The Heat of the Sun

caroused so loudly that one suspected
their coffee had been supplemented with the contents of an illicit flask.
    Le Vol stood and shook my hand. He had barely changed. Le Vol as a man was Le Vol as a boy, only more so: coily red hair coilier and redder, long limbs longer, frayed cuffs more frayed.
    He asked me if we couldn’t go somewhere else. ‘I was hoping for a quiet talk.’
    ‘We will. First, eat! I’m starving, aren’t you?’
    ‘New York City’s a bit much for me, I suppose. Too big. Too crowded.’
    ‘Where is it you’ve been – Wisconsin, Wyoming?’
    A waiter plunked down dog-eared menus. Le Vol, packing his pipe, barely glanced at his; I knew what I wanted already and he said impatiently that he would have the same. ‘The thing
is’ – he rushed on – ‘I met Morrison Reeves in Cody. Can you believe it?’
    I had no idea who he meant.
    ‘What Reeves taught me, it’s amazing! He’s been working on a big project for years, documenting conditions of life and labour throughout the western states. Men laying
railroads. Men working land. Men building dams. And I was his assistant – me!’ cried Le Vol. ‘What Reeves doesn’t know about pictures, it’s not worth
knowing.’
    Reeves? Now I remembered: the socialist photographer. A magazine I wrote for had reviewed one of his exhibitions a few months before. Excitedly Le Vol reached into a satchel, drew out a manila
folder, and fanned gleaming black-and-white eight-by-tens across the table. I glimpsed stubbled, ugly faces, pickaxes swinging, dirt roads fading into long perspectives.
    He lit his pipe. ‘How you can live in this rabbit warren, I don’t know. Life out west’s hard, but it’s real.’ He riffled through the pictures, showing me a forest,
a lake, a mountain range. ‘And the space! Wind in your hair. Pastures rolling for ever. The smell of pines, thick and resinous. There’s a world out there, Sharpless. It’s big.
It’s frightening. But beautiful too.’
    I praised the pictures, and meant it. ‘Reeves is really something.’
    ‘Reeves?’ said Le Vol. ‘These are mine.’
    His eyes grew bigger and he leaned across the table. ‘Reeves gave me an introduction to his publishers. That’s where I’ve just been. They want me to do my own book, can you
believe it? The Wild West Today – oh, it’ll be wonderful, the things to see, the places to go! I’ve an old Model T back in Buffalo. That’ll be my covered wagon.
I’ll set off...’
    There was more, much more. The waiter brought our meals: scrambled eggs and sausages with hash browns on the side, but I had lost my appetite. Le Vol had always made me uneasy and I thought I
knew why: I felt as if he were judging me, and I feared his judgement was right. Shovelling back hash browns, he launched again into the wonders of the West.
    My attention drifted until a hand gripped on my shoulder and I twisted back to see Trouble. With barely a glance at Le Vol, he slumped into a seat beside me. Stricken-eyed, he seemed on the
verge of tears.
    ‘I’m done for,’ Trouble declared. ‘I’m done for. It’s the senator. He’s found out I’ve been skipping work.’
    ‘How? Did somebody rat on you?’
    ‘He says he’s taking me to Washington. Can you imagine? I’ll never be out of his sight. Mama’s mad, furious. Going on and on about how I’ve let them down
–’
    ‘Trouble, you’re not a child. You’re twenty-five.’
    ‘Yes, and it’s too late! Do you know how many things I’ve failed at now? Do you know how many second chances I’ve had? I’ve been chucked out of every school
I’ve ever set foot in. I tried to be a singer – that was for Mama. I tried to be a rancher – that was for the senator. I couldn’t even make it as a brush salesman –
and that was for me! I’m not like other people. I can’t do things like other people. Nobody wants me except the senator, and all I can do is let him down because I hate him, and
I’ll keep on hating him until the day I die!’
    He was shouting. I was mortified. ‘Calm down.’
    ‘Don’t tell me to calm down! Why do people tell you to calm down when you’ve every reason to be upset?’
    Le Vol, stiff-faced, had bundled his photographs back into his satchel. Whether Trouble remembered Le Vol I could not be certain, but Le Vol remembered Trouble, of course, and didn’t like
what he saw.
    ‘Still thick as thieves, the pair of you,’ he muttered, in what I took to be a disgusted tone.