The Monstrumologist Read Online Free PDF Page B

feelings for him and Father’s intense loyaltyto him, a loyalty that trumped all others, including any sense of obligation toward his wife or his only child. That Father loved us, I have never had any doubt; he had simply loved the doctor more. This was the root of my mother’s hatred for Dr. Warthrop. She was jealous. She was betrayed. And it was that sense of betrayal that led to the most vehement quarrels between them.

    Many a night before the fire stole them from me, I had lain awake listening to them through the thin walls of my room on Clary Street, the sound of their voices crashing against the plaster like storm surges smashing against a seawall, the culmination of the conflict that had begun hours earlier, usually when Father arrived late for dinner—late because the doctor had kept him. There were times when Father did not return for dinner, times when he did not return for days. When he at last came home, after my joyful greetings at the door, he would raise his eyes from my adoring ones to the decidedly less than adoring pair belonging to my mother, give a sheepish grin and a helpless shrug, and say, “The doctor needed me.”

    “What of me?” she would cry. “What of your son? What of our needs, James Henry?”

    “I am all he has,” was the unwavering reply.

    “And you are all
we
have. You disappear for days without a word to anyone about where you are going or when you’ll return. And when you do finally drag your thoughtless carcass through the door, you will not say where you have been or what you’ve been doing.”

    “Now, do not go on with me, Mary,” Father would caution her sternly. “There are some things I can tell you and some things I can’t.”

    “Some things you can? What might those things be, James Henry, for you tell me
nothing
!”

    “I tell you what I can. And what I can tell you is the doctor is engaged in very important work and he needs my help.”

    “But I do not? You force me into sin, James.”

    “Sin? What sin are you talking about?”

    “The sin of false witness! The neighbors ask, ‘Where is your husband, Mary Henry? Where is James?’ and I must lie for you—for
him
. Oh, how it galls me to lie for him!”

    “Then don’t. Tell them the truth. Tell them you don’t know where I am.”

    “That would be worse than a lie. What would they say about me—a wife who doesn’t know where her husband’s gone?”

    “I don’t understand why it should gall you, Mary. If it weren’t for him, what would you have? We owe everything to him.”

    She could not deny that, so she ignored it. “You don’t trust me.”

    “No. I simply cannot betray
his
trust.”

    “An honorable man has no need for secrets.”

    “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mary. Dr. Warthrop is the most honorable man I have ever known. It is a privilege to serve him.”

    “Serve him in
what
?”

    “His studies.”

    “What studies?”

    “He is a scientist.”

    “A scientist of
what
?”

    “Of … of certain biological phenomena.”

    “And what does that mean? What ‘biological phenomena’ are you talking about? Birds? Is Pellinore Warthrop a bird-watcher, James Henry, and you the porter of his field glasses?”

    “I will not discuss this, Mary. I will not tell you any more of the nature of his work.”

    “Why?”

    “Because you do not wish to know!” For the first time, Father raised his voice. “I am telling you in truth that there are days when
I
wish I didn’t know! I have seen things that no living man should ever see! I have been to places where the angels themselves would fear to tread! Now push no more upon this, Mary, for you do not know of what you speak. Be grateful for your ignorance and take comfort in the false witness it forces you to bear! Dr. Warthrop is a great man engaged in great business, and I shall never turn my back upon him, though the fires of hell itself arise to contend against me.”

    And that would be the end of it, at