a long, thin switch and head for the