Chapter 33: About the Black Book
“AH, the book,” the captain remembered.
“Which book, Nora?” Mr. Quentin asked his daughter.
“Um, the book, Dad. . . . It’s—It’s a long story.”
Matthew pinched Nora and pushed the book further underneath his pillow.
“The one you found in the attic?” Mom asked. “I think that’s where I got my story plot from. The old book worth five dollars, remember?” Lora reminded her husband.
“Yeah, we threw it away, Mom,” Matthew quickly said before Dad could reply Mom. He’d forgotten his mother knew about that! His father was still staring at him. “C’mon, Dad. We found out it was crap and threw it away. It wasn’t even worth five dollars.”
“So you owe me,” Nora told him.
“You never paid him, Nora, remember?” her mother reminded her. “I did.”
“Yeah, you wanted to give me two dollars, remember?” Matthew remembered. “That would’ve been a rip-off.”
“But you just said it wasn’t even worth five dollars,” Stephanie objected, staring at him.
“Did I? Then maybe that just slipped out,” Matthew reversed. His mother embraced him the more and the little girl smiled at this. At least, they all knew he wasn’t adopted after all!
Her mysterious grandfather cleared his throat.
“I was coming round to the book, Nora,” Captain Hayfield said. “After all, I left it there in the attic when I disappeared. Pity it’s gone. That book was worth more than any military weapon the army ever had, or now has.”
“C’mon, Dad, don’t give us one of those military stories of yours now,” his daughter complained. “This is not the time.”
“But it’s true, Lora,” the captain said to her. “I retrieved the book from a dying Iraqi in the Gulf, who said his grandfather had worked for an ambitious catholic priest called Marcos in Israel and had obtained a strange book from this man. His name was Jehadi and he’d been in a military convoy that was ambushed by the British in Mosul. I met him in a hospital in Yarimjah when my unit took over this town alongside our British allies, and when I saw him that day, I knew he wouldn’t survive his bullet wounds.”
The captain paused for a while and breathed in deeply, his small audience patiently waiting for him to continue. At length, he turned to his daughter as if to say something, but she looked away and he sadly resumed his story. “Actually, Jehadi wanted to pay for his freedom with the book and intimated me of its mysterious ability to erase any line drawn on its blank pages.”
“Wait—Wait a minute, Dad! That now looks like the story I’m still working on,” Mrs. Quentin finally cut in, surprised. “Sure you didn’t peep into my room before coming here?”
“I don’t know your room, Lora,” her father denied. “Besides, how did I get in here? Must have blanked out or something,” he suggested to himself, looking around.
“You must’ve come in through the window,” Nora suggested.
“Yeah, the window,” Matthew took up.
“You came into my house through my son’s window, Dad?” their mother asked their grandfather. “What else have you not done?”
“I didn’t peep into your room, did I?” the old man thought.
“Have you found a title for your book, Mom?” Nora quickly asked before this flare-up could escalate further.
“Sure,” she said, holding her forehead. “I guess ‘The Black Book’ is not as nice a title as ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,’ but it’s just as good.”
Lora’s children were dumbfounded, amazed and horror-stricken at the same time.
“I used you guys in creating my characters, you know,” she dreamily went on. “The book takes you back in time to meet ancient peoples and face heathen kings! What an adventure! Guess I was fortunate enough to get that bit about your . . . two-dollar book from the attic, eh?”
Her children’s mouths were still open.
“What?” she asked them, surprised at this behavior. “You never thought I would get a title, did you?”
“Well, they’re not as surprised as I am, my dear,” her father said. “Could you have . . . possibly . . . come across that book before you started writing? Before it was thrown away?”
“What I’m writing is vintage Lora Quentin, Dad,” Mrs. Quentin vehemently pointed out. “Don’t think we’re gonna believe that . . . made-up story you just told us ‘bout some made-up Iraqi back in your glory days, except in my book.”
“Well, I didn’t believe Jehadi’s story at first until he showed me the book,” Captain Hayfield continued, “but the poor man never needed to pay for his freedom—he died before we were to send him to Abu Ghraib and I took possession of this book.” He said this almost with guilt, turning to the window again. “Jehadi never told me about this catholic priest whom his grandfather got the book from . . .”
“His grandfather got the book from the priest?” Matthew whispered. “His grandfather?”
“What, you now know him?”
“No, Dad. Sorry . . .”
“It’s okay, John. I said that before, son,” the captain agreed. “Jehadi never told me about him, or what else this mysterious book could do, so I never envisaged the enormity of . . . what . . . what I was getting myself into . . . .” And he trailed off in a broken voice.
“Thanks, Dad. You just gave me more ideas for my book,” Lora remarked with mixed feelings.
“We know nothing about any book, Captain Hayfield,” her husband gently supported.
“Oh well,” the old man said, removing his hands from Matthew’s sill and turning back to him. “You’re a very good man, John, and I know you never knew about the book,” he said. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve—I’ve revealed to you this evening and I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, like my daughter.”
Lora was looking down at her feet.
“Your kids might know what I’m talking about, though,” her father said with a smile, “and they might have returned the book to the Booklords as I should have done the day I realized my mistake, except that I was no longer with the book and have spent eleven blithering months roaming the Amazon with a tribe I never knew existed in my entire life.” And then he drew nearer conspiratorially. “Do you know they tormented me for three whole years? I guess I deserved it, though.”
“Is that all, Father?” Mrs. Quentin asked him. “You disappear for five years from my life and suddenly appear to tell me fairy tales?”
“Oh, please calm down, Mom,” Nora persuaded her mother. “You said it yourself—he’s been helping you with ideas for your book. Don’t you think he could still have more?”
Matthew pinched her for her unalloyed silence about the book.
“I’m sorry, Lora,” Captain Hayfield mumbled, straightening his sweatshirt with one hand. “I’m only glad I’m back and I’m grateful to whoever helped me. I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome, but before I leave, I still have one confession to make. This used to be my house. I arranged for its sale when I found out you wanted to move here and I guess you know how I got you to know about it. Unfortunately, I disappeared the day I should’ve finally moved out while I was in the attic.”
“Oh, Father,” his daughter exclaimed. “More fairy tales?” Her husband looked uncomfortable.
“Seriously?” the captain began. “I disappeared for military reasons I cannot divulge here. I was recalled from retirement for operations in Afghanistan,” he chuckled.
“Now, we’re talking,” Lora said. “Though it was fun while it lasted and I can use some of the Iraqi stuff in my book. The Booklords sound okay, too.”
Nora frowned at her mother. “What else is gonna turn up now?” she wondered. For all she knew, her mother could be working for Marcos alongside her new grandfather, and who did he hope to fool with this ‘Operation Afghanistan’ lie after that ‘tale’ she knew from her own experience to be true? Certainly not her! “And what of Sergeant Stephen, Grandpa?” she suddenly dema
nded.
“And Liu Hang, Nora,” Stephanie contributed.
“Don’t you two get it?” Matthew snapped. “It was all made up.” He was wrong about this two if he thought they would have no cause to ask any more questions. Although the ‘fairy tale’ fitted the facts he knew better than the ‘real story,’ this was not the time to prod the old man for more answers.
But the captain understood his concern.
“I’ve never heard of a Sergeant Stephen or Liu Hang, girls, but in my dream, I used the book to pen down names of my men I wanted to watch more closely after each of our military operations in Iraq. Men of . . . questionable character,” Captain Hayfield said aloud.
“Now it’s a dream, Grandpa?” a stunned Nora whispered. “Hell, no! I know you’re lying.”
“But I can still use that in my book,” her mother pointed out. “I don’t think he is, my dear.”
“Now that I think of it, though,” Captain Hayfield continued, “I never had the chance to monitor these people ‘coz they must’ve disappeared after I wrote down their names. We couldn’t find them when this started happening, as you might’ve guessed, and I never linked this to the book.”
“And how did you come to add your own name, Grandpa?” Stephanie asked, forgetting all about Liu Hang.
“Well, Stephanie, in my story, I—I . . . did that when I returned from the war since the book was now mine and I thought it necessary to assert this, although I forgot to clean off that poor priest’s name first.”
‘That would have nipped all our problems in the bud!’ Matthew thought. His grandfather winked at him and he winked back. He just hoped the old man wouldn’t demand for the book later!
“So, when did you write this story?” his little sister asked.
“Uh—I told you; when I came back from the war,” Captain Hayfield repeated.
“I honestly forgot my Dad was such a good storyteller,” Lora exclaimed, raising her hands in defeat. “He also tells the best jokes in the world, but we must call it a day, mustn’t we, Dad?”
The old man lost his smile again.
“What do you mean, Mom?” Nora asked her mother.
“It—It’s getting late, Nora,” her mother clarified. “I guess the storytelling should end now, don’t you think, John?”
“I guess so,” Nora’s father nervously supported.
“Then I guess I must be going,” her grandfather mumbled and walked to the door.
Here Captain Hayfield paused and turned back to his only daughter, hoping to see pity in her eyes, but he saw none. “Lora, I was wondering if . . .”
“If what, Dad?” she started. “After what you did to Matthew? To me? To . . . Us?” She had tears in her eyes.
“I was only wondering if . . .”
“No, Dad,” Mrs. Quentin angrily stressed. “It’s too late for that now. You’ve overstayed your welcome! Thanks for the story, though.”
Shoulders hunched, the captain slowly nodded and turned back to the heavy oak door, finally defeated. “By the way, Lora,” he said as he slowly opened the door, “I’ve made a lot as a broker some years after the army, so don’t bother to return the money; I am too old to write another will.”
They all stared at his back, dumbfounded, as he walked down the stairs and out the main door.
“I can’t believe that,” Stephanie said. “Did . . . we just let him go?”
“How could I have known he was the one?” their mother argued. “He gave a wrong name for the will, and I foolishly believed it all. How could I have known he’d become so rich? He was always telling me about stocks and shares when I was young, but I never knew he was that serious about it all.”
“I’ll get him back, Lora,” her husband proposed and went downstairs and out the door.
“Mom, you’re hugging me too tightly,” Matthew protested, and his mother loosened her grip to kiss him on the cheek.
“I’m sorry, dear, but I almost lost you,” she whispered with tears in her eyes. “I almost lost you, my sweet.”
Nora filled his view with tears in her own eyes. “Forgive me, Noise,” she pleaded affectionately. “I was so wrong about you.” And she joined the hug with Stephanie forming an outer circle.
Matthew decided to forgive his senior sister for calling him ‘Noise’ for once. “Ow c’mon!” he shouted with excitement, smiling. What about that crazy word ‘adopted’? It would never be part of him again! He was now the original owner of his name and not an orphan from an unknown family. He wouldn’t need to look for his ‘real’ father and mother anymore. Here they all were, and two sisters even came with the bargain! And of course they had always been one big family! Who would ask for more? “Ow, c’mon!”
“What’s that smell?” Mom asked, sniffing. “Is something . . . burning?”