The Thanatos Syndrome

has to do with the Battle of Pea Ridge and our kinsman, General Earl Van Dorn. I can prove this, Tom. I have the letters of Price and Curtis. He had pulled off the most brilliant flanking movement of the war—except possibly Chancellorsville. It could have changed the war, Tom. If only it hadn’t been for those goddamn crazy Indians. Tom, I can prove it. Do you know what he had in mind to take and would have taken?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSt. Louis!”
    â€œSt. Louis?”
    â€œI’m telling you. Old Buck would have taken St. Louis. Except for those fucking Indians. St. Louis, Tom.”
    â€œLet me see. Just where was St. Louis in relation to Pea Ridge?”
    â€œHell, man, not as far as you think. Let me see.” He closes his eyes. “Three hundred miles northeast—and nothing between him and it.”
    â€œWhat did the Indians do, Van?”
    â€œIndians? Crazy. Whoops. Dance.”
    â€œI see. Uncle Hugh.”
    â€œYeah, son.”
    I get the uncle in a little pantry where the phone is.
    â€œUncle Hugh, I think we better call the sheriff.”
    â€œYou damn right. I’ve seen some white trash but I ain’t never seen nothing like this. I mean, we all do some messing around”—he gives me a wink and a poke—“but we talking about children. I brought my gelding knife.” He holds out the skirt of his hunting jacket to show me his Bowie knife.
    â€œWe won’t need that now. The thing is, Uncle Hugh Bob, this charge has been made before and dropped and Sheriff Sharp is not going to be impressed by us registering the same complaint.”
    â€œDon’t you worry about it. He’ll come out. I know him. I’ll call him.”
    â€œI know you know him. I know him too. He will come out, but he’ll take his time. It could be a couple of hours. Or tomorrow. He talks about lack of evidence. We want him out here when there is evidence—I mean unmistakable evidence.”
    â€œWhen will that be, son?” The uncle’s dark hatchet face juts close.
    â€œIt’s beginning now. I’d want him and his men out here in no more than half an hour. It might get out of hand after that.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. Hand me the phone.”
    â€œHow are you going to get Sheriff Sharp out here?”
    â€œWho, Cooter? Don’t worry about it. I’ve known that old bastard all his life. He first got rich on the Longs. Now it’s the Eyetalians running cocaine from the gambling boats in the river. Shit, don’t tell me. We still hunt a lot. Actually he’s not a bad old boy.”
    â€œHow soon can you get him out here?”
    â€œHow about twenty minutes?”
    â€œThat will be fine.”
    The uncle picks up the phone, cocks an eye at me. “What’s going to happen between now and then? Maybe you better go over to the door by my gun.”
    â€œDon’t worry. Make your call. Nothing is going to happen.”

7. IN FACT NOTHING HAPPENS for several minutes. Everyone is sitting peaceably. I observe nothing untoward—except. Except that the persons present do not exhibit the usual presence of people waiting—the studied inwardness of patients in a doctor’s waiting room, the boredom, the page-flipping anxiety, the frowning sense of time building up—how much longer?—the monitoring of eyes—I-choose-not-to-look-at-you-and-get-into-all-that-business-of-looking—or the talkiness. None of that. Everyone simply sits, or rather lounges, out of time, as relaxed as lions on the Serengeti Plain.
    Mrs. Cheney is still holding Coach’s head against her breast and twisting the towel.
    â€œLet’s take a look, Mrs. Cheney. The bleeding should have stopped.”
    The bleeding has stopped. “You did a good job, Mrs. Cheney.”
    â€œOh, thanks, Dr. More!” says Mrs. Cheney, holding Coach close, patting him.
    Coach’s eyes follow me trustfully.
    Mr. Brunette has got his pants up and is sitting at his ease, only slightly off center, next to Mrs. Brunette, giving no sign of his recent injury. Having got him dressed, zipped up, belted, Mrs. Brunette is busy straightening his clothes, smoothing his coat lapels, adjusting his tie. But now she is busy at his hair, not smoothing it but ruffling it against the grain and inspecting him, peering close, plucking at his scalp. I realize she is grooming him.
    The uncle too is at his ease, having taken