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“And that, my dear, is why I must disallow you entrance to the vaults.”
“Certainly? You aren’t kidding me?
“Certainly. They are still quite infested with nitre. I went to fetch a pipe many some time ago, yet the stench revealed to be unbearable even after half a century.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Macché!”
I am in no way surprised by my Aronne’s apparent incredulity. For as beloved as he is to me, Aronne has always been terribly naive in relation to such matters. To me, however, that is no fault.
After my dalliance with Fortunato was put to an end, I remained solitary for much time. Aronne Marino was like a breath of fresh air when he came into my life only two summers after the passing of Fortunato. I admit with a healthy amount of chagrin that although I myself was the one that subjected Fortunato to his fate, I felt terribly guilty for some time afterwards. However opulent the house of Montresor may have once been, it had fallen into disarray long before Fortunato had conceived to insult me so grievously. Shortly before Fortunato’s demise, I became the last remaining Montresor. Perhaps that was why I endured Fortunato’s company for so long, however stifling it was.
I would have been content to endure his stifling for the rest of my days, had it not been for-
“Nearly fifty years, and you only now presume to inform me of the corpse in our basement?!”
Aronne’s shrill cry interrupts my reminiscing. Aronne, not nearly as brash as Fortunato, is still prone to fits of hysteria. He’s much like a woman in that way. Still, his sensitivity can be endearing at times.
“Hardly a corpse. If anything at all remains, bones are all that would be.”
My attempt to placate him was in vain, for his face lit up in a shade similar to that of a tomato. Indeed, although Aronne’s rashness is a quality I tend to enjoy (he is quite easy to rile), even I have limited patience when I am accused in such a brash manner.
“That is NOT the point and you know it! Montressor!”
Ah, there is the tell. Aronne only refers to me in that manner when I have truly ticked him off. In ordinary times, to him I am simply ‘Nicolo.’ “Calm yourself, my dear. Fortunato is long gone, and my brief fit of madness with him. You have nothing to fear.” I say warmly, stepping towards Aronne and raising my arms in a manner as though I were surrendering. My gesticulation seems to have opposite the desired effect, as with every step I take forward, my Aronne takes two backward.
“Calm- calm myself!?” Aronne cries shrilly, “Nothing to fear!? Nicolo! You’ve just told me you killed a man! Your best friend of many years, no less! His body is rotting in OUR BASEMENT!” At that, Aronne seems to deflate, as though all the fight has been sucked out of him. He practically collapses onto the nearby settee and places his head in his hands. When he speaks next his voice is softer, muffled by his palms. “I just can’t understand. I can’t understand what would drive you to do such a horrible thing.”
For a long moment, I hesitate in a way that is uncharacteristic of me. In all the years that Aronne has remained by my side, he has never seemed so affected by something as he is now. Something that I did, no less. It greatly pains me to see that I have caused great distress to someone as dear to me as Aronne. I approach cautiously and settle on the settee next to him. “I had my reasons. If you only knew what he did, you could hardly fault me.”
At last, Aronne lowers his hands. When he looks at me, his eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. I can see that I have caused him great malaise. What for? Aronne is impossible to understand at times. His emotions are far too flighty for me to grasp. His voice, soft as a whisper, penetrates through my thoughts. “What did he do? What could Fortunado, whom you have recounted stories of to me with such joy, have done for you to… to…” He seems unable to finish the sentence, as if my deed is so evil it cannot be spoken aloud. Ah, my Aronne, ever so sensitive.
“I must warn you before I begin, it is quite a long story, the conception of which even I struggle to remember in my old age.”
Aronne straightens up, steeling himself as though he were about to go into war. “I have to know! I must.”
“Very well. As you may know, me and Fortunado met when we were both just over the tender age of… what, seventeen? It has been so long that even I forget. Nevertheless, we met at a convention of sorts. You know very well of my interest in various wines and vintages, and Fortunado was much the same. Merchants from across the sea had arrived with quite the unique wares. A rare wine made of rice, rather than the succulent grapes I was accustomed to. I desperately longed for a taste. It was there that I met Fortunado, who had purchased the whole lot. For while house Montresor was at the pinnacle of its destitution, house Fortunado was at its zenith,”
I pause, allowing Aronne to digest my words. His former emotional turmoil seemingly evaporated, he watches me with bright, enraptured eyes. A small smile settles upon my lips as I continue my tale.
“Generosity was always one of Fortunado’s strong suits. When he saw I could not afford anything, he freely gave me half his supply, just like that.”
Aronne’ eyes shine as he sits up straight, leaning closer to me. From this short distance, I could faintly detect the sweet scent of his eau de toilette. “But what for? Did you not say that this was your first meeting?”
“Indeed. Even I do not know what went through his mind at that moment. Perhaps it is because he realized I, too, held great appreciation for wines. We became engrossed in conversation about various Italian vintages. Fortunato was… excitable. He introduced himself as Leonello, and I as Nicolo. I thought I’d come across a like-minded individual. It was only later, after many years of companionship, that I realized just how different we were.”
Aronne’s face falls, as though he is just remembering that Fortunato is dead, and I am the one that killed him. “But… What happened? You sound as though you were so close.”
“We were. For a time we were inseparable.” I hesitate, steeling myself for what I am about to reveal. “Aronne, you must understand me and Fortunato’s friendship… that is to say… we were… good friends. Very, very good friends. Much like you and I.”
Aronne gasps softly, his lips twisting into an ‘O’ shape.
“We remained that way for many years. I thought we would stay that way forever. But all good things must come to an end, and so did my dalliance with Fortunato. He… found a woman. Fiametta. She was from Florentine, the daughter of a wealthy family. By this time, house Fortunato had begun to see its decline. They were wed within the year.”
I don’t look up, unwilling to see what sort of expression my Aronne is making. I only realize I am clenching my fists so tightly when Aronne gently takes one of my hands. “Oh Nicolo, I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard for you.”
I inhale sharply. I thought I was over this, but now that I am speaking of it, all the emotions that I had buried away are beginning to surface. “He never even told me. When I saw him again it was that dreadful night, the night I ended it. He acted as though everything was normal. As though we were never… never…” I bite my tongue. “To him, I was Nicolo no longer. I was Montresor. And that was an insult so grave, I could not forgive even Leonello.”