The Man Who Melted Read Online Free PDF Page B

push through the barriers and reach Pfeiffer, kindle the warmth of the old days (and extract Pfeiffer's memories of Josiane like teeth), he felt repelled by this familiar stranger. Stymied, Mantle kept quiet, watched, and waited.
    â€œThis one is very good,” Pfeiffer said, staring at a large fantasticalpainting of a dead bird in the woods. It was centered on the far narrow wall of the living room. The painting commanded the space; one would not even notice the floral-figured easy chair beneath it.
    Mantle laughed softly.
    â€œWhat's so funny?” Pfeiffer asked, turning around, then back to the painting. “I think this is a very good piece of work, even though the subject matter is a bit depressing.”
    â€œI know the work is very good,” Mantle said, walking across the room, taking the advantage. “That wasn't what I was laughing at.”
    â€œWell…?”
    â€œI was laughing at you, old friend.” Pfeiffer scowled, as expected. “I painted this for you some time ago,” Mantle continued. “You can take it back with you, if you like.”
    â€œWell, thank you, but I don't know.” Pfeiffer's voice lowered in register. “Why did you laugh?”
    â€œBecause I painted it for you and, predictably, you took the bait. You nosed over to the Dead Bird without a hesitation.”
    â€œSo what?”
    â€œI'll show you,” Mantle said. He stood before the painting; it was at eye level. “Look at the sky. There, where the dark, fist-shaped cloud meets the lighter one, what do you see?”
    â€œI see two clouds. What should I see?”
    â€œStep back a bit, and don't stare into the painting as if to burn a hole in it,” Mantle said. “You see the black cloud as the figure and the white as the ground because there is so much more white area. That's a decoy. Try looking at the white area as figure and the dark as ground. Now what do you see? Don't strain to look: it will come into focus.”
    â€œI see letters, I think,” Pfeiffer said.
    â€œAnd what do they spell?”
    Pfeiffer shook his head; it was more like a twitch. “T-O-D. Tod . Why, that's the German word for death. Is that really in there?”
    â€œYes,” Mantle said. “It's part of a mosaic using tod and tot . If you look closely, you can also make out the words death and variants such as deth , over there.” Mantle pointed to a shaded area in the sky.
    â€œWhy did you do that?” Pfeiffer asked.
    â€œThey're subliminal embeds. Surely you're familiar with them—”
    â€œOf course I am,” Pfeiffer replied, his voice a bit loud. “But why use death, or tod , or whatever—other than to be morbid.”
    â€œThey're subliminal triggers. Your greatest fear was death, remember? You used to talk about it all the time.” Mantle waited a beat, “Step back a bit and look into the forest—there, in the left corner where the crawlers are. What do you see?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œLook away from the painting,” Mantle said. “Now look again.”
    â€œWhy it's Caroline's face, I can see it. It's a real trompe l'oeil .” Pfeiffer's face seemed to darken. “What else have you hidden in there?”
    â€œThat you'll have to discover yourself,” Mantle said. He couldn't tell Pfeiffer that the subliminal portrait of his wife was surrounded by genitals. Sweet, sexless, self-contained Caroline, radiant in a wreath of cocks.
    â€œThen there are more subembeds?”
    â€œQuite a bit more,” Mantle replied, feeling relieved yet guilty. He was acting like a vengeful child. The past was dead, let it be, he thought.
    â€œDo you really expect me to take that painting?”
    â€œThat's up to you.” Mantle walked into the sitting room where he kept a small bar, and Pfeiffer followed. This room contained another desk, this one walnut with a drop front, several austere high-backed chairs, a