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“I should have told him about Roxanne,” Watts said on the drive home. His hands on the wheel were shaking. “We could’ve avoided all that back there. I should’ve been the guy getting punched.” Now he was crying, swiping his nose and eyes with the back of his hand. At a red light, he twisted his fists over his eyes, and for the first and only time, Kush felt he wasn’t the weakest of the three. After we stood up, I got the idea that he was a photographer from a foreign country who’d heard of the Wild Children and happened now to be searching for them, just as I was. I pointed at myself and him and Dock Wood to let him know that I could show him the way. He looked at me and smiled and shook his head. “We rarely involve ourselves with the day-to-day,” Ronald said. Then I woke up. I held on tight. I don’t think I would have ever let go except I had a funeral to plan. I led both men into the white-on-white-in-white living room. Rash looked confused but he didn’t say anything to contradict the lie I’d created for him. Coco went to the long sofa and sat down in the exact center. Duncan awoke slowly, watching as through a fog, as a monk prayed at an altar by a crackling fire. Gradually he recognized the shapes of crumbling lodges and overgrown fire rings, even what looked like old fish-drying racks. He sat up, spitting the grit from his mouth, and saw that he was on an island of tall pines and cypress. His arm ached and his clothes were lined with damp mud. Rising unsteadily, he staggered for a moment, then a furry creature pushed against his leg to keep him upright. Duncan looked down into Chuga’s black eyes, which stared at him with an oddly worried expression. As he approached the fire the murmuring of the man at the altar turned into wheezing laughter. The electricity was out in the house. Yellow metal stalks with powerful incandescent lamps, brought in by the police, eerily illuminated the sunken all-white living room and the double-wide hall that went past Theon’s bedroom and mine. There was an even stronger light coming from the master bathroom. I could see the shadows of people moving around in there, mumbling words that I couldn’t quite make out. I was thinking about that shop while at LeRoy’s Chicken and Waffle House eating more calorie-rich food. I ate, wrote these words in my little journal, and reread a few chapters ofKindred by Octavia Butler. In between phrases I paused, thinking of the little dress shop. When they were finally gone I asked Jude to go get me a glass of water while I called Neelo Brown’s private line. Neelo asked me if I could get down to his offices and I told him that Jude would take me. One year later, Capel’s guarantee had become unnecessary; he could withdraw his securities; the profits from rue Cambon were enough for everything. Pride is a good thing, but that day my irresponsible youth came to an end. Duncan extended his hand in the shadows, took the jug, and wet his fingers to sample the contents. “He was. Thank you.” All this brought a smile to my face. He sighed as if I were trying his patience and began again.‘There is a coffin. The mother of the person in the coffin is the sister-in-law of your father’s aunt. Who is the corpse in the coffin?’ The butterfly jumps off the edge of the day, ‘Tell us this, Tristram: why don’t you drink any more?’ The heat in the truck was overpowering. “I’ll get Lana Leer to call Talia. I’ll give Lana the key, so all they have to do is work out the logistics.” No one died. Today, alone in the sunshine and snow… I shall continue, without husband, without children, without grandchildren, without all those delightful illusions, without all those delusions that make us believe that the world is inhabited by our other selves, to work and live ‘alone’..

Michael Beeson's Research

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