Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders

Author:George Saunders
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2017-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

LX.

Left behind on the roof of the white stone home, I resolved to make one final attempt to talk sense to the boy, who lay nearly insensate at my feet, like a dazed and fallen Pasha-prince.

My feelings had been hurt by the juvenile, deceptive actions of Mr. Bevins and Mr. Vollman, who, in their rush to chase after the slightest amusement, had left me in a very bad position indeed. Like some sort of primitive gardener I worked, bent at the waist, seizing at tendrils with both hands. I must continually be deciding whether to attack the several already attached, or take on their new-arising brethren. In truth, it mattered not what I did: the boy’s time was not long.

An opportunity soon presented for a frank moment with him.

Scanning the horizon for the feckless Bevins and Vollman, I saw instead, creeping out of the woods, the Crutcher brothers, accompanied, as usual, by Mr. and Mrs. Reedy, the four of them comprising the core group of that depraved orgiastic cohort that resided near the flagpole.

We come to watch, said Matt Crutcher.

The decline, said Richard Crutcher.

It is of interest to us, said Mrs. Reedy.

We watched it last time, said Matt Crutcher. With that gal.

Found it most stimulating, said Mr. Reedy.

Really gave us a boost, said Mrs. Reedy.

And everyone needs a boost, said Mr. Reedy.

In this dung-hole, said Matt Crutcher.

Don’t judge us, said Mr. Reedy.

Or do, said Mrs. Reedy.

Makes us feel naughtier, said Matt Crutcher.

To each their own, said Richard Crutcher, stepping over close to Mrs. Reedy.

Perhaps, said Mrs. Reedy, slipping her hand into his pants-pocket.

The group now fell into a watchful rapacious squat: disgusting vultures drawn here by the boy’s misfortune. And soon got up to some strange cross-handed business, manifesting as one terrible creature, their pumping arms and rhythmic gasping conveying a distinctly mechanical impression.

What do you think? I said to the boy. Is this a good place? A healthy place? Do these people seem sane to you, and worthy of emulation?

And yet here you are, the boy said.

I am different, I said.

From me? he said.

From everyone, I said.

Different how? he said.

And I teetered on the brink of telling him.

the reverend everly thomas

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