nordic underworld.
In a bookstore he found a copy of Sigmund Freud's "Totem and Taboo,"
and his world was turned around. He discovered that religion was the
delusion of people afraid to face the fact that they must die. The
universe became a vast indifference, not a screen with God's baleful
eye peering through it. When he saw people coming out of a church,
he looked at them with amused contempt.
In December he saw an ad for a private detective agency in a
newspaper: "Confidential, reasonable rates." He wrote to
them, paid the deposit they required, and six weeks later
received a letter on their stationery.
Dear Sir:
Our operative went to Dog River, Oregon on January
13, 1958 as per your request and consulted the current
telephone directory for the names Cooley, Tom or
Thomas, Anderson, Donald R. and Anderson, Mildred.
No listings were found for these names; however, listings
were found for Cooley, Ernest, Anderson, B. Walter,
Anderson, Billy, Anderson, D.W., Andersen, Sylvia,
and Andersen, Olaf.
Consulting previous telephone directories at the public
library, no listings were found for Cooley, Tom or
Thomas, or Anderson, Donald R. later than the year
1955.
The operative then proceeded to the Dog River Post
Office and inquired as to Donald R. Anderson. The
postmaster informed him that said Donald R. Anderson
and wife Mildred moved to Chehalis, Washington in
1955. The operative also inquired as to the present
whereabouts of Thomas Cooley,,and was informed that
said Cooley left the state in 1957 and his whereabouts
were unknown.
The operative then contacted the pastor of the Riverside
Church, Rev. Floyd Metcalfe Williams, who stated that
Mr. and Mrs. Donald R. Anderson were members of his
congregation from 1940-1955, when they moved to
Chehalis, Washington, and further stated that he believed
said Mr. and Mrs. Anderson lost their lives in a fire in
1956. The operative then proceeded to Chehalis, Washington
and confirmed...
Gene put the letter down. There were two more paragraphs: " . . . house
fire of undetermined origin . . . bill for services enclosed . . . your
esteemed favor . . . "
He remembered, as if it were something he had read in a book, the house in
Dog River and the yard around it, the smells of crushed grass and earth,
the cracked sidewalk, his father's tired face, his mother setting the
table. He remembered himself in that house, the wrong size, the wrong
age, and yet it was not himself, it was a boy who did not exist anymore,
who had died and been reborn outside the tree house in the woods. All
those bright pictures belonged to another life; they were gone now;
it didn't matter.
That night he dreamed about his parents, but it was not a true dream like
the one he had had in the tree house; his mother and father were in some
dark piaee and they were trying to talk to him, to tell him something,
but when their lips moved there was no sound.
He had other dreams in which Paul Cooley was alive, although he was dead
at the same time, in the way that opposites often existed together in
dreams; Paul was confronting him with his bulging eyes and slobbery lip,
saying, "You pushed me out the window!" And Gene was trying to explain
that he really hadn't, or hadn't meant to, and all the time he knew he was
lying. Then sometimes he woke up, and sometimes he drifted down from the
window and touched Paul's body with his hands; and then Paul was alive,
and he rose and walked away. And for some reason, these were the most
terrible dreams of all.
One day, in a gallery on Fifth Avenue, he saw an astonishing thing -- a
quasi-human figure made up of blocky forms that seemed to be melting from
crystals of metal into metal flesh. The face was a mask, the limbs bulged
like an insect's. It was dark bronze, about fourteen inches high. It
stood in a dancer's posture, speaking of power under intense control.
The card on the pedestal said, "Hierophant, Manuel Avila."
"How
In a bookstore he found a copy of Sigmund Freud's "Totem and Taboo,"
and his world was turned around. He discovered that religion was the
delusion of people afraid to face the fact that they must die. The
universe became a vast indifference, not a screen with God's baleful
eye peering through it. When he saw people coming out of a church,
he looked at them with amused contempt.
In December he saw an ad for a private detective agency in a
newspaper: "Confidential, reasonable rates." He wrote to
them, paid the deposit they required, and six weeks later
received a letter on their stationery.
Dear Sir:
Our operative went to Dog River, Oregon on January
13, 1958 as per your request and consulted the current
telephone directory for the names Cooley, Tom or
Thomas, Anderson, Donald R. and Anderson, Mildred.
No listings were found for these names; however, listings
were found for Cooley, Ernest, Anderson, B. Walter,
Anderson, Billy, Anderson, D.W., Andersen, Sylvia,
and Andersen, Olaf.
Consulting previous telephone directories at the public
library, no listings were found for Cooley, Tom or
Thomas, or Anderson, Donald R. later than the year
1955.
The operative then proceeded to the Dog River Post
Office and inquired as to Donald R. Anderson. The
postmaster informed him that said Donald R. Anderson
and wife Mildred moved to Chehalis, Washington in
1955. The operative also inquired as to the present
whereabouts of Thomas Cooley,,and was informed that
said Cooley left the state in 1957 and his whereabouts
were unknown.
The operative then contacted the pastor of the Riverside
Church, Rev. Floyd Metcalfe Williams, who stated that
Mr. and Mrs. Donald R. Anderson were members of his
congregation from 1940-1955, when they moved to
Chehalis, Washington, and further stated that he believed
said Mr. and Mrs. Anderson lost their lives in a fire in
1956. The operative then proceeded to Chehalis, Washington
and confirmed...
Gene put the letter down. There were two more paragraphs: " . . . house
fire of undetermined origin . . . bill for services enclosed . . . your
esteemed favor . . . "
He remembered, as if it were something he had read in a book, the house in
Dog River and the yard around it, the smells of crushed grass and earth,
the cracked sidewalk, his father's tired face, his mother setting the
table. He remembered himself in that house, the wrong size, the wrong
age, and yet it was not himself, it was a boy who did not exist anymore,
who had died and been reborn outside the tree house in the woods. All
those bright pictures belonged to another life; they were gone now;
it didn't matter.
That night he dreamed about his parents, but it was not a true dream like
the one he had had in the tree house; his mother and father were in some
dark piaee and they were trying to talk to him, to tell him something,
but when their lips moved there was no sound.
He had other dreams in which Paul Cooley was alive, although he was dead
at the same time, in the way that opposites often existed together in
dreams; Paul was confronting him with his bulging eyes and slobbery lip,
saying, "You pushed me out the window!" And Gene was trying to explain
that he really hadn't, or hadn't meant to, and all the time he knew he was
lying. Then sometimes he woke up, and sometimes he drifted down from the
window and touched Paul's body with his hands; and then Paul was alive,
and he rose and walked away. And for some reason, these were the most
terrible dreams of all.
One day, in a gallery on Fifth Avenue, he saw an astonishing thing -- a
quasi-human figure made up of blocky forms that seemed to be melting from
crystals of metal into metal flesh. The face was a mask, the limbs bulged
like an insect's. It was dark bronze, about fourteen inches high. It
stood in a dancer's posture, speaking of power under intense control.
The card on the pedestal said, "Hierophant, Manuel Avila."
"How
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