The Crash of Hennington (16 page)

She was under my tutelage for four weeks out in the desert. I taught her how to date archeological metal, how to test old circuits, and so on and so forth, but I also was able to teach her in the off hours. I showed her how to get water out of casque plants, how to keep the gnats out of our food when we ate, how to pick up a rattleback without getting bitten, every little trick that I had learned as a history digger. And the
talks
we would have about where we were from and where we were going, what made us happy, and what we had gone through, things that you only discuss with persons you hold dear. It was marvelous, one of the happiest times of my life. My, to be young again.

Foolish me, I fell madly in love with her, and like a lot of other young, dumb, idealistic twenty-somethings, I didn’t say a word. (—Why the hell not?) It was the time of the New Man. Remember him? Of course not, you’re too young. Shelbert Shelbert had just published
The Third and Final Chance
as a rebuke of the Gentlemen’s War. This was five or ten years before he blew his head off. We were all trying to be better people, trying to recognize what we had, what opportunities we could make of the world with our whole history lost to us. It seems laughable now, but I was trying to attain some sort of pure higher ground, a kind of love on an intellectual plane, a meeting of the souls rather than just mindless physical pleasure that could be done with anyone.

(—You were scared. —I was
not
scared. I wanted something more. —Bullshit. You were scared. —I’m going out on a limb here for you, Eugene. Are you interested in hearing the rest of this story or would you rather I just be your boss?

—All right, sorry, you say you weren’t scared. —
I wasn’t scared.
—Fine, I believe you.)

Cora went back to campus, I stayed in the desert, and we began a correspondence. Mail only came out once a week with the supplies, and I would receive a new letter from her and drop a new letter from me into it at the same time, so we essentially had two lines of conversation overlapping. These were not silly love letters. No snatches of bad poetry, no flowery language. This was pure cerebral engagement. We discussed philosophy, the reorganization of the government, the ecology of the desert, the backward reconstruction of precedent that her law studies were plowing through, all kinds of fascinating, living, life-of-the-mind things. A love was growing between us, unstated and unsullied by childish emotions, a true love, honest and strong and bright, an
impressive
love that I thought was suitable for her, one that lived up to her, one that was good enough for her.

And then she met Albert Larsson. On a nude beach. Where he had just finished having sexual relations with some man in the bushes. (—Did you know that’s how they met, Eugene? On a nude beach? —I don’t think I’ve ever cared, but it doesn’t seem like that big a deal to me. I’ve been to that beach. The one down around the Point? If you’re here trying to cause a scandal, I don’t think that one’s going to fly. —I’m not trying to make a scandal, Eugene. I was merely trying to point out what she forsook and what she accepted as love. —Have you ever heard of an ‘Albert and Cora'? —No. —It’s a legal term for a binding contract. —Doesn’t matter.) I heard all about it in a letter I received one week. How he was the
most honest man she had ever met. How he was a free spirit who cared nothing about crossing boundaries and blazing new trails. How she had immediately fallen in love with his purity of feeling. Can you imagine saying that to me after all the things we had shared? Every word of it without the slightest acknowledgment of what had passed between us.

I was hurt, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But I decided to fight because, not to sound too jejune, a man fights for what he believes in. I sent her letters declaring my love for her. Not just letters, Eugene, epic expressions of myself and how I felt, wherein I poured out all the contents of my heart to her. I wasn’t mistaken in what we’d shared, what we
still
must share. I think perhaps she was just too intimidated by it or it was just too big for her to handle at the time, and so she went for the next bright prospect that came her way. Simple transference. She couldn’t express her love for me so she lavished it upon Albert, that frivolous, ridiculous man.

She answered my letters in the worst, most painful way possible. With
politeness.
She said she was flattered by my attention, that she thought I was a wonderful person, that it wasn’t anything I had
done.
It was just one of those things. ‘One of those things'. How could she say that to me? How could she be that cruel? How could she act so counter to her true feelings? Of course, Albert was an influence on her. How could he not pit her against me? But still I fought for her. I cared about her that much. I pleaded with her in person. I waited for her outside of her classes in order to talk to her. I talked to Albert, as a gentleman, to get him to release his claim, but of course he would have none of it. I finally even challenged him to a duel for her, to prove that his love wasn’t as great as mine. He laughed in my face, and then when I struck him for laughing, he tricked me and left me savagely beaten. This was the final straw, the final slap to my dignity.
It was going to have to be enough that I knew I was right and that I knew what Cora and I could have had together.

(—And so you went away? —I went away. —Where? —Lots of places. It’s not important. —And now you’re back? —And now I’m back. —And you think you’re going to convince her that she’s been wrong for fifty years? —
Forty
years, and no, I’m not foolish. But in all that time I’ve never forgotten her or been able to set the matter to the side.
Something
must still be there. I just need to make her
see
that something. The results will be what they will be, but I think I’ve confessed enough today, Eugene. It’s time to go. Get yourself together. —Where are we going? —There’s someone else in this town I’ve been wanting to meet.)

36. Max and Talon Discuss the Ramifications of the Weight of Cultural Pressures and Also Buy a Dog.

—Thank you again, Daddy.

—Just a little ray of sunshine for a girl who’s under the weather. What are you going to name him?

—Theodore.

—That was quick.

—It seems right.

—Yeah, I guess it does, doesn’t it?

—Can he sleep on my bed?

—Of course.

—Can he eat at the table?

—No.

—Can he rescue me in a fire?

—I think he might be a little short to pull you anywhere,
but his barking would definitely wake us up. Plus, he won’t need to because there won’t be a fire.

—Tiffany Hinchell’s house burnt down.

—That was because the forest around them burnt down first. We’re in the city. We’ve got sprinklers. You and me and Theodore are going to be fine.

—But aren’t we going to move when you’re Mayor? Theodore, down!

—I don’t think I’m going to be Mayor, pumpkin.

—Are you going to lose? Hee hee hee hee, stop! He’s tickling me with his tongue! Ha ha ha ha!

—I don’t think I’m going to run for Mayor after all.

—Really? Why not? What happened?

—Nothing happened. It’s just not the right time, not the right decision.

—But what are they going to do without you?

—They’ll find somebody else. He’s got your Margo.

—Bad, Theodore! You leave Margo alone. Can they do that?

—Do what?

—Find somebody else.

—Of course they can. Remember how we talked about democracy? They can choose anyone they want.

—I thought they wanted you.

—Some of them wanted me, maybe. Maybe even enough of them for me to win, but that’s not important. I don’t want the job.

—How come?

—It’s hard to explain.

—You said you’d never say that to me.

—So I did. Fair enough. No, little puppy, over here. Uh-oh.

—I’ll go get a rag. Keep talking!

—You just have to be friendly to a lot of people you don’t
want to be friendly to. You have to make a lot of promises that you don’t want to make. And I don’t think you get to stay the person you want to be. Do you understand?

—Yeah, I guess so. Eeeew. But what about being the first Rumour? I thought that was important.

—It is important, and someday someone will be the first Rumour Mayor. But I can’t run just for that alone. It’s a good reason, but a bunch of not so good reasons outweigh it. Sometimes people think you
should
be something just because you
can
be, without taking into account whether it’s actually a good thing for you or not. Like say you were a really good tap dancer—

—I hate tap dancing.

—Exactly, but what if you were really good at it and you still hated it? I wouldn’t make you do something you hated just because you were good at it. I would want you to do something you love instead. Understand?

—Sort of. But wouldn’t I automatically love the thing I’m good at?

—I hope so, but it doesn’t always work out that way.

—What do you want to do instead?

—I don’t know. I’ve had a few ideas, but sometimes that’s okay, too. I
do
know I don’t want to do this.

—What about Mrs Larsson?

—What about her?

—Isn’t she mad at you?

—She doesn’t know yet. Look, he’s fallen asleep.

—You haven’t told her?

—I’ve only just come to the final decision.

—She’s going to be mad.

—She’ll be disappointed but she’ll understand. That’s different from being mad.

—Better?

—Better but harder.

—Why harder?

—Because anger is usually temporary. It takes a lot of energy and then you get over it.

—That’s true, isn’t it? Did you hear that? He burped in his sleep!

—Speaking of sleep, maybe you should join him.

—Okay, Daddy.

—That was easy. Are you that tired?

—Yes. I’m ready.

—Well, then, get under the covers. I’ll tuck you in.

—Good night, Daddy.

—'Night, sweetheart.

—Daddy?

—Yes.

—I don’t mind if you’re not Mayor …

—Yeah, baby?

—But what happens now?

37. What Happened Between Luther and Archie.

—Good God, Luther, you look stricken. Are you all right, Son?

—Archie, we need to talk.

—No good conversation has ever started that way.

—I want you to know this is very difficult for me.

—It gets even better.

—In fact, I don’t even really know how to tell you.

—Just do, my boy. It’s Archie you’re talking to, not just anyone.

—I know that. That’s what makes it harder. I don’t know where to begin …

—Is this about that boy you’ve been seeing?

—Excuse me? How in the world—

—How could I
not
know, Luther? I have a network over the whole city. I find out stuff I don’t even
want
to know. Like this. Your private business.

—Thomas?

—No, surprisingly enough.

—Then who?

—Jules.

—Jules? How the fuck—

—He used the boy’s … ‘services’ once and got him talking. You know how Jules is. In another life, he would have been a great spy. This boy—

—His name’s Peter.

—Okay, then, this Peter let slip that he’d fallen for you, I guess. He had no idea of the connection between Jules and you, and Jules didn’t tell him. It was complete coincidence.

—How long?

—A couple of months. You know Thomas. He forces those people to work constantly. It isn’t pretty, but it’s his way.

—And you didn’t mention it to me?

—You didn’t mention it to
me,
confirming my feeling that it was your private business. You’re allowed to have your own life, Luther. I’m not an ogre.

—I know you’re not an ogre.

—So what’s this all about? Does this Peter person have you in some kind of blackmail situation? Because I can take care of that.

—No, no, that’s not it. It’s nothing like that at all.

—Is it Thomas? Because I can fix that, too. He’s a difficult one, but money usually settles things with him.

—No, it’s not Thomas.

—Well, was it just telling me that this had gone on? Because
I don’t really care about that either. I can’t say that it wouldn’t be a bit awkward if the new Chairman was in love with a hooker, but worse things have happened. The Board would get over it. Is that it? Are you in love with him and afraid to tell me? Because that’s nothing, Luther. I don’t care. I just want you to be happy. It sure as hell won’t prevent you from following me into the Chairmanship if that’s what you’re worried about. I own the goddamn company. They’ll do what I tell them.

—No, that’s not it. Well, part of it, I guess. I do love him. That’s where it starts.

—Then what is it? You’re giving me fucking heart failure here, Luther.

—I can’t accept the Chairmanship, Archie.

—What? Why not?

—There’s more. I have to leave Banyon Enterprises.

—I don’t understand.

—I quit. I can’t take the Chairmanship at the next Board meeting. I can’t stay in my current position. I can’t accept the future as it’s laid out now. I have to get out. I’m sorry, Archie. I’m very, very sorry.

— … God, you had me scared there for a moment, boy! Whew! Not a nice thing to do to an old man, let me tell you.

—I’m being serious.

—Of course you’re not. It’s nerves, Luther! Nerves, pure and simple. Everyone gets cold feet now and then.

—Archie—

—No, no, no, no, no, you’re just a little intimidated now that the moment of truth is here. That’s all. Nothing to worry about. Do you think I didn’t have my doubts when I was moving up? I did. Big ones.

—Archie, I’m telling you the truth.

—Son, I know you think you are. You’re under a lot of
pressure, and you’ve been handling it all so well. It’s admirable that it’s taken this long for you to crack a little. Nothing to worry about at all. Happens to the best of us.