Robert Coover - The Brunist Day of Wrath

“You mean, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Nobody else. Every week, come Thursday night, he’s off and away, you seen that, and some other nights, too, when he gets a surge. He says he’s on business, but there’s only one sorta business gets done that time of day. You can smell it on him when he gets back worse than Ahasuerus’s harem. His tie hanging like something used up and strange hairs all over him. And that poor knotty thing a-dying away in there in plain sight, her angel wings already half sprouted — you can see them poking out her shoulder blades.”

“Who y’reckon—?”

“Not who, Florrie, but how many? Men like that, there’s never only one. If he does get contentious, I figure we got something to bemean him with, though I misdoubt he’s the sort who’d give a care.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanta cause no trouble, Bernice.”

“Well, Florrie, sometimes like Judith, we just got to take history in our own hands.”

“Oh no! You don’t reckon on cuttin’ off his head!”

“Oh, Florrie, course not! Why do you always take things so literal? Judith was maybe a smidge harsh, but the point is when she and her people were being persecuted by this rich powerful enemy, she just didn’t set back and let it happen. She knew how to be a hero and save her people, and we have to try and do the same!”

“We want to thank you for joining us at the Mount of Redemption last Sunday, Mr. Castle, even if your purposes was not entirely friendly. But, as I’m sure you witnessed, we are peaceful folk; it’s them others who’s acting badly. We don’t ask for your pertection, but we do ask for your understanding.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll do what we can, Mrs. Collins. Thank you for your call. (Hey, sweetheart, next time ask who’s calling before you hand me the fucking phone, awright?)” Click.

“Hey, Nick. Wanted to catch you before you left for the afternoon.”

“Beautiful day out there, Ted. You should be out on the course.”

“I’d probably just ram my wedge up the butt of the first guy who told me it was a beautiful day. Right now, I have to head home to relieve the kid from the bank who’s saint-sitting. I got nowhere with Thornton, Nick. What have you learned?”

“Well, the Brunist bank accounts are pretty fat but don’t show large recent deposits. They’ve probably opened up another account somewhere for your wife’s money. They’ve got phones out at the camp now. We can keep closer tabs.”

“What? You mean tap them?”

“I think I can arrange it. I understand they have also instituted armed guards. And the rumor is that Suggs has closed a deal on the mine.”

“Damn. Can we do anything about slowing that down?”

“Already in the works. One weakness Suggs has: he doesn’t trust lawyers. We can run circles around him.”

“And that motorcycle gang?”

“They’ve either left the area or are lying low. Not much we can do until they’re caught, and that’s something the county or the state will have to do.”

“I’ve talked with the governor. Not very helpful. Says the sheriff seems to be doing his job. Maybe the possibility of stolen dynamite will wake him up.” Not much hope of that. The mine owners will have got to the gutless bullshitter with their own soporific story. Elections are won, he once said, not by what you do, but by what you don’t do. “Speaking of sleepwalkers, I ran into Jim Elliott on the street. Maybe he said something about a beautiful day, too. I’m afraid I really leaned into him. I may even have fired him.”

“I know you’ve got a problem there.”

“I was hoping to find some young blood for that Chamber of Commerce job, try to get this town moving again, but so far no candidates.”

“The young woman here at the bank?”

“Doesn’t want it.” He stands, relieving the constriction in his chest. “You once mentioned the notion of a city manager instead of what we have now. I’ve been thinking about that. Of course, we couldn’t dump the mayor without a lot of citywide restructuring. But I think the city council is fed up with him. There’s even talk of an investigation. We might start with a job that relieved him of a lot of his day-to-day operational duties — taking care of the finances, for example — and adding in the duties of the Chamber executive director under some new title. A kind of take-over, make-over role. Would you be interested in that, Nick?”

“You mean as a job? I don’t know…”

“Well, think about it. And what you’d need to make it worth your while. Meanwhile, I’d like to try to revive the old Common Sense Committee somehow. This was something we used back when the Brunist cult started up here. Involved the whole community. We need something like it again. Needs a new name, though. West Condoners for a Better Future, or something.”

“Out of the Past and Into the Future.”

“Something like that.”

“A New Order for West Condon.”

“Better.”

“The acronym would be NOWC. Like Now West Condon.”

“Hey, I like it. Maybe a New Outlook.”

“Or New Opportunities.”

“I think you have it, Nick. Let’s call it that. New Opportunities for West Condon. NOW West Condon. Brilliant. I was going to be out of town tomorrow, but it looks like I’ll be staying around. I’ll get started on it.”

“Don’t call it that, Tommy. It sounds more like merchandise or something.”

“What should I call it?”

“It doesn’t have to have a name, Tommy. Just think about it.”

“I do all the time. It drives me crazy. What do you call mine?”

“I’ve never called it anything.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do. I love it. I love everything about you, Tommy.”

“Sure, but what about my ass? Go ahead, I can take it. Tell me what you really think.”

“Your mom might be listening in, Tommy!”

“Oh yeah. How’s she doing?”

“Well, it’s very difficult for her, but your mom’s the sweetest person. I just love her. It’s so sad she’s so ill.”

“She’s sounding pretty weird to me.”

“Your dad says that’s because of the people who were taking care of her before. That’s why he asked me for a Catholic person and I found Concetta for him.”

“I wish she could make it this weekend. I’m going to be missing a lot of good parties up here.”

“Well, but you have me.”

“Right. I know. You and your beautiful ass! I can hardly wait!”

“Please, Tommy…”

“In fact I’m looking at it right now. Gorgeous!”

“In your imagination, you mean?”

“No, in a photo. You know those Polaroids we took in the motel on that crazy end-of-the-world night?”

“Yes, but we tore all those up and burned them.”

“All except one.”

“The one of us kissing.”

“Yeah, well, I switched. I kept the one where I asked you to say cheese upside down.”

“Oh no! Not the one on my hands and knees!”

“Right! End of the world!”

“Tommy Cavanaugh, you bring that photo with you when you come and we’ll tear it up while I watch!”

“I don’t know if I can. My fraternity brothers asked for it for their meeting room, something to, you know, bow down to, and since I’m the chapter chaplain, how could I refuse?”

“Oh Tommy. You’re such a tease. Do you love me?”

“Yeah, sure. You know that.”

“Come home, Tommy. Skip the party. Come quickly.”

Somewhere a phone is ringing, beckoning her from afar. A voice like that of Jesus. She wishes to answer the call — for eternity may depend upon it — but she cannot. She has been rendered immobile, her body existing in a different dimension, she rising from it, but inertly afloat, unseen. There is a problem. What’s the matter? Something to do with her ability to transmit and receive. The lines are crossed, and there is nothing she can do. The Bible in her hands is like a phone book, its verses alphabetized and scattered among the white and yellow pages, hiding the destination she seeks. You know the father, someone says. She does, but even so she cannot find his name. How could she? Her eyes are closed. If, disembodied, she has eyes. She wants only to rise into the light. There must be an opening. If only she could reach the switchboard. But the switchboard has melted. Did she say goodbye? It doesn’t matter.