Russell Banks - Outer Banks

— Whatever, the king replied.

After taking a quick peek into the king’s bundle, the Loon packed one for himself — begging bowl, string hammock, offering (a thumb-sized block of Moroccan hash), plus a few extras: the Ten Essentials (see p. 25), and his packet of internationally honored credit cards. — Well, he announced, — I’m ready.

The king murmured, — Whatever, and they started out across the park, heading in an easterly direction, toward Fifth Avenue. They hadn’t traveled more than thirty or forty yards, however, when the sun came up. Immediately, the Loon hung his hammock from two small maples, wrapped himself in his U.S. Army blanket, and dropped off to sleep.

The king looked at his companion, shrugged and said, — Whatever, to himself and sat down on the ground to meditate. He certainly was a Changed Man, and no one was more aware of this fact or more impressed by its significance than he himself, he meditated.

3.

The first obstacle they encountered was the jungle. It was a dark and moonless night. They could hear the roars of the hunting beasts and the high-pitched wails of the hunted. A small, magenta bird with its head torn off fell at their feet. — I think we’re in the jungle, the Loon said.

A large, dark jaguar crossed the path a few feet in front of them, dragging with its mouth the broken, bleeding carcass of a spotted fawn, while a pair of hyenas, delirious with barking laughter, followed after. The heavy, moist air was filled with feathers, fur, and the smell of blood. At the river, crocodiles were catching unwary drinkers, peccaries, small deer, armadillos, yanking them into the slow, muddy waters, tearing them apart and devouring them. Snakes fell to the ground with rubbery thumps and rushed slithering after lizards, rodents, small apes, to crush and swallow them.

At last, the sky began to silver at the eastern edge, and they saw a trading post, where they quickly went in and enjoyed a sumptuous Polynesian meal. — Good old American Express! toasted the Loon, raising his rum-filled coconut.

4.

They were crossing the desert. In the moonlight, the sand was like a sea of silver grain. The king, plodding through the sand, silently beat his breast.

— You know, Egress, the Loon said to him, — I was wondering. After you’ve paid this penance, what then?

— Whatever.

— Jesus Christ! the Loon exclaimed petulantly. — You haven’t said anything but “Whatever” since we left! I suppose that’s part of the penance, too!

— Whatever, repeated the king, and, in heavy silence, slogged on.

5.

Scaling and crossing the Great Snowy Mountains was neither easy nor painless, especially the way they were dressed. At the Divide, they were hit by a blizzard and for three days huddled in a snow-cave, waiting out the storm. They surely would have frozen to death or starved, had they not, on the second day, been joined by a small band of Abenakis. The Indians were fleeing the genocidal persecution of Abenakis that had followed the deaths of Princes Egress, Dread, and Orgone, violent deaths in which the tribe was slightly implicated. Their leader, named Horse, was wearing a jukebox. The others were dressed in the usual flashy, slightly tacky, Indian costumes. They had corn, venison, maple syrup, bread, birch beer, quail, baked potatoes, raisins, apples, and some good New Mexico grass — plenty for all, though the king accepted only a few crusts of bread, which he washed down with snow-melt.

— He’s trying to get tight with God, the Loon explained to them.

Ah, the redmen nodded, understanding. They, of course, did not recognize the king, and the Loon wisely thought it best not to tell them.

6.

Horse and the Abenakis led them down the eastern slope of the Great Snowy Mountains to the plain, where they parted company. The Indians headed south to New Mexico; the Pilgrims headed north to the Empire State Building, the prime shrine in the religious life of every believer in the Empire State. At one time or another during their lifetimes, most true believers managed to make it to the great, stone spire, to worship there in awed silence, perhaps even to join in the traditional penny-dropping ceremony afterward. The king’s all-consuming passion was the dropping of his gold brick. He pictured himself standing humbly at the top, head bowed, dropping his fifty-pound offering over the edge into the windy, abysmal space below, and at that precise instant, the very hand of God Himself would reach down from His perch to touch him on the nape of his neck, forgiving him, freeing him to return home in a 747 jumbo jet, King Egress the Hearty, home again, victorious, self-transcendent, a truly enlightened despot! A grateful people; a gracious ruler: It would be his finest hour!

7.

On and on they walked. Until they came to the sea, and here they had to stop. The Loon stripped and ran into the foaming surf, delighted with the chance for a moonlit swim. He laughed and splashed and called to the king, but got no response. The king sat down on the beach and waited. Finally, the Loon came out of the water, giggling and rubbing his body to warm it. — Terrific ocean, Egress! You ought to try it. Wash some of that roadfilm off.

Nothing. What a drag, the Loon thought. If he weren’t such a good walker, I’d think he had tired blood. — Okay, ol’ buddy, he said to the king, — how’re we going to get across? This is your trip, so navigate, please.

Just as the king was about to say — Whatever, a large, silent boat appeared out of the shadows. The boat was of Egyptian design, constructed entirely of papyrus reeds, and was being poled along in the shallow water by a dwarf-like gondolier singing Wagner at the top of his voice. He saw the pilgrims and pushed his sturdy craft in to the beach. — Gif a lift? he queried.

— Do you take credit cards for payment? the Loon asked back.

— Ya, all kinds! Ve got da cross-now-pay-later plans for effrey-buddy! Climb aboard! he sang, and they did, the Loon somewhat apprehensively.

8.

On the crossing; which took a little over fourteen weeks, the king began to come out of his grim withdrawal. The first break came early the first night out. The dwarf, who seemed an excellent sailor, was whistling aft, busying himself with knots and scrimshaw. The king and the Loon lay on the foredeck, watching the full moon rise out of the ink-dark sea. — This afternoon I dreamed of disaster, the king informed his companion.

— No kidding, the Loon said.

— I saw a bloody moon hanging in a white sky. I saw a museum sculpture garden with all the statues carefully beheaded. I saw four sets of bloody handprints upon a white wall, and every hand was missing the middle finger. I saw two rooks fly into the sun, and only one returned. The king lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

— So what are you going to do? the Loon asked, studying the moon with affection.

— I don’t know yet, but I’m beginning to think that my wife had something to do with the deaths of my sons. It’s still only a feeling, but a strong one.

— Can you dig that moon! the Loon said rapturously.

9.

The third night out, the king walked onto the foredeck and saw the Loon lying on his belly, watching the moon rise out of the sea again. The king crept up behind his friend, dropped to his knees, undid the Loon’s blue jumpsuit, spread his buttocks, and silently sodomized him.

Finishing, he uncoupled and fell away. He leaned against the mast and began to talk about his childhood, which, to the Loon, sounded awful. The king, however, was speaking with fondness and the kind of hazy nostalgia that often comes over a man on a long sea voyage.

10.

After ten days at sea, the king talked constantly of his wife, the queen, and her nefarious plots against him and his sons. Also, he screwed the Loon at least once a night, much to the erotic delight of the boatman.