[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
unlikely to rest unless I went down for a couple of days at least. At the risk
of developing a roughly Rachel-shaped hole in my body where she had gone
through me for a short cut, I had raised the subject of my conversation with
MacArthur. To my surprise, she had agreed to both regular drop-bys and panic
buttons in the kitchen and main bedroom.
Incidentally, she had also agreed to find MacArthur a date.
Louis appeared to consult some kind of mental calendar.
Meet you down there, he said.
We ll meet you down there, corrected Angel.
Louis glanced at him. I got something I got to do first, he said. Along the
way.
Angel flicked at a crumb. I got nothing else planned, he replied. His voice
was studiedly neutral.
The conversation seemed to have taken a turn down a strange road, and I wasn t
about to ask for a map. Instead, I called for the check.
You want to hazard a guess as to what that was about? Rachel asked as we
walked to my car, Angel and Louis ahead of us, unspeaking.
No, I answered. But I get the feeling that somebody is going to be very
unhappy that those two ever left New York.
I just hoped that it wouldn t be me.
That night, I awoke to a noise from downstairs. I left Rachel sleeping, pulled
on a robe, and went down to find the front door slightly ajar. Outside, Angel
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sat on the porch seat, dressed in sweatpants and an old Doonesbury T-shirt,
his bare feet stretched out before him. He had a glass of milk in his hand as
he looked out over the moonlit marsh. From the west came the cry of a screech
owl, rising and falling in pitch. There was a pair nesting in the Black Point
Cemetery. Sometimes, at night, the headlights of the car would catch them
ascending toward the treetops, a vole or mouse still struggling in their
claws.
Owls keeping you awake?
He glanced over his shoulder at me, and there was a little of the old Angel in
his smile. The silence is keeping me awake. The hell do you sleep in all this
quiet?
I can go beep my horn and swear in Arabic if you think it will help.
Gee, would you?
Around us, mosquitoes danced, waiting for their chance to descend. I took some
matches from the windowsill and lit a mosquito coil, then sat down beside him.
He offered me his glass.
Milk?
No thanks. I m trying to give it up.
You re right. That calcium ll kill ya.
He sipped his milk.
You worried about her?
Who, Rachel?
Yeah, Rachel. Who d you think I was asking about, Chelsea Clinton?
She s fine. But I hear Chelsea s doing well in college, so that s good too.
A smile fluttered at his lips, like the brief beating of butterfly wings.
You know what I mean.
I know. Sometimes, yes, I m afraid. I get so scared that I come out here in
the darkness and I look down on the marsh and I pray. I pray that nothing
happens to Rachel and our child. Frankly, I think I ve done my share of
suffering. We all have. I m kind of hoping the book is closed for a while.
Place like this, on a night like tonight, maybe lets you believe that could
happen, he said. It s pretty here. Peaceful too.
You thinking of retiring here? If you are, I ll have to move again.
Nah, I like the city too much. But this is kind of restful, for a change.
I have snakes in my woodshed.
Don t we all? What are you going to do about them?
Leave them alone. Hope they go away, or that something else kills them for
me.
And if they don t?
Then I ll have to deal with them myself. You want to tell me why you re out
here?
My back hurts, he said simply. Places on my thighs where they took the skin
from, they hurt too.
In his eyes I could see the night shapes reflected so clearly that it was as
if they were a part of him, the elements of a darker world that had somehow
entered and colonized his soul.
I still see them, you know, that fucking preacher and his son, holding me
down while they cut away at me. He whispered to me, you know that? That
fucking Pudd, he whispered to me, rubbed my brow, told me that it was all
okay, while his old man cut me. Every time I stand or stretch, I feel that
blade on my skin and I hear him whispering and it brings me back. And when
that happens, the hate comes flooding back with it. I ve never felt hate like
it before.
It fades, I said quietly.
Does it?
Yes.
But it doesn t go away?
No. It s yours. You do with it what you have to do.
I want to kill someone. He said it without feeling, in level tones, the way
somebody might announce that they were going to take a cold shower on a warm
Page 38
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
day.
Louis was the killer, I thought. It didn t matter that he killed for motives
that went beyond money or politics or power; that he was no longer morally
neutral; that whatever he might have done in the past, those he now chose to
destroy went largely unmourned. Louis had it in him to take a life and not
lose a moment s sleep over it.
Angel was different. When he d been placed in situations where it was kill or
be killed, then he had taken lives. It troubled him to do it, but better to be
troubled above ground than to be untroubled below, and I had personal reasons
to be thankful for his actions. Now Faulkner had destroyed something inside
Angel, some small dam that he had constructed for himself behind which was
contained all of his sorrow and hurt and rage at the things that had been done
to him throughout his life. I knew only fragments of it abuse, starvation,
rejection, violence but I was now beginning to realize the consequences of its
release.
But you still won t testify against him, if they ask, I said.
I knew the deputy DA was debating the wisdom of calling Angel for the trial,
particularly given the fact that they would have to subpoena him to do it.
Angel wasn t one for making voluntary visits to courtrooms.
I wouldn t make such a great witness.
This was true but I didn t know how much I should tell him about the case [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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unlikely to rest unless I went down for a couple of days at least. At the risk
of developing a roughly Rachel-shaped hole in my body where she had gone
through me for a short cut, I had raised the subject of my conversation with
MacArthur. To my surprise, she had agreed to both regular drop-bys and panic
buttons in the kitchen and main bedroom.
Incidentally, she had also agreed to find MacArthur a date.
Louis appeared to consult some kind of mental calendar.
Meet you down there, he said.
We ll meet you down there, corrected Angel.
Louis glanced at him. I got something I got to do first, he said. Along the
way.
Angel flicked at a crumb. I got nothing else planned, he replied. His voice
was studiedly neutral.
The conversation seemed to have taken a turn down a strange road, and I wasn t
about to ask for a map. Instead, I called for the check.
You want to hazard a guess as to what that was about? Rachel asked as we
walked to my car, Angel and Louis ahead of us, unspeaking.
No, I answered. But I get the feeling that somebody is going to be very
unhappy that those two ever left New York.
I just hoped that it wouldn t be me.
That night, I awoke to a noise from downstairs. I left Rachel sleeping, pulled
on a robe, and went down to find the front door slightly ajar. Outside, Angel
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sat on the porch seat, dressed in sweatpants and an old Doonesbury T-shirt,
his bare feet stretched out before him. He had a glass of milk in his hand as
he looked out over the moonlit marsh. From the west came the cry of a screech
owl, rising and falling in pitch. There was a pair nesting in the Black Point
Cemetery. Sometimes, at night, the headlights of the car would catch them
ascending toward the treetops, a vole or mouse still struggling in their
claws.
Owls keeping you awake?
He glanced over his shoulder at me, and there was a little of the old Angel in
his smile. The silence is keeping me awake. The hell do you sleep in all this
quiet?
I can go beep my horn and swear in Arabic if you think it will help.
Gee, would you?
Around us, mosquitoes danced, waiting for their chance to descend. I took some
matches from the windowsill and lit a mosquito coil, then sat down beside him.
He offered me his glass.
Milk?
No thanks. I m trying to give it up.
You re right. That calcium ll kill ya.
He sipped his milk.
You worried about her?
Who, Rachel?
Yeah, Rachel. Who d you think I was asking about, Chelsea Clinton?
She s fine. But I hear Chelsea s doing well in college, so that s good too.
A smile fluttered at his lips, like the brief beating of butterfly wings.
You know what I mean.
I know. Sometimes, yes, I m afraid. I get so scared that I come out here in
the darkness and I look down on the marsh and I pray. I pray that nothing
happens to Rachel and our child. Frankly, I think I ve done my share of
suffering. We all have. I m kind of hoping the book is closed for a while.
Place like this, on a night like tonight, maybe lets you believe that could
happen, he said. It s pretty here. Peaceful too.
You thinking of retiring here? If you are, I ll have to move again.
Nah, I like the city too much. But this is kind of restful, for a change.
I have snakes in my woodshed.
Don t we all? What are you going to do about them?
Leave them alone. Hope they go away, or that something else kills them for
me.
And if they don t?
Then I ll have to deal with them myself. You want to tell me why you re out
here?
My back hurts, he said simply. Places on my thighs where they took the skin
from, they hurt too.
In his eyes I could see the night shapes reflected so clearly that it was as
if they were a part of him, the elements of a darker world that had somehow
entered and colonized his soul.
I still see them, you know, that fucking preacher and his son, holding me
down while they cut away at me. He whispered to me, you know that? That
fucking Pudd, he whispered to me, rubbed my brow, told me that it was all
okay, while his old man cut me. Every time I stand or stretch, I feel that
blade on my skin and I hear him whispering and it brings me back. And when
that happens, the hate comes flooding back with it. I ve never felt hate like
it before.
It fades, I said quietly.
Does it?
Yes.
But it doesn t go away?
No. It s yours. You do with it what you have to do.
I want to kill someone. He said it without feeling, in level tones, the way
somebody might announce that they were going to take a cold shower on a warm
Page 38
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
day.
Louis was the killer, I thought. It didn t matter that he killed for motives
that went beyond money or politics or power; that he was no longer morally
neutral; that whatever he might have done in the past, those he now chose to
destroy went largely unmourned. Louis had it in him to take a life and not
lose a moment s sleep over it.
Angel was different. When he d been placed in situations where it was kill or
be killed, then he had taken lives. It troubled him to do it, but better to be
troubled above ground than to be untroubled below, and I had personal reasons
to be thankful for his actions. Now Faulkner had destroyed something inside
Angel, some small dam that he had constructed for himself behind which was
contained all of his sorrow and hurt and rage at the things that had been done
to him throughout his life. I knew only fragments of it abuse, starvation,
rejection, violence but I was now beginning to realize the consequences of its
release.
But you still won t testify against him, if they ask, I said.
I knew the deputy DA was debating the wisdom of calling Angel for the trial,
particularly given the fact that they would have to subpoena him to do it.
Angel wasn t one for making voluntary visits to courtrooms.
I wouldn t make such a great witness.
This was true but I didn t know how much I should tell him about the case [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]