“What’d yousay,son?”
“I said, you wouldn’t have to ta—”
“I heard you, Quint, I heard,” gasped Mr. M.
There was a long silence. He made some strange sounds, almost like choking, and then he whispered hoarsely, “No, I wouldn’t need to take off my Hood.”
” ‘Cause it wouldn’t matter, would it? If you really knew that underneath, everything was okay. Sure?”
“Oh, Lord yes, sure.”
“And you could wear the Hood for the next hundred years and only you and me would know what’s underneath. And we wouldn’t tell or care.”
“Just you and me. And what would I look like under the Hood, Quint? Sockdolager?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a long silence and Mr. Mysterious’ shoulders shook a few times and he made a quiet choking sound and all of a sudden some water dripped off the bottom of his Hood.
I stared at it. “Oh,” I said.
“It’s all right, Quint,” he said, quietly. “It’s just tears.”
“Gosh.”
“It’s all right. Happy tears.”
Mr. Mysterious got out of the last Studebaker then and touched at his invisible nose and dabbed at the doth in front of his unseen eyes.
“Quintessential Quint,” he said. “No one else like you in the whole world.”
“Heck, that goes foreveryone,don’t it?”
“If you say so, Quint.”
Then he added:
“Got any last things to upchuck or confess, son?”
“Some silly stuff. What if—?”
I paused and swallowed and could only look ahead through the steering wheel spokes at the naked silver lady on the hood.
“What if, a long time ago, you neverneededthe Hood?”
“You mean never? Neverever?”
“Yes, sir. What if a long time ago you onlythoughtyou needed to hide and put on that stuff with no eyeholes even. What if there was never any accident, or fire, or you weren’t born that way, or no lady ever laughed at you, whatthen?”
“You mean I only imagined I had to put on this sackcloth and ashes? And all these years I been walking around thinking therewassomething awful or just nothing, a blank underneath?”
“It just came to me.”
There was a long silence.
“And all these years I been walking around not knowing or pretending I had something to hide, for no reason, because my face was there all the time, mouth, cheeks, eyebrows, nose, and didn’t need melting down to be fixed?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Youdid.” A final tear fell off the bottom rim of his Hood. “How old are you, Quint?”
“Going on thirteen.”
“No. Methuselah.”
“He wasrealold. But did he have any jellybeans in hishead?”
“Like you, Quincy. A marvel of jellybeans.”
There was a long silence, then he said:
“Walk around town? Need to flex my legs. Walk?”
We turned right at Central, left at Grand, right again and stopped in front of the Karcher Hotel, the highest building in Green County or beyond.
“Quint?”
His Hood pointed up along the building while his voice under observed. “Thomas Quincy Riley, you got thatone last thinglook. Spit it out.”
I hesitated and said, “Well. Up inside that Hood, is itreallydark? I mean, there’s no radio gadgets or see-back-oscopes or secret holes?”
“Thomas Quincy Riley, you been reading the Johnson Smith & Co. Tricks, Toys, Games and Halloween Catalogue from Racine, Wisconsin.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Well, when I die you’ll inherit this sack, wear it, and know darkness.”
The head turned and I could almost feel his eyes burn the dark material.
“Right now, I can look through your ribs and see your heart like a flower or a fist, opening, closing, open, shut. You believe that?”
I put my fist on my chest.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Now.”
He turned to point his Hood up along the hotel for twelve stories.
“Know what I been thinking?”
“Sir?”
“Stop calling myself Mr. Mysterious.”
“Oh,no!”
“Hold on! I’ve done what I came for. Car sales are runaway. Hallelujah. But look, Quint. Look up and touch. What if I became the Human Fly?”
I gasped. “You mean—”
“Yessireebob. Can’t you just see me up six stories and eight and twelve at the top, with my Hood still on, waving down at the crowd?”
“Gee!”
“Glad for your approval.” Mr. M. stepped forward and started to climb, reaching for holds, finding, and climbing more. When he was three feet up he said, “What’s a goodtallname for a Human Fly?”
I shut my eyes, then said:
“Hightower!”
“Hightower, by God! Do we go home to breakfast?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Mashed bananas, mashed cornflakes, mashed oatmeal—”
“Ice cream!” I added.
“Melted,” said the Human Fly and climbed back down.
1997
The end
