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Authors: Marc Laidlaw

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BOOK: The Orchid Eater
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He met the
Cherokee in the Appalachians. The land was full of runaways. Together they
hitchhiked and camped for several nights in the national parks, until Lupe
convinced the other to take him to a sacred cave, a place of his ancestors, where
they planned to eat mescaline. Lupe always pretended to carry a rich supply of
psychedelics, a lure to most of his companions on the road.

Sometimes
sex was the bait. Certain fellow travelers warmed to Lupe’s hints of things
that could best be done in deep darkness. He would always remember how the
Virginian had grinned and said, “We could do those things in any old motel.”

Lupe said,
“Not
these
things.”

The
Virginian had picked him up in a battered truck, heading north through the Shenandoah Valley. Lupe steered the talk to caves, which was easy enough with signs
advertising them every few miles. “Forget about them ones on the map. I know a
better one. No ticket price, either.” As they turned onto a rough narrow road
among pines, Lupe glanced at the bed of the truck and saw Miguel, the Hopi and
the Cherokee crouched down in back.

That night,
when he retraced his route along the same road, four shadows rode in the bed.

Over a year
later, hitching south on the same stretch of highway, he accepted a ride from a
young Marine on his way home to Charlotte on leave. Lupe described the
Virginian’s cave as the hideout of old distillers, and said there was supposed
to be a cache still hidden there. It was late by the time they found the place.
The Marine was tall, strong, and recently trained in fighting; but all his
advantages went for nothing in the dark.

The cave
states were the most fruitful by far. Somehow he wasted more than a year in New York City, which he feared at times he would never escape. He’d thought that with its
subways and cavernous buildings he would make many friends; but he never found
comfort there. The city, which should have been a collector’s dream, made him
doubt himself; consequently, few trusted him. He sponged off older men who
held no attraction for him, since few had the sort of vitality he sought in his
initiates. They were only useful alive. He did learn things in this period,
however; he learned to read; he learned how to mold himself according to the
desires of others, how to talk like them and act like them, to blend into each
little world in which he found himself. He had started some of this with Dr.
Brownhouse, spending time in a place and among people so different from those
he’d always known. But New York allowed him to hone his skills, as he ranged
between ruined tenements and penthouse suites.

He added but
one boy to his gang in all that time, a wasted, scrawny addict whose initiation
was less an act of desire than of self-defense. It had been so long—he needed
someone.
Absorbing
his power, Lupe felt such a violent jolt of sickness that he instantly
regretted his decision; but it was too late. The Junkie was his forever,
polluting the purity of his collection.

Once back in
the country, he initiated the Marine almost immediately. Then came the young
black Musician, who never played a single note for Lupe either before or after
his initiation, though the long drawn-out wail of a freight train’s whistle was
music enough in the dark, onrushing boxcar where he met the other boys.

After that,
Lupe’s thoughts began to turn toward home.

Toward Sal.

It was
because of Sal he had ended up in the First Cave, powerless and vulnerable. Sal
had stunted him—shattered his life. So it was Sal he thought of, now that he
had made himself whole. Now that he had allies.

When he
returned to Los Angeles after years of wandering, after dozens of other lesser
caves, he felt ready at last to master the First Cave. It took him days to
gather the courage, and when he finally visited the place he found the hump-backed
hill covered with new buildings, the rock itself leveled or gouged away. The
cave was buried or destroyed—there was no way of telling which. He shrugged off
his disappointment that there would be no showdown, knowing it had been a
childish wish. The true First Cave was inside him now, where it would remain unchanging,
bottomless, a pit that could never be filled in or covered over. None of the
outer caves could have been any darker or deeper than the one within; and in
facing that one, he knew he had mastered them all. He was ready now. He was
whole.

It was time
to find his brother.

***

His boys
woke him, crawling in around him like baby rats nudging up against their mother
to nurse. He opened his eyes and saw the Pump Jockey, respect and remorse in his
expression, apologizing silently for every slur he’d shouted before his initiation.

Lupe
stirred, feeling claustrophobic. Golden light shone on the dirt wall next to
him. Twisting around in the nest, he saw the sun just touching the horizon, seeming
to melt on the water. With the sight came a pang of anticipation, again the
recurrent sense that tonight, finally, something crucial would happen, some
indescribable change would come over him and blow away everything that had
grown old and stale. With the Pump Jockey’s power still fresh inside him, he
felt a welcome renewal of hope. The feeling faded as night came on. Nothing
would ever change, he realized again. Not for him. His stomach felt bottomless.

He waited
until the sun had vanished, stirring violet into the orange clouds. The boys
had faded with the sun, though he had hoped they would stay and keep him
company.

He crawled
out alone, feeling exposed on the cliffside and on the stairs, but no one gave
him much notice. The beach was lightly populated, though it showed signs of
having been crowded. People were shaking out towels, folding huge umbrellas,
dragging coolers over the sand toward flights of stairs. Beer cans and broken
sand toys littered the beach. As Lupe walked, continuing south, his stomach
growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten much more than a handful of nuts
since yesterday. There was money in his pocket, including a few bucks he’d
taken from the Pump Jockey.

A glimmer of
neon atop the cliffs caught his eye.
food & spirits.
Broad windows overlooked the sea. The stairs that scaled the cliff
below the restaurant were lined with men, most of them sitting and staring down
at the waves, a few talking.

As soon as
he saw them, he knew what he was looking at. Their style of dress, the trimmed
mustaches and close-cut hair, the predominance of black leather, only confirmed
a more visceral knowledge, a tense anticipation.

Many eyes
played on Lupe as he walked toward the stairs. He pretended to ignore them, but
he felt his body vibrate like a drum skin with the attention. As he took the
first step, the young man sitting there gave him a slight nod and smile. Others
said hello as he climbed past. Lupe did not acknowledge their greetings. At
the top of the stairs, he found himself at the edge of the restaurant’s patio.
He spied a bar inside the place, and heard the sizzling of meat on a grill.
Repelled, he sought a table outside near the cliff's edge, where all he could
smell was the sea. A few of the men on the stairs had tracked his progress, and
now gazed up at him speculatively. He looked away as a waiter appeared and
dropped a menu on his table. It showed a pair of lobster claws waving out of a
dark hole—tiny beady eyes above a grin.

“Welcome to
the Rock Lobster. Can I get you a drink?” When Lupe looked up, the waiter’s
expression grew pinched and nervous.

“I’m sorry,”
he said in a soft, confidential voice, leaning nearer. “You’re going to have to
show me some I.D.”

“For a
garden salad?” Lupe asked, keeping his voice light, pleasant.

“Oh, well .
. . that’s no problem.” The waiter smiled and winked. “But I wouldn’t try the
bar, if I were you.”

“I’m old
enough if I wanted to.”

“Maybe you
are at that.”

The waiter
walked back inside. Lupe followed his progress through the crowd around the
dark interior bar. Heavy disco music pulsed out into the evening. Out here, it
was much calmer; couples sat talking quietly, sipping drinks. At the small
outdoor bar, separated by several stools, two men sat drinking alone. One was
young and trim; he kept glancing at his watch. Lupe studied the other. Late
forties, thinning colorless hair, paunchy, wearing thick plastic flesh-tone
glasses.

He thanked
the waiter for his salad in a loud, friendly voice and was gratified to see the
object of his study take a casual look in his direction. The look lengthened.
As Lupe lifted a fork to his mouth he pretended to notice the man at the bar
for the first time. The other glanced away quickly, then looked back more
slowly. Lupe returned the gaze steadily, holding eye contact for a meaningful
length of time. Then he turned slightly to gaze back down at the stairs.

As he was
eating, he heard another chair at his table scrape on the patio bricks. He
turned, smile at the ready.

“Hi.” It was
the man from the bar. “Mind if I join you?”

“Free
country,” Lupe said.

Doubt
crossed the man’s face. He started to run a hand through his hair. “Just
kidding,” Lupe said. “Have a seat.”

The man’s
look of gratitude was pathetic. He dropped down quickly. “Can—can I buy you a
drink?”

“No thanks. I’m
Rico, by the way.” Lupe put out his hand and the other shook it, his hand plump
and sweaty.

“Rico, hi.
Pleasure to meet you. My name’s Raymond.”

“Rico and
Raymond,” Lupe said musically, still grinning. Raymond blinked hugely behind
his thick lenses, confused by hope.

“You’re not
. . . from around here, are you, Rico?”

“No, I—”

“Excuse me.”
Raymond put up a finger, hesitant, as the waiter approached. “Could I have
another margarita please? Can I get you anything, Rico? Coke? Mineral water?”

“Sure, I’ll
take a Coke.”

The waiter
winked at Raymond. “Coming right up.”

“I’m sorry,
you were saying?”

“I’m just .
. . passing through.”

“Oh really?
Heading anywhere in particular? Or from anywhere?”

Lupe
shrugged. “Away.”

“So . . .
you’re not in town for long?”

“Maybe a
night or two. Depends.”

“On . . . ?”

“If I can
find a place to stay. You know.”

“You don’t
have any friends in town? You’re not visiting anyone here?”

Lupe looked
down at his nearly empty plate, sighed. Allowed himself to shake his head
minutely.

“I don’t
mean to press, Rico. I mean, we only just met and all,
but
. . . if it’s not too bold
of me, can I tell you what I think?”

Lupe
shrugged.

“You’re
running from something, aren’t you?”

Lupe looked
up sharply.

Raymond
smiled gently, with understanding. “Or
someone?
Parents?
People who don’t understand you? Won’t accept who you are?”

Lupe looked
away, clenching his jaws.

“It’s all
right, Rico. You’re safe here. You’re lucky you came. This is the right place
for you.”

“I’ve been
places like this before,” Lupe said.

“Well, of
course you have. You know who you are, even if other people don’t.”

“That’s
right,” Lupe said. “I have my pride.”

“Yes! Rico .
. . what you’ve done is very brave. I know that may not mean much coming from
me. We’re strangers, after all. But I feel as if I know you already; and I do—I
really do know your situation. If you knew me better, I hope what I’m saying
would give you confidence that you’re doing the right thing. A lot of boys like
you lack confidence. But I’m here to tell you that you’re right. You can trust
your impulses. Whatever you decide, that’s what’s best for you.”

Lupe said,
“I wish I did know you better.”

Raymond
reached out, put a hand lightly on his wrist, almost unable to hide his
eagerness, as if he were the only one doing the manipulating. “Can I offer you
a place to stay?”

Lupe let
himself smile. “Really?”

BOOK: The Orchid Eater
4.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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