Read Muller, Marcia - [11] Trophies and Dead Things(v1.0)(html) for Free Online

oval table in the center under the brass
chandelier, but otherwise there were no furnishings, no decorations, no
pictures on the golden-oak walls. An austere man, this Thomas Y. Grant.
    Ms.Curtis returned and motioned
to me. "Mr.Grant is on the telephone," she said. "If you'll go in and
take a seat, he'll be with you shortly."
    I thanked her and entered the
office. At first glance the room appeared to be a typical lawyer's
study, with the obligatory wall of thick tomes, the obligatory mahogany
desk and leather-upholstered furniture. I couldn't see Grant because he
was swiveled around with the high back of his chair to the desk,
talking into the phone in a low voice. Ms.Curtis shut the door behind
me.
    Then I realized that unlike the
typical lawyer's study, the room contained no framed diplomas,
certificates, or pictures of the attorney with prominent clients or
politicians. I smiled faintly, thinking that this office was also
different from Hank's, which contains—among other things—a cigar-store
Indian and a poster of Uncle Sam saying, "I want YOU for the U.S.
Army." But then I realized Grant had some peculiar objects of his own,
and went over to the shelves that flanked the fireplace to have a
closer look at them.
    They appeared to be a bizarre
form of sculpture: strange, twisted, unrecognizable shapes of wood and
metal intermingled with feathers and tufts of fur and fragments of
bone. I looked more closely at one and saw a pair of yellowed fangs
protruding from a strip of reptile skin; another had claws— ragged,
broken ones. Some sort of primitive folk art, I supposed, unsettling
and quite unpleasant.
    Behind me, Grant was still
talking. I moved to the other side of the fireplace and examined a
piece that sat apart from the rest on a shelf of its own. The framework
was a crossed pair of rusted metal
spikes, each festooned with mockingbirds' feathers. Stretched between
the spikes was a swatch of what resembled—but certainly
couldn't be—dried I human skin.
    I recoiled, and a phrase came to
me: trophies and dead things. An odd phrase. I couldn't
remember where I'd heard or read it.
    There was a footfall behind me; I
turned. Thomas Grant was approaching, one hand extended. For a moment I
wasn't sure if I wanted the possessor of such nasty artworks to touch
me.
 
    Grant was handsome in a
conventional way. The body clad in the expensive blue suit was trim and
well muscled, and I suspected he didn't have to work at keeping in
shape. His hair was iron gray, thick, and so well cut that not a lock
strayed from its proper place. His strong-featured face, while not
totally unlined, was supple and youthful; its only imperfection was a
jagged scar on his left cheek that made him look like the romantic lead
in a melodrama about male honor. Otherwise it was as if nothing in his
life had touched him deeply enough to leave vestiges of pain, sorrow,
or even happiness. As he shook my hand I felt a wave of visceral
dislike.
    "I see you were looking at my
fetishes," he said.
    "Is that what they are?"
    "In a strict sense, no. But a
fetish is a charm, something with magical powers. These certainly do
have the power to disturb." His eyes—gray like his hair—remained on
mine as he released my hand. Their expression was sly, knowing; he
liked the fact that the fetishes had unsettled me.
    I moved toward the clients'
chairs in front of the desk, set my briefcase on one of them. "Are they
some kind of tribal art?" I asked.
    "Actually, I make them myself."
    I paused in the act of opening
the briefcase. "You . . . ?"
    "Yes, I have a studio at the rear
of the property. Perhaps you'd care to see it sometime,
since you seem to be interested in the pieces."
    ". . . Perhaps. Where
do you get your materials?"
    He moved around the desk and sat,
motioned at one of the client's chairs. "Here and there. I guess you
could call me a scavenger. I pick up things on the beach or in the
parks."
    Things. Meaning dead
birds and animals, or parts of them. God