[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
for a week. And ... some indignation, I guess. In all honesty, some
indignation."
"And you wished you could change your mind again?"
I let his question hang in the air for a long time, for three moves, one
involving tightening my defense against his queen's bishop. I found a response
that created a new problem for him. While he was studying it, I leaned back.
"About changing my mind. No. My instincts hadn't turned bad when Harry came
here. He had no intention of shooting me. So let's suppose I'm slower by a
half a step or a full step. Maybe I'm old enough and wise enough to move into
positions where I don't need the speed. The only thing I know is that I am
going to run out of luck in the future, just as I have in the past. And when I
run out, I am going to have to make myself some luck. I know that what counts
is the feeling I get when I make my own luck. The way I feel then is totally
alive. In every dimension. In every possible way. It wouldn't have to be
Jillian. I could lay back, watch the traffic, select a rich lady, and retire
myself to stud. But that would be half-life. I have an addiction. I'm hooked
on the smell, taste, and feel of the nearness of death and on the way I feel
when I make my move to keep it from happening. If I knew I could keep it from
happening, there'd be no taste to it at all."
Meyer gave that a lot of thought, and then he gave the game a lot of thought.
Finally he said, "When in doubt, castle." He moved his king into the short
Page 115
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
corner, the rook standing guard. "Travis, I am very very glad that you were
able to make us some luck. I am glad to be here. But . . ."
"But?"
"Something else is wrong with you."
"I dream some rotten things. I've got my memory almost all straightened out.
Picked up nearly all the cards off the floor and put them back in the right
order. But I have real rotten dreams. Last night I was buying a shirt. The
girl said it was made in the islands, and they weren't sized correctly and I
should try it on. When I put it on and came out, I realized that it was
exactly the same print that Lisa had worn that first night I knew her. A
dashiki. As I started to tell the girl that I didn't want it, she came up to
me quickly, and she reached out, and she snapped something onto the front of
the shirt - it made a clack. It was a big, round, white thing, too heavy for
the front of a shirt. I turned it around, and I saw that the sound had been
the lower jaw of a skull being closed with the fabric caught between the
teeth. It was a very white, polished, delicate skull, and at first it looked
feral, some predator's skull. Then I knew it was Lisa's skull. I tried to get
the girl to take it off, but she said it went with that particular shirt. No
other shirt. Just that one. And I woke up."
"Good Christ," Meyer whispered softly.
"But usually I don't dream at all."
"Be thankful. Travis. Is something else wrong?"
"Yes."
"Do you have the words for it yet?"
"I think it's getting to the point where there will be words for it. When
there are words, I'll try them on you."
"Are you going to check me with that knight? Go ahead. See what happens if you
do."
On the following Sunday afternoon, a Sunday late in May Meyer and I were over
on the beach. When the wind died, it got uncomfortably hot in the sun, so we
moved to a bench in the shade. I watched two lovely ladies approaching along
the beach, consciously keeping shoulders back and tummies in as they strode
along, laughing and talking. Elegant lassies. Total strangers. They were
walking across the edge of my life and right back out of it, and I would never
know them or touch them nor two million nor ten million of their graceful
sisters.
"Maybe I can put that problem into words now. But it's just a try. Maybe you
can be patient?"
"How often do you see me impatient?"
"This starts with a word Rupe Darby used down in Grenada. A phrase, not a
word. It designates a condition. Womaned out. He meant it in the physical
sense. Total sexual depletion to the point where you think you never want to
see another woman. I think I'm womaned out in a different way. All my love
life is pre-Grenada, and that was a lifetime ago.
"So. Womaned out but not in a physical sense. God, no. Those two who just went
by created the intended reaction. And I keep remembering how neat and warm the
thigh of the little Jesus singer felt under the nape of my neck. Physical
capacity is just dandy. No, Meyer. I feel foundered and wind broke in some
other dimension of myself. I feel sick of myself, as if the prospect of me in
action would turn me off, way off."
"How?"
"Everything I thought I believed about making love to a woman sounds very
stale. I hear myself talking to too many of them. There has to be affection,
dear. Respect for each other. We must not hurt each other or anyone else,
darling. There has to be giving on both sides and taking on both sides,
honeybunch. Oh Meyer, God help me, it all sounds like a glossy sales talk. I
was kidding them, and I was kidding myself. Look. I was holding out a package
deal. And on the bottom of the package in small print was the
guaran-goddamn-tee. Mary Dillon picked up the package. I didn't force it on
Page 116
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
her. I just left it around where she'd see it. She picked it up, enjoyed the
product, and then married Harry Broll, and now she's buried in a washout
behind a seawall under transitmix concrete. So something is wrong with the
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]