'I figure we were about due for a Giambattista Vico.'
'Forget it, sweetie.'
'I was thinking about Beckett last night. Was it Beckett?'
'You'll never guess so I may as well tell you. It's a three-name person. Otto Durer Obenwahr.'
'Trotsky really pulled one out of the hat this time.'
'I'll say. Everybody's trying to figure out who Otto Durer Obenwahr is. Ed Watchold sent his secretary to the library this morning. The place is in a minor uproar.'
'What does it say? What's the quote?'
'I saved it for you. Ready?
'Interesting,' I said.
'What do you think it means?'
'Very interesting.'
'Thanks a lot.'
'Listen, find out everything you can about this bastard Harris Hodge. But especially how old he is.'
'Okay.'
'Does Weede like him?'
'They're having lunch tomorrow.'
'Find out if Weede likes him. I'll call you again somewhere between here and the Navahos.'
'Okay. Have a good time.'
'So long, Bink.'
'David, I almost forgot.'
'Yes?'
'Ted Warburton had to be rushed to the hospital.'
'When was this?'
'Yesterday afternoon. He collapsed at his desk.'
'Goodbye,' I said.
All five of us sat in the camper all afternoon. Pike drank Old Crow from a paper cup and made occasional growling sounds. Ahead were the Rockies, dripping sweat, paws scraping the earth, set to pounce, his keeper the lion. Brand was lost behind his glasses, traveling back, I thought, to some timeless room at the center of his being, bungled memories of four walls and the gray medicine man. Kyrie bit the knuckle of his right thumb. Somebody parking a car hit our rear bumper lightly and we nodded. I was wearing my Comanche moccasins, a pair of green wide-wale cords with a garrison belt, and a black sport shirt.
'Sully, who's Otto Durer Obenwahr?'
'Expert on liquid oxygen and high altitude drogue chutes.'
'Seriously, ever hear of him?'
She seemed to be trying to tear circles out of the newspaper she was reading. She tore circles and handed them to Kyrie. He was sitting on the floor. He handed the circles up to Brand.
'I'm going for a walk,' I said.
'Bring back some Mars Bars,' Brand said.
'You owe me change of twenty,' I said. 'I left a twenty on the table.'
'Don't look at me, Davy. I didn't pay the check.'
'I didn't pay it,' Kyrie said. 'Don't look at me.'
'Somebody owes me change of twenty.'
'I left when you left,' Pike said.
'Somebody owes me change. I've been paying for everything around here.'
'Bring back some jujubes,' Kyrie said.
I walked down a street that had the sadness of all roads leading out of town, a blues-song street, oil spilled by huge trucks, a traffic light swinging high over an empty intersection. I crossed to a building with a neon beer-sign out front. I found the telephone, called the McDowd Communication Arts Complex and asked for Carol Deming. I was using a wall phone at the back of the room. Three auto mechanics were at the bar. I noticed a pinball machine, a bowling machine, a jukebox and a shuffleboard with three steel discs sitting in rosin. Then I heard Carol's voice.
'North Atlantic Treaty Organization.'
'Hi, I didn't know if I'd find you there. It's David Bell- from the park.'
'I'm sorry, you've reached the answering service for NATO Brussels. They're all out. Would you care to leave a message?'
'I'm in a bar on Howley Road.'
'Buster's,' she said. 'It used to be a firehouse.'
'Do you have a car?'
'I can take Austin's.'
'He won't mind?'
'Of course he'll mind.'
I sat at the bar and had a scotch. The ashtray in front of me was full of pared fingernails. I was on the third drink when she arrived. The way she walked made her skirt sway lightly across her legs and I felt lucky and full of improvisation, a nice loose music in my head, and I knew the auto mechanics were watching her but not with sludge and crankcase lust; rather with a small joy, I thought, a tiny leap of flesh, the light lucky feeling of seeing a pretty girl with bare legs walking across a room behind a smile that says she likes being a woman being watched. I tried not to look so pleased. She glanced at my drink and asked for the same.
'I wasn't sure you were living at McCompex too. I thought it might be just him. You didn't say anything about it yesterday. Was it yesterday we met?'
'There isn't much to say, David. It's just something to do while I wait for my husband to divorce me. I had some money saved and I've always wanted to study acting. So I came on down.'
'From where?'
'Detroit,' she said.
'That your hometown?'
'I was an army brat. I've lived in nine states.'
'What did you do in Detroit?'
'We used to have a drink every Friday evening at the Zebra Lounge. That's what we did.'
'You mean people from the office.'
'You know how it is on Friday. Everybody wants to unwind with a drink or two. They used to have canapes for the regular crowd. We were the regular crowd.'
We talked and drank for a while. I was feeling good and loose, on the verge of inspired dialogue, drink number four, a pale flame rising. Carol took a pack of Gauloises out of her handbag. I lit one for her and a sweet evil smell lay flat on the hanging smoke.
'Did the regular crowd at the Zebra include one extrovert who was always joking with the waiter and who liked to order exotic drinks?'
'Fred Blasingame,' she said.
'What were some of the drinks he ordered? This is important.'
'I remember once he ordered an Americano. I remember another time he ordered a Black Russian.'
'I think we're really getting somewhere. When you take a bath, Carol, do you like to lift one leg out of the water and wash it sort of slowly and sensually?'
'You're going too far.'
'Carol, how do you feel about the war?'
'I can't seem to get involved, maybe because the whole thing is so halfhearted.'
'People are dying.'
'I know. Isn't it terrible?'
'Can you identify Otto Durer Obenwahr?' I said.
'Didn't he play lead guitar with Grand Funk Railroad?'
