The Thanatos Syndrome

the smaller towns and countryside back of the lake. With clear areas here, here, and along the lake. Okay?
    â€œOkay. Now I’m going to show you another graphic. Another brainstorm!” She rubs her hands together, pleased with herself, “I got this from the S and WB.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe state Sewerage and Water Board. All I had to do was ask them for a graphic showing the areas supplied by Ratliff number one, that’s what they call it. Now watch this.”
    She hits a key. A pretty map rolls out, a Miró watercolor of red swatches, bands, and blocks. “You got it? You oriented?”
    â€œI think.”
    â€œNow watch.” She hits keys, back and forth from twinkling star-clustered Feliciana to Miró-red Feliciana. “What do you see?”
    â€œThey’re roughly the same.”
    â€œRoughly, my foot. They’re almost exactly the same. Look. Same clear areas. Lakefront, small enclaves here, here, a town here and here. I don’t know why.”
    I say slowly, “The lakefront condos and high-rises use treated lake water. These clear areas are large new developments with their own deep wells. Towns like these, Covington, Kentwood, Abita Springs, have their own deep wells.” I look at her curiously. “What do you drink here?”
    â€œWould you believe cistern water?”
    â€œCistern? I knew this place had an old cistern, but—”
    â€œCarrie and Vergil swear by it. Carrie says it’s softer and Vergil says it’s healthier. No metal ions. He had it analyzed. What about you?”
    I recollect. “Ellen is a nut on bottled water. Abita Springs water for ordinary use and Perrier for parties. Wait a minute.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYou’re saying that stuff got into the main water supply.”
    â€œGot into it or was put into it.”
    â€œPut into it.” We look at each other.
    â€œI think I’ll fix us some coffee,” says Lucy.
    We drink black coffee from old cups the size of small soup bowls. The coffee is chicoried and strong as Turkish.
    â€œLook,” I say at last. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œPut Feliciana back up there.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œNow here we are here. A mile or so from the old river.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œHere’s the Grand Mer facility on Tunica Island.”
    â€œRight, and here’s the Ratliff intake here.”
    â€œNot a mile from Grand Mer.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œLucy, you’re telling me that the drinking water from here is contaminated by heavy-sodium ions.”
    â€œObviously.”
    â€œAnd I’m telling you that this facility here at Grand Mer has a heavy-sodium reactor.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œThen clearly there is a leak from this source here to this intake here.”
    â€œA leak or something.”
    â€œOr something. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIf you can spare Vergil, he and I will go take a look.”
    â€œAnd I. I’ll fix you some breakfast and—”
    â€œCall in sick.”
    â€œCall in sick. Let’s go back to bed. I’ll wake you at nine.”
    I go back to bed dressed. I go back to ordinary sleep, as if I had dreamed the whole thing, panzers, nukes, bad water, Alice Pratt—but not Lucy.

5. BREAKFAST IN THE OLD dining room is a meal of quail, grits, beaten biscuits, fried apple rings, and the same bowl-size cups of chicoried coffee. I don’t know whether Lucy or the uncle or Carrie Bon cooked it. The uncle is proud of the quail— they’re his, he’s got a freezerful—half a dozen hot little heart-shaped morsels per plate, six tender-spicy, gamy-gladdening mouthfuls.
    Lucy is half finished. She gives me a single quick look, head down, through her eyebrows. She and the uncle watch in silence while I eat. I am starved! Lucy smiles, smokes, and drinks her coffee. Satisfied, the uncle leaves.
    We move to the other end of the table, where Lucy spreads out a geodetic survey map, weights the corners with cups and cellars. She summons Vergil.
    When she stands, I see she’s wearing jeans too, worn and gray and soft as velvet. They fit her admirably. She sits at the head, Vergil and I flanking her; Vergil, arms folded on the table, eyes fixed on the map.
    â€œI think we got trouble,” says Lucy, plucking tobacco from her tongue.