Free The Secret History by Donna Tartt

languages. Henry, I tell him, if you’re going to waste your time learning something besides Greek—that and the King’s English are all I think a man
needs
, personally—why don’t you buy yourself some Berlitz records and brush up on your French. Find a little can-can girl or something. Voolay-voo coushay avec moi and all that.”
    “How many languages does he know?”
    “I lost count. Seven or eight. He can read
hieroglyphics.
”
    “Wow.”
    Bunny shook his head fondly. “He’s a genius, that boy. He could be a translator for the UN if he wanted to be.”
    “Where’s he from?”
    “Missouri.”
    He said this in such a deadpan way I thought he was joking, and I laughed.
    Bunny raised an amused eyebrow. “What? You thought he was from Buckingham Palace or something?”
    I shrugged, still laughing. Henry was so peculiar, it was hard to imagine him being from anyplace.
    “Yep,” said Bunny. “The Show-Me State. St. Louis boy like old Tom Eliot. Father’s some kind of a construction tycoon—and not quite above board, either, so my cousins in St. Lou tell me. Not that Henry will give you the slightest clue what his dad does. Acts like he doesn’t know and certainly doesn’t care.”
    “Have you been to his house?”
    “Are you kidding? He’s so secretive, you’d think it was the Manhattan Project or something. But I met his mother one time.Kind of by accident. She stopped in Hampden to see him on her way to New York and I bumped into her wandering around downstairs in Monmouth asking people if they knew where his room was.”
    “What was she like?”
    “Pretty lady. Dark hair and blue eyes like Henry, mink coat, too much lipstick and stuff if you ask me. Awfully young. Henry’s her only chick and she
adores
him.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Family’s got money like you wouldn’t
believe
. Millions and millions. Course it’s about as new as it comes, but a buck’s a buck, know what I mean?” He winked. “By the way. Meant to ask. How does your pop earn his filthy lucre?”
    “Oil,” I said. It was partly true.
    Bunny’s mouth fell open in a little round o. “You have oil wells?”
    “Well, we have one,” I said modestly.
    “But it’s a good one?”
    “So they tell me.”
    “Boy,” said Bunny, shaking his head. “The Golden West.”
    “It’s been good to us,” I said.
    “Geez,” Bunny said. “
My
dad’s just a lousy old bank president.”
    I felt it necessary to change the subject, however awkwardly, as we were heading here towards treacherous waters. “If Henry’s from St. Louis,” I said, “how did he get to be so smart?”
    This was an innocuous question but, unexpectedly, Bunny winced. “Henry had a bad accident when he was a little boy,” he said. “Got hit by a car or something and nearly died. He was out of school for a couple years, had tutors and stuff, but for a long time he couldn’t do much but lie in bed and read. I guess he was one of those kids who can read at college level when they’re about two years old.”
    “Hit by a car?”
    “I
think
that’s what it was. Can’t think what else it could’ve been. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” He lowered his voice. “Know the way he parts his hair, so it falls over the right eye? That’s because there’s a scar there. Almost lost the eye, can’t see out of it too good. And the stiff way he walks, sort of a limp. Not that it matters, he’s strong as an ox. I don’t know what he did, lift
weights
or what, but he certainly built himself back up again. A regular Teddy Roosevelt, overcoming obstacles and all.You got to admire him for it.” He brushed his hair back again and motioned to the waiter for another drink. “I mean, you take somebody like Francis. You ask me, he’s as smart as Henry. Society boy, tons of money. He’s had it too easy, though. He’s lazy. Likes to play. Won’t do a thing after school but drink like a fish and go to parties. Now
Henry
.” He raised an