The Ache of Amontillado - Narrative

**The authorities have picked up Montresor and brought him to the local police station for questioning. Write a one page dialogue that illustrates Montresor's conversation with police.


I stared out the window of my home. Carneval overtook the streets. Again. Fifty years ago I was a young 35 years old with a dear "friend" of mine at the same celebration. Fifty years ago I ended his life. Stepping back and looking away from the window, I swallowed with a frown. No regrets. No regrets.

ba-boom. 

Just then, a rattle on the door. My heart jumped. The knock was loud. It was bold, it was powerful, it was frightening. My ears no longer rang with the sound of music, dancing, and screaming outside. They rang with one knock on the door. They rang in time to the beat of my heart in my chest.

"Just a drunk looking for more wine for his companions...Carneval does bring the drunks. It does bring the drunks..."

ba-boom. 

I took small, slow steps down the stairs. My legs ached and my cane prodded to find the next surfaces. Heavily breathing, I opened the door. My eyes squinted to focus on his face; a young face with messy stubble and messy hair. But he did not smell of wine or of Carneval. He was not a drunk.

"Sir, are you alright?" he said worriedly.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine... Just a little old."

The young man smiled and lightly chuckled at the joke, showing his messy teeth. "It's nice to see some people can still keep a sense of humor without being drunk around this time. Speaking of drunks...Do you know where I can find a man by the name of Montresor? I was hoping he might still live here."

I shifted. "Yes...I do still live here. I am Montresor. What do you need? I do not give away wine from my catacombs." I said harshly.

At my words, the young man no longer smiled a messy smile. He wore a serious expression, like a whole new man; no longer an untidy face.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me, sir."

"Why's that? Go with a drunk? I think not."

He laughed a serious laugh. "No sir. Not a drunk. An officer."

He pulled out a circle. Bright gold, engraved. A badge. The symbol of a police officer.

ba-boom.   ba-boom.

***

The room was cold and empty. It was lit by a fluorescent light that seemed to make the foul smell of the room even stronger and even more nauseating. A table sat in the middle of the room, made of metal the temperature of a hundred glaciers on the coldest night. The young man...Young officer sat across from me and set a file in front of him. He stared at me and smiled. Leaned back in his chair, and stared.

"How is carneval treating you this year, Montresor?"

"Just fine. Just like every year."

My arms ached uncomfortably. I massaged my right arm carefully with shaking fingers.

"Wonderful. May I ask...How was carneval treating you, say, fifty years ago?"

ba-boom.   ba-boom.   ba-boom.

Ache. Swallow. Smile.

"Fine. Just fine. One has to appreciate the older days when you're my age. You can't go celebrate at carneval like you used to. Wine, however, still tastes delightful."

"Who did you like to celebrate with?"

"Friends, of course."

Shift.

"Did you happen to know a man named Fortunato? I hear he was quite the celebrator." He leaned forward in his chair. "Was quite a celebrator, yes?"

Smile.

"Yes. A drinker on occasions. But what do you need? I know nothing of his death."

"That's not what I hear, Montresor."

ba-boom.   ba-boom.    ba-boom.    ba-boom.

I smiled to hide my rising worry and the rising ache in my arms. "Just who are you hearing it from, may I ask? A couple of drunks? At Carneval? Hah! Surely you're not stupid enough to believe a drunk on Carneval night, officer!"

"Yes, one would be a fool to believe the drunks on such a night of alcohols. And what was it that Fortunato specialized in? Wine, correct? But anyway, Sir Monstresor, our witness was not a drunk. She had not yet had a drink when she saw an...interesting sight, for lack of better word."

"Interesting sight? Well I'd say one might see quite the number of interesting sights on a night of drunks, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. Quite true," he said with a smile. "But this sight is far more interesting than anything else you might see. Why, she saw you! And with who, I wonder."

"I'm afraid it escapes my memory."

"Don't play clueless, Montresor! You may be old, but you are without a doubt, a smart man. Our witness saw you with Fortunato. As far as we know, you are the last to see him before his apparent death. She saw you and your friend enter this exact house. What did you two do? What did he do?"

ba-boom.   ba-boom.    ba-boom.    ba-boom.   ba-boom.

"We simply drank a little wine. Some amontillado. Fortunato was a fine man in the art of wine but he could handle no more of it than any other man. He became drunk, as well as I. I, though it may be embarrassing, I fell asleep rather quickly afterwards. Fortunato left me in my home and went out to Carneval. He was a smart man when he was sober, but I cannot say the same for when he was drunk."

The officer stared at me, expecting more. I smiled pleasantly.

"I'm afraid I can tell you no more."

The officer looked unsatisfied. "Montresor, no one claims to have seen the man at Carneval after he entered your home and drank your wine, as you say he did. And no one has seen him for fifty years. Why is that?"

"Officer, haven't we agreed? You're not going to get much information from drunks on Carneval. They cannot tell their own hands from the hands of those next to them. And as I have said before, Fortunato was stupid man when he became drunk. Very...Very stupid in fact. Probably got himself into trouble."

"I see..." he leaned forward once again. "Would you mind...Showing me the location where you both drank together?"

***

I climbed the stairs down to the catacombs this time. I had not been down here in ages, it seemed. My aching legs could no longer take the climb.

ba-boom.   ba-boom.    ba-boom.    ba-boom.   ba-boom.   ba-boom.

I lead him slowly through the maze inside. Walls upon walls of fine wines covering graves of unknown men and women. A heave with each step.

We reached the section where I had taken justice into my own hands. I smiled at the remembrance.

"What is this wall, Montresor?"

"Oh, just a renovation."

He looked skeptically at the wall and ran his hands over the stones. "Why?"

I leaned against the wall of the catacombs, my arm supporting me. "Oh, you know. Just to seal off an unwanted section. Rats favored it." I said, heaving.

ba-boom  ba-boom  ba-boom  ba-boom  ba-boom  ba-boom  ba-boom  ba-boom

"Are you alright, Montresor?"

"I'm sorry, what was that you said?"

ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom

My face contorted. I collapsed. I clutched my chest, over my heart.

ba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boomba-boom

"Dear god! Montresor!"

***

Th crew set down their sledge hammers after knocking down a large enough portion of the wall to step through.

"Do you really think he just...renovated it? Down here?" a crew member asked, looking around the well kept room.

"Hard to say. When I spoke to him, he seemed rather sure of himself. Calm and confident. Didn't realize he was in the middle of dying!"

"Hah, maybe you're just a pretty bad officer."

The dust settled down from the wall. "We'll see about that," the officer said.

The crew members all looked down and twiddled with their sledge hammers in an effort to look occupied. The officer rolled his eyes and entered the room, alone. He covered his nose immediately. He jumped back when his foot crushed something with a loud crunch.

"Crew!"

**End**