The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean Read online

  I wud go on wisperin & tuchin for a long long tym.

  I wud stand the beest on the carpet.

  I wud go on willin it to moov. I wud go on tuchin it & strokin it.

  Plees moov. Plees breeth. Plees liv.

  Did it work?

  Wons a munky swung its arm & then wos stil agen. Wons a hors took a step & then another step across the carpet befor it fell down ded agen. Wons I woke & saw many of the beests moving slowly across the flore towards the dore I must never go threw. But wen I sat up & lookd proply evrythin was still.

  I tryd other ways of maykin life. I wud fynd a ded fly or beetl or spida & try to mayk it cum to lyf agen lyk Daddy telt me Jesus did with Lazaris. I breethd on it & wisperd to it & telt it it wud liv agen. And wons it did. A littl fly started to buz agen & up it jumpd & flew agen.

  But mebbe that was an illushon.

  Mebbe it hadnt been reely ded.

  Mebbe the munky & the hors wer just a dreme.

  Mebbe arl of it has been nothin but a dreme.

  Who can tel? Who can tel enything?

  I no now that ther hav bene many clever peple arl throu history. I no now that the cleverest of arl peple say that they no next to nothing abowt the mistrys of the world the mistrys of lyf & deth the mistrys of the body & the sole. And ther ar those who think that evrything all lyf all deth & all the yoonivers is just ilushon. Sum think that all of us liv sum weard kind of waykin dreem. They say ther ar no facts & ther is no truth.

  So who am I to no?

  And who am I to no who put ther hand on me & telt me to cum to lyf?

  Sumtyms it seems ther is no anser to anything at all.

  It wos abowt this tym wen I wos 8 or 9 or 10 and I playd the maykin lyf gaym that I started seein the things that wud layter interest Missus Malone very much.

  I saw fayses in the warls and in the seelin. I saw bodys standin and warkin in the room at niyt. I herd voyses wisperin. Now I start to think that mebbe it was me as I am now wisperin to me as I was then. Mebbe it was me and you my readers who look upon the seens with me. Who can bluddy no? Ther wer kids like me but not like me. Ther wer grown ups like my mam and dad but not like my mam and dad.

  Sumtyms it was like they wer insyd myself or that they had steppd owt from insyd myself into the room.

  Sumtyms wen I woke from my sleep and saw 1 standin or moving ther I wud dare to wisper.

  Hello. Who ar you? My name is Billy Dean.

  But they wud be sylent. Or they wud fade bak into the seelin or the warl like they wer scard or shy.

  They kept on cumin bak.

  I telt my Mam abowt it.

  Ar you sure Billy? she said.

  Aye Mam.

  1 nite she stayd with me wich she hadnt dun for yers.

  Depe in the nite after wed bene wating a long tym a fase appeard on the warl.

  Ther Mam look, I wisperd.

  I tryd to show her wer it wos but no mater how hard she lookd she cudnt see it ther.

  Mebbe its not ther at arl I said.

  Mebbe it isnt, she said. But mebbe it is & you are a boy with speshal site.

  She lookd agen. The fase disapeard then another tuk its plays then a figure moovd across the room. I telt my mam but she saw non of it.

  She stard deep into my eys.

  Mebbe this is wot its all been for, she said.

  Wot do you meen Mam.

  I dont no Billy. I dont no nothing Billy.

  I said that was OK. I said that I new nothing neyther.

  She siyed.

  Or mebbe this is the punishment she said. O Billy wot we dun to you?

  I dint no how to anser that. But then a mows crept out from its hole in the warl & scamperd cross the room.

  Them things! she said.

  Ther nice I said.

  Ther dirty & they bring arl kinds of jerms. Its time to do sumthin about them.

  Dad brout pitcher books abowt Jona and the wale and Samson & Deliyla and Hansel and Gretel and Pinokio & the big bad wulf. He showd me the storys insyd them. He wud sit beside me and let me lene on him. I wud trays my fingas over the pajes as he red to me & at times like that it wos like I was not me the boy carld Billy Dean but like I was part of Wilfred my dad like anotha of his arms or 1 of his fingas. He poynted to the book & told me these are letters these are words these are sentences & payjes.

  Look. That says Mowses. That says river. You put the words together & they tell the tale. The bayby Mowses was fownd in a baskit by the river. See?

  I told him yes but no I didnt.

  Good boy he said. Now we wil look very close at this payj & we wil find the leters that make the name of Billy Dean.

  And he took my finger & he poynted with it to the lettas of my name. He poynted to B to I to L to L to Y to D to E to A to N.

  And that makes Billy Dean he said. See?

  I lookd closely at the pajes.

  So Billy Dean is in the story of Mowses? I said.

  He laffd owt lowd.

  Yes! he said. And Billy Dean can be fownd like that in any tale you care to menshon.

  And he got another book that told the tale of a boy & a wulf & showd me how the name of Billy Dean cud be fownd in ther as well.

  Isnt it marvelus? he said. Now you do it son.

  He sat bak & wotchd.

  But I was hoapless.

  Sumtimes I fownd a leter rite but yooshly I was rong & often I poynted to a leter that wasnt in Billy Dean at arl.

  He didnt mind at first.

  He kept helpin & correctin me.

  He said practis makes perfect.

  He said it was just a mater of time.

  He said that 1 day if I kept on trying Id be abel to rite the storys down myself.

  Wudnt that be somthin speshal Billy? he said.

  Aye I said. It wud.

  He tryd to show me how to rite. Hed put a felt tip in my fingas & hold my hand in his & gide it acros a shete of paypa.

  These are leters he wud say agen. And thees are words, Billy.

  And he wud wisper the nayms of the letters and words in my ere.

  B — I — L — L —Y he wud wisper. Billy. Mowses. Wulf. Woods. Jesus. See how the leters make the words & how the words make sentenses & how all the sentenses togather make the tale? Look. The wulf was in the woods.

  He said that storys cud be about enything.

  Enythin?

  Yes Billy. Stories can even be abowt Billy Dean.

  I dint no wot to say. He laffd.

  Mebbe thats wer we shud start, he said.

  He gided my hand to mayk sum words.

  Look, he said. That won says Billy. That won says Mam. That won says Dad.

  He gided my hand agen very slow & very careful. I saw the leters & words taykin shayp.

  That says Wons upon a time ther wos a boy calld Billy Dean. See?

  Aye I said even tho I cudnt.

  Now try doin it yorself he said.

  But wen he tuk his hand away I cudnt do it no mater how hard I wonted to. I just did scrawl & scribbl & nonsens & mess.

  At first he just siyed and laffd and evrything was silly and niys and he shrugd and said, Ah well it dusnt mater, Billy. Its erly days. Youll lern in tym just lyk I did wen I was a littl boy. Lets kepe on tryin.

  But we kept on tryin & I kept on not lernin & 1 day hed had enuf & he got mad with me cos I wos so thik. The felt tip wos goin arl over the plays lyk it wos a stupid thing. Dads fays went arl red & he clenchd his fists & yelld,

  Wot the hell is rong with you Billy Dean?

  I d-dont no Dad.

  How can a thing like you be a son of mine?

  I dont no Dad.

  No you dont & nor do I. Weve made a fukin monster not a boy!

  O Wilfred! wisperd Mam.

  He bard his teeth at her. He grabbd another bit of paper & rote on it fast and hard & shovd it in frunt of my eyes.

  What dos it say? he said.

  I d-dont . . . I stammerd.

  No you dont do you? he snarld.

&n
bsp; He turnd the paper away from Mam.

  What you bluddy lookin at? he said to her.

  N-nothin Wilfred.

  He wrote agen & showd it agen & I cudnt read agen.

  Fukin yoosless! he said.

  Words ar wot make us human! he said.

  Ar they Dad?

  Yes they bluddy are! And evry word writ rite is a celebrashun of Gods grace.

  Is it Dad?

  Yes you bluddy idyot!

  Mam had shuffld acros the flore away from us. She was sitin agenst the warl with her hed in her hands.

  She wisperd sumthing low and soft.

  What did you fukin say? he said.

  She bit her lip.

  I said you shudnt call him such things Wilfred, she said.

  He snarld at her.

  Ill carl him bluddy wors than that the bluddy styoopid fool! How the bluddy hell wil he survive? How dus he think hell cope if we let him owt?

  He clenchd his fists & wayvd them in the air.

  Wy did we let him surviyv? he yelled. Wots the bluddy styoopid poynt of him?

  Mam carld his naym.

  Wilfred! O Wilfred!

  Wilfred O bliddy Wilfred! He anserd. Wilfred O bliddy Wilfred shud hav ended it befor it ever begun!

  He leend rite over me now & glard rite down at me & his eyes & voys wer filld with hate.

  Wilfred O bliddy Wilfred shud hav killd the monster in the woom. Wilfred O bliddy Wilfred shud have drownd the thing at birth! Wilfred O bliddy Wilfred shud hav chukd it owt into the flayms & desolayshon of the 5th of bliddy May!

  He grabbd me by the throte.

  Shudnt he? he yelld at me. Anser me you cretin! Tel me I shud have ended it befor it had bluddy begun. Tel me yes you shud hav Daddy!

  Y-yes y-you sh-shud . . .

  And then he carld owt lyk an animal & he started cryin weepin howlin & he fel down to the flore & lay ther shakin for a long tym.

  Mam cum to me & held me tite. We wotchd him til he cum owt of his anga & distress. He crarld to us across the flore.

  Im so sory, he wisperd. I dont mene it son. I dont mene eny of it. I luv you.

  He put his arms rownd me.

  Mam said we understood we new he wos under pressha we new non of this was eesy for him. She got a tishu & tryd to wyp his teres away.

  He shuvd her away.

  Thats the trubbl, he said. I love you my son. I bluddy love you & thats why the harm is dun.

  Then he huggd me & we sat together on the sofa in the sylens. He let Mam come close to him agen.

  We sat for a long time. Then he said that words wer mebbe not evrythin. Mebbe the sylens had messijes for us messajes deepa than cud be telt by words. He said that mebbe words got in the way of knowin the most important things of arl.

  Wot important things? I wisperd.

  Things I hav no words for, Billy. Mebbe things that you wil no better than I do Billy. Things that only speshul boys lyk you can get to. Mebbe thats the truth of it. Yes. Mebbe thats what its been for.

  He went to the tabl. He closd his eyes for a long tym. Then he rote for meny minuts on the paper agen. Then came bak to me and held the words befor me.

  Wot do you see? he sed.

  I lookd close. I thort I cud see my name & his name & her name but I wasnt sertan.

  Words, I sed.

  Thats rite. But look very close, Billy. Wot do you see beyond the words between the words.

  I dont know, Dad.

  Mam tryd to see but he turnd the payj from her.

  It is for the boy, he said, and not for you. Tel me, Billy. Wisper it soft to me.

  Nothin, Dad.

  Nothin? Ther must be sumthin, Billy. Gayz upon the words. Gayz throu them. I wont to no. Tel me wot is ther.

  Payper, I told him.

  Just payper?

  I lifted the payper.

  Then the table, I said. Then the flore. I dont no, Dad.

  He lookd down at the flore lyk ther cud be a messij in it. I lookd down with him. I wunderd wot wos beyond the flore & beyond wot was beyond the flore. He sat besyd me very stil.

  Never mynd, he wisperd. Never mynd. Dont wurry abowt givin words to it.

  He rippd the paje into meny fragments & droppd it in a bin.

  He giv me sum mor paypa.

  Just do some niys pitchers instead, he said.

  Wot pitchers, Dad?

  Enythin. A pitcha of me & Mam sittin on the sofa.

  So I did that & wot a bluddy mess it wos agen.

  O Billy! sed Mam. She clappd her hands. Its lyk the tracks the miys make in the dust beside the warls.

  And we arl laffd cos we wer happy togetha wons mor.

  Iv stil got the paje he rote that day.

  I took it out of the bin.

  Mam lookd for it as well but I said the mise must hav eaten it. She must hav nown it wasnt so but she just said good & that was for the best.

  I spent meny meny days puting it bak together in secresy & silens. I workd very cairfuly & very hard. I stuk it all together with selotayp. I lookd into it meny times tryin to desifer it but I never understood what was ritten ther. I hid it away under a loos floreboard under the bed. It was a secret only for myself. I stil hav it now. I see how I made meny mistayks in putting it together. This is understandabl for I was just a boy who cudnt rede & cudnt rite.

  I no now what it says tho ther are stil parts of it that are beyond my ken.

  I copy it here now.

  At the top ar the first 2 things he rote the things he scribbld fast & hard.

  First is

  YOU ARE A MONSTER, BILLY DEAN.

  Then

  AND SHE IS A STUPID FILTHY TART.

  Then come the the words he rote in slowness after the storm of anga had dyd down.

  And I am the black-souled Wilfred Grace, your father. And I have hidden you away. Perhaps I should have brought you out that first morning when the fires burned and the walls still tumbled and the wailing and weeping echoed through the streets. Perhaps I should have held you up and said, “Look! A child is born at the moment of death. See how the world is immediately revived. See how the forces of destruction are instantly dispelled.”

  But I did not. I was weak.

  I asked myself did I want a child of mine to be carried out into such a dreadful world? I told myself that growing you in isolation from the world would protect you from the forces of evil. I convinced myself that you would become a sacred thing because of it. Ha! I even told myself that you had been saved for some great purpose. I see how even now I dissemble, how I try to justify my sin. Hear how I lie. The truth is sordid, Billy. The truth like most truth is banal. I had seduced an innocent, your mother, and I dreaded the discovery of my sin. All my actions have been born of lust and the abuse of power and of cowardice. And of curiosity. Imagine that. I was curious to see how a human creature — you, my son — would grow in such conditions. What did I imagine? That it would produce some kind of saint, some kind of angel, some kind of transcendent being?

  Ha. Often I dreamed a simple dream that you would simply die here in your little hidden room, that you would fade away as if you had hardly been here at all, that the dust would gather on you, that the walls would finally fall on you, that you would be wrapped into the ruins of Blinkbonny. When I woke, this seemed the best of all dreams, the most perfect. But the force of life is strong in you, my son. And you are well mothered.

  Once we had set out on our chosen course, that course quickly became ordinary, commonplace.

  Oh, how easily we fall into the pathways forged by sin. How quickly we forget that there could be any other way. Oh, how smoothly we slither down into Purgatory and find a kind of comfort in being there.

  Time keeps passing. You keep growing. I say that I will do something, and I keep on doing nothing. I continue to tell myself that I am protecting you from the world of war and waste. I tell myself that I am defending your soul. I tell myself that I am preparing you for some kind of sanctity. But it is myself, Wilfred Grace, that I
protect.

  The life of your mother, Veronica, has also been purloined by me. I have never loved her, Billy. I have only lusted for her body, for her weakness, for the way she abandons herself to me, for the way she calls out my name as she lies helplessly beneath me on her dusty bed.

  I know that I should release you both but I am cowardly and weak. I am beyond contempt, beyond all hope. My soul indeed is black as night. I am in Hell.

  O Billy, I am filled with dread. I fear that death is the only way out and that I will murder you both. That dread is also my desire. And each time I come here the desire is stronger.

  Soon I fear that I will be unable to resist.

  I am like a god who has created a world that he has come to detest, a world that he wishes to destroy.

  I must not abandon myself to this desire. I must go away. I must not return. But I love you, Billy Dean. Despite myself I love you. I cannot leave you. In another world, in other circumstances, I would have been the best of all fathers. Yes. I would have been. I

  Enough. Forgive me, Lord.

  Lord! Ha. I am beyond forgiveness.

  I

  Enough. Amen. Amen!

  I can read it now of cors. I try to look beyond the words & thers just the memry of that day of arl those days.

  I tuch my daddys words.

  I copy them with the pensil.

  Sumtyms the words matta more than wot they say & what they mene.

  I copy some of the words agen.

  I love you, Billy Dean. Despite myself I love you.

  I wisper his naym.

  I make the shape of it with the pensil.

  Sumtyms his naym matters mor than what he did.

  Dad. Wilfred. Daddy. My poor Daddy.

  It was arownd that time I started riting & drawing on the walls. I did all the words I new & meny that I made up & meny that wer not words at all but just scribbls scrawls & marks that lookd like leters next to marks that wer leters. And wavy lines & jaggid lines and loops & hoops & wirls & cirls. And I did yoosless drawins of the beests & birds & of my mam & dad & of creechers that wer mixturs of beest & human.

  Mam gaspd to see this for the first time. Ther was just a littl bit at that time but she was very trubbld by it.

  Yool spoyl the walls Billy she said.

  Yool ruwin yor lovely room Billy she said.