are you going to give it to us or what!?”
“What?” V asked.
“The basement! Weren’t you listening?” Pudgy Penny took an annoying air that smacked of condescension diluted with a lethal amount of exasperation.
“Nobody uses it anyway,” added Piggy Peter, no less gelatinous than his sister, peered through two narrow slits beneath the red bangs of his slithery hair. “Since Uncle Kirby went over and out and all those goof balls who used to meet down there took a hike, its been abandoned.” Piggy Peter said with great care to imply a sense of solemnity by not disturbing the seldom talked about memories of V’s father, whose interest in matters theologically paranormal took him and his small circle of illuminati to the basement where he kept a most impressive library of old and rare books. There was a worktable where he wrote his psalm books; publishing and selling them himself. (There were metal folding chairs leaning against the far wall.) Much of Kirby’s personal income had come from the sale of sacred relics. The genesis of those sacred relics remain a mystery, as does the nature of their sanctity.
Before Kirby Victor Aires met and married V’s mother and before he became the renegade high priest of his own theologically incorrect, surreptitious cult——The Brotherhood of Solar Agnation——Brother Kirby had decoded ancient and forbidden books in one of the sub-basements beneath the Vatican Palace. Brother Kirby was the pet of the Cardinals. He was considered Cardinal material by the Pope, until Brother Kirby had an epiphany.
Things don’t always work out the way we imagine they should, as proven by Brother Kirby who instigated a heated argument with His Holiness over the existence of God vis-a-vie the ability of the individual to become their own God. “I am God!” he shouted at the Pope.
“You are a fucking idiot!” Arshmann shouted back, but not in his usual shriveling old man voice. It was certainly not the Pope’s voice that boomed with ungodly hatred from deep within the pit of Hell; or maybe there are many pits in Hell. Like Dante, perhaps. Surely, it wasn’t the voice of God, unless, this God was unique to Arshmann himself; which only goes to reinforce Kirby’s point.
The encounter ended with the Pope on the floor holding a burning candle in his clenched fist and Brother Kirby holding a brass candlestick over the skull of His Holiness.
“I curse and excommunicate you!” proclaimed Pope Arshmann. “Big fucking deal,” said the former Roman Catholic Brother.
The following day Kirby was escorted off the sacred Vatican grounds by an attachment of Swiss Guards. Never again would he acknowledge the infallibility of the Pope; that self-important German Nazi, the bitter ideologue who had memorized the party lines. Moreover, he was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!Brother Kirby was out the door and on the street. Soon afterward, Brother Kirby started his own anti-Catholic Brotherhood of Solar Agnation with the book he walked off with from the Vatican’s immense storehouse of misappropriated loot, and the largest known collection of the world’s treasures. The late Reverend hid the book in the back of his trousers. As the Swiss Guards escorted him off Vatican property, one of the guards observed, “That man has the squarest ass I’ve ever seen.”
“Well? Will you give the basement to us?” asked Pudgy Penny in a demanding sort of tone.
“If the two of you want it take it. You’re driving me crazy!”
“You’re already crazy, Auntie Vickie,” chimed the twins in unison.
“Come, Drusilla,” said Piggy to Pudgy.
“I will, O Zeus, my brother,” swooned a pensive Pudgy to Piggy.
Then they were gone, down the hall and well out of earshot by the time V finished refilling Lily’s replacement teacup; a black mug imprinted with I’VE BEEN TO THE ZOO in gold lettering.
“You gave away the basement?” Lily sounded perplexed, puzzled and careworn.
“Only for a week or two, Lil. Then they will trade it in for something else. The attic maybe. By the way, Zeus I know, but I seem to have forgotten who Drusilla was?”
“Caligula’s sister.”
“Yes, of course,” said a weary V, rolling her eyes while pouring herself another cup of Earl Grey from her Dresden china teapot cracked here and cracked there and covered with the tea cozy Lily crocheted the time she came down with a foot infection; a reaction to a bite or sting from a source unknown. To this day Lily still suspects it was from one of the spiders that were given sanctuary in the house ever since V had declared that any attempt at killing them was verboten. Or, it may have been one of the black centipedes that are occasionally seen scurrying across the parlor floor, racing between the legs of V and Lily as the “little fuckers”headed to their den hidden somewhere within the walls.
"They could be poisonous! I better Google," Lily told herself.
“Which reminds me,” continued V, “next Saturday is our FEA field trip, is it not?”
“It is,” Lily confirmed, remembering something. “That is, unless Carlotta Bean forgets to take her meds and pulls another one of her stunts.”
“I don’t think so, Lily. Her last one was less than two weeks ago and, knowing her, she wouldn’t chance another scene quite so soon; especially after taking in that new boarder. She’s a stickler for making a good first impression, particularly for new conquests, after that she doesn’t give a rat’s ass. Le Bean certainly made a mess of things; insulting Mercy Pence’s buffet before dropping her emerald ring into the punch bowl, polluting the poor thing’s Georgian Ambrosia punch with the heavy scent and bile taste of Gardenia Bold. Made by some French faggot, according to Carlotta. Anyway, as she fished about in the peach-colored brine, its tide rose midway to her elbows before she nearly drowned herself in shock from seeing the disturbingly distorted faces of everyone there. As you know, all that cleaning-up after her vile tantrum left me exhausted. And poor raving Billy Butts! Will he never learn to shut the fuck up long enough to take a breath? I guess it was her attempt to strangle him with her peach-tinted hands that brought the evening’s festivities to an abrupt conclusion.” V paused to sip tea while waiting for the right words.
She didn’t need to wait very long before, “Nope, not so soon as Saturday, Lily. She keeps her new boarder in the Paisley Room; the room that nice fellow papered for her. You know, the one you always liked with the mysterious eyebrows you thought Arabesque. I detected his eyebrows were carefully plucked and that he didn’t align the paisleys quite right. Carlotta has always been quite practical in utilizing her inamoratos. I wonder whatever happened to him? Billy Butts certainly couldn’t restrain his lust, but I think Mister Arabesque was all one way about that sort of thing. With him——the inamorato——when the time came to choose, the choice came down to Carlotta with all her prurient interests and a seemingly endless amount of money, or Billy with matching interests, but less money, Carlotta won, if not hands-down, certainly by a nose.
“Anyway, this newest boarder had been a tourist guide in Athens. Apparently, he has all the attributes which make for success: tall, tan, piercing black eyes, wide infectious smile, perfectly even white teeth, and not an original thought in his lovely head. He doesn’t speak a lick of English, but Carlotta said he is willing to help her learn Greek in exchange for room and board, and whatever else. Although, the idea of teaching one without a lick of English by one without a lick of Greek does sound intriguing.” Sometimes, V’s breezy, affected manner can get so protracted one would need a surveyor’s level to measure its boundaries. This is one of those times. For someone whose life is riddled with untaken opportunities, V always held tightly to hope. “I keep feeling I am here
