1968. Part 20

He had to calm down before he went to see Beverly. When he got to the university, he pulled into the Maryland Book Exchange-Maryland Book & Crook-and idled in the parking lot until he was able to snag a s.p.a.ce. Then he went inside and walked along the aisles of books, sampling one every now and then, which always calmed him one way and excited him another. More than the university itself, the bookstore seemed an infinite fount of accessible knowledge. No tests, no lunatic graduate a.s.sistants; just the raw materials. He picked up a Dover book about meteors and a new Heinlein novel,The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. He'd read a short version in a magazine before he got drafted, but it looked like there was enough new stuff to make it worth rereading.

Somewhat illegally, he left his car in the Book & Crook slot and crossed over to the drugstore. He bought a carton of cigarettes, stunned at the price after dollar-a-carton Vietnam, and worked up the nerve to ask the woman at the pharmacy counter for a pack of Trojans. Beverly would probably want to go slow, but why not be prepared?

Going back to the car, he was transfixed by a small Oriental co-ed who walked by him chattering with a friend, laughing brightly. He stumbled over the curb and almost fell. Did he know her from before? The sight and sound of her had triggered a wave of desire as strong as a physical blow.

He decided they must have been cla.s.smates. The d.a.m.ned shock therapy had taken out blocks of memory, most of which he would supposedly get back. He resisted the temptation to run after her and ask if they'd met.

Li, that was her name. Some parts of him remembered her; he hurried to the car holding the shopping bag discreetly in front of his crotch. Could they have dated? She hadn't made any sign of having recognized him, and he didn't remember dating anybody but Beverly. Maybe it was some weird a.s.sociation, brought on by buying rubbers. Maybe heshould go after her.

He swung up onto Route 1 and drove slowly, but she wasn't on the sidewalk. For no reason, he suddenly remembered the stranger whimpering with the b.l.o.o.d.y bandages at his crotch, his friend holding out the b.l.o.o.d.y sc.r.a.p of his d.i.c.k, and then a couple of nights later, the guy from Bangkok. his erectionwilted. Those were two memories he could afford to lose. Why couldn't the shock therapy be more selective?

He had a vague idea where Chillum Heights was, or thought he did, but would up totally lost. He went into a 7-Eleven and studied a map, then bought the map after a clerk cleared her throat and shot him a dirty look.

Eventually he found the place, in a rundown student-ghetto neighborhood. It was a two-story clapboard house that might look all right with a fresh coat of pain and a lawn instead of a thicket.

He knocked on the door, waited a minute, knocked again. He was about to leave when the door open a crack. "Yeah?" a man's voice said from the darkness.

"Is Beverly here?"

"No man, she's gone."

"When do you think she'll be back?"

"I mean like she's likegone. Who are you?"

"Old friend. John Speidel, Spider."

The door opened to reveal a skinny young man in jeans, shirtless and barefoot, holding a joint. "You're the guy from Vietnam, like Spider."

"Yeah, that's right."

"You kill any babies?"

"What?"

"I mean like in Vietnam, did you kill any babies?"

"Hey, yeah, all the time. What the f.u.c.k are you talking about? I never killed anybody. I was f.u.c.kin'drafted."

"Sure, yeah." He waved his joint hand in a vague gesture. "Nothin' personal, just curious. you didn't burn any villages?"

"Yeah, that's all I did all day, is burn villages. Wore out three Zippos. So what happened to Beverly?"

"Don't get hostile, man. She went off with Lee. You know about Lee?"

"Her roommate, yeah."

"Well, okay. Okay." He opened the screen door. "Come on in. We got some c.o.ke, maybe got a beer left."

Spider followed him down the hall. The place looked more than lived in; it was somewhere between grubbiness and squalor. Beverly lived here? "How long has Beverly lived here?""Oh, Lee brought her over, what. Two months ago? Three months?" They entered the kitchen and he went to the refrigerator. "I own the place but my old lady takes care of the details. Split the last beer with you."

"Thanks."

He sat down at the table and filled two jelly gla.s.ses with beer. Spider sat across from him and felt an odd tingling connection: Beverly must have sat right here. He took a sip of the cool beer. "So when will she be back?"

"She said somethin' about when cla.s.ses start."

"What, Monday?"

"No, man, whencla.s.ses start." He relit the joint off a wooden match and took a deep drag and pa.s.sed it over. Spider did a shallow hit and set it in the ashtray between them. The landlord held the smoke in for as long as he could and then exhaled in a puff. "Like September."

"September? She moved?"

"Sure. You didn't know, sorry. They put all their s.h.i.t in the Thing From Detroit and went off to California."

"Oh. Gone, s.h.i.t." He picked up the joint. "Why California?"

He shrugged. "Where the action is. He's got some connections out there."

"He?"

"Yeah, that's where Lee came from. San Francisco, Haight-Ashbury. Leary Land."

"Lee's a guy?"

"Sort of. He switch-hits." He extracted the joint from Spider's frozen fingers. "You thought Lee was a girl?"

Spider shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Everything's all f.u.c.ked up."

"Oh yeah." He took a puff as if it were a normal cigarette and pa.s.sed it back. "She said you were in a mental thing, up in Walter Reed. You must of got better."

"Yeah, must've." Spider stood up. He had to leave before he hit this guy, and it wasn't his fault. "Look, man, I gotta go."

"Okay. She calls, I'll tell her you came by."

"Thanks. You don't have a number for her out there?"

"Huh uh. They were just gonna go see what happens."Spider held on to the chair back until the room calmed down. It was sort of glowing. "Yeah, right.

Thanks."

"Look, I didn't mean it about the babies, killin' babies. I just got a sick sense of humor."

"That's okay. You can't laugh, what the f.u.c.k can you' do?" He walked fast out into the sunlight and air, He stood by the car for a minute and then sat in the driver's seat, gripping the wheel.

Then he started to pound the wheel, saying "s.h.i.t" over and over. Heknew that Lee was a guy; Captain My Captain had said so. That had been after the shock treatments, too. He didn't want to believe it and so he had willfully forgotten it. He trembled uncontrollably and everything around him seemed to shimmer.

That glow usually meant the man with no face was coming. But it was just an overgrown lawn, some birds, the sun and sky. The hippy looking at him through the inch-wide gap between curtains.

The Valium was on his dresser at home. Well, he wasn't supposed to take another one until dinner, anyhow. Good idea not to carry it with him. But he needed something. Beverly running off to Haight-Ashbury with a G.o.d-d.a.m.ned queer.

He didn't look at the map, but just headed roughly south until he hit Route 1 again, and drove a couple of miles, across the District Line. In Washington the drinking age for beer was eighteen. He bought a cold sixpack at the first liquor store.

The cans were poptops. They hadn't had them in Vietnam. When you open them they sound like a grenade being armed. Spider popped one in the parking lot but didn't drink from it. He drove off with it nestled in his crotch and took a sip every now and then, when there were no cars around. The cops used ghost cars in Washington, he remembered, unmarked cars with plainclothes officers. He had a Maryland license but if he got busted in Washington he was pretty sure they could pull it.

He drove across town to Rock Creek Park and found a small deserted picnic area by the water. He took a coffee cup full of beer and sat on a big flat rock and watched the stream swirl by. He and Beverly had had picnics here, just south of the zoo.

So Lee was a guy. Did Beverly ever say he wasn't? Probably not. Mail in Vietnam wasn't all that reliable; he probably missed a crucial letter or two where she explained about him. A hippy, though? A hippyqueer? Beverly was sonormal.

He tried to sort through his feelings honestly. By the third beer he had gone past forgiving her, to seeing that there was nothing to forgive. Life went on. She met a guy and fell for him. Now he had to meet a girl.

He took the rubber out of his pocket and felt it, slippery inside the foil. He had used one. He was sure of it. When Beverly got settled in California maybe he could call her. Hey, how's the weather out there, did we ever f.u.c.k?

Maybe it was that Chinese girl Li. No, he would remember something about her. He was sure he hadn't dated anyone but Beverly since twelfth grade. Maybe he'd had a cla.s.s with her and fantasized. He had a ghost of a memory of her in a position that you wouldn't see even inPlayboy, bending over naked and smiling at him from between her knees. It certainly was an effective fantasy, still. He had a sudden erection, painfully urgent.

He got back in the car and put on the rubber and beat off fast, before somebody could come by. Therubber did feel familiar, exciting. His body again remembering things that his brain didn't.

He wrapped the rubber up in a tissue and disposed of it in a trash barrel. With the fourth beer he didn't bother with the coffee cup. He sat on the rock and drank it from the can, warm like in Vietnam.

He felt sad and angry with himself. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be? Beer and beating off and bad dreams? He threw away half the can and drove carefully home. Tomorrow he'd go down to the Administration Building and talk to somebody about the GI Bill. Maybe he could start cla.s.ses in summer school. Take a couple of cla.s.ses and get a night job. Get his s.h.i.t together.

Let it all hang out The last thing Beverly wanted to do when they arrived in California was party. It had been a pretty rough four days' drive, two flat tires and a starter replacement, and what she really wanted to do was soak in a tub and then fall unconscious for a day or two. But Lee had some friends who were science fiction buff's as well as dopers, and they were all in Berkeley for a four-day convention weekend.

Beverly had read three science fiction books because Spider was so far into it, and she knew it was magical for some people, but it didn't do much for her. Spending a long weekend with people who were addicted to the stuff sounded like an extended exercise in diplomacy. She didn't feel diplomatic. She felt sh.e.l.l-shocked.

At least the hotel was pretty, a large white wooden mansion on a hill outside of town. And there was a tub in their room, an old-fashioned one with claw feet. She filled it with water as hot as she could stand while Lee went out to "make connections." He'd better make good ones. She read the rate sheet on the door; the room was costing almost forty dollars a night.

She made a mental note to buy some bubble bath, undressed, and slipped into the water up to her chin.

It was stupefyingly comfortable. She had brought a magazine into the bathroom but didn't have the energy to pick it up. She just gazed sleepily over the steaming water at the strange refracted image of her body, foreshortened like a funhouse mirror, stretched left and right. Wow, look at those t.i.ts. Not getting a belly yet.

And then a guy walked in. He was wearing funny pointed ears like Mr. Spock onStar Trek. He said "hi"

and Beverly returned the syllable. She started to cover herself with her hands but the guy was politely not looking at her. He urinated for an impossibly long time, which was probably normal for Vulcans, flushed the toilet, checked his ears in the mirror, and left. She could hear him and Lee talking in quiet urgent tones, and then there was the unmistakable rustle of money, and then the door to the hall opened and closed.

Lee came into the bathroom. "Jesus," he said. "Can you believe it? That dopecame from Berkeley, and I just sold him two hundred dollars' worth for four hundred bucks!"

"He came in here and took a pee," Beverly said.

"Yeah, sorry about that. What, I'm supposed to send him next door? He really had to go."

"He sure did. He must've been in here five minutes. Taking his time."

"Oh, come on. He's gay. He wasn't interested in you.""Thanks. Thanks a lot."

He leaned forward. "Look. "

Beverly took a wet hand and slapped him hard on the cheek.

He sat back. "What the f.u.c.k?"

"You. you. "

"It's your G.o.d-d.a.m.ned period."

"No, it's not!" She was finally able to cry. "Not for another eight months, you careless son of a b.i.t.c.h."

May Mayday John sat in the doughnut shop and went through the brochures and forms he'd picked up the VA office at the university. It looked like a pretty good deal. If he went to school full-time, they'd pay him a couple of hundred a month. He could easily live on that, his tuition deferred with a standard student loan.

Spider had only been in the army for a little less than eleven months, so a strict reading of the rules would give him only fifteen months of GI Bill. But the VA counselor was pretty sure the Purple Heart and service-connected disability would get him more; perhaps the full forty-five months. That would be plenty enough to finish his degree and get a start in graduate school, if he wanted.

He got another doughnut and a coffee refill. Tomorrow he'd talk to a freshman advisor, but he was pretty sure what he wanted to take. Two courses would qualify for full-time in the summer. He wanted to take Intro to Psychology and Observational Astronomy, the only astro course he could take without Math 11.

He'd gotten a B in Math 10, but didn't feel like tackling a math course in summer school. Not German, either; that was bad enough when you had plenty of time.

The fat gruff man who ran the shop came over, wiping his hands with a towel. "Just get out of the army?"

Spider ran his fingers through his military crewcut. "Yes, sir. I guess it's pretty obvious."

"Well, I saw the VA stuff, too. Look, you wouldn't be after a job, would you?"

"Uh, depends. I'm starting school next month, full-time."

"Guy who's got the job now's a full-time student, too. It's just three hours a day." He gestured at the display case. "Makin' doughnuts, three to six in the morning."

"Pretty early." Actually, Spider used to get up around four, anyhow, when he was in the dorm. "How much would it pay?"

"I'm givin' the guy nine dollars a day, six days a week. I got a Jew friend takes over the shop on Sundays."

Spider's brow furrowed as he tried to calculate nine times twenty-four. The man evidently took it ashesitation. "Since you're a vet, I'll make it ten. Plus all the doughnuts you can eat, though I can guarantee you won't eat many after the first week."

"Well. well, sure." An extra $240 a month would make him almost rich. If it didn't work out, he could quit and still have the GI Bill. "When you want me to start?"

"Guy wants to quit next Wednesday, finals, then he graduates. You come in and work with him Monday and Tuesday, learn the ropes." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two business cards. He turned one over. "Put your name and phone number on that. Give you a call if there's any change."

Spider had a doctor's appointment on Monday, but it wasn't until ten. He printed carefully. "You want my Social Security number or anything? I've got my DD 214 here."

"Nah." He struck out a palm as if to ward off monsters of paper and government. "The wife takes care of that stuff. She'll get the forms together by Monday."

They shook hands and Spider left, thoughtful. It would be an interesting schedule. To get here by 3:00 A.M., he'd have to leave home every morning a little after two. Make it two-fifteen, with no traffic. So he ought to be in bed by nine each night. But twice a week, the astronomy cla.s.s met at night, eight to eleven; have to catch a nap here and there.

He might be better off getting a room in College Park. He could easily find one in the summer for fifty or sixty bucks a month. Maybe he should rent Beverly's old room. Maybe not.

"Moveout?" His mother actually turned pale. "I promised Dr. Folsom I'd watch out for you."

"He's not a doctor," Spider said, "and you've done a real good job."

"You've only been home two weeks."