The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [72]
“But to say he hid some secret message about his own father’s death—”
“Why else would he tear up and supposedly destroy that original art?” the curator asks.
“Maybe Joe was embarrassed by the art. You said they were devastated by the rejections.”
“Jerry spent years getting rejections on his short stories—he submitted and got rejected by every sci-fi fanzine on the planet. And when it came to Superman, he kept and preserved every single rejection letter they got—they reprinted them in Famous First Edition years ago. So even if Joe Shuster ripped all the art apart—even if he thought the work was embarrassing or amateurish—you really think a pack rat like Jerry didn’t save the pieces? His father had been murdered—for all we know, right in front of his eyes—this is where all his inspiration came from.”
“Says who?” Naomi challenges. “A bunch of fanboy psychologists who—no offense—are just a little too obsessed with their favorite superhero?”
The curator stands there a moment, once again blinking, and I wonder if he’s about to—
“Y’know how much Jerry and Joe sold the rights to Superman for? One hundred and thirty dollars. A few years after that, they were fired by DC Comics, and their names were removed from all references as creators. Over the next decade, as Superman raked in millions, Joe started going blind, while Jerry became so poor he couldn’t afford to eat out for dinner. Eventually, the publisher realized what a PR disaster it would be if they let Superman’s creators die of starvation, so they gave Jerry another shot. And in 1960, Jerry wrote a story called Superman’s Return to Krypton!”
“Oooh, was that in Superman Number 62 or 63?” Naomi asks.
“It was in Number 141, actually—and don’t make fun just because it’s a comic book,” he shoots back, more annoyed than ever. “In the story, Superman travels back in time to his home planet and gets to see his real father, Jor-El. The hardest part for Superman, though, is that he knows that Krypton is about to explode—so these are his last moments with his dad. Even worse, he knows that if he stops the planet from exploding and saves his family, then he will never exist as Superman on Earth. He doesn’t care, though. He’s so happy living on Krypton—being reunited with his dad—that when the planet starts to rumble and shake, he decides he’d rather die with his father than lose him again,” the curator says as we all listen silently. “It was Jerry’s most constant battle: the life you live versus the life you leave behind.”
It’s the first time I see my dad looking directly at me.
“But fate is fate,” the curator continues, “and at the last moment, the grown Superman gets knocked into a second rocket and is launched away, safe from harm. And the story ends with him returning to Earth, knowing that he can save everyone around him, but he can never save his own father. This was the story Jerry Siegel wrote when he was allowed to return to his creation. So don’t tell me he wasn’t obsessed with the death of his dad.”
My father continues to stare at me. I break away from the look to stare straight at the curator. “That’s what you were looking for before when you were flipping through the comic,” I say, pointing my cuffed hands toward the empty wax-paper sleeve. “These attic copies of Action Comics—what makes them so valuable isn’t the comic itself or the typed address outside. . . .”
“Exactly—it’s what the most devoted of collectors hope to find hidden inside.” The curator nods. “The remaining, torn-up pieces of Jerry Siegel’s most personal story. His greatest tragedy hidden inside his greatest success.”
“So you think that’s what Timothy was chasing?” Naomi asks. “That’s the reason he wanted this comic?”
“It’s certainly priceless.”
“Maybe,” Naomi says. “But if The Superman—if this story was so important, why would Jerry ever leave those pieces rotting in his attic?”
“Same reason he