The Thanatos Syndrome

Haitians. They were as nice as they could be. Highest-class niggers I ever saw. Three of them spoke better English than you or me. All spoke French.”
    â€œThanks, Elmo.”
    â€œIf you need anything, call me. Here’s my number downstairs.”
    â€œI’m fine. Thanks, Elmo.”
    After Elmo leaves, I call Lucy
    â€œMy God, where are you?”
    â€œAt Angola.”
    â€œMy God, I thought so.”
    â€œDon’t worry. It’s not bad. Are the children all right?”
    â€œThey’re fine.”
    â€œLucy, did you get Claude out of Belle Ame?”
    â€œNo. I tried. They’re not answering the phone and the gate is locked.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œMy God, where have you been all night?”
    â€œMaking a house call.”
    â€œBob Comeaux has been looking for you.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œHe’s been calling all evening. He wants to see you tomorrow. Before the wedding.”
    â€œHe knows where I am now. What wedding?”
    â€œAt Kenilworth next door. You know. That fellow from Las Vegas bought it—Romero? Romeo? He had in mind an English manor house, but it looks like Caesar’s Palace. His daughter is getting married at noon. But Comeaux is mighty anxious to see you. He’ll be there first thing.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWhat are they going to do with you?”
    â€œProbably send me back to Alabama.”
    â€œThey can’t do that!”
    â€œThey can.”
    A pause. “You sound funny. Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œI want you over here by me.”
    â€œThat may be possible later.”
    â€œIs there anything I can do?”
    â€œYes. Can you be available tomorrow morning and have Vergil and your uncle available?”
    â€œSure. You mean—”
    â€œI mean stay there. By the phone. We have to get Claude. It’s no good calling the police. Wait by the phone until you hear from me.”
    â€œSure. I will. Are you—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAre you sure you’re all right?”
    â€œI’m fine. A little tired.”
    â€œYou sound funny.”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œPlease—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTake care of yourself.”
    â€œI will.”
    Sure enough, the pajamas are under the pillow. They are silk. The cot is hard but comfortable. The sheets and pillowcase are fresh.
    I never slept better. There is something to be said for having no choice in what one does. I felt almost as good as I did in prison in Alabama.

IV
    1. WEDNESDAY MORNING .
    Bob Comeaux is striding up and down my cell. He is shaking his head mournfully.
    â€œSon, you blew it. You really blew it.”
    â€œHow is that, Bob?”
    He is on his way to the wedding at Kenilworth and is dressed in a kind of plantation tuxedo, a formal white linen suit with a long-skirted jacket, scarlet cummerbund, ruffled shirt, and scarlet bow tie. He carries a broad-brimmed panama hat. His sideburns seem longer. He looks like an old Howard Keel in a revival of Showboat.
    I am sitting at my little desk. He sets his hat on the desk and brushes back his sideburns. He stands over me, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
    â€œTom, you’ve not only violated your parole—by trespassing on the shunt compound. Hell, like I told you, we can live with that. But now you’ve blown your security.”
    â€œHow is that?”
    â€œWe know that you and your friend, Mrs. Lipscomb—Dr. Lipscomb?—have accessed the NIH data bank on Blue Boy. We can’t have the cover blown on Blue Boy until we’re ready. Think of it as another Manhattan Project.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œNow we have reason to believe you’re trying to shoot down John Van Dorn. Tom, we can’t afford to lose him. He’s a bit eccentric, but he’s our resident genius.”
    â€œHe’s a pedophile.”
    â€œLook, Tom”—Bob Comeaux picks up his hat and, spreading the skirt of his jacket, rests a haunch on my desk— “I know there’ve been some reports of irregularities in the staff out there. But I’ve got some news for you.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œBelle Ame is closing down. Van is on his way to M.I.T. within the month. I knew we couldn’t keep him. But we picked his brain while he was here and we’ve got Blue Boy on track. Exit Dr. Van Dorn. End of chapter. End of problem.” He clears his throat.