Jonathan Carroll by After Silence

Author:After Silence [Silence, After]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

BEE HEES FOREVER

"Let us cover, O Silent One, with a sheet of fine linen, the stiff, dead profile of our imperfection."

-- Fernando Pessoa

Mary and I watched the three of them cross the front lawn and walk toward the house.

"How old is Lincoln now?"

"He'll be seventeen in a few weeks."

"Good Lord, that's all? He looks a hundred."

"I know."

"Good, clean living will do it every time, huh, Max?"

If it had been anyone else, I would have snapped back something mean, but Mary did not need more meanness. Her husband had died two months before and, tough as she appeared, her core was melting down toward pure hopelessness.

"_What_ does his T-shirt say? Am I reading what I think I'm reading?"

"'Fuck Dancing -- Let's Fuck.' It's one of his favorites."

"Oh, Max, you let him walk out of the house in that?"

"No. He walked out of the house wearing something different this morning. Probably had the shirt in his bag and changed at school. We used to fight about these things, but he wised up and does it all different now.

Diversionary tactics; the art of the end run. Never, ever argue, but if you don't like what's said, figure out a detour around that lets you do exactly what you want. Our son is an expert sneak."

"And the leather jacket is Elvis Packard?"

"Right. The girl is Little White."

"Why does that name sound so sinister? She looks like a woodpecker. What does her shirt say?"

"'Nine Inch Nails.' That's a rock group, in case you don't have their album."

"I thought it was a manicurist."

The door opened and the three clomped in. They all wore oversized black combat boots that laced halfway up their shins. The rest of the uniform consisted of tattered jeans and T-shirts. Although it was cold outside, Elvis was the only one wearing a jacket. It was covered with oversized safety pins, chains, and buttons that said things like "You Disgust Me."

They shadowed through the room, making no eye contact, and would have passed without a word if I hadn't spoken. "Lincoln! Mary's here. Can't you even say hello?"

"Hello, Mary," he said in a monotone, then made an exaggerated face at me as if to say, "Okay, are you satisfied?" As one, the gang smirked and kept going. A few moments later a door slammed at the back of the house.

"What a bunch of criminals! How do you live with it? Are they here every day?"

"Just about. They skulk into his room, lock the door, and turn on Carcass. Have you ever heard of Carcass?"

"I take it that's a rock group too?"

"Yes. Want to hear some of their song titles?" I reached for my wallet and pulled out the small pad I carry to write notes on possible ideas for "Paper Clip." "Here it is. 'Crepitating Bowel Erosion.' 'Reek of Putrefaction'

--"

"Delicious. Hey, they're not 'Wake Up, Little Susie,' but don't kids always have their own music? We did. What one generation adores, the next thinks is stupid."

"Mary, for Christ's sake, 'Crepitating Bowel Erosion'?"

"You got a point.

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