Nobody's Fool

to effect even so small a personal design as to get Sully, finally, out of his mother’s house. True, Sully’d promised to be out by the first of the year, but then he’d gotten himself thrown in jail, which meant the first would be impossible, and Clive Jr. realized now that Sully would never be gone, not really. He’d not only wanted Sully out of his mother’s house, but out of her affection, outside the circle of her protection, so that Sully could at last complete the task of destroying himself, a task begun so long ago and drawn out far too long already. It was still beyond Clive Jr.’s understanding that Sully’s destruction was taking so long. Sully, after all, was a man who ignored not only blinking yellows but strident reds. Maybe that was the point. If you were going to be reckless in this life, you needed total commitment to the principle.
    This early in the morning Clive Jr. had the spur all to himself. Off to his left was the cemetery that had given rise to controversy, and beyond it the huge tract of land that was to have been The Ultimate Escape—both of them graveyards now. Clive Jr. tried to imagine the boggy land cleared, filled and paved, a huge roller coaster and double Ferris wheel, sky blue corkscrewing water slides in the distance. Brightly colored landscaping reminiscent of the Judy Garland Oz movie. The image had been the staple of his imagination a couple of days ago, but now the land looked defiantly swamplike. It not only looked like a swamp right this minute, it looked like the sort of swamp that would reassert its swamp nature. He’d been assured by engineers that it could be filled and built upon, but he was no longer sure it would be wise to try. In twenty years the concrete in the huge parking lot would begin to ripple and crack, emitting foul, pent-up swamp gases. Weeds would push up through the cracks faster than they could bepoisoned. It would be discovered that the Ferris wheels had been sinking an inch a year. In fact, the whole park would be subsiding gradually. State inspectors would be called in, and they’d scratch their heads thoughtfully and inform county officials that this whole area had once been wetland, and deep down still was.
    When Clive Jr. arrived at the small subdivision of the Farm Home subsidy housing Carl Roebuck was building on the edge of Ultimate Escape land, he pulled off onto the gravel road and studied the half-built, no-frills, three-bedroom ranch houses. Now here, he thought, was a Bath-size, small-potatoes, strictly fringe financial venture. Imaginationwise, it was one small step above Squeers Waste. A lot of area small businesses that had made plans contingent upon the existence of the theme park were going to be in serious trouble now. He’d heard a rumor that Carl Roebuck was building these houses not with an eye toward selling them but rather to be compensated for them when he sold the land. If true, they wouldn’t even pass an honest inspection. Of course, for the right price, he could get the right inspection, just as Clive had managed to get a high appraisal on the tract of swampland that was to have been The Ultimate Escape and would now be worthless again, much to the astonishment of the investors. Clive Jr. couldn’t help but smile. He had long wanted to be the most important man in Bath, a man who, like his father, everyone knew. Well, in another week—another few days, probably—he was going to be famous.
    Clive Jr. sat with the engine running, visible exhaust billowing from the Continental’s tailpipe. His mother had been right, as usual. There would always be bad locations. And, also in accordance with her prediction, he’d discovered this truth by investing in this one, personally and professionally. Where had he gone wrong? In Texas and Arizona, he had learned about faith and land. D. C. Collins, years ago, had explained it to him, taken him out to the middle of the desert where there was nothing but stone and sand and cactus and sun. That and a promotional billboard announcing Silver Lake Estates. “See the lake?” Collins asked, pointing off at nothing. Clive Jr. had seen no lake and said so. “You’re wrong, though,” Collins had explained. “It’s there because people believe it will be there. If enough people believe there’s going to be a lake, there will be one. It’ll get built somehow. Look at this land.” He offered a