Outer Banks (6 page)

Rex would have forbidden me to do all these things, if he'd been here, and when the war is finally over and he has been repatriated, he will come home again, and I hope we both can sit down and cry for what has been lost. If he can't do that, I will leave him.

 

T
HE
E
ND

1.

It was morning when their jumbo jet was ready to descend, and by then Egress and the Loon were both quite drunk.—Boy, oh boy, Loon, I feel like havin' a party! Le's take some speed an' stay up four days ‘n' nights in a row! It ain't every day y'get back from a goddamn pilgrimage, y'know! the king cried to his diminutive friend.

—Hoo haw! Hoo haw! Hoo haw! the Loon carefully responded. He knew how wild the king could get when he was drunk.

Champagne glasses in hand, the two staggered out the door of the aircraft and walked unsteadily through the arrival gate.—They ain't no one here t'
meet
us, the king observed, surprised.

—And it's a good thing, too, the way you're dressed, the Loon said, pointing at the king's grain bag, which was spattered with caked mud, champagne, salt spray, dried semen.

—Yeah, I guess you're right, the king agreed, and they walked to the taxi stand, got into a cab, and instructed the driver to take them to the palace.—Toot sweet! the king said flirtatiously.

—Going to see the queen? the driver impertinently asked. He was a bent-over, long-haired hippie type who closely resembled a ballboy who'd once worked at the gymnasium.

—You betcha! Egress said heartily. He loved the fact that the driver didn't recognize him.—I'm gonna
fuck
'er, he confided.

—Yeh. You and everybody else, the driver said, winking.

2.

When the cab pulled up at the palace gate, the Loon saw the handwriting on the wall and decided to seek cover.—Say, Egress, I'm going to split for my place, okay?

—Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, Egress said, thinking only of Naomi Ruth and how happy she would be to see him again.

As soon as he reached his tree house, the Loon made a few quick phone calls and confirmed his suspicions. Just as I suspected, he thought. The queen has taken over. He made one more call, found out when the next bus left for his small, southern hometown, and packed a large suitcase with most of his belongings, his simpler, lightweight clothes, his chambered nautilus, his five favorite records, three favorite books, four favorite autographed photographs of movie stars, and his thumb-sized lump of hash.

The Loon was not a prophet, actually, but with regard to political matters, he was practically clairvoyant. This was doubtless because he himself was as apolitical as a four-year-old child. With his talent, he ought to have been made the premier political advisor in the state. But, ironically, the very thing that gave rise to his talent disqualified him as a councillor: he had no loyalties whatsoever to anyone, except as he himself was personally threatened or rewarded. His politics were based entirely on what he saw as necessary for his own continued survival. This did not, however, make him amoral, for, in all his personal dealings with people, he remained both generous and kind.

3.

Egress the Hearty strode manfully into the Great Hall and roared,—Honey, I'm home!

The tapestry-covered walls soaked up his noise and left him standing alone in silence.—I like the way she's decorated the place, he mused, fingering one of the thick tapestries.—French. Then he saw her, standing on the dais at the far end of the enormous room, and he ran, arms spread wide, to her.—
Baa-a-a-bee-e-e
! he bellowed.

After he had kissed, hugged, and fondled her awhile, he began to realize that she had not responded, that she had stood still throughout, as if she were made of alabaster, silent and motionless and cold to the touch.—What's the matter? Aren't you thrilled to see me? he asked her.—Hey, baby, he growled in his sexy voice,—you really turn me on when you hold it back like this. He started to paw her breasts.

But still there was no reaction.—What the fuck …? he exclaimed, drawing back to look at her. Maybe she had the rag on or something. You never can tell.

Finally, she spoke to him in a low, calm voice.—Egress, you've been gone for more than seven years, and in that time I've acted in your place…

—Fantastic, terrific, he said.—That's why you're the
queen.

—And in those years, she went on,—I've made a number of decisions, executive decisions. Foremost among these is the decision that I am to remain the chief executive, even after your return. I am, to put it simply and crudely, taking
my
turn, she declared.

—If you were a fucking man, he hissed,—I'd kill you. But you're not. You're a woman. My woman. Now, c'mere and give me some ass.

4.

A troop of Abenakis emerged from behind the arras next to the queen, and at a signal from their chief, the one called Horse, they surrounded Egress and tied him with deerhide thongs and pitched him onto the floor in a heap at the queen's feet. Egress
was beginning to feel a little frightened.—You're
serious
! he exclaimed to her.

Not answering him, she turned and regally left the hall.

—Horse! Don't you recognize me, man? I'm your king! It's
me
, Egress the Hearty, for Christ's sake!

—Yeah, I know who you are, the red man answered.—Or rather, I know who you
think
you are. The fact that you think you're still in charge, though, just because you're who you are, doesn't mean goatshit around here anymore. It's hard to run around claiming Divine Right when you ain't got no Enforcer! Horse joked, leading his band over to one of the far corners of the room. He was still wearing his jukebox, and one of the warriors punched E-5, a Buffy Sainte-Marie tune, and the group formed a small circle and started to dance.

—For god's sake, don't you guys have any loyalty to your own
kind???
the king shrieked at them.—Where are your
balls!!!
Egress was beginning to comprehend what was happening, and his fear had turned to rage. Trussed up like a pig in a market, he roared, thrashing and rolling himself about the room.

Sadly, while the other Indians danced, Horse watched him.—The only good king is probably a dead king, he murmured to himself.

5.

This is how Egress escaped: The Abenakis, as redmen often will, took to drinking, and after having exhausted themselves with brawling, singing, and dancing, fell asleep in a pile in the corner. At dawn, a young girl, coming from one of the barracks rooms where, apparently, she had been visiting her boyfriend or her brother, stole across the Great Hall in the half-light and almost stumbled over the fuming body of Egress.

—Watch it, for Christ's sake! he snapped.

—Oh, golly, I didn't see you there! I'm
terribly
sorry, she said sincerely. She was wearing a high school cheerleader's uniform
and had large, pointed breasts.—Are you all right? she asked the king.

—Listen, I was captured by some Indians working for my wife, the queen, because she hates men. Do
you
hate men, too? he asked kindly.

—Oh-h-h, gosh,
no
! I just
love
them! I mean, I have too much
respect
for men. I'm 37-24-37, you know, she said proudly.

—That right? Well, then, why don't you just untie me, honey, so I can stand up and get a good look at your body?

—Oh, I'm so em-barrassed! she giggled, bending down to untie him, brushing his nose with her naked thigh as she worked.

When she had freed him, he stood up, grabbed her by her left breast, and together they ran from the room to the courtyard outside. There he leaned her against the wall, yanked down her panties, and stuffed his stiff cock into her. He pumped half a dozen times, came, and quickly withdrew, saying as he left,—I'll be in touch.

—'Bye, she said weakly.

—Don't forget to douche, he warned her.

6.

Egress decided swiftly that the best way for him to get his throne back was to go underground, at least until he could size up the situation. He called the Loon, but there was no answer.—The little bastard's probably hiding out in Biloxi, he cursed.

The streets were filled with Indians carrying weapons and wearing makeup on their faces.—Goddamn faggots, he said to himself.—They'll work for anyone who'll let them paint themselves up.

With his back to the street, the door of the phone booth closed, he made one more call, to a number his security chief had given him years ago.—H'lo, he said when the party answered.—Is this the Underground?

—Ya.

—Good. I need to drop out of sight for a while. You know what I mean. Can you arrange it?

—Ya, I tink so. How many iss dere in your party? the man asked.

—One, Egress said.

—Und vat time may ve expect you?

—In about fifteen minutes.

—Ya, dot's fine. Und vat iss da name, pleese?

—Sunder.

—Tank you for callink us, Mister Soonder. Ve vill be expectink you, den.

Hanging up the receiver, Egress darted out of the phone booth and leaped into a cab that had just pulled up to the curb. The driver was a tiny man, so short he could barely see over the steering wheel.—Vere to? he asked.

—Underground, Egress commanded.

—You iss da Soonder party?

—Yeah, that's right.

—You are early, Mister Soonder.

—Yeah, sorry about that. I got away earlier than I expected, he explained as the cab sped away.

7.

The drive took him to the clubhouse of a long-abandoned golf course in one of the suburbs. Inside the shuttered building, a low, ranch-style, log structure covered with vines and moss, a group of men and women, mostly young, long-haired, and filthy, were making bombs and various incendiary devices. They greeted him with silent, agreeable nods and continued with their work.

Egress admired their discipline and decided to tell them who he was. When he had finished speaking and the laughter had died down, one of the group, a slender youth with flowers tan
gled into his hair, took Egress aside and said to him,—You may not remember me, but we've met. I know who you are, who you
were
, he said in a confidential voice.—These kids, they're rather heavily into revolution, so they're not going to be of much help to you, except to hide you out for a while—but they'll do that only so long as they think you're a little crazy and are wanted by the State. That grain bag you're wearing helps, also that psychotic-looking hair cut. You look like Richard Speck, he said with a snicker.—But you're going to have to be more careful, he went on.—They're serious about this revolution thing…

—Wait a minute, Egress said, interrupting him.—Aren't you…?

—Yes.

—But I thought I ordered you executed!

—Yes, you did, but your wife countermanded your order and had me freed right after you left on your famous pilgrimage. She thought I was gay, and there was an amnesty offered, and so…

—I thought you were gay, too. Aren't you? the king asked, incredulous.

—Not
really.
But never mind all that. If you want to hide out here, you better start acting crazy, and you better start helping make the bombs. You'll find that your family problems won't count for very much here, not with this group, he chuckled, leading the king back to the young men and women at work on the floor among the wires, fuses, gasoline, and dynamite caps.

8.

Late that night, while the others slept, the king rolled over on his pallet and whispered to the Green Man, who was lying on the pallet next to him.—Are there any others left, besides you, who have remained loyal to me?

—A few, I imagine, the Green Man answered, yawning.—And you really can't count on me for much more than company.

—How many are left? the king persisted.

—Ten, maybe.

—
Ten!
Ten men! Ten loyal men. Ten stout-hearted men! he whispered with growing excitement.—Okay, Greenie, you and I are getting out of here now, he announced.

—What for? I like it here. I mean, hiding out isn't a bad way for a man to spend his life.

—Not this man, fella. We're getting out of here, and we're going to contact those ten stout-hearted men and get them together as fast as we can, tonight, if possible. And by tomorrow night, we'll have ten thousand
more
! he almost exclaimed.

Once outside the house, the king asked him,—Which of the ten is closest to where we are now?

The Green Man told him of Twit, who used to work at the gymnasium and now was a student of Oriental religions and a part-time cab driver in the city.—He's kind of wacky, though. Childhood traumas, asthma as a kid, that sort of thing. He's very big on exploring personal power potentials—mysticism, karate, scientology, peyote, Sufi rites, etc. But he's still very loyal to you. I think he's Jewish, he added.

—No matter. He sounds okay to me. Extremism in the defense of liberty means a man like that can be trusted. You'll see. I wasn't king for all those years for nothing, y'know. I'll make him a general. I know the type, he said as the two of them set out in the dark for the city, where Twit maintained a flat.

9.

After Twit was appointed First General of the Loyalist Army, the king, the Green Man, and the new General set up their headquarters in a hidden canyon far in the countryside west of the city. They pitched a high, conical tent and ate free-ranging prairie chickens shot on the wing while they waited for the army to gather, as they knew it would, once word of Egress's return leaked out.

The first volunteers showed up around noon—the world-famous rock band, The Sons of the Pioneers. They came roaring into the canyon on matching, ruby-flecked, Harley Davidson motorcycles.—Hey, man, what's happening? the leader of the band said to the king, and the king quickly explained.

—Far out, the musician said.—You want us to do a fund-raiser or somethin', man? he offered.

Introducing the group to General Twit, Egress agreed that a fund-raiser would be fine, but not till after the war. Meanwhile, he wanted them just to let the fact of their endorsement of his project get around, maybe hold a press conference or two, that sort of thing.