Ring the Bell
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud;
"Fortunato!"
No answer. I called again;
"Fortunato!"
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick–on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labor. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of the century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace re quiescat!
-Edgar Allen Poe "The Cask of Amontillado"
With his head bowed, Fortunato listened intently as the final stone slid into place. After a moment of silence he heard the echoing of shoes swiftly making their way back down the catacombs of the Montresor home, fading with each passing second. Finally, there was absolute silence. Fortunato lifted his head slowly and saw the newly plastered wall that was now in front of him. He pulled on the chains that held him against the wall. Realizing there was no escape, Fortunato began to laugh uncontrollably.
"A good trick, my friend," Fortunato said to no one, "a good trick."
Again, he began to laugh. Coughs soon came upon him, shaking his body violently. He was struggling to breathe. Sweat beaded across his forehead, his breath coming out as short gasps. Fortunato sighed, lowering his head once more and closing his eyes. A moment later he opened them, and, directly in front of him, was the faint gleam of the key Montresor used to chain him to the wall. Fortunato, once again, began to laugh.
"The idiot forgot the key!"
Using his foot, Fortunato reached towards the key, trapping it between his shoe and the ground, sliding it back to him. Reaching down, he took the key, put it in the padlock and turned it. He fell to the damp floor once the chain released him. Fortunato sat back on his heels, staring at the wall in front of him.
"Now," he said, "how to take down this wall."
Fortunato thought for a moment. He turned his head slightly and saw the torch, now burned out, that Montresor thrust through before completing the wall. Fortunato took the torch in his hand and stood. Tightly gripping it in both his hands, he smashed the torch against the wall repeatedly. Bricks shifted with every blow and began to fall to the ground. A few moments later, a heap of bricks lay on the floor. Fortunato stepped over the mound and made his way down the catacombs and back towards the surface.
Fortunato walked down the hall away from the vaults of the Montresor home. He passed by the many suites and rooms that Montresor had guided him through just an hour ago, maybe less. He approached the large doors at the front of the home, but before leaving the house, he decided to search the house for his friend. He made his way through every hall and every room, finding no trace of Montresor.
"Good," Fortunato says, "flee, my friend. Flee this home and this country, never coming back. But, know this, wherever you go, my name will follow you."
Fortunato went into Montresor's master bedroom, looking for a change of clothes. He settled for a silk suit, leaving behind his jester's costume. He then left the room and made his way to the front doors. Fortunato looked back at the house one last time before stepping over the threshold and slamming the doors behind him.
Ten years have passed since that nightmarish evening, the evening that Fortunato saw the true colors of his friend. Since then, Fortunato had seen no sign of Montresor. He was convinced that he did leave the country, perhaps because he was ashamed of himself or did not want anyone discovering what he did. Fortunato accepted this and had not thought about his friend since.
Quite recently, the Montresor home was sold to a young wealthy couple from Paris. Fortunato passed by the house one morning and saw the couple on the steps, a jester's outfit in the young man's hand. He stopped suddenly, staring at the costume in the man's hand.
"Where did you find that?" the girl asked her husband.
"I found it in the master bedroom, covered in dust."
"Well," the girl said, "just throw it away then."
The young man threw the costume on the street and followed his wife into the house. Fortunato made his way over to it.
"I swear I have seen this before."
Fortunato picked up the outfit, admiring the patchwork of colored diamonds, faded after many years. Then it occurred to him where he had seen this outfit before. He saw it on himself ten years ago as he was lured into the catacombs of the Montresor home to his death. Anger roared through him as he recalled that night. Fortunato tore the costume to pieces, recalling the long trek through the catacombs, recalling every brick being plastered into place as Montresor constructed his prison. Fortunato stood on the street, colored diamonds lying at his feet. Fortunato shook his head, withdrawing from his trance. He spun away from the house, not looking back. This was the first time Fortunato had thought about his friend in ten years.
Fortunato arrived home some time later. He had been walking through the streets trying to clear his head. He went into the living room and slumped into his recliner in front of the fireplace. He sat there for a moment, drinking in the warmth of the fire, even though it was only autumn and the air outside was still warm. His servant, Antonio, came in with a glass of wine.
"Antonio," Fortunato said, "when was the last time I traveled?"
"I do not recall, Signore," Antonio said.
"So, in other words, a long time ago?"
"I suppose, Signore."
Fortunato nodded and took a sip of his drink. He set it on the table next to him.
"Have you ever been to France, Antonio?" he asked his servant.
"I have always wanted to but never had the opportunity," he said.
"I would like to go to France," Fortunato said, "I think we both could use a vacation."
"That is unnecessary, Signore."
"Ah, but it is. I have asked much of you, Antonio, and you deserve a break. Travel out of the country, if you wish, but you will not return for three weeks.'
"Signore!" Antonio said astounded.
"Do as I ask, Antonio," Fortunato said insistently.
"Yes, Signore," Antonio said hesitantly, bowing slightly, leaving Fortunato.
Fortunato took one last sip of his drink, set the half-filled glass on the table, and went upstairs to his bedroom. He took a large trunk out of the closet, and began to pack for his trip to France.
It was late on Saturday when the carriage stopped in front of the large wrought iron fence of the Girard home, a four-story brick mansion with a large yard. Fortunato first met Monsieur Girard at a convention in Germany. Like himself, Girard had a knack for wine tasting. The two became close friends but rarely saw each other due to the fact that they lived in different countries. They did, however, send letters to each other once a month, which is how Fortunato told Girard that he would be visiting Paris and asked if he could stay at his home while he was there. Girard, of course, said yes, delighted to see Fortunato again.
Girard stood on the steps as Fortunato exited the carriage, carrying his trunk to the house.
"I could have my servant get that for you, my friend," Girard shouted to him.
"It is fine," Fortunato said, struggling to stay upright.
Girard smiled and shook his head, watching Fortunato carry the trunk. When he finally reached the front doors, Girard took the trunk from him and brought him inside. He set the trunk on the floor and turned to Fortunato.
"It is good to see you again, my friend," he said smiling.
"It has been a long time," Fortunato said.
"Indeed. May I ask what brought you to France?"
"I wanted to get out of the country. It has been such a long time since I traveled."
Girard nodded and gestured for Fortunato to follow him. He showed him his room then went into the living room where they stayed, telling each other what they have been up to since they last saw each other. Girard met his wife, Anne Roux, at a party, and they have been married for fifteen years. Anne worked at a small library: she did not need a job since her family was very wealthy, but she claimed it would keep her sane. Girard worked as a tailor: he, too, worked in order to keep a clear head. The two men stayed there talking for two hours.
"Tomorrow morning I would like to take you to the Notre Dame Cathedral for Mass," Girard said, "the cathedral is absolutely beautiful."
"I would love to," Fortunato said.
"I heard the new priest is doing the service and I have not had the pleasure to go to one of them yet."
"Then this will be a new experience for both of us."
"Wonderful, but I warn you, it is very early in the morning," Girard said smiling.
Fortunato woke to someone knocking on the door to the guest room he was staying in. He stretched, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and went to the door.
"Yes?"
"Good morning, Monsieur," a young man, who Fortunato assumed was Girard's servant, said, "Monsieur Girard asked me to wake you and if you could be ready by seven forty. Mass starts at eight thirty and Monsieur would like to get a close seat."
"One would think he is going to an opera," Fortunato said. "What time is it now?"
"Seven thirty. Shall I tell him you will be ready by then?"
"Yes, I will be ready."
The servant bowed and left Fortunato to get ready. He took off his night clothes and put on a simple black silk suit with black leather shoes. He left his room and went downstairs where Girard was waiting for him with his wife.
"I told you it was early," Girard said smiling.
"It would not have been early if someone did not insist on getting there ages before everyone else just to get a good seat," Fortunato countered.
"What can I say, I am a religious man and would like some prayer time to myself."
"You could easily pray here."
"Gentlemen, enough," Anna said laughing, "you can argue till the cows come home, but do it later."
The three left the home and took a carriage to the cathedral.
As soon as they came within range, Fortunato could hear the bells of Notre Dame. The carriage had to stop a block away from the cathedral there were so many people.
"We should have left earlier," Girard said.
"Well, now you know for next time," Anne said, walking towards the cathedral.
"I think we should have left later," Fortunato said.
Girard rolled his eyes and the two men followed Anne. They walked into the cathedral and Fortunato gasped. The cathedral was beautiful, especially the three rose windows. Two were on opposite sides of the cathedral, the North and South windows, while one was located behind the Great Organ. He was shaken out of his trance by Girard. They moved closer to the main alter and found a seat.
"Close enough for you?" Anne asked her husband.
"If we left earlier, we could have been closer."
Anne rolled her eyes, "You are relentless."
Girard shrugged and smiled at Fortunato, who shook his head and leaned back against the pew, looking at the stained glass windows. A few moments later Girard nudged him. Fortunato looked at him. He pointed to the altar.
"That is the new priest," he said.
Fortunato looked and his breath caught in his throat.
"Something wrong?" Girard asked him.
"No, nothing is wrong," Fortunato said quickly.
Girard looked at the priest, then back to Fortunato, "Do you know him?"
"No, of course not."
Girard stared at Fortunato, shrugged, and settled back into the pew.
Fortunato stared at the man at the altar. His hair had greyed slightly since the last time Fortunato saw him ten years ago, but other than that, he looked exactly the same. He must have become a priest after he left Italy. His eyes never left the man's face, even when the service started. Then it was time to receive the Eucharist. He walked forward slowly, following Girard. Millions of questions bombarded him: Would he recognize me? Will he say anything to me? Does he know I am alive? Before he knew it, he was in front of the priest, who stared wide – eyed at him. They stared at one another.
"The body of Christ," the priest said after an awkward silence.
"Amen," Fortunato mumbled.
Fortunato rushed back to the pew and slumped into it. Girard looked at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow. Fortunato smiled at him. He took a deep breath and looked back to the front. The priest was still looking at him. The priest, who now has a name. His name is Montresor.
Later that night, Fortunato was in his room, pacing back and forth, new question invading his thoughts. Should he meet with Montresor? Now that he knows Fortunato, would he try to kill him again? Fortunato sat on the edge of his bed, failing to find answers to these questions. He heard someone knocking at his door, pulling him out of his thoughts. He opened the door and found Girard standing there with a letter in his hand.
"This is for you," he said. "Someone has a secret admirer."
"Oh, be quiet," Fortunato said, snatching the letter.
"I'm only joking. Good night, lover boy."
"You are such a child," Fortunato yelled to Girard as he went down the hall.
"I know!"
Fortunato chuckled and went back into his room. He sat on his bed and studied the letter. It was sent from Notre Dame. It had to be from Montresor. Fortunato slowly opened the letter and read it:
Meet me in the South Tower in twenty minutes.
Fortunato thought for a moment, then, seizing his coat, he stuffed the letter in one of the pockets. He crept downstairs, making sure no one in the house was awake and would see him leave. He opened the door and stopped abruptly. What if Montresor did try to kill him again? Going back into the house, he took a large knife from the kitchen. He went outside and, tied to the fence, was a rope that once chained a dog: he remembered Girard telling him in one of his letters that his dog ran away. Fortunato untied the rope from the fence and stuffed that into the pocket with the note. Since the driver was asleep, Fortunato drove himself to the Notre Dame Cathedral.
The carriage stopped in front of Notre Dame, and Fortunato stepped out onto the street. He tightened his coat around him, shivering from the sudden cold. Dark clouds were rolling in, lightning flashing across the sky and thunder booming, shaking the ground. Fortunato went to the left side of the front of the cathedral and began to climb the three hundred eighty-seven steps to the top of the South Tower. When Fortunato reached the top of the tower, Montresor was already there, standing next to a large bell. He checked his pocket watch: exactly fifteen minutes till midnight.
"I did not think you would come," Montresor said, facing Fortunato, "it is good to see you, old friend."
"A friend would not have tried to kill me," Fortunato said blatantly.
"A friend would not have insulted me."
Fortunato fumed, resisting the urge to lash out at Montresor. He looked at his pocket watch again: fourteen minutes till midnight.
Fortunato took a deep breath, "What do you want Montresor?"
"I just want to talk," he said.
"Then start talking."
Montresor launched millions of questions at Fortunato. Fortunato answered very few of them, especially about how he escaped his prison. Realizing he was not going to get many answers, Montresor silenced. For a moment, the two men stared at each other. Fortunato checked his pocket watch: ten minutes till midnight.
"Why do you keep looking at your pocket watch?" Montresor asked him.
"I am staying with a friend and he asked me not to stay out too late," he answered.
Montresor nodded, "You may go if you wish."
"It is fine." Fortunato went over to the bell Montresor was standing next to. He bent slightly to look at the inside, then stood straight, placing a hand on the cold metal. "It is beautiful."
"Emmanuel," Montresor said, "the oldest bell. It is the largest, weighing thirteen tons."
"Incredible," Fortunato said wistfully, "and it rings every hour?"
"To indicate the time, yes. We will be able to hear it in, oh, eight minutes. I told Gabriel, our bell-ringer, that I would ring it at midnight since I am here."
Fortunato nodded, still gazing at the bell. His hand went to his pocket, feeling the knife and the rope that lay there. Eight more minutes. Montresor called his name. Fortunato turned to face him, an eyebrow raised.
"Why did you come here?" he asked.
Fortunato tilted his head, "Because you asked me too."
"You did not have to. I think I would be the last person you would want to see again after what I did to you."
"I hold no grudge against you," Fortunato lied.
They stared at each other for a moment until Fortunato spoke again.
"Did you do it on purpose?"
"Do what?" Montresor asked.
"Leave the key so I could escape."
Montresor thought for a moment, then he said, "No. I knew I had dropped it, but I did not notice where. That is how you escaped?"
"Yes. I tore the wall down with the torch."
"You did not try to look for me?"
"I did, but could find no trace or clue."
Montresor nodded. Fortunato stared at him for a moment then looked at his pocket watch: six minutes. A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead, his palms suddenly clammy. He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling the rope and the knife. He took a step towards Montresor, a new sense of power coursing through him. He took the knife out of his pocket.
"I had not thought about you or that night for ten years, Montresor," Fortunato said quietly.
"That does not surprise me. Do you resent me for what I did?" Montresor asked him.
Fortunato stayed silent for a moment. He checked his pocket watch one last time: five minutes till midnight. Fortunato yelled, swinging the knife at Montresor's neck. It was blocked by another knife.
"I knew you came here to kill me, Fortunato," Montresor said.
"You deserve it!" Fortunato shouted, swinging the knife again. Again, Montresor blocked him.
The two men exchanged a series of thrusts and parries, trying to kill the other. This went on for four minutes before Fortunato was able to knock the knife out of Montresor's hand. It clanked against the ground, sliding out of reach. Fortunato pressed his knife against Montresor's throat, about to finish him, when he suddenly pulled back.
"No," he said menacingly, "I want you to suffer. I want you to struggle to breath, feeling the air leave your lungs."
Fortunato punched Montresor, knocking him out. He took the rope and tied it loosely around Montresor's neck. He then tied it around the rope that attached to the clapper of the bell. He kicked Montresor over the edge of the tower.
Emmanuel only rang once that night.
"Did you enjoy your trip, Signore?" Antonio asked his master.
"Oh, yes," Fortunato said, "and you?"
"I did, thank you. Where did you go again?"
"Paris."
Antonio nodded, "Did you hear about the priest that committed suicide at Notre Dame?"
"No, I did not," Fortunato said, "what happened?"
"Well, the bell-ringer at Notre Dame was off duty at midnight, he said the priest told him that he would ring the bell, but it only rang once. He went to the tower to see what was wrong, and he found the priest hanging over the edge."
"That is terrible, is he dead?"
"Yes. No one knows why he did it; he left no note, nothing."
"Perhaps he was ashamed of something from his past," Fortunato said quietly.
"Perhaps. It is tragic."
"Indeed."
"Anyway, can I get you anything?"
"No thank you, I am fine."
Antonio bowed and exited the living room. Fortunato sighed, sinking further into his recliner.
"At least no one suspects murder," he said to himself.
He stared at the lit fire in front of him. He then looked at the small table next to him, gazing at the half-filled glass of Amontillado.