Full Body Chills - POE: The Cask of Amontillado (2021)

Episode Date: December 17, 2024

"The Cask of Amontillado" written by Jake Weber. Based on the story by Edgar Allan Poe. 2021.Intro read by Margo Seibert.Poe is an audiochuck production.Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter:  @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllc

PoE is a 2021 audio chuck original made for our friends at SiriusXM. We hope you enjoy this exclusive content re-released for free on Full Body Chills. And for the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Hate and jealousy age like poor wine, curdling, corked up. It swells with a taste of anesthesia and a damp cellar. Thoughts like parasites multiply in the bubbling spoil, past boiling, roiling temperaments, temperatures build, pressure rising, plans devising,

plotting each step with brick and mortar. And far from exploding, the mess is stored, out of sight and out of mind, chained in the dark where none will find. In this story, one man's sinister legacy comes to light, his secrets long outlasting. The Cask of Amontillado Written by Jake Weber Based on the story by Edgar Allan Poe 2021 If you are hearing this, I am speaking to you from the grave.

This is not a confession. I do not regret what I did then or since. I treated the world as it treated me. It told me I had to fight for everything. They all looked down on me. I was never accepted because I didn't look or sound like them, because I wasn't from the same class as them. My parents were Italian immigrants who worked hard when they got to this country.

I was the youngest of seven and the apple of their eye. I became a sommelier and the American dream meant I could rise above my station. But there is only so high a first-generation Italian-American kid born in 1951 in Bayonne, New Jersey, can aspire. There is fine print in the brochure. They all thought they could condescend to me, patronize me. But I'm Sicilian, and we never forget a slight. Franklin Harris was born with a silver spoon up his you-know-what.

He went missing in 1977 in New Orleans. It was what they now call a cold case. We had trained together as sommeliers, and he was always the big shot. He was tall and handsome and rich, from an old East Coast family. Daddy was a big wig Wall Street type and they lived in Connecticut and vacationed in Maine. Frank was a trust-fun kid who never had to work a day in his life. But he was the black sheep of the family, an underachiever, a rebel, a drunk. His brothers, Chip and Chad, took the train to Wall Street, and their sister, Chloe, married

a guy named Chester who also took the train to Wall Street. They were so happy. I have no idea what their real names were, and nor do I care, but I do know they were kissed into life. Franklin was a disappointment to his family, but they loved him in the restaurant business. He got the plum jobs, he only worked in Michelin-starred restaurants, and he had his pick. Charming, handsome Franklin Harris was a star. I had the palate, and in fairness, so did Franklin. Sommelier training is highly competitive. To be certified, candidates must pass an encyclopedic test to receive the Master Somalier Diploma, without which you would never get a position in a top-tier restaurant.

Frank and I were the best. In those days, there were no women. Now there are, and the test is even more competitive because there are wines to learn from many different countries. In those days, it was mostly French wines, though at the time of Franklin's disappearance, California wines were coming into vogue and I championed those vineyards. You were always learning, always having to up your game. And my game was good. I stayed in the business until I retired at 60. In the winter of 1977, I was working and living in New Orleans

when I ran into Franklin during Mardi Gras. If you have a working class accent, there was only so far you could go in the restaurant world. So I worked like a dog to lose mine. Now I am dead, I have no reason to keep up the facade. I am a kid from Bayonne, who clawed his way up the ladder of the American dream, only to learn there was a limit to how high he was allowed to climb. I lived alone, and that February night I was returning from work, walking the opposite way to the people in the parade,

moving against the tide of drunks and girls on floats who would never have looked twice at me, but happily lifted their shirts to long-haired boys with ridiculous sideburns. Jimmy Carter had just been elected, but I had been a Nixon man and then a Ford man, and as far as I was concerned, the country had gone to hell in a handbasket since the hippies took over. Whatever the sexual revolution was, it never reached my bedroom. I knew him from his walk. It had that confidence, the confidence that comes from knowing the world will never say no to

you. He was alone, and though he held his wine well, I could tell he was hammered. I followed him, and when I was sure no one was coming to join him, I said. Out of sight, if it isn't little Robbie Marino, the pride of Bayonne, he said. He was a gregarious guy, the kind of guy who makes friends easily. I don't think I ever saw him in a bad mood, even when he was battling a hangover, which was pretty much every morning. He had always been nice to me, but that didn't stop me resenting him. In fact, I hated him more for the generosity of his spirit. It's easy to be nice if everything has gone your way

Was it the looks the charm the personality the money? It was all those things Well, I had to scratch and scrape my way to get anything an opportunity a get anything. An opportunity, a position, a girl. My whole life I had to prove myself, prove I was better than privileged fucks like Franklin, Theodore, Emerson, Harris. I heard you were down here, pal. At Penise, is it? He said. Yeah, Chez Penise, you should come in, I said. We'll come in tomorrow. We'll put you through your paces.

You do that. Who is we? We're here with another couple, the Sutherlands, he said. You can meet my Foxy Lady. Your Foxy Lady? What's her name? I asked. My Foxy Lady. Your Foxy Lady? What's her name? I asked.

Jenny Jones. Jenny Jones. You were always lucky with the ladies, weren't you, Frank? I don't know what they see in me, but who am I to argue? You got a Cajun girl, you crazy cat?" Somewhere along the way, Franklin had adopted the slang of the freaks and the hippies. But I knew who he was. You can take the boy out of the mansion, but you can't take the mansion out of the boy.

I got a whole litter of kittens, they said. Just gotta de-claw them first. Franklin laughed, and that transitioned into a coughing fit, which he wrapped up by pulling out a pack of Chesterfields. Those things will kill you, I said. I'm gonna live forever. I'm a Viking, he said. Where is Jenny Jones in the Sutherlands?

I asked. I lost him. It's madness here. It's pagan. I love it. Hot running decadence. He said, come back to the hotel, man. Let's drink, my brother, from another mother.

You are three sheets to the wind already, I said. I am from a venerable line of alcoholics, and I have cocaine. What do you say, Marino?" He clapped me on the back. He was big on physical contact, all that hell-fellow-well-met business. Cocaine, I asked. Are you hip? He said.

Am I hip? No, Franklin, nor are you hip? He said, am I hip? No, Franklin, nor you. Be cool, man, he said. Why are you fucking around with drugs, Frank? I said, you got everything a man could ever want. You gonna piss all that away for what? You're such a square, man. Get with the times."

I hated that fucking lingo. I don't do drugs or cocaine, but I will drink with you. I said, Excellent. Now how the hell do we get back to the plaza? Come by my house first, I said. I have something I want to show you, a cask of amontillado. And if you do as you're told, we can bring two bottles of 61 Chateau Haute-Priom with us. 61 Haute-Priom? Out of sight! You, you are a gentleman of the highest order, and you are going to have eight barrels of

a Montial? You're going to have to wait on that. I know. I'm in no rush. I could put it away for forty years if I have to. Forty years? You may not outlive your sherry. I'll get to it.

Don't you worry," I said. Franklin had another coughing episode, and I waited for him to recover. Are you not well? I asked. I'm yarr. What does that mean? It means I'm solid, seaworthy. I'm not familiar with that expression," I said. That's because you didn't grow up with boats.

My family did. In Sicily. Right on, man. Fishing boats. The salt of the earth. Call me man one more time and I'm gonna punch you in the mouth. I thought to myself. Franklin took a deep pull off his unfiltered cigarette and coughed again. You're not well, I said. I

know, doctor. Should we get you back to the hotel?" I asked. We should. We absolutely should, but not without that haute brillante. How far to your pad? Not far at all. Follow me, I said. You're probably asking yourself why did I do it. Franklin sounded like a good guy. Why would I cut him down in his prime? Why take the life of a young man who had so much going for him? What was the motive? I did it because I could. At the end of

the day we're predators. It's how men are programmed. It's just that some are better predators than others. If you don't give to me, I will take from you. And if you do give, I will take more. You lose, I win. There is a fancy name for this. It's called a zero-sum game. It's the game of life.

The thing about New Orleans is its history. It's an old city, dirty and decadent, an amoral city. Anything goes down there. To this day, it's corrupt from the top down. The politicians are corrupt, the cops are corrupt. I lived in an old house in the French Quarter that was run down but suited my needs. It had a huge cellar that was perfect for storing wine. Franklin was his usual generous self about my dilapidated house and meager furnishings. When I let him down to the cellar, there

was a section I was in the process of breaking in. I had plans for that area but wasn't sure when the project would be completed. When the time was right, I would know. I was in no rush. I showed Franklin the massive oak cask of a Montiado. That's enough for a lifetime, he said. Not the way you drink. Find the haute brûlion, I said. I the way you drink. Find the Oat Priome, I said.

I'll be right back. I left him there and went to gather what I needed. When I returned, Franklin was grinning at me, a bottle in each hand. What a stroke of luck, running into this lovely cat in this lovely old city. And now we get to share these lovely bottles. I mean, what a beautiful world it is.

He laid the bottles carefully on the ground and gave me a hug. I don't like that kind of contact, but knowing what I was about to do, I let him and felt the warmth in his embrace. I want to show you something, I said. Have a look in here. I pointed to a section of the wall I had built waist high.

Climb in, I said. What's in there? He asked. Come look, I said what's in there? He asked come look I said We climbed in and looked around the dingy cellar Can you believe that I asked? Holy shit. He said There were two iron rings

Bricked into the back wall Attached to the rings were chains with cuffs that hung open. What the fuck is this? said Franklin. It was some kind of holding cell, I guess. I'm bricking it in because I want to look at it. Can you believe people were chained up down here? Slaves would be my guess. Those fascists Nixon and Haldeman did shit

like this. Tortured people, murdered innocent women and children and burned them alive. Whole families. I mean we're on this earth to love each other. I mean, we're on this earth to love each other. I mean, it's up to us. It's up to us to make this cruel world a better place." I poured into a cloth dish towel from a small bottle I was holding. What is that? Franklin asked. It's chloroform, I answered as I put the bottle on the ground. What do you need that for? It's chloroform, I answered as I put the bottle on the ground.

What do you need that for? It's gonna put you to sleep, I said as I stepped towards him. Franklin was not a fighter. He wasn't the type. I dropped him with a right, wrapped my legs around his back, and held the cloth to his mouth. my legs around his back and held the cloth to his mouth. In the movies you see someone passing out right away from chloroform, but that's not the way it works in real life. In real life it takes a while, usually a few minutes. I thought he was going to pass out from a coughing fit, but that only forced him to inhale deeper. Plus, he was drunk and he didn't have the strength I had.

It's just genetics. He passed out after about 90 seconds and I went to work. When he came to, a couple minutes later, I had him on his knees, coughed and chained. He registered the predicament he was in and looked at me. You want a cigarette? My asked. He nodded and I got his pack and his lighter from his coat. I put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it for him.

He took deep drags until they brought on another coughing fit. I pulled over a wine crate and put it on its side and smoked his cigarette Why Robbie He asked I don't know. I said as I took a drag from his unfiltered Chesterfield. I looked at it. These are strong, I said. Why would you do this?

I don't have the answer to that. Did I do something to offend you, he said. If I did, I'm sorry, Robbie. No, you didn't do anything. Then let me go. Let me out of here." I took another drag off his cigarette. Can I have that?

He asked. Sure, I said. He got to his feet, and I held the smoke for him. He took shorter drags this time. There was something intimate about it. Being there together, me feeding him like a baby. I took the final drag and stubbed it out. My pants were dirty from the floor,

and I brushed them off and went back to the wine crate. This is a joke, right? Said Franklin. This is a fucked up joke. You're one strange cat, Roberto. He laughed then, and I laughed with him. You're out of your mind. He said as we continued laughing.

I am. I'm out of my mind. I replied. I'm totally nuts. As my laughter built, Franklin's began to fade. It's not funny, Robbie, he said. This is not funny to me, so let me out of here, Robbie. Come on. I didn't move from my stool when Franklin went on. Let me out of here now.

I mean it, man. It's not funny. Let me go. I mean it, man," I repeated. Be cool, man. Don't be heavy. It's all about peace, man. Can you dig it?"

I saw his face fall, and no one said anything for a moment. How long are you gonna keep me here? He said. They'll look for me. No one knows you. You were just some guy who disappeared in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. My family will look for me. They have connections. They'll find me.

Not down here they won't. The police here don't do shit. They will if they're paid enough, he said. Let me go, let me go, let me go, and I won't say anything, I promise. I'll never say a word. I sat there picking at my thumbnail with my index finger. Picking at my thumbnail with my index finger Do you want money Roberto? I can get you money if you need it just to say thank you. I don't need your money I said then what? What can I do what what can I do for you? Just tell me tell me and I'll do it. There's not much you can do

You see I don't want anything from you, except for you to not exist. To not exist? Are you gonna kill me? Is that what you're gonna do? You're gonna let me die down here? What did I ever do to you? Tell me, what did I ever do to you,

but be a friend to you and support you and speak well of you and treat you as a fucking equal?" He was moving into the anger phase. They say there are seven stages of grief. He would make his way through all of them before we were done. I am your equal, I said. I never said you weren't you just did What are you talking about? He said you just said it without saying it You implied I wasn't your equal because if I were

There would be no need to say it. It would be automatically assumed If I was like you from your class, you wouldn't say what a great person you are by treating me as an equal. I treat everyone as an equal. I hate that class bullshit. Those bourgeois notions meant to divide people against each other.

I treated you the same as I would anyone. But you're not the same as me. So you don't get to treat me as if would anyone. But you're not the same as me, so you don't get to treat me as if I were. You condescend to me by not acknowledging the differences between us. What? Which is it, Robbie? Are we equal or not? I was kind to you. If anything, I hate you more for that. Why? It reminds me of how small I am. My kindness? Made you feel small?

Yeah. Your pity made me hate you, I said. Robbie, I'm begging you. Let me go. Please, man. Let me go. I don't want to die. I'm scared.

I'm scared, Robbie. Don't let me die here. I beg you." It went on like this for a while. He argued, he pleaded, he blubbered, he bargained, he screamed. I just went about my business, mixing concrete and laying bricks. I will say this for Franklin. When he came to the acceptance phase, he took it like a man. When I was on my last few bricks, he called out, said he forgave me. He said he felt for me, for the pain that must be inside to make me do such a thing. After he was immured, I didn't hear much more. I could faintly hear moaning sometimes, but I had sealed up the basement well. Soon the wall would age,

and you would never be able to tell it had been an addition and never suspect there was a corpse behind it. It usually takes about four days for someone to die like that. It's not the lack of food, it's the lack of water. The chains were long enough that Franklin could sit on the floor. It was not the plaza, by any means, but he would not hang like Christ from the cross. He would die slowly and painfully. But I didn't torture him. He was a nice guy. He didn't deserve to die. But who said life was fair? I stayed at Chez Panisse for almost 20 years, even though the restaurant was below me.

Those were decent years. People sought me out for advice on all kinds of subjects, not just wine. I was considered an erudite man, a wise man. I lived in that house all those years with Franklin in the basement. When I moved to New York in 1995, I left him there as a housewarming present for the nice young family who bought the home. I never had a family myself. My family were my restaurants. My family were my customers. I lived for that moment.

They took that first sip of a wine I had selected just for them and the light would brighten in their eyes. I liked giving to people. Now I give to you. I bow graciously as I did to all my customers and exit. You are probably wondering if I killed again. You couldn't keep up when I was alive. Can you catch up now that I'm dead? I just gave you a head start. Now give me my legacy." Demontiado, by the way, was excellent.