instance. Now what’s that all about, if you don’t know something, man?”
“I gave you the mescaline, yes?”
“You did. So you did. Point well taken. But no vision things happening. What alternative? Ratiocination like Oeuf? I mean,
any
old vision would do it. That one of yours from fasting and whole grains last year, that woman with the flaming pubes, striding over a cloud; man, I’ll take seconds on that one.”
“Ah, you’ll forgive an intuition, then?”
“’Swhat I’m here for man, I’m up-tight.”
“The immortality worm has been chewing.”
“What if it has?”
“Try chewing back.”
Beth saw them off at the door, her bearing full of question, something not concluded. Kim by her side, hands again locked behind her, failing to wave goodbye as the car backed out on the slushy driveway. The rain had stopped.
They drove into Lairville without conversation, no sound but the tires and the occasional clicking swish of the wipers when they cleared splashed snow. A blue-gray tint to the night, bizarre purple lips and gums as they passed through distorting pools of mercury-vapor light. They slowed down on Dryad Road, Calvin asking finally, “Where to?”
“Guido’s’ll do. Just on the right there,” Gnossos zipping up his parka against the cold, fondling his rucksack. “You want a drink?”
“I think not. You don’t mind?”
“No, man, that’s cool, I just thought you might have wanted some time, you know, away.”
They eased over against the curb and Calvin left the motor running. Gnossos opened the door to get out but hesitated. A mammoth red neon bear blinked on their faces. No tension scenes, what the hell, say thank you. “Thanks, Calvin.
“That’s all right. Come out again soon, for whatever reason.”
“I’ll wait awhile, I think. I’m a little down just now.”
“It doesn’t really show.”
“Euphoria. Adrenalin. Upbeat metabolism, and all.”
Putting the car into gear. “That beheading picture; I’ll have it for you at the studio tomorrow.”
“Hey no, you don’t have to—”
“It’ll be there anyway. It’s my decision, yes? And be careful, Gnossos.”
“Right,” his hand reaching nonetheless into the side pocket of the Saab and removing a small hammer, which as soon as he touched it took part in a plan of earlier revenge. “Later.”
And bang, he was through the swinging doors, inhaling the familiar fumes of Guido’s Grill. Odors always able to hang you up, lay bare the honeycombed cells of nasal memory. French-fried onion rings, pizzaburgers, bubbly cooking fat, Breath-O-Pine disinfectant.
Students were meanwhile packed together in polyethylene booths, most of them independents, an odd minority of slumming fraternity types, ending their collective day over plates of late-night swill, mistaking the knots of academic anxiety for hunger. Coeds in mohair sat nibbling, watching the clock for curfew. Through the cacophonic murmur of extracurricular chitchat, plots to collapse the administration, talk of Caribbean gunrunning, and kneesie games among the graduate queens, Gnossos heard the Saab out in the street turning around and puttering off. Oh well.
“Hey, Paps!”
Heff in a blue-striped French seaman’s jersey, calling from a mobbed booth. Voices suspended above the din of talk for a brief moment, heads bobbing up from ale and strawberry shakes. Here and there an occasional expression of shocked recognition, then embarrassed shifting away. Only one of them with enough hair to call my name. Go over, why don’t you. Man, seven of them. Break the ice, choose your words. “Pax.”
“Sit down, Paps,” Heff’s arm slung limply around Jack’s shoulders, a knuckle toying with her cheek. “Little celebration thing going on. You know these people, these undergraduates, these old university cats?”
Jesus. Four empty martini glasses in front of him, fifth half-dead. “You’re smashed, Horralump.”
“Old-timey celebration happening, Paps, they
“I gave you the mescaline, yes?”
“You did. So you did. Point well taken. But no vision things happening. What alternative? Ratiocination like Oeuf? I mean,
any
old vision would do it. That one of yours from fasting and whole grains last year, that woman with the flaming pubes, striding over a cloud; man, I’ll take seconds on that one.”
“Ah, you’ll forgive an intuition, then?”
“’Swhat I’m here for man, I’m up-tight.”
“The immortality worm has been chewing.”
“What if it has?”
“Try chewing back.”
Beth saw them off at the door, her bearing full of question, something not concluded. Kim by her side, hands again locked behind her, failing to wave goodbye as the car backed out on the slushy driveway. The rain had stopped.
They drove into Lairville without conversation, no sound but the tires and the occasional clicking swish of the wipers when they cleared splashed snow. A blue-gray tint to the night, bizarre purple lips and gums as they passed through distorting pools of mercury-vapor light. They slowed down on Dryad Road, Calvin asking finally, “Where to?”
“Guido’s’ll do. Just on the right there,” Gnossos zipping up his parka against the cold, fondling his rucksack. “You want a drink?”
“I think not. You don’t mind?”
“No, man, that’s cool, I just thought you might have wanted some time, you know, away.”
They eased over against the curb and Calvin left the motor running. Gnossos opened the door to get out but hesitated. A mammoth red neon bear blinked on their faces. No tension scenes, what the hell, say thank you. “Thanks, Calvin.
“That’s all right. Come out again soon, for whatever reason.”
“I’ll wait awhile, I think. I’m a little down just now.”
“It doesn’t really show.”
“Euphoria. Adrenalin. Upbeat metabolism, and all.”
Putting the car into gear. “That beheading picture; I’ll have it for you at the studio tomorrow.”
“Hey no, you don’t have to—”
“It’ll be there anyway. It’s my decision, yes? And be careful, Gnossos.”
“Right,” his hand reaching nonetheless into the side pocket of the Saab and removing a small hammer, which as soon as he touched it took part in a plan of earlier revenge. “Later.”
And bang, he was through the swinging doors, inhaling the familiar fumes of Guido’s Grill. Odors always able to hang you up, lay bare the honeycombed cells of nasal memory. French-fried onion rings, pizzaburgers, bubbly cooking fat, Breath-O-Pine disinfectant.
Students were meanwhile packed together in polyethylene booths, most of them independents, an odd minority of slumming fraternity types, ending their collective day over plates of late-night swill, mistaking the knots of academic anxiety for hunger. Coeds in mohair sat nibbling, watching the clock for curfew. Through the cacophonic murmur of extracurricular chitchat, plots to collapse the administration, talk of Caribbean gunrunning, and kneesie games among the graduate queens, Gnossos heard the Saab out in the street turning around and puttering off. Oh well.
“Hey, Paps!”
Heff in a blue-striped French seaman’s jersey, calling from a mobbed booth. Voices suspended above the din of talk for a brief moment, heads bobbing up from ale and strawberry shakes. Here and there an occasional expression of shocked recognition, then embarrassed shifting away. Only one of them with enough hair to call my name. Go over, why don’t you. Man, seven of them. Break the ice, choose your words. “Pax.”
“Sit down, Paps,” Heff’s arm slung limply around Jack’s shoulders, a knuckle toying with her cheek. “Little celebration thing going on. You know these people, these undergraduates, these old university cats?”
Jesus. Four empty martini glasses in front of him, fifth half-dead. “You’re smashed, Horralump.”
“Old-timey celebration happening, Paps, they
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