Dhalgren

he?'

'Fifteen. And she's seventeen.'

'You should tell him to talk to her. If they were really all that close.'

'Shit,' Kid said. 'I never argue with people I screw. She seems to think there isn't anything to say. I don't blame her for wishing there was.'

'Maybe.' Lanya sounded doubtful. 'I sort of took a liking to her, just listening. She lives in the girls' house? Now that is a strange bunch. I've been there a few times.'

'Dykes?'

'No more than here. Do you think she'd be interested in helping with the school?'

'You're just going to get yourself in trouble.'

Lanya laughed. 'It's so nice to know there're one or two things about which I am more worldly than you are! I think it's fine to have an occasional knock-down, drag-out… discussion with people you're screwing. I never quarrel with the people the people I'm screwing are screwing. Or were screwing. I make a point of being on the best terms possible. Even if you have a knack for it, sometimes it takes a lot of work. But the trouble you avoid—' she turned down her mouth and tapped her knee three times—'is not to be believed!' Then she tugged his hair. 'Let's go look for him.'

But Denny had left the house.

Back in the yard the fire had been completed. Lanya volunteered to go with Priest, Thruppence and Angel to the liquor store. When they came back, Kid had taken the door out of the back room and set it up on some boxes for a table in the yard. Others had begun food.

'Come on. I want to go back up in the loft.'

'Sure.' She squeezed his hand and followed.

When they had lain together, when they had talked quietly a while, when they had begun to make love, he was surprised to find her somewhat listless and distracted; small movements she made silently angered him. Till she said, 'Hey, what's the matter? You seem so far away. Come on back,' which returned the whole thing to the realm of the humorous.

After that it was very good.

After coming, while he lay there and held her, the smell woke him. His waking woke her. He lifted his head at the sound. A third plate, in raised hands, was pushed over the loft edge. Then Denny climbed up, crawled across them, and began to take off his clothes. 'We can eat up here,' he whispered, as though they might still be sleeping with opened eyes.

There were lots of frankfurters on the plates.

And vegetable hash.

'Where'd you get off to?'

Denny shrugged. 'Just wandering around. Thirteen's got a place right down the block and across the street. Pretty nice.' He picked up a frank in his fingers and bit. Juice ran down his forearm and dripped from his elbow to his knee.

Kid licked it off. 'You're gonna gimme a hard-on,' Denny said and pushed one of the plates to Lanya. 'Here. You wanna eat?'

'Sure.' She rubbed her eyes and pulled out of Kid's arms. 'Where… oh, hey. Thanks!' to the bite of Denny's he offered from his hand.

Remembering not a moment of grace, but a moment laced with it, I am thrown back on a present where only the intensity of the senses can justify this warmth, the look of shadow on her shoulder, light on her hip, a reflection on the blackened glass, light up from below. That is not as good. What have I fallen from, perfected by memory into something only possible, I do not want to falsify any more than that. Now there are only the eyes and the hands to fill out.

They drank some of the brandy he'd had her get for Tak. ('You won't believe my dress, either of you. I know you've seen it, Kid. You still won't believe it.') She said she was going to go home soon, but fell asleep. Somebody yelling in the kitchen once woke them hours later and they all made love again in the dark.

For the second time, from an urge that crossed experimentation with duty, he sucked Denny off; it took twice as long as before. 'Don't you think you ought to rest?' Lanya finally suggested.

'Yeah,' Denny said. 'You rest some.'

So he closed his eyes and racked it up to foibles. Still, it was the best time he remembered. He drifted toward sleep, only sad he remembered so little, and closed his eyes.

When the window had gone indigo, Kid opened them. Lanya was kneeling up. 'I'm going now,' she whispered. So they crawled over Denny, to find their clothes. 'But I want some coffee,' she mouthed.

'There should be boxes around,' Kid said. 'We just don't have any pot.'

'That's all right. Come on.'

In the kitchen, Thirteen and Smokey, with three black scorpions, Raven, Thruppence, and D-t, up the night, sat talking. Kid was surprised when, from the banter, he realized Lanya knew all their names: Even Thruppence's. (He'd had to ask that one several times: 'Thruppence, man. Thruppence. That's English for three cents.') And 'D-t', he found out, stood not for Delirium tremens but Double-time. A bucket was the only thing really clean so Lanya filled it to make boiled coffee.

'You gonna drink that?' D-t asked her.

'Sure. Bring it to a boil three times, then throw in a glass of cold water. The egg white will make it settle. Then you just pour it off into a pot and keep it hot,' for which purpose Smokey volunteered to clean the kettle.

'You just don't let the Spider know you used up two of his good eggs to make that mess.'

'Shit,' Raven said, 'everybody else use 'em.'

Kid and Lanya drank theirs black while the rest went through a confusion of powdered milk (someone remembered the box under the table), cup rinsing, and sugar.

'Now that's nice coffee,' Raven (his top-knot, now, undone) admitted, gazing into the cup on the table. 'It's just as clear! I gotta remember me that.' He pouted heavy lips at the steam and shook his head. The hairy beachball swung side to side.

'Yeah,' Thirteen said back over his shoulder. 'You gonna remember that, Smokey?' who nodded.

Cathedral and Filament had come in sleepily from the other room. Nine people stood drinking coffee in a space that was crowded with four.

'Now I'm just across the street and down the block,' Thirteen was saying. 'On the top floor. Any of you guys come over who want to. Kid'll tell you, he stayed in my place. I got so many scorpions around, you'd think I was running a nest. But I ain't. I just like to be friendly, you know?'

'You want to stay,' Kid told Lanya as they left, 'you just go back up in the loft. Nobody's going to bother you.'

She rubbed the back of his neck. 'There're just some things I have to get done before school. Give Little Brother a hug for me.'

Nevertheless, as he walked her home, he was pretty sure what she wanted was another two hours sleep. He asked, 'You coming back tonight?'

She squeezed his hand. 'Nope. You two can come up and see me if you've got time. For a little while.' She squeezed his hand once more.

The gesture became an emblem of her nervous charm.

The paper that day said:

Sunday — July 14th, 1776.

They spent the night at Lanya's.

The next day:

Sunday — June 16th, 2001.

That afternoon tire-colored Jack the Ripper, crouching before the open icebox whose light had just blown, whose insides were crammed, and whose enamel was streaked and stained, looked up and asked, 'Say, when you gonna run?'

'Right now!' Inception, impulse, and decision had all fixed between Kid's first word and his second. Kid grabbed the doorway, leaned into the next room and shouted,'WE'RE GONNA RUN…!'