sitting up, the drip ripped from his arm. He stared up at the rafter beam.
"Bobby?" I said.
"Bobby died in a fire," he said.
I walked out to the trance pasture, saw Lem Burke sitting in the punk weeds, smoking a joint, gerrymandering an ant colony with a stick.
"Got some of those in my cabin," I said.
"What?"
"Ants."
"What kind of ants?"
"I don't know. Black ants."
"These are red ants."
"Communists."
"I wouldn't say that," said Lem. "They just do what seems right."
Lem whipped the stick. It careened off my knee.
"Sorry," he said.
The weeds were high. I could only make out the top of the kid's head. He was so long and scrawny, weedlike himself. It seemed like he'd always been here, sitting, dreaming, playing Hitler with dirt life.
"Hear about Old Gold?" I said.
"Poor fucker," said Lem.
"You don't like it here, do you?"
Lem said nothing.
"How's your continuum awareness coming?"
"Why do you ask so many questions?" said Lem. "What are you trying to hide?"
"Sometimes people ask questions just to find out things."
"My continuum awareness is coming along fine," said Lem. "The past present and future are entirely saturated with one thought, one image, one sensation. My mom knew what she was doing, tell you that."
Smoke was rolling off the ridge. Both of us sniffed at the sky. Wolves, I thought. Rabbits, I revised.
"That man Wendell who had my cabin," I said. "What happened to him?"
"He died."
"Heinrich says he hanged himself."
"You know you splooge in your pants when you do that?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Guess everyone knows. I'm finding that the older I get, it's not that I learn new things, it's more like I find out how much of what I know is common knowledge."
"That's a good way of putting it."
"Don't condescend."
"I'm not."
"Don't deny your actions."
Lem was truly a child of this place.
"Did Wendell leave a note? An explanation?"
"Yeah. There was a note. It said, Please note."
"Please note?"
"Please note."
"Damn," I said.
"That's what I said. Want some of this?"
"Yes," I said.
I hardly noticed Lem leave. I hardly noticed anything except the helium panic of the pot, the warp of the world, the fissuring. I decided to give the shit-free zone one more shot. No more boat. No more no-more-boat. I thought about nothing. I zeroed in on nothingness. Nothingness rose out of the ether to greet me, to embrace. I heard music now, horns, a brassy vamp. Flashpots, fireworks. The nothingness dancers chorus-kicked through smoke.
"Please note! Please note!" they sang. Kick-turn. Kick-turn. Balcony gels, leotards, hip jut. This was not for nothing, I thought. Then the weed wore off. The garter belts fell from the trees. The sun was going down.
I did not hate twilight.
I went to fetch Renee.
I rolled her out to the milk barn to see the calf twins born last week. Romulus and Rimjob, Old Gold had named them. They were dark and frisky in the moonlit pen, big sweet pups. They nuzzled our knees at the rail. Renee put her hand out and one of them took it with a soft sucking sound up to the wrist.
"Oh, my God," she said.
"I'm sorry," I said, "about those things I said the other night."
"You have to try this," said Renee.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
"You really have to try this."
I stuck a loose fist out for the other calf. It made a rough warm womb of its mouth for me.
"Jesus," I said. "That really is something."
"Isn't it? No wonder cows are sacred in Japan."
"I don't think it's Japan," I said.
"I hate you," said Renee. "Let's have a hate fuck."
"Over there, then," I said, "behind the hayrick."
"That's called a hayrick?" said Renee.
"Sure," I said.
"Sounds like Heinrich," said Renee.
"Don't say that," I said.
There were no dessert speeches that night. We bused our plates and marched out of the dining hall. Portable lights lit the lawn outside, night-game bright. There was a chop in the air and the lamp casings hummed. Somewhere behind us an engine gunned. The glow of brake lights parted
"Bobby?" I said.
"Bobby died in a fire," he said.
I walked out to the trance pasture, saw Lem Burke sitting in the punk weeds, smoking a joint, gerrymandering an ant colony with a stick.
"Got some of those in my cabin," I said.
"What?"
"Ants."
"What kind of ants?"
"I don't know. Black ants."
"These are red ants."
"Communists."
"I wouldn't say that," said Lem. "They just do what seems right."
Lem whipped the stick. It careened off my knee.
"Sorry," he said.
The weeds were high. I could only make out the top of the kid's head. He was so long and scrawny, weedlike himself. It seemed like he'd always been here, sitting, dreaming, playing Hitler with dirt life.
"Hear about Old Gold?" I said.
"Poor fucker," said Lem.
"You don't like it here, do you?"
Lem said nothing.
"How's your continuum awareness coming?"
"Why do you ask so many questions?" said Lem. "What are you trying to hide?"
"Sometimes people ask questions just to find out things."
"My continuum awareness is coming along fine," said Lem. "The past present and future are entirely saturated with one thought, one image, one sensation. My mom knew what she was doing, tell you that."
Smoke was rolling off the ridge. Both of us sniffed at the sky. Wolves, I thought. Rabbits, I revised.
"That man Wendell who had my cabin," I said. "What happened to him?"
"He died."
"Heinrich says he hanged himself."
"You know you splooge in your pants when you do that?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Guess everyone knows. I'm finding that the older I get, it's not that I learn new things, it's more like I find out how much of what I know is common knowledge."
"That's a good way of putting it."
"Don't condescend."
"I'm not."
"Don't deny your actions."
Lem was truly a child of this place.
"Did Wendell leave a note? An explanation?"
"Yeah. There was a note. It said, Please note."
"Please note?"
"Please note."
"Damn," I said.
"That's what I said. Want some of this?"
"Yes," I said.
I hardly noticed Lem leave. I hardly noticed anything except the helium panic of the pot, the warp of the world, the fissuring. I decided to give the shit-free zone one more shot. No more boat. No more no-more-boat. I thought about nothing. I zeroed in on nothingness. Nothingness rose out of the ether to greet me, to embrace. I heard music now, horns, a brassy vamp. Flashpots, fireworks. The nothingness dancers chorus-kicked through smoke.
"Please note! Please note!" they sang. Kick-turn. Kick-turn. Balcony gels, leotards, hip jut. This was not for nothing, I thought. Then the weed wore off. The garter belts fell from the trees. The sun was going down.
I did not hate twilight.
I went to fetch Renee.
I rolled her out to the milk barn to see the calf twins born last week. Romulus and Rimjob, Old Gold had named them. They were dark and frisky in the moonlit pen, big sweet pups. They nuzzled our knees at the rail. Renee put her hand out and one of them took it with a soft sucking sound up to the wrist.
"Oh, my God," she said.
"I'm sorry," I said, "about those things I said the other night."
"You have to try this," said Renee.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
"You really have to try this."
I stuck a loose fist out for the other calf. It made a rough warm womb of its mouth for me.
"Jesus," I said. "That really is something."
"Isn't it? No wonder cows are sacred in Japan."
"I don't think it's Japan," I said.
"I hate you," said Renee. "Let's have a hate fuck."
"Over there, then," I said, "behind the hayrick."
"That's called a hayrick?" said Renee.
"Sure," I said.
"Sounds like Heinrich," said Renee.
"Don't say that," I said.
There were no dessert speeches that night. We bused our plates and marched out of the dining hall. Portable lights lit the lawn outside, night-game bright. There was a chop in the air and the lamp casings hummed. Somewhere behind us an engine gunned. The glow of brake lights parted
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