Stone Junction

‘What’s that?’

Mott unscrewed the cap and bent over to savor the bouquet. ‘Something special I had Charmaine brew up in her spare time. Call it Ol’ Wolverine.’

‘Is it like your chili?’

‘Better.’ Mott dipped the baster in the jar and drew up a few inches of liquid. ‘It’s whole extract of coca leaf, peyote buttons, and poppy heads, then she centrifuges ’em or some damn thing to get the essence, and after that she makes a ten percent solution.’ Mott tilted his head, stuck the narrow tip of the baster in his nostril, and squeezed the bulb. ‘Razoooolllii!’ he cried, swaying slightly. He wiped the tears and handed Daniel the baster. Daniel, cautious, half-filled the tip. The effect of Ol’ Wolverine on the sinuses was much like that of Mott’s chili on the palate.

Thus fortified, Mott addressed Daniel’s problem. ‘What ya got,’ he explained, ‘is a weird case of Shrivel Dick. Nobody’s sure what causes it. Some docs think it’s physical, some mental. In your case, having taken some shrapnel to the brain, I gotta think that’s the reason. Don’t matter if it wasa sliver of metal, cause even if you blow a speck of fly shit through a bowl of jello, it’s gonna have some effect, right? And I’m assuming you actually do want to diddle these girls, and don’t suffer from some sorta unnatural pussy aversion.’

‘No, I’m sure,’ Daniel said.

‘So the message is gettin’ from your heart to your brain, but it ain’t making it from your brain to your dick – that’s the problem right there.’

‘It does once.’

‘Maybe the switch is weak, and one blast of desire fries it shut?’

‘Maybe so.’

‘What you’ve gotta do, Dan, is take the scientific approach. Do a fucking experiment. Get three or four of the Commies, blindfold yourself so you don’t know who’s who, then have ’em take turns on ya.’

Dolefully, Daniel shook his head. ‘I tried it two weeks ago with Helen, Jade, and Annie. Once each.’

‘Yeah? Is Jade that one with the tits that’d make your heart stand still?’

‘I guess.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’ta used the blindfold.’

‘Maybe not.’

Responding to Daniel’s glum tone, Mott said with sudden brightness, ‘But hey – what the hell? Women are awful hard critters to please.’ Long with always wanting everything to fit their mood at the moment, they want you to pay attention to ’em and be nice and give ’em credit cards. Once could be plenty. Blessin’ in disguise.’

‘Right now it feels like a curse.’

‘Well, short of brain surgery, you’re gonna have to live with it, and since you’d be stark motherfucking crazy to let someone cut on your brain, that leaves living with it – and you might as well start now. So what say, pardner, we take a moonlight ride up on Bleeker Ridge? Nothing in the world Pissgums hates worse than a night ride.’

‘No thanks, Mott, but I appreciate your asking.’

‘Think about it, Dan. Sitting up there on Bleeker Ridge watching the snow fall in the moonlight.’

Perplexed, Daniel said, ‘It’s not snowing.’

Mott seemed startled by the information, then smiled. ‘Well, maybe it’ll start.’

‘Thanks anyway, Mott,’ Daniel said, rising from the table, ‘but I think I’ll go watch it from the river. You and Pissgums have a good time.’

Daniel sat by the river, dejected by the one thing he hadn’t mentioned, the fear that his condition made love impossible. He hadn’t felt like discussing that with Mott. Mott was friendly enough, but never let friendliness cross the line into intimacy. Wild Bill was like that. Aunt Charmaine, too. All these AMO people with their guarded, friendly openness. Volta wasn’t even that friendly.

He caught a flash of light downstream, then heard the distinctive growl of Charmaine’s Chevy panel truck gearing down for the bridge. His mother had always claimed that old women knew everything important. He wondered if he would have been able to talk to his mother about his problem; it cheered him to feel certain he could have. He decided to consult Charmaine. As an older woman, she might have some insight. As a chemist, maybe she could make him a potion. When he stood up he felt a faint twist of nausea. Daniel took a moment to connect it with mescaline, and about the time he recalled that Mott’s Ol’ Wolverine contained peyote, he realized he was ripped.

Charmaine was in the kitchen, reading the paper and eating toast. Daniel, aided by the coca-mesc-opium combo, liked the way she held her toast.

‘Daniel,’ she said pleasantly putting down the paper. ‘How are you?’

‘I have a problem.’

‘Yes?’ There was neither apprehension nor cajolery in her voice, just the usual open neutrality.

‘It’s a sexual problem. I talked to Mott, but I wanted to ask your advice, too.’

‘You’re loaded,’ Charmaine said, looking at him intently, toast still poised in her hand.

‘Being loaded and talking to Mott are the same thing. He was riding Pissgums in the snow.’ Daniel paused, his train of thought derailed, then added awkwardly, ‘But I want to talk to you independent of being loaded.’