Cross Amanda - The James Joyce Murder

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Amanda Cross

THE JAMES JOYCE MURDER

Contents

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Also by Amanda Cross

and available from Bello

In the Last Analysis

The James Joyce Murder

Poetic Justice

The Theban Mysteries

The Question of Max

No Word from Winifred

A Trap for Fools

The Players Come Again

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To the first reader of thisand other things

James Joyces Ulysses , as almost everybody knows by now, is a long book recounting life in Dublin on a single day: June 16, 1904. It was on June 16, 1966, exactly sixty-two years later, that Kate Fansler set out for a meeting of the James Joyce Society, which annually held a Bloomsday celebration.

Adopting what she hoped was a properly Joycean attitude, Kate reminded herself that she would be approaching the Gotham Book Mart, home of the James Joyce Society, at almost the same hour in which Leopold Bloom, the hero of Ulysses , had walked out upon Sandymount Beach. And had I any sense at all, Kate thought, I would be on a beach myself. But having become temporary custodian of the Samuel Lingerwell papers, and thus unexpectedly involved in the literary correspondence of James Joyce, Kate thought it only proper that she attend tonights celebration.

The Gotham Book Mart, on New Yorks West Forty-seventh Street, welcomes members of the James Joyce Society into a room at the rear of the shop. Kate was somewhat surprised to discover how many men were presentnot only prominent Joyce scholars, but young men, the sort one least expected to encounter at the meetings of a literary society. But the reason was not far to seek. Writing their doctoral dissertations on Joyce, they hoped to come upon some secret, still undiscovered clue in the labyrinth of his works which would make their academic fortunes. For Joyce had by now, in the United States, added to all his other magic powers that of being able to bestow an academic reputation.

Kate was not a member of the James Joyce Society, but the name of Samuel Lingerwell assured her entrance, a welcome, a glass of the Swiss wine Joyce had especially favored. One thing is bloody certain, Kate thought after a time. When I pick a graduate student to help me with the Lingerwell papers, he will have to be most unJoycean, unLaurentian, unModern altogether. Someone who will not be searching for his own fortune among dear Sams literary remains. On the whole, a Jane Austen devotee, I should imagine. Someone who calls her Jane. I shall ask Grace Knole to recommend a likely candidate.

Which explains how Emmet Crawford came to spend the summer at Araby.

The Boarding House

Kate, Reed Amhearst said, disentangling his long legs from the small car, what on earth are you doing here? If you had decided to embrace the rural life, you might, in decency, have let me know. Its a great shock to return from Europe and find you established on some deserted hilltop in the Berkshires. What is the matter with that cow?

Before Kate could answer, a red cat tore around the corner of the house with a brown dog in hot pursuit. More of the local fauna, Kate said, in what she hoped were conciliatory tones. Come inside and tell me all about New Scotland Yard. The cow is bellowing for her calf.

Has she lost it?

It was taken away from her; shell forget it in a day or two. How was England?

Reed followed Kate into the huge vaulted living room, at one end of which chairs were grouped about a large fire. What certainly looked like a bar stood close by. Reed was proceeding toward the fireplace in a decorous manner when, from a nearby stairway he had not noticed, there burst as though catapulted into their midst a smallish boy. Reed pondered the possibilities of catapulting him back, and reluctantly dismissed them.

See if you can answer this, the smallish male creature said, ignoring Reed. Which is faster, bleeding to death or suffocating?

Suffocating, I should think, Kate ventured. Reed stared in fascination.

Youre wrong, wrong, wrong. I knew youd be. Just remember this. The boys gestures at this point indicated that Reed, too, might benefit from his advice. If one man is drowning, and another is bleeding from a severed artery, work on the bleeding man first. It takes nine minutes longer to die from lack of oxygen than to bleed to death. Howd you like to shoot a few foul shots, Kate?

At the moment Im engaged. Kate said. Where is William?

Arguing with Emmet about some guy called James Joyce.

Well, tell William to stop arguing about James Joyce and shoot some fouls with you. I take it todays essay is complete?

O.K., Ill get William, the boy returned, departing with an alacrity that suggested an unwillingness to dwell upon the subject of todays essay.

Kate... Reed began.

Sit you down, Kate said. Let me get you a drink and try to explain the whole thing.

Ive only come for a few days, Reed told her, accepting the chair. This sounds as though it might carry us through to next Groundhog Day. Why didnt you tell me you were moving to the country? Who is that boy? Who is William? Who is Emmet? Not to mention the maternally stricken cow, the fiery cat and the pursuing dog. And who is James Joyce?

Certainly you know who James Joyce is?

If you mean the Irish author of several indecipherable books, I know who he is. But given the extraordinary aspects of this establishment, he might be the gardener. For Gods sake, sit down and explain. I return from only six months in England to find you transformed, transported and transfigured.

You just added that last one to make the series come out right.

I certainly never expected to see you living in the same house with a small boy. What ages are Emmet and William? Reed asked, as though suddenly struck with the awful thought that Kate had undertaken the housing of small boys in large numbers.

In their middle or late twenties, I suppose. William Lenehan is tutoring Leo, he of the various deaths, and Emmet Crawford is going over some papers for me. The cat belongs to Emmet, and the dog belongs to the gardener, whose name is not James Joyce but Mr. Pasquale. The cow belongs to the farmer down the road who uses our land. Leo is my nephew. Cheers.

Well, despite a three-hour drive I had not anticipated, and surroundings I could not have imagined, its good to see you, Kate.

And you. In the present circumstances, I might even risk hyperbole and say youre a sight for sore eyes.

Youre tired of all those cows; Im not even complimented. Ive missed you, Kate. In England I kept thinking...

Kate, interrupted a young man from the doorway. If that woman is permitted entrance into this house, I shall have to tender my resignation. Reluctantly, to be sure, since the collection is a fascinating one. Theres a letterBut I cannot have that woman hanging over me as though I were a pie and some extravagantly exciting news about you were the plum she was in hopes of pulling forth.

Emmet, you must realize that country people are incurably curious, like cats. Its only urbanites who can ignore their neighbors. Tell Mrs. Bradford Leo is my illegitimate child, that I murdered his father, and that Im setting up a polyandrous colony here in the hope of starting a new religion. That ought to keep her quiet for a while.

The only thing that would keep that woman quiet is a bullet in the brain, and even then Id think her lips would go on moving out of sheer force of habit. Her excuse for being here, incidentally, is to borrow some vinegar.