Russell Banks - Outer Banks

—’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 tangled 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.

— When this thing hits the media, he said to the Green Man as they strolled out to the dusty plain to hunt prairie chicken, — we’ll be in! Every mother’s son in the fucking country will be fighting on our side! Let Naomi Ruth have her minorities. I’ll have the rest. Don’t forget, these kids have never had a chance to fight for something they believe in! he reminded his cohort.

10.

That night, lying on his cot in his tent, the king had a dream which confused and troubled him. He dreamed he was the pilot of a fighter-bomber on a bombing mission over North Vietnam. Sweeping down on his target, a Standard Oil refinery operated by the enemy, he released his bombs and then suddenly realized he had overshot his target by about five miles. As he pulled the nose of the plane skyward, he glanced out the canopy to see what in fact he was bombing, and he saw three little boys standing in the middle of a clearing in the jungle. For an instant he saw their faces, recognizing them, and then they were gone. And then he heard the sickening sound of the bombs exploding in the clearing in the jungle. All the way back to the base in Laos, he roared with incoherent pain.

The Green Man, mercifully, woke him, but when he told the king that the army was ready to march on the city, the king began to sob uncontrollably. — No, no, this is insane! What are we doing ? We’re killing each other!