Robert Stone - Children of Light

“For Christ’s sake, Maldonado,” Walker said, “everybody here is at least pretty good.” He took Lu Anne by the hand. “This one thinks the owl was a baker’s daughter but she’s as pure as country water.” He turned to Freitag. “And Charlie — Charlie,” he said, “are you O.K.?”

“Everyone’s under a lot of strain,” Charlie Freitag said.

“Charlie’s under a lot of strain,” Walker explained.

“Tell him about yourself, Gordon,” young Drogue said again.

“He knows, Walter. He and I are compañeros in crime. Two flash acts. Where did we go wrong? Who knows? Who gives a shit? We’ve done O.K.” With a sweep of his arm he encompassed the patio, the neat lighted pathways and the dark bay. “Here we all are, man. On top of the hill.”

“Top of the world, Ma,” Axelrod said.

“Then there’s Axelrod,” Walker said, “who should have been pushed out of a ninth-story window of the Half-Moon Hotel at an early age.”

“Your momma,” Axelrod said.

People were coming by in various stages of intoxication to eavesdrop and to bid Charlie Freitag farewell. The fires were being banked and the meat wrapped in foil to keep it warm.

Maldonado sagged in his chair. His charge was wearing down, fatigue and drink weighed down on him. He looked at Lowndes, who was wide awake at the end of the table, an unsound smile on his face.

“What about him ?” Maldonado asked Walker.

“He’s a bone god,” Lu Anne said.

“We’re not going to talk about him,” Walker said. “He’s dangerous work for the likes of you and me.”

Axelrod slapped Lowndes on the back.

“He’s a collector. He collects art.”

Everyone at the table looked at the former novelist.

“It’s been heaven,” Patty Drogue said. “Can we go now?”

“I’m going to turn in,” Charlie said. “I think we all should. When all is said and done,” he told them, “we still have a lot of work to do.”

“Oh,” Lu Anne said, “but not tomorrow, Charles. We’re free tomorrow.”

“Damn right,” Lowndes said. Everyone turned to him. “This lady doesn’t need some damned Freitag to tell her when to retire,”

“Hey, Dongan,” Axelrod said, “that’s not polite.”

Freitag appeared not to have heard himself insulted.

“Dongan …” he began, “I hope you’ll bear with us.”

“Don’t call him Dongan,” Axelrod said, “he doesn’t go for tinsel-town familiarity. Hey, Charlie,” he said, taking Lowndes by the arm, “how long has it been since we had to buy pictures off some wise fuck?”

“What kind of pictures?” Freitag asked.

“Yes,” Ann Armitage asked, “what kind of pictures, Mr. Lowndes?”

“I don’t know what you goddamn people are talking about,” Lowndes said. “What are you so worried about? Isn’t there a clear conscience in the crowd here?”

“I have to tell you,” Lu Anne said, “that we played with the bones. Yes, we did. Gordon.” She looked beseechingly at Walker and then at each of the others in turn. “Mr. Lowndes. Walter. Charlie. Sir. And you, sir, and you, madam, whose forgiveness I implore. We went to the cemetery, and where the ovens — the crypts — were broken, we played with the bones.”

“You go ahead, Patty,” young Drogue said. “We’ll be right there.”

“Don’t follow the counsels of drink, Lowndes,” Walker said. “Liquor’s not your friend. Tomorrow, we’ll have a conference call — you and Axelrod and Van Epp — it’ll work out great. Everybody will make out great.”

“What pictures?” Charlie Freitag asked. “What pictures have you got, Mr. Lowndes?”

“Charlie,” old Drogue said, “let them work it out. Don’t put your health at risk.”

Lu Anne got up and went to Freitag and took his arm. Lowndes watched her hungrily.

“They said it would make us sick and we didn’t listen,” she told Freitag. “All summer we would creep over in the middle of the day. Inside it was cool and awful-smelling. We played with the bones until old black Pelletier come yelling at us. You all know how kids are. My sister would run across the street, eat a Sno-ball — never even wash her hands.”

“Go to bed, Lu Anne.” Charlie turned to Walker. “Gordon, please.”

Walker stepped beside her.

“Pictures?” Maldonado asked.

“He’s a reporter,” Ann Armitage explained to her friend. “He has a hot picture and he wants to be paid off.”

The information seemed to depress Maldonado utterly.

“How do you like the sound of that, Lowndes?” Walker asked. He turned to Maldonado. “He can write the birds out of the trees, this guy. The good fairies brought him insight and invention and sound. But the bad fairy took his balls away.”

“Don’t provoke him,” Lu Anne said. “You only think he’s a man. He isn’t really.”

“So here he is,” Walker said. “He’s got all this great stuff going for him. He’s a first-class writer and a fourth-rate human being. He doesn’t have the confidence or the manliness to manage his own talent. He doesn’t have the balls.”

“But you would, would you?” young Drogue asked Walker. “If you were as good as you claim he is, you’d be one terrific human being. Is that what you’re telling us?”

“If I was that good,” Walker said, “I would never waste a moment. I’d be at it night and day. I’d never take a drink or drug myself or be with a woman I didn’t love.”

“Listen to him,” old Drogue said. “You try to tell people writers are assholes and nobody listens.”

The Drogues turned away into the darkness.

“Good night, all,” Ann Armitage said. She drew herself up and waited for Maldonado. “You guys slay me,” she said, “with your going on about balls.” Sadly, the portly Mexican rose and went with her.

“I did get sick,” Lu Anne said. “I breathed them inside me from a cemetery wall. Playing with the bones. Them, there.”

She pointed to the Long Friends who were clustered about Lowndes trying to touch him with their long, delicately clawed fingers, affecting to enfold him in the fine tracery of their dark wings.

“Little sister,” Lowndes said. “You’re a long way from home.”

“I’ve come a long way from my cemetery wall,” Lu Anne said. “Sometimes I think I’ve ceased to be God’s child. I think you found me out, Mr. Dongan Lowndes.”

Axelrod and Lowndes stood up at the same time, Axelrod placing himself between Lowndes and Freitag. Freitag stepped back with Lu Anne on his arm.

“You’re a sweet woman,” Lowndes said. “You don’t belong with this pack of dogs.”

Freitag gasped.

“All right, fucker,” Axelrod said. He tried to take hold of Lowndes but the writer got by him.

“You have found me out,” Lu Anne screamed. “The shit between my toes has stood up to address me.”

Lowndes had bulled his way past Axelrod and was headed for Freitag and Lu Anne. He had lost his glasses and he staggered as though blinded by Lu Anne’s light.

Her teeth clenched, Lu Anne made a swipe at Lowndes’s face.

“He’s all filth inside,” she said. “Look at his eyes.”

Lowndes raised his hands to protect himself. Walker stepped in and gently pulled her back.

Lowndes had backed up against an adjoining table. He had lowered his head into something like a boxer’s stance and his fists, only half clenched, were raised before his face. His pale brown myopic eyes, tearful and angry like a child’s, darted from side to side, trying to focus on the enemy center.

It was enraging to see the man in such a posture, Walker thought. His insides churned with anger, and with pity and loathing.

“Get away from me, you crazy bitch,” Lowndes shouted at Lu Anne.