There was a tactility to this story which startled Lucy. He was unsettled by the image and deed, and by Memel’s undemonstrative manner of reportage; and yet he was moved by the tale as well. Was there not a measure of justice in the act, after all? Perhaps it was only natural, then, that Lucy was already reimagining the story so that it was Adolphus at the lip of the Very Large Hole, and he himself stood at Adolphus’s back, creeping ever closer. He wondered if he could actually go through with it. His heart was doubtful. “That must have been difficult to do,” he said to Memel.
Memel shook his head. “I pushed him. That was all. He didn’t make a sound. You’d think he would have screamed.”
“He was too surprised, maybe.”
“It would be surprising, wouldn’t it? Slipping through the air like that, all at once?” Memel paused a moment to consider it. “Well, I can’t say I regret it, Lucy. Woe betide those who trifle with Eros, eh?”
“I suppose.”
“Cupid is well armed, and so must we be, isn’t that so?”
“It is so.”
Memel’s face grew long. “I do miss Tomas, though. Him and Alida both. I’ve never got over either of them being gone, if I’m to be honest.”
With a degree of trepidation, Lucy asked, “And how did Alida die?”
“In childbirth, nine months after the death of Tomas.” He regarded Lucy with a mischievous expression, as if daring him to inquire further.
“Nine months,” Lucy said.
Memel nodded.
“You’re saying Klara is Tomas’s daughter?”
“I’m saying that Mewe is Tomas’s son.”
“Does Mewe know this?”
“No.”
“He’s never asked after his history?”
“He’s never asked me.”
“When will you tell him?”
“I have no plans to tell him at all.”
“But why not?”
“Why should I, is the superior query.”
Lucy considered it, and could think of no further argument. He asked, “Why did you tell me this story about Tomas?”
Memel held up his palms, but he didn’t answer the question, and would say no more about it. At the conclusion of their outing, he bade Lucy and Rose a good evening, and his footing was shaky and uncertain as he stepped toward the village.
That night Lucy lay in bed, hopeful for sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come no matter how he approached it in his mind. At last he sat up and declared, “Well, I’m just going to have to kill him, and that’s all there is to it.” He lay back down and made plans to that effect.