Children of Light by Robert Stone Read Free Book Online Page A

it.
    “So few,” the man enunciated, “truly see the wonders nature arrays before them.”
    How true, thought Walker.
    The man eased himself between Walker’s stool and the lady’s, taking possession of her company and presenting a massive shoulder to Walker, his defeated rival. Walker moved his stool slightly so that he would still be able to see her.
    “I know,” the woman said, with an uneasy laugh. “The average person can be blind to beauty. Even when it’s right in front of them.”
    Walker sipped his drink. The neighboring dialogue was beginning to make him unhappy. Abandoning his observation of the two newly friends, he turned to see that Shelley had come in. She was standing in a doorway that opened to the windswept terrace; she was smiling, she had seen him. A tan polo coat was thrown over her shoulders, she was wearing pants to match it and tall boots. Under the coat she wore a navy work shirt and a white turtleneck jersey. Her dark hair was close-cropped.
    She waved to him and he watched her make her way through the bar crowd. When she was by his side he stood up and kissed her.
    “You look pretty tonight, Shell,” he said into her ear.
    “You look pretty too, Gordo.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and croaked at him. “Why are we whispering?”
    Walker put a finger across his lips and moved his eyes toward the couple on his right. Shelley peered at them, then looked at Walker with an expression of anticipatory glee. Her black eyes were so bright he wondered if she had been doing drugs.
    “Do I discern a visitor to our shores?” the big man inquired in his awful voice. “Great Britain, perhaps?”
    The young woman, who spoke with the accent of southern Indiana or Illinois, hesitantly explained that she was not a visitor from abroad.
    “What a surprise,” the man had his voice declare, while his heavy face did surprise. “Your impeccable pronunciation convinced me you must be from across the water.”
    Walker looked away. Shelley was hiding behind him on the stool, resting her chin on her hands, grinning madly at the bottles behind the bar.
    “Let me see,” sounded the man through his morbid grin. “The eastern states, perhaps. I have it. I suspect Boston is the key to your refinement.”
    “No,” said the woman. “Illinois is my native state.” She giggled. “I hail from the central region.”
    Walker glanced at Shelley. She was batting her eyes, doing an impression of goofy cordiality.
    “Ah,” honked the big man. “How charming. The land of Lincoln.”
    They listened as he introduced himself as Ulrich or Dulwich or something close. “May I offer you a cocktail?” Ulrich or Dulwich asked gaily. “The night is young and we seem kindred spirits.”
    Shelley put a hand on Walker’s arm. She had seen a free table. They got up and went over to it.
    “How come you never say anything like that to me, Gordon? How about offering me a cocktail?”
    He called a waitress and ordered Shelley a White Russian, which was what she claimed she wanted. Before the waitress could leave with the drink order Shelley called her back.
    “Do you see that man at the bar,” she asked the girl, “the big one with the blond lady?” The waitress followed Shelley’s nod. “We’d like to buy him a drink.”
    “Cut it out, Shelley,” Walker said.
    “When you give him the drink,” Shelley said, “tell him we’re putting assholes to sleep tonight. And we got his number.”
    “Shut up,” Walker said. “Forget it,” he told the waitress. The waitress was tall and dark, with a long melancholy face. One side of her mouth twitched in a weird affectless smile.
    “You,” she said to Shelley, “you used to work here, right?”
    Shelley wiggled her eyebrows, Groucho Marx-like.
    “That’s right,” Walker said.
    “So,” the girl asked, “you don’t want me to …?”
    “Of course not,” Walker said.
    “I myself hail from Tougaloo,” Shelley said to Walker. “May one inquire where you