Lancelot

gentle benign place. We shall buy a small Victorian cottage under the levee and live a simple life.
    But we will not tolerate this age. It is not enough to destroy it. We shall build a new order.
    Actually, you don’t have to worry. Killings will not be necessary. I have discovered something. I’ve discovered that even in this madhouse if you tell someone something, face to face, with perfect seriousness, without emotion, gazing directly at him, he will believe you. One need only speak with authority. Was not that the new trait that people noticed about your Lord, that he spoke with authority?
    The point is, I will not tolerate this age. Millions agree with me and know that this age is not tolerable, but no one will act except the crazies and they are part of the age. The mad Mansons are nothing more than the ultimate spasm-orgasm of a dying world. We are only here to give it the coup de grâce . We shall not wait for it to fester and rot any longer. We will kill it.
    You are looking at me for a change. Good. At least you are not smiling at me. Yes, I am a patient in a mental hospital, more than that, a prisoner. Yes, I am aware that you are accustomed to the ravings of madmen. Yes, I see you are aware that I give myself a certain license to talk crazy, so to speak. I might even be joking. But I am also aware from a certain wariness in your eyes that you are not absolutely certain I am not serious. You must decide that for yourself.
    Why do I tell you this? As a warning. You can issue the warning if you like. There is only a little time. Perhaps a matter of months. The 69ers poster had better come down. But of course it will not.
    We will not tolerate the way things are.
    What’s the matter? You look stricken for the first time since you’ve been coming here. Ha ha, so at last I’ve gotten a rise out of you.
    What did you say? What happened to me?
    What do you mean? Do you mean what happened at Belle Isle?
    That’s in the past. I don’t see what difference it makes.
    You want to know what happened?
    Hm. It’s hard to remember. Jesus, let me think. My head aches. I feel lousy. Let me lie down for a while. You don’t look so hot either. You’re pale as a ghost.
    Come back tomorrow.

7
    HOW COME YOU’RE WEARING your priest uniform today? Are you girding for battle or dressed up like Lee for the surrender?
    Never mind. I wasn’t thinking about you anyway but about Margot.
    â€œYou men flatter yourselves,” I remember Margot telling me. “You are not that important to us.”
    You men? Us? Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?
    Christ, what were we talking about? Oh yes, Percival, you wanted to know what happened? Jesus, what difference does it make? It is the future that matters. Yes, you’re right. I did say there was something that still bothered me. What? Sin? The uncertainty that there is such a thing? I don’t remember. Anyhow, it doesn’t seem very interesting.
    What a gloomy day. The winter rains have set in. I understand there is a depression in the Gulf. It’s a bit late for hurricanes, isn’t it? Isn’t it November?
    But it would be appropriate, would it not? A hurricane coming now while I tell you about Hurricane Marie a year ago which came while an artificial movie hurricane was blowing down Belle Isle!
    Really I should be feeling good if another hurricane is on the way. I used to enjoy hurricanes. Most people do, though they won’t admit it, everybody does in fact, except a few sane people, for after all hurricanes are by any sane standard very unpleasant affairs. But what does that prove except that most people today are crazy? I am supposed to be crazy but one sign of my returning sanity is that I don’t in the least look forward to hurricanes. I knew a married couple once who were bored with life, disliked each other, hated their own lives, and were generally miserable—except during hurricanes. Then they sat in their house at Pass Christian, put a bottle of whiskey between them, felt a surge of happiness, were able to speak frankly and cheerfully to each other, laugh and joke, drink, even make love. But that is crazy. Why should people be miserable in good weather and happy in bad? Surely not because they are sinners in good weather and saints in bad. True, people help each other in catastrophes. But they don’t feel good because they help each other. They help each other because they feel