E. Doctorow - Loon Lake

and they were not to see her again that day

neither at drinks which were at six-thirty

nor dinner at seven-thirty.

But her husband was a gracious host

attentive to the women particularly.

He revealed that she was a famous aviatrix

and some of them recognized her name from the newspapers.

He spoke proudly of her accomplishments

the races she won flying measured courses

marked by towers with checkered windsocks

and her endurance flights some of which

were still the record for a woman.

After dinner he talked vaguely of his life

his regret that so much of it was business.

He talked about the unrest in the country

and the peculiar mood of the workers

and he solicited the gangsters’ views over brandy

on the likelihood of revolution.

And now he said rising I’m going to retire.

But you’re still young said one of the gangsters.

For the night the old man said with a smile

I mean I’m going to bed. Good night.

And when he went up the stairs of halved tree trunks

they all looked at each other and had nothing to say.

They were standing where the old man had left them

in their tuxes and black ties.

They had stood when he stood the women had stood when he stood

and quietly as they could they all went to their rooms,

where the bedcovers had been turned back and the reading lamps lighted.

And in the room of the best gangster there

a slim and swarthy man with dark eyes, a short man

very well put together

there were doors leading to a screened porch

and he opened them and stood on the dark porch

and heard the night life of the forest and the lake

and the splash of the fish terrifyingly removed from Loon Lake.

He had long since run out of words

for his sickening recognition of real class

nervously insisting how swell it was.

He turned back into the room.

His girl was fingering the hand-embroidered initials

in the center of the blanket.

They were the same initials as on the bath towels

and on the cigarette box filled with fresh Luckies

and on the matchbooks and on the breast pockets of the pajamas

of every size stocked in the drawers

the same initials, the logo.

Annotate reference the best gangster there as follows: Thomas Crapo alias Tommy the Emperor. Born Hoboken New Jersey 1905. Hoboken Consolidated Grade School 1917. New Jersey National Guard 1914–1917. Rainbow Division American Expeditionary Force 1917–1918. Saw action Chateau-Thierry. Victory Medal. Founder Brandywine Importing Company 1919. Board of Directors Inverness Distribution Company. Founding partner Boardwalk Amusement Company 1920. President Dance-a-dime Incorporated. Founder Crapo Industrial Services Incorporated, New York, Chicago, Detroit. Patron Boys Town, March of Dimes, Police Athletic League New York, Policeman’s Benevolent Society Chicago. Present whereabouts unknown.

—

Annotate reference his girl as follows: Clara Lukaćs born 1918 Hell’s Kitchen New York. School of the Sisters of Poor Clare, expelled 1932. S.S. Kresge counter girl (notions) 1932–1934. Receptionist Lukaćs’ West 29th St Funeral Parlor 1934. Present whereabouts unknown.

The gangster’s girl was eighteen

and had had an abortion he knew nothing about.

She found something to criticize, one thing,

the single beds, and as she undressed

raising her knees, slipping off her shoes

unhooking her stockings from her garters

she spoke of the bloodlessness of the rich not believing it

while the gangster lay between the sheets in the initialed pajamas

arranging himself under the covers so that they were neat and tight

as if trying to take as little possession of the bed as possible

not wanting to appear to himself to threaten anything.

He locked his hands behind his head and ignored the girl

and lay in the dark not even smoking.

But at three that morning there was a terrible howl

from the pack of wild dogs that ran in the mountains—

not wolves but dogs that had reverted

when their owners couldn’t feed them any longer.

The old man had warned them this might happen

but the girl crept into the bed of the gangster

and he put his arm around her and held her

so that she would not slip off the edge

and they listened to the howling

and then the sound nearer to the house

of running dogs, of terrifying exertion

and then something gushing

in the gardens below the windows.

And they heard the soft separation

together with grunts and snorts and yelps

of flesh as it is fanged and lifted from a body.

Jesus, the girl said

and the gangster felt her breath on his collarbone

and smelled the gel in her hair, the sweetness of it,

and felt the gathered dice of her shoulders

and her shivering and her cold hand on his stomach

underneath the waistband.

In the morning they joined the old man

on the sun terrace outside the dining room.

Halfway down the hill a handyman pushing a wheelbarrow

was just disappearing around a bend in the path.

I hope you weren’t frightened, the old man said, they took a deer

and he turned surprisingly young blue eyes on the best gangster’s girl.

Later that morning she saw on the hills in the sun

all around Lake Loon

patches of color where the trees were turning

and she went for a walk alone and in the woods she saw

in the orange and yellowing leaves of deciduous trees

the coming winter

imagining in these high mountains

snow falling like some astronomical disaster

and Loon Lake as the white hole of a monstrous meteor

and every branch of the evergreens all around

described with snow, each twig each needle

balancing a tiny snowfall precisely imitative of itself.

And at dinner she wore her white satin gown

with nothing underneath to ruin the lines.

And the old man’s wife came to dinner this night

clearly younger than her husband, trim and neat

with small beautifully groomed hands and still young shoulders and neck

but brackets at the corners of her mouth.

She talked to them politely with no condescension

and showed them in glass cases in the game room

trophies of air races she had won

small silver women pilots

silver cups and silver planes on pedestals.

Then still early in the evening she said good night

and that she had enjoyed meeting them.

They watched her go.

And after the old man retired

and all the gangsters and their women stood around

in their black ties and tuxes and long gowns

the best gangster’s girl saw a large Victrola in the corner

of the big living room with its leather couches and

grand fireplace

the servants spirited away the coffee service

and the gangster’s girl put on a record and commanded

everyone to dance.

And they danced to the Victrola music

they felt better they did the fox trot

and went to the liquor cabinet and broke open some Scotch

and gin and they danced and smoked

the old man’s cigarettes from the boxes on the tables

and the only light came from the big fire

and the women danced with one arm dangling holding empty glasses

and the gangsters nuzzled their shoulders

and their new shoes made slow sibilant rhythms

on the polished floors

as they danced in their tuxes and gowns of satin at Loon Lake

at Loon Lake

in the rich man’s camp

in the mountains of the Adirondacks.

He was a whistling wonder with his face and arms and legs in bandages and bandages crisscrossed like bandoliers across his chest. Every now and then they looked in on him with the same separation of themselves from the sight as rubes looking at the freaks. They all wore green.