The Memory Artists - Jeffrey Moore [130]
Stella looked anxiously from face to face, feeling something sinister in the air. Which one of these people lights fires? Because it’s not me, and certainly not my son. It can’t be him, he’s much too sweet a boy. Or her, she’s too sweet a girl. It must be him, the handsome one …
Noel fidgeted. Yes, he thought, JJ may be right. It’s one of us … He looked around the room, dismissing each candidate in turn, until he got to Norval, whose face was buried in his hands. He must be behind this. Was he about to confess? Everyone in the room was now staring at Norval, waiting.
Norval’s foot began to tap slowly. He raised his head, guilt seemingly etched on his face. “JJ, I’m struggling to put a positive construction on this. Until now, I have treated your herbally-warped ideas with benign contempt. But now I feel awe: even by your own high standards, you have outstripped yourself in pointlessness. Every day with you is like a trip to Pointless Island.”
“But I saw this murder mystery on TV about an insurance scam and—”
“Then your TV needs to be childproofed. The guy who set both fires was out to get me, a settling of accounts. He caught me in flagrante delicto with his girlfriend, Rainbaux. And then I caught him in my loft with a canister bomb. But there’s nothing to worry about. He won’t be setting any more fires for a while.”
JJ was in a tizzy. “Really? You caught him? What’d you do? You held him until the cops arrived, right?”
“Something like that.”
Chapter 20
Norval & Stella
Arrow removed from man’s head
Presse canadienne
* * *
MONTREAL, QUE.—A 28-year-old man is expected to be released from hospital today after doctors removed an arrow from his head.
The arrow hit the upper part of the man’s left eye socket, missing the eye, and lodged in a sinus cavity, narrowly missing the brain. The man’s name was not made public.
The victim, who is well known to police for drug-related activities, is being held as a suspect in an arson case on rue de la Commune in Old Montreal. The man claimed to be leaving a friend’s loft when an arrow, shot by an unknown assailant, lodged 10 centimetres in his head. The arrow is currently being examined for clues.
The following day Norval was reading a newspaper, comfortably asprawl a Murphy bed in his chosen quarters, a secret and sacred lair that a younger Noel had cunningly carved out of the attic. A knock on the door distracted him from an article of interest.
“Enter,” Norval commanded. He was facing away from the door, and did not turn round to see who entered.
“Norval, I was wondering if you … if you’d like a drink.”
“I would, yes. Just set it on the table.”
“I mean, downstairs, with my mom. I was wondering if you could … you know, keep her company for a while. Until JJ and Samira get back. She’s all alone and I’ve got some things brewing in the basement …”
Norval had still not turned his head toward his visitor. A cigarette smouldered from the fingers that also turned the page of his newspaper. He now stopped to listen, not to what his friend was saying, but to Herman’s Hermits’ “Mrs. Brown You’ve Got A Lovely Daughter,” which was wafting from Mrs. Burun’s room below.
“Not too many people know this,” said Norval, “but Herman recorded another version of that song. A gay version.”
Noel listened. “He did? What was it called?”
“‘Mr. Brown You’ve Got a Lovely Pecker.’”
Noel paused, then straight-faced began to sing the rising echo-line, “Love-ly pe-cker …”
Norval laughed, uncharacteristically.
“So what are you reading?” Noel asked. He walked closer to the bed, the sprung floorboards undulating under his feet, and peered over Norval’s shoulder.
Norval frowned, put the paper down. “Noel, I can’t stand people reading over my shoulder. Especially during sex, because that means I’m getting buggered.”
“I’m not reading over your shoulder. I’m trying to see the cover of that book beside you.” Noel craned his neck to read the title: In Praise of Older Women. A fuse began to crackle inside his brain, lit by a letter from the word Praise, a writhing scarlet S. “Norval, surely