Death In The Family

Chapter 26

Leif ran his hands over the sumptuous material, a high-grade silk and wool blend woven in a herringbone pattern so subtle and precise that it first passed as a simple diffusion of the stately navy color, and breathed in the scents his touch stirred from the fabric. Vicuña wool, he knew by the especially fine feel, was confirmed by its gentle gamey smell that lacked the lanolin of sheep wool. He'd once had the fortune of being in Peru during the annual shearing of the wild vicuña by villagers in the Andes and had been so charmed by the colorful ceremony and the tawny creatures that he'd harbored a fondness for their precious wool ever since, much to the benefit of his wardrobe and the strain of his budget. That the summation of his fondness was to acquire and own was a tendency that had not eluded him. He contemplated his possessiveness as he tested the highly valued fabric between his thumb and forefinger, finding the grain to be exquisite enough to snag his greed.

When he found something to be of sufficient value, it was never enough that he simply admired it in its element. He was not of the same virtue as those Andean natives who herded and sheared the vicuñas only to release them back to the mountains. He saw the high regard their culture held for this untamed animal to remain free and, in recognizing that value, was instantly driven to acquire the object of their worth for himself. He never could be satisfied until he had plucked the flower bloomed so ostentatiously at the zenith of its beauty, poured the finest 19th century Madeira to breathe in that first plume of fragrance upon uncorking, or harvested the forbidden fruit of his own loins once captivated by her lust and sacred biology.

As deeply ingrained as the sin of greed was within him, there was its close cousin, frivolousness, which he abhorred with a powerful distaste. Although greedy, he did not acquire capriciously; the value of what he had desired was only ever increased by being in his possession. He missed his carefully curated collection of suits and apparel, finding himself eager to begin reacquiring the essence of what had been lost. And so, it was the vicuña, and only the vicuña, he would consider once found among the swaths presented to him.

"Would you have this in windowpane check?" he asked, addressing the tailor in their mutual French instead of relying on his corroded Italian.

"I could have it be made so, if that is what the sir requires," the old man replied with a thoughtful furrow of his overgrown brows.

"Have it be made so, then," Leif answered with a smile he had not worn since before his death; the polite mask he turned onto the unsuspecting world. It had calmed the tailor, who had entered and became nervous upon realizing that the guards crowding this dungeon-like room was not for Leif's protection, but for the tailor's own self. There was no use to be had of a tailor that was nervous to touch a client. Leif examined the chalked and stitched prototype suit the tailor had fitted to him, eyeing the bold length of the cuffs with some indecisiveness. "This three-piece– I think a solid gray vest would do nicely, yes? A more elaborate pocket square is in fashion, I believe, something that highlights by contrasted color and intricate fold. I'll leave that up to your taste. When do you expect to have it ready?"

"The suit, it is done in four, maybe three weeks," the tailor offered, unclasping his hands to weigh the air with his palms as though weighing his answer before acquiescing with a resigned, "but for the sir, it is done in two weeks."

Leif shifted his polite smile into one of fixed gratitude.

There were many things he had lost when he had died, but things could be replaced, refreshed, and renewed, as was often otherwise necessary in the impermanence of everything. He had not died as the pharaohs died to maintain claim of what went with them in their tombs, nor had he died as the atheist died to vanish all that he was into eternal oblivion. He held no strong convictions on whether this was or was not Hell; a destination that, if any such existed despite his doubts, he was certainly qualified. Hell or not, he was here and had found that his desires, his appetites, and his sins continued on with him. He intended to replace the things that could be and, soon enough if not today, reclaim the most precious object of his greed that could not be replaced.