April 1 fell on a Saturday this year, and I do not update during the weekendYou’ll note that “Chapter 4, Part 1” corresponds quite well to 4/1 (April 1), and “oil or flaps” is an anagram of April Fool’s. In addition, by not putting “Act 1” in the title, I hope at least some of you were tipped off as to the true nature of my post.
Recapitulation: The contents of Gertrude Wilborough’s grave included more than mere jewelry. Barry and Jenna also discovered a “Last Will and Testement,” perhaps her final will, which could change the entire distribution of her estate. As Barry peruses the document, Jenna sneaks out of the grave and starts throwing dirt in on Barry. Trapped, he takes a few seconds to reach out and touch the face of the woman whose funeral he first attended.
We learn lessons best via repetition, which is part of why life’s simple lessons are so painful to learn. Only the lucky few understand it the first time, while the mass of people are forced to make mistakes again and again until they get it right. Barry knew that with enough time and effort, he could change Jenna. It was just the process that would kill him. Another dirt clod whacked him in the face. He spit out black chunks and what was either a worm or a rootlet, thin and stringy and wriggling past his lips.
Barry shut the casket and stood up on the lower half. Jenna planted the shovel deep into the pile, ready to fling another pile into the hole. Her arms shook under the strain, her knees quivered. He looked down at his shaky hands. Like two prizefighters in the twelfth round, they both continued on, neither sure of what they were doing it for, only knowing that there were a few minutes left before they could stop.
He pushed up on the ground, hefted his body up from the edge of the grave, and met with facefull of the brown stuff. Back down he went. Jenna heaved with a master shoveler’s fury.
“You going to bury me down here? You think you can get away with it?”
Another rain of dirt. He could hear her puffing from above. She couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Barry nestled up against the side. He’d have to time this just right.
Jenna tossed another shovelful into the hole. Barry leapt up and used his momentum to carry himself up. Jenna, still at the edge of the hole, put her foot out and kicked his face, shoving him back down. The casket creaked beneath the sudden jolt, but remained intact.
He recalled an old puzzle, concerning a frog stuck in a well twenty feet deep. Every day he would climb three feet up the side, every night he would slide back down two feet. How many days would it take him to get out? The obvious answer is twenty days, one foot of progress a day. The right answer is eighteen days. Once the frog hits twenty feet, it can escape and not fall back down two feet. The lesson? Frogs can cling to walls. The important lesson? Always think through a problem, don’t assume the immediate answer is the best answer.
The sky fell some more. Barry wanted out of the hole, so he kept trying to force his way out, but Jenna kept shoving him back in. The better way to do it would be to have Jenna help him out. Jenna was pissed at him. Furious even. He had to give her something she wanted. Otherwise, they would get caught. There wasn’t much time, and they would need every harsh second to fill the grave.
“Move in with me.” Why did he say that? The words tasted sour in his mouth.
“I already live with you.”
“I mean for good. Not just for right now. You can keep running your jobs and you don’t have to live out of your car. Move your stuff into my apartment.”
He heard a faint metal sound, like a shovel blade spiked into the ground. “Not good enough.”
A start, but he needed more. What more could she want? What more would she want? And it hit him, living out of a car, moving from place to place, working alone. Always taunting him, always trying to keep him at arm distance, or trying to draw him in, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he knew what she wanted.
“I’ll be your partner, I’ll be your subordinate, I’ll help you, just please, help me out and let’s fill this hole and get home.”
Pavlovian conditioning made him close his eyes. A quiet throat clearing made him open them. Jenna crouched by the edge, her hand outstretched, the oversized emerald ring keeping her pinky and middle finger from touching her ring finger. He reached out and she yanked her head back.
“I keep the bed?”
He nodded and grabbed her hand. Barry pulled himself up, or so he thought, until he realized that her shaky hand was moving downward. With his simple tug, Barry dragged Jenna over the edge. He fell down and broke his crown, and she came tumbling after.
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