House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski Read Free Book Online Page B

Bag & his partner still got spooked and took off as fast as they could.
    “Even after we got out to sea, the Captain was still laughing. I wasn’t though. The bastard wouldn’t give me any of my money. By his way of thinking—and him explaining this to me in that incomprehensible accent of his—I owed him for saving my life, not to mention transporting my sorry ass all the way to Florida, where I finally did end up going, nearly dying in a cold water place called the Devil’s Ear which is an altogether different story.
    “Still it wasn’t so bad, especially when I think now and then about Punching Bag & his partner. I mean I wonder what they did, what they said, when they finally tore open all those crates and discovered all those fucking birds. Over fifty Birds of Paradise.
    “A few months later I did read somewhere how Houston Police busted two known felons trying to unload a bunch of exotic birds at a zoo.”
     
     
     
    Which was pretty much how that story ended or at least the story I told last night. Maybe not verbatim but close.
    Unfortunately nothing happened with the girls. They just ran off giggling into the night. No digits, no dates, not even their names, leaving me feeling dumb and sad, a bit like a broken thermos—fine on the outside, but on the inside nothing but busted glass. And why I’m going on about any of this right now is beyond me. I’ve never even seen a Bird of Paradise. And I sure as hell have never boxed or been on a barge. In fact just looking at this story makes me feel a little queasy all of a sudden. I mean how fake it is. Just sorta doesn’t sit right with me. It’s like there’s something else, something beyond it all, a greater story still looming in the twilight, which for some reason I’m unable to see.
     
     
     
    Anyway I didn’t mean to wander into all this. I was telling you about the shower. That’s what I wanted to deal with. As you probably know, finding out there’s no warm water is a particularly unpleasant discovery simply because it’s not something you figure out immediately. You have to let the water run awhile and even though it remains icy, part of you still refuses to believe it won’t change, especially if you wait a little longer or open up the valve a little more. So you wait but no matter how many minutes run by, you still see no steam, you still feel no heat.
    Maybe a cold shower would of been good for me. The thought crossed my mind but I was already too freezing to try for even a quick one. I don’t even know why I was freezing. It was pretty warm in my place. Even warmer outside. Not even my big brown corduroy coat helped.
    Later I spotted some workers in back tackling the water heater.
    One of them, snorting on a dirty handkerchief, covered in tatts, Manson crucified on his back, told me it would be fixed by evening. It’s not.
    Now I’m sure you’re wondering something. Is it just coincidence that this cold water predicament of mine also appears in this chapter?
    Not at all. Zampanô only wrote “heater.” The word “water” back there—I added that.
    Now there’s an admission, eh?
    Hey, not fair, you cry.
    Hey, hey, fuck you, I say.
    Wow, am I mad right now. Clearly a nerve’s been hit somewhere but I don’t how, why or by what. I sure don’t believe it’s because of some crummy made—up story or a lousy (water) heater.
    Can’t follow the feeling.
    If only any of it were true. I mean we’d all be so lucky to wind up a punching bag and still find our crates full of Birds of Paradise.
    No such luck with this crate.
    Let the cold water run.
    It’s gotta warm up eventually.
    Right?]
     
    What both these moments reveal is how much Will and Karen need each other and yet how difficult they find handling and communicating those feelings.
    Unfortunately, critics have been less than sympathetic. Following the release of The Navidson Record , neither Karen nor Navidson’s reputation escaped unscathed. Karen, in particular, was