Dog Soldiers (22 page)

“
Marge is an idiot.
”

“
They sat in silence for a while. Converse stared at the
worn rug.

“
I ought to know what I do next,
”
he said.
“
But I don
’
t.
”

Elmer took his empty coffee
cup to the windowsill. His window commanded a view
of the fire doors in the adjoin
ing building.

“
Stay away from your house. Sleep in the office tonight. Whiteson gets back about three o
’
clock, go to him immedi
ately.
”
He looked at Converse for a moment and took out his checkbook.
“
You want your salary?
”

Converse nodded.

Elmer wrote him a check for two hundred dollars.

In the outer office Frances was reading Douglas Dalton
’
s latest
Nightbeat
story; the story was entitled
“
Mad Hermit Rapes Coed Campers.
”
As Frances read, her lips moved.

“
C
’
mon,
”
she said, thrusting the piece back at Dalton,
“
put some pizzazz in it.
”

Dalton returned to his typewriter; Elmer watched his slow steps with resignation.

“
He stinks,
”
Elmer whispered.
“
He can size pictures — that
’
s about it.
”

Frances was looking at the check which Converse still held in his hand.

“
Hey, I
’
ve got an idea,
”
she said pointedly.
“
How about Johnny-boy does some nice stories for us now he
’
s back? Some spicy specials.
”

“
He has too much on his mind,
”
Elmer said.

“
Does he? He couldn
’
t even do a few headlines?
”

Elmer smiled.

“
It
’
s a thought. Is it out of the question? In the worst of times we have to eat.
”

“
In the worst of times especially,
”
Frances said.

“
You
’
ve been missed,
”
Elmer told Converse.
“
We
’
ve lacked imagination since you left us for the active life. We rely on gross obscenity now. We
’
re so dirty we
’
ve been closed out in five states.
”

Converse put the check in his pocket.

“
C
’
mon, Johnny,
”
Frances said.
“
Gimme a headline.
”

Elmer clapped his hands softly.
“
A freak animal story — for five hundred words.
”

Converse shook his head.

“
For Christ
’
s sake!
”
He walked to the window and back.
“
Birds …
”

“
Watch this!
”
Elmer told Frances. He leaned a hand on Converse
’
s shoulder like a track coach.
“
Birds what?
”

Douglas Dalton came grim
ly forward with his revised ver
sion of
“
Mad Hermit Rapes Coed Campers.
”
Frances read it with impatience. Elmer kept his hand on Converse
’
s shoulder.

“
C
’
mon, Douglas,
”
Frances sighed.
“
Pizzazz.
”

“
Yes,
”
Douglas Dalton said. He took the story back to his typewriter.

“
Birds what?
”
Elmer asked softly.

“
Birds nothing!
”

Elmer removed his hand.
“
Birds Starve to Death!
”

Converse sat down on a desktop.

“
Starving birds,
”
he said.
“
All right!
”
He turned to Elmer in weary anger.
“
Skydiver Devoured By Starving Birds!
”

Frances stared at him in astonishment.

“
I
’
m going nuts,
”
Converse said.

Elmer was already sketching it on a layout sheet.

“
Excellent. I love it. Only you can write it. Now gimme another beauty. Gimme a rapist.
”

“
Let
’
s pack it in, Elmer.
”

“
A rapist,
”
Elmer said.
“
Please.
”

“
Rapist,
”
Converse said dully.
“
Rapist Starves to Death.
”

“
Pussy-Eating Rapist Starves To Death!
”
Frances frowned.
“
That
’
s not what
I
call pizzazz.
”

“
Scuba-Diving Rapist?
”
Elmer shook his head.
“
We already got a skydiver.
”
He paused thoughtfully.
“
Skydiving Rapist?
”

“
Housewife Impaled By Skydiving Rapist,
”
Converse said.

Frances shrugged.
“
Jesus! That almost makes it.
”

“
Enough,
”
Elmer declared.
“
He
’
s gone cold. He has too
much on his mind.
”

When Douglas Dalton came forward with the last rewrite of
“
Mad Hermit Rapes Coed Campers,
”
Frances hardly troubled to read it.

“
This is just filth,
”
she told him.

When Elmer and Frances went home to Atherton, Con verse and Douglas Dalton sat at Douglas
’
desk and drank bourbon from the bottle
Douglas kept in the bottom com
partment. It was his night to carry the completed layouts to the Greyhound Bus st
ation, whence they would be con
veyed to a non-union pr
inter in San Rafael. He had fin
ished with the mad hermit
’
s excesses and was bracing him
self for the walk along Mission and the longer one to his hotel on Sutter Street.

Douglas kept plastic cups to drink from. Converse had assembled a bunk from four chairs and across them had draped an ancient sleeping bag which Elmer Bender kept in a closet with his illegal telephone.

“
All I need to know,
”
Douglas kept telling Converse,
“
is that you
’
re in trouble. That
’
s enough for me.
”

Converse thanked him repeatedly.

“
It
’
s a long time since I
’
ve been able to help a pal. God
’
s Blood, you look out of it. Am I keeping you awake?
”

“
I
’
ll drink another one,
”
Converse said. Douglas nodded happily.
“
Helping a pal was always very important to us. When I say us, I mean my crowd. That old gang of mine.
”
He

poured and consumed his third full cup of bourbon.

Drinking seemed to make him grow paler.

“
Who are they?
”

“
They
’
re gone. Dead. Scattered. Reformed. All but yours truly — the last of a dirty old breed. I can
’
t count Elmer. Elmer
’
s a prince but he can
’
t drink.
”

Converse allowed Douglas to pour him a measure.

“
‘
When like her O Saki,
’”
Douglas said,
“
‘
you shall pass among the guests star-scattered on the grass, and in your joyous errand reach the spot where I made one — turn down an empty glass!
’
Do you know who wrote that?
”

“
Yes,
”
Converse said.

“
It wasn
’
t Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
”
He drained the cup and unsteadily poured another. Converse lay back on his row of chairs.

“
Tell me what it was like,
”
Douglas said suddenly.
“
What was it like?
”

“
Vietnam?
”

Douglas nodded solemnly.

Converse sat up.

“
You should really as
k a grunt. For me it was expedi
tions. A lot of time I was in hotels. Sometimes I went out to the line. Not a lot. I was too scared. Once I was so scared I cried.
”

“
Is that unusual?
”

“
I have the impression,
”
Converse said,
“
that it
’
s fairly unusual. I think it
’
s usual to cry when you
’
re hurt. But to cry before is uncool.
”

“
But you went,
”
Douglas said.
“
That
’
s the important thing.
”

Converse did not see how it was the important thing, but nodded anyway. Douglas poured himself another drink. It was not pleasant to watch him drink.

“
I too went,
”
Douglas declared.
“
I was like you. But I was younger — you
’
re twenty-five?
”

“
Thirty-five.
”

“
Yes,
”
Douglas said.
“
Well, I was twenty. My father tried to stop me, but I wouldn
’
t hear of it. Do you know the Biltmore Hotel in New York?
”

“
I think so.
”

“
You must know it. It
’
s a block from the Roosevelt. Didn
’
t you ever meet your d
ate under the clock at the Bilt
more?
”

“
No,
”
Converse said.

“
Well, my father met me in the Men
’
s Bar of the Bilt
more. It was the first time he and I drank together. As I recall, it was also the last time. He said to me — You
’
re going to die in a ditch for Communism, and it
’
ll serve you right. Do you know what I told him? I said — Father, if that should be my small place in the world
’
s history, I am the proudest man in this place.
”

Converse watched Douglas
’
features compose themselves into a dyspeptic expression which he deduced was silent laughter.