sk.theplant-第9部分

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elebrities　Hecksler　was；　granted；　of　the　Hollywood　Squares　type　（if　you　see　what　I　mean）；　but　to　Porter　he　was　somebody。　So　he　asked　to　see　the　pleted　manuscript　of　Twenty　Psychic　Garden　Flowers　in　spite　of　the　abysmal　outline；　thereby　encouraging　a　man　who　was；　by　the　quality　and　content　of　his　own　written　words；　a　palpable　psychotic。　I　felt　that　the　result　and　his　present　terror；　although　unforeseen；　were　partly　his　own　fault。
　　I　allowed　as　how　it　was　true　that　he　could　be　number　one　on　the　General's　hit　list　（if　indeed　the　poor　madman　is　doing　anything　other　than　cowering　in　drainage　ditches　or　scouring　alley　garbage　cans　for　offal　at　this　point）；　but　reiterated　that　I　thought　it　unlikely。　I　added　that　he　might　well　be　caught　before　he　could　get　within　fifty　miles　of　New　York　City　even　if　he　had　decided　to　e　after　Porter；　and　finished　by　telling　him　that　many　psychotics　released　suddenly　into　an　uncontrolled　environment　took　their　own　lives。　。　。　although　I　did　not　say　so　in　exactly　those　words。
　　Porter　regarded　me　suspiciously　for　a　moment　and　then　said；　〃Riddley…don't　take　offense　at　this…〃
　　〃Nawsah！〃
　　〃Have　you　really　been　to　college？〃
　　〃Yassah！〃
　　〃And　you　took　psychology　courses？〃
　　〃Yassah；　I　sho　did。〃
　　〃Abnormal　psychology？〃
　　〃Yassah；　and　I'se　pow'ful　familier　wid　de　suicidial　syndrome　associated　wid　de　paranoid…psychotic　personality！　Why；　dat　Gen'l　Hecksler　could　be　slittin'　his　wrists　or　garglin'　wid　a　lightbulb　even　while　we's　heah　talkin；　Mist　Po'tuh！〃
　　He　looked　at　me　for　a　long　time　and　then　said；　〃If　you've　been　to　college；　Riddley；　why　do　you　talk　that　way？〃
　　〃What　way　is　dat；　Mist　Po…tuh？〃
　　He　regarded　me　for　a　moment　longer　and　then　said；　〃Never　mind。〃　He　leaned　close…close　enough　so　I　could　smell　cheap　cigars；　hair　tonic；　and　the　graywater　stench　of　fear。　〃Can　you　get　me　a　gun？〃
　　For　a　moment　I　was　literally　without　a　response…which　is　like　saying　（Floyd　would；　anyway）　that　China　was　for　a　moment　without　manpower。　I　had　an　idea　that　he　had　changed　the　subject　pletely；　and　that　what　I　had　heard　as　Can　you　get　me　a　gun？　had　actually　been　Can　you　get　me　some　fun；　as　in　ho。　Definition　of　a　ho：　dahk…skin　woman　who　do　it　fo　money　on　account　of　de　food…stamps　is　gone　and　de　las　fix　be　cookin　in　de　spoon。　My　response　was　to　either　fall　down；　shrieking　wildly　with　laughter；　or　to　throttle　him　until　his　face　was　as　purple　as　his　tie。　Then；　belatedly；　I　began　to　understand　he　really　had　said　gun。　。　。　but　in　the　meantime　he　had　taken　the　overload　in　my　mental　switchboard　for　refusal。　His　face　fell。
　　〃You're　sure？〃　he　asked。　〃I　thought　that　up　there　in　Harlem…〃
　　〃Ah　lives　in　Dobbs　Ferry；　Mist'　Po'tuh！〃
　　He　merely　waved　this　aside；　as　if　we　both　knew　my　Dobbs　Ferry　address　was　just　a　convenient　fiction　I　maintained…that　I　might　even　actually　go　there　after　work；　but　of　course　was　drawn　back　to　the　velvety　reaches　beyond　110th　as　soon　as　the　sun　went　down。
　　〃Ah　g'iss　I　could　git　you　a　gun；　Mist'　Po'tuh；　suh；〃　I　said；　〃but　it　wouldn't　be　no　better　or　wuss'n　one　you　could　git　yo'sef…a　。　32。　。　。　maybe　a　。　38。　。　。〃　I　winked　at　him。　〃And　a　gun　you　buy　under　de　countuh　in　a　bah；　cain't　never　tell　it　ain't　goan　blow　up　in　yo　face　fust　time　you　pulls　de　triggah！〃
　　〃I　don't　want　anything　like　that；　anyway；〃　Porter　said　morosely。　〃I　want　something　with　a　laser　sight。　And　exploding　bullets。　Did　you　ever　see　Day　of　the　Jackal；　Riddley？〃
　　〃Yassah；　and　it　sho　was　fine！〃
　　〃When　he　shot　the　watermelon。　。　。　plowch！〃　Porter　tossed　his　arms　wide　to　indicate　how　the　watermelon　had　exploded　when　the　assassin　tried　an　exploding　bullet　on　it　in　The　Day　of　the　Jackal；　and　one　of　his　hands　struck　the　ivy　sent　to　Kenton　by　the　mysterious　Roberta　Solrac。　I　had　all　but　forgotten　it；　although　it's　been　less　than　two　weeks　since　I　put　it　up　there。　I　tried　to　assure　Porter　again　that　he　was　probably　far　from　the　top　of　Hecksler's　perhaps　infinite　list　of　pet　paranoias；　and　that　the　man　was；　after　all；　seventy…two。
　　〃You　don't　know　some　of　the　stuff　he　did　in　Big　Two；〃　Porter　said；　his　eyes　beginning　to　move　hauntedly　from　side　to　side　again。　〃If　those　guys　who　hired　the　Jackal　had　hired　Hecksler　instead；　DeGaulle　never　would　have　died　in　the　rack。〃　He　wandered　off　then；　and　I　was　glad　to　see　him　go。　The　smell　of　cigars　was　beginning　to　make　me　feel　mildly　ill。　I　took　down　Zenith　the　mon　Ivy　and　looked　at　him　（it　is　ridiculous　to　assign　a　male　pronoun　to　an　ivy；　and　yet　I　did　it　automatically…I；　who　usually　write　with　the　shrewish　care　of　a　French　petit　bourgeoise　housewife　picking　over　fruit　in　the　marketplace）。　I　began　this　entry　by　saying　what　a　difference　a　day　makes。　In　the　case　of　Zenith　the　mon　Ivy；　what　a　difference　five　days　has　made。　The　sagging　stem　has　straightened　and　thickened；　the　four　yellowish　leaves　have　bee　almost　wholly　green；　and　two　new　ones　have　begun　to　unfurl。　All　of　this　with　absolutely　no　help　from　me　at　all。　I　watered　it　and　noticed　two　other　things　about　my　good　old　buddy　Zenith…first；　it's　even　put　out　its　first　tendril…it　barely　reaches　to　the　lip　of　the　cheap　plastic　pot；　but　it's　there…and　second；　that　swampy；　unpleasant　smell　seems　to　have　disappeared。　In　fact　both　the　plant　and　the　soil　in　which　he　is　potted　smell　quite　sweet。
　　Perhaps　it's　a　psychic　ivy。　If　General　Hecksler　shows　up　here　at　good　old　490　Park；　I　must　be　sure　to　ask　him；　hee…hee！　Got　twenty　pages　done　on　the　novel　this　week…not　much；　but　think　（hope！）　I　am　approaching　the　halfway　point。　Gelb；　who　had　a　modest　run　of　luck　yesterday；　tried　to　push　it　today…this　was　about　an　hour　before　Porter　hopped　in；　looking　for　armaments。　Gelb　now　owes　me　81。　50。
　　
　　March　8；　1981
　　Dear　Ruth；
　　Just　lately　you've　been　harder　to　reach　on　the　phone　than　the　President　of　the　United　States…I　swear　to　God　I'm　getting　to　hate　your　answering　machine！　I　must　confess　that　tonightthe　third　night　of　〃Hi；　this　is　Ruth　and　I　can't　e　to　the　phone　right　now；　but。　。　。〃…I　got　a　little　nervous　and　called　the　other　number　you　gave　me…the　super。　If　he　hadn't　told　me　he'd　seen　you　going　out　around　five　with　a　big　load　of　books　under　your　arm；　I　think　I　might　have　asked　him　to　check　and　make　sure　you　were　okay。　I　know；　I　know；　it's　just　the　time　difference；　but　things　have　gotten　so　paranoid　here　lately　that　you　wouldn't　believe　it。　Paranoid？　Weird　is　a　better　word；　maybe。　We'll　probably　talk　before　you　receive　this；　making　ninety　per　cent　of　this　letter　obsolete　（unless　I　send　it　Federal　Express；　which　makes　long　distance　look　like　an　austerity　measure）；　but　if　I　don't　narrate　it　by　some　means　or　other　I　think　I　may　explode。　I　understand　from　Herb　Porter；　who　is　nearly　apoplectic　（a　condition　I　sympathize　with　more　than　I　would　heretofore　have　believed；　following　l'affair　Detweiller）；　that　General　Hecksler's　escape　and　the　murders　which　attended　it　have　made　the　national　news　the　last　two　nights；　but　I　assume　you　haven't　seen　it…or　didn't　make　the　connection…or　I　would　have　heard　from　you　via　Ma　Tinkerbell　ere　now　（prolix　as　ever；　you　see…would　that　I　could　be　as　succinct　as　Zenith's　faithful　custodian　Riddley！）。　If　you　haven't　heard；　the　enclosed　Post　clipping　（I　didn't　bother　to　include　the　centerfold　photo　of　the　asylum　with　the　obligatory　dotted　line　marking　the　dotty　General's　likely　route　of　escape　and　the　obligatory　X's　marking　the　locations　of　his　victims）　will　bring　you　up　to　date　as　quickly　and　luridly　as　possible。
　　You　may　remember　that　I　mentioned　Hecksler　to　you　in　a　letter　only　six　weeks　ago…something　like　that；　anyway。　Herb　rejected　his　book；　Twenty　Psychic　Garden　Flowers；　and　provoked　a　barrage　of　paranoid　hate…mail。　Joking　aside；　his　bloody　escape　has　created　a　real　atmosphere　of　unease　here　at　Z。　H。　I　had　a　drink　with　Roger　Wade　after　work　tonight　in　Four　Fathers　（Roger　claims　that　the　owner；　a　genial　man　named　Ginelli　with　a　soft　voice　and　these　odd；　gleeful　eyes；　is　a　mafioso）　and　told　him　about　Herb's　visit　to　me　that　afternoon。　I　pointed　out　to　Herb　that　it　was　ridiculous　for　him　to　be　as　frightened　as　he　obviously　is　（it's　sort　of　funny…under　his　steely　Joe　Pyne　Exterior；　the　resident　Neanderthal　turns　out　to　be　Walter　Mitty　after　all）　and　Herb　agreed。　Then；　after　a　certain　amount　of　patently　artificial　small　talk；　he　asked　me　if　I　knew　where　he　could　get　a　gun。　Mystified…sometimes　your　ob'dt　correspondent　is　amazingly　slow　in　making　the　obvious　connections；　m'dear…I　mentioned　the　sporting　goods　store　five　blocks　from　here；　at　Park　and　32nd。
　　〃No；〃　he　said　impatiently。　〃I　don't　want　a　shotgun　or　anything　like　that。〃　Here　he　lowered　his　voice。　〃I　want　something　I　can　carry　around　with　me。〃
　　Roger　nodded　and　said　Herb　had　been　into　his　office　around　two；　feeling　him　out　on　the　same　subject。
　　〃What　did　you　say？〃　I　asked　him。
　　〃I　reminded　him　that　the　penalties　for　carrying　concealed　weapons　without　a　permit　in　this　state　are　damned　severe；〃　Roger　said。　〃At　which　point　Herb　drew　himself　up　to　his　full　height　＇which　is；　Ruth；　about　five…seven＇　and　said；　'A　man　doesn't　need　a　permit　to　protect　himself；　Roger。　'〃
　　〃And　then？〃
　　〃Then　he　walked　out。　And　tried　you。　Probably　tried　Bill　Gelb　as　well。〃
　　〃Don't　forget　Riddley；〃　I　said。
　　〃Ah；　yes…and　Riddley。〃
　　〃Who　might　just　be　able　to　help　him。〃
　　Roger　ordered　another　bourbon；　and　I　was　thinking　how　much　older　than　his　actual　forty…five　he　is　ing　to　look　when　he　suddenly　grinned　that　boyish；　winning　grin　that　so　charmed　you　when　you　first　met　him　at　that　cocktail　party　in　June　of　'80…the　one　at　Gahan　and　Nancy　Wilson's　place　in　Connecticut；　do　you　remember？　〃Have　you　seen　Sandra　Jackson's　new　toy？〃　he　asked。　〃She's　the　one　Herb　should　have　gone　to　for　black　market　munitions。〃　Roger　actually　laughed　out　loud；　a　sound　I　have　heard　from　him　very　seldom　in　the　last　eight　months　or　so。　Hearing　it　made　me　realize　again；　Ruth；　how　much　I　like　and　respect　him…he　could　have　been　a　really　great　editor　somewhere…perhaps　even　in　the　Maxwell　Perkins　league。　It　seems　a　shame　that　he's　ended　up　piloting　such　a　leaky　craft　as　Zenith　House。
　　〃She's　got　something　called　the　Rainy　Night　Friend；〃　he　said；　still　laughing。　〃It's　silver…plated；　and　almost　the　size　of　a　mortar　shell。　Fucking　thing　fills　her　whole　purse。