Samedi the Deafness by Jesse Ball Page B

another door. James knocked on it, three times, for a sudden visit.

    The sound of voices, then footsteps. The door opened.

    James looked in. There was a little table and a small window. Several chairs were pulled up around the table, and in the chairs were perhaps four or five of the maids he had seen around the house. Grieve was there too. He pretended not to notice her. For her part, she looked at him with surprise.

    —I wonder, he said, if you could tell me . . .

    —You're not supposed to be here, said the maid who opened the door. Don't you know—

    —how to get to the room behind that room, said James, pointing to his right.

    The question put all the maids into a flurry.

    —You have to leave right now, said one.

    —Certainly, you must go.

    —Don't stand around. What if you're seen?

    The maids pushed him together softly out of the room and shut the door. He took from his pocket a glass tumbler and held it against the door, putting his ear to the glass. He could hear them talking.

    —How does he know about that room? Who told him?

    —Should we tell Mrs. Nagerdorn?

    He heard Grieve's voice then.

    —We should just forget it. Act like it never happened.

    —Oh, you're just saying that, said another voice, because you like him, don't you, Grieve? You like him so much. You like him, you like him, you like him. I've seen you mooning after him.

    —And I have too, said another. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you think about him before you go to bed, if you know what I mean.

    —That's nonsense, said Grieve. I don't know him at all, and I don't know what you mean. I just think we should forget it.

    Then a voice came from behind James in the hall.

    —Interesting business, isn't it, listening at doors? One can find out many things. Many helpful things. Of course, they usually lead to tragedy. Small tragedy, small, yes, but tragedy nonetheless. Household tragedies, you understand.

    James spun around.

    The man standing there was none other than Samedi, or perhaps-Samedi, Stark, Grieve's father. Beside him stood Sermon. Beside Sermon, Leonora and McHale.

    —That's the maids' room, said McHale quietly.

    The Best Hiding Place of All

    The best hiding place of all, said James's friend Ansilon, from his perch atop James's shoulder, is inside something hollow when no one knows it's hollow.

    Ansilon was James's one friend. He was an invisible owl who could tell the future and also speak English, although he preferred to speak in the owl language, which James understood perfectly.

    —But if no one knows that it's hollow, said James, then how would I manage to know that it's hollow? Should I just go around with a little hammer, tapping things?

    For that reason, said Ansilon, I have purchased for you with what little money I have this lovely little gold hammer. He brought out from a pocket somewhere in his feathers a tiny gold hammer, and handed it with his beak to James.

    James took the hammer in his hand. It had a nice weight to it.

    Tap everything, said Ansilon, with that hammer, and you'll soon find hollow places in which you can hide, or in which you can hide your precious belongings. But be sure no one else is around when you use the hammer, or you will be found out. It has, after all, he said, happened before that someone who didn't want to was found out, and it happens especially much to boys your age.

    James hated it when Ansilon talked about how young he was. Ansilon was 306 years old and knew everything there was to know. But while he was very helpful he was also a bit arrogant, and presumed too much.

    —I'm not that young, said James. I'll be seven in three days.

    And that's why, said Ansilon, I've gotten you this hammer. Don't you like it?

    —Very much, said James. You're my best friend.

    It's good, said Ansilon, for a person to only ever have one friend in his life. It makes things simpler. Shall we be each other's one friend?

    —Yes, said James. I will be your one friend, and you