The Thanatos Syndrome

connected to that tube, rubber-stoppered, you know, like a chemical reagent. The reagent was stenciled on the side. Sodium 24.
    â€œConcentration?”
    â€œMolar.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œThey have a little card which gives the amount of additive per bottle down here. One cc. per ten gallons. What they must do is measure out the additive and add it to the Abita Springs water down here before they upend it on the fountain.”
    â€œI see.”
    After a while Vergil stirs uneasily.
    â€œI wonder where they are.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Vergil leans forward to see me better. “I said I wonder where they are.”
    â€œDon’t worry. They’ll be here.”
    â€œYou all right, Doc?”
    â€œSure.”
    After another while Vergil gets up. “Doc, let’s go get Claude and get out of here.”
    â€œDon’t worry. They’ll be here with Claude.”
    â€œDoc, what you got in mind?”
    â€œWe’ll see. Here they are.” There’s a commotion outside and two more knocks.

5. IN THEY COME , a good-humored crew: Van Dorn smiling and natty in his new-style long knickers and Norfolk jacket; Mr. and Mrs. Brunette in proper sober suit and dress, but by no means lugubrious; Coach in a clean scarlet warmup suit, heavy-shouldered and big-nosed—he’s chipper, grips my hand warmly, is frank and forthcoming. He’s the sort of rising young coach who would talk optimistically about his “program”—Mrs. Cheney, hugging her arms, giving me a special look, almost a wink: I got them here, didn’t I? Claude is himself and of a piece, I see at once. Quickly he takes his place with Vergil, the two standing quiet and attentive, hands clasped behind them, as if they were attending a PTA meeting. There’s a word and a nod between them. Vergil nods at me. He wants to leave. I shake my head.
    Van Dorn, who has taken my hand in both of his, is shaking his head in mock outrage. “You old scoundrel beast,” he says, and coming close: “I got some great news for you.” He notices the uncle’s shotgun propped by the door. “How do you like these guys?” he says to nobody in particular. “Probably poaching and shooting Belle Ame deer out of season. Mr. Hugh Bob, why don’t you show the folks that Purdy? He’s a hard man, Tom. Did you know I offered him five thousand for it?”
    â€œI been offered ten thousand,” says the uncle, who, however, is glad to show off his shotgun, walking from one person to another. They look politely.
    â€œWhen you going to take me to Lake Arthur, Mr. Hugh Bob?” asks Van Dorn.
    â€œLike I told you,” says the uncle, “there ain’t no ducks there. We’ll have to go to Tigre au Chenier.”
    â€œYou got a deal.”
    The uncle, pleased, blows a few feeding calls.
    â€œHow about that guy?” Van Dorn is still shaking my hand. “I don’t know how you fellows got in here, but I’m delighted to see you.”
    â€œWe came by the river. The gate is locked. We came to pick up Claude. His father was anxious about him.”
    Van Dorn lets go of my hand, grows instantly sober, paces.
    â€œI know, I know. Would you believe we’ve had threats from some locals, Kluxers, fundamentalists, fundamentalist Kluxers; I mean, God knows. But we’re not going to let a couple of rednecks scare us, are we, Claude?”
    Claude says nothing, stands at ease, gazing at a middle distance.
    â€œMr. Bon,” says Van Dorn to Vergil, “I understand your anxiety, but I can assure you we’re delighted to have him and he’s perfectly safe here.”
    â€œI think we’ll be on our way,” says Vergil.
    â€œNo problem,” says Van Dorn. “A fine boy,” he adds absently. “Make a world-class goalie.”
    Now we’re sitting on the two bamboo lounges, with a scarred plywood table between marked out as a checkerboard and a Parcheesi game.
    There follows a period of social unease, like a silence at a dinner party. But Van Dorn goes on nodding good-naturedly, as if agreeing with something. Vergil, hands on knees, shoots a glance at me. I am silent. The uncle, restless, stands at Mrs. Cheney’s end of the couch, eyes rolled back.
    Vergil opens his hands to me: What—?
    Van Dorn claps his hands once. “Two pieces of news, Tom,” he says in a crisp voice. “And I see no reason to keep either