Michael Beeson's Research

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Jude splayed out his right hand over his chest. I thought that this was maybe the only time I’d seen the real man. “I have a message for you, Mademoiselle. A message from someone you know … This person is living in a place of happiness, in a world where nothing can trouble him any longer. Receive this message of which I am the bearer, and whose meaning you will certainly understand.” Take a break for water. Drink just a little from the pitcher; leave plenty for later. Sing a dumb song you’ve made up:Thirsty from the sun, and work’s just begun. Charitye took the phone. After a minute, she put her hand against the receiver so her dad couldn’t hear her. “Apparently, he’s coming to pick me up now,” she told Reggie. Rhonda levered the chair up from its reclining position and twirled me around until I was facing her. “Oh, good,” Jenna said. “So his article that’s supposed to be about you and the City of Oakland is actually going to be about him and Nazi Valley.” She looked at me. “You seem uncomfortable.” “Black-and-white is my signature,” I often said, “from me and my Caucasian husband to this small black dress and my white silk panties.” “She’s going to get me something.” Who can that be, so late? Maybe all young people in love think about their relationship in the future tense, but Karinger and Jackie Connollyvocalized their future. Earlier in the year, the launch of the new war in Iraq promised Karinger at least some action, and he and Jackie constantly hypothesized on their capacity to be a military couple, to have a military family. They even talked unabashedly about money. Getting married before shipping out meant higher pay for Karinger, and possible wedding arrangements were tossed around in the lighthearted, creepy tone of the clinically deranged. They were proud to kiss in public— never raunchily, mouths always closed — and held hands any time they were in reach of each other. Nobody but Kush seemed to mind. Were you on H?teigsvegur Street just before? he asked. “Not like that. Remember how he reacted to that fossil? It gave him great comfort. He said it was proof that ages rise and ages fall, but that always there will be a next age, and the new age owes its existence to the one before. He knew he had arrived at an ending of the age of the tribes and ofpeople who live close to nature, the age of the forest. But the wonderful thing about Jahoska was that he refused to mourn that age. Instead he rejoiced that he was present for the birthing of the new age. He saw something important in the Judas slaves. The freedom men, he called us. He had decidedwe had to survive, even at the cost of his life. He gave us hope. Today he gave us strength.” Engine rise, engine fall, rise, fall.‘Mad when you think that if they hadn’t built the pier, we’d of been in the sea right now. We’d of been sitting at the bottom a the ocean like a right pair a fucken eejits. Isn’t that mad, Castler?’ “Something’s happened,” he said, but received no answer. He grabbed the officer’s arm. “Inspector!” he said. The policeman turned towards him for a split second but was forced to turn round again because the drunk, having been briefly forced down onto the bench, had jumped up again and was about to break loose, whereupon all four officers hurled themselves at him. The drunk displayed extraordinary physical strength, as if the superior forces he was struggling against had driven him wild. In the end, however, the policemen overcame him by their sheer weight, and as he lay spluttering on the bench, they vented their anger in a torrent of abuse. Sponer stood in the middle of the room, and the events of the past minutes raced through his mind like short, randomly edited film clips: the dead man, the speeding cars, the news stand, the dead man, the carriageway, the blood, the dead man, the streets, the dead man. Caught a taxi at the station. “Hotel Bristol!” Ten minutes’ drive. “Old or New?” No reply. “There are two: the Old Bristol and the New.” No answer. Light on. The man sitting there, not moving. Leaves his seat, starts shaking him. He slumps forward, thehead lolls back. Blood from his mouth. He’s wedged between the suitcase and the seat. Someone’s shot him through the throat. Who? He was in the cab by himself! “Who?” asks the inspector. “The dead man!”—“And the other one?”—“What other one?”—“The one who shot him!”—“There wasn’t anyone else.”—“There must’ve been a second person who’d…”—“No, he was on his own.”—“Where was the person who shot him then?”—“I don’t know.”—“But when you heard the shots and turned around…”—“I didn’t hear any shots.”—“You didn’t hear any shots?”—“No. I mean, yes: it was probably some exhaust backfiring…”—“What type of backfiring?”—“A lorry I was overtaking.”—“And when you turned around?”—“I didn’t turn around.”—“You didn’t turn around?”—“No.”—“Dammit, man!” the inspector yells. “Someone gets shot in your car, and you don’t so much as turn around?”—“No, I thought…”—“A murder is committed in your car as you drive along, and you don’t notice a thing? A man is bumped off so close behind you that you could reach out with your hand and touch him, and yet you see nothing, absolutely nothing of the murderer? You continue driving with the dead man in your car and expect me to believe you had no idea he was dead, and it was only after you touched him that he slumped forward, and is now lying between the seat and the suitcase, and the car’s outside the door…” Where shall I flee when my blessed Andey has become a lair for a viper that I’ve suckled at my breast? For what shall I be homesick? “From Williamsburg. A plain text letter. From Mr. Patrick Henry.” We followed the path to the portico and Hickey tried a number of keys before hitting on the right one. The pair of us wandered in. Maple dance floor stippled by stilettos immemorial, balcony for the band, ornate plasterwork. I glanced at the ceiling. The Waterford Crystal chandelier was missing. I turned to Hickey. As I sat by J?i’s bedside, this young man wasting away from disease seemed almost relieved to listen to my troubles. I felt as if I were doing him a favor by describing my troubles to him. I never really understood how it helped him..