Outer Banks by Russell Banks Read Free Book Online Page B

another, jerked off on him while hewas waiting, naked, in the anteroom for the king. They hated him, and even if they didn’t know it, he did. It was their ignorance, more than the semen on his hairless chest, that had bothered him. The king, on the other hand, had always known he hated the Loon, and thus he never once had jerked off on him. He simply would come into the anteroom and go right to work, buggering the Loon once or twice, and then lie back and tell him his troubles all night long. You had to respect the king.
    6.
    Because of his sleeping habits, the Loon ate breakfast at night and dinner in the morning. He usually took a light lunch around midnight. Although, as mentioned, he lived in an excellent and completely outfitted tree house, designed by Michael Graves, he rarely ate at home. Rich and exciting people were always calling him up and inviting him over for breakfast or dinner. Eggs Benedict at nine in the evening with the Loon was regarded as a social event of no mean proportions. This was partially because of the Loon’s physical attractiveness (resembling, however, a young Marcel Marceau, he clearly was not “handsome”), partially because of his well-known proximity to power, and partially because of the brilliance of his conversation: He disagreed with everything everyone said, but only by pretending purposefully to misunderstand what was said. He was therefore regarded as an accomplished and dangerous wit.
    7.
    The king learned of Dread’s death at three in the morning, when a group of Abenakis, led by the one called Horse, came in with the body. At four-thirty, he called the Loon, who had just got home from work.—Oh, Loon! The queen is mad with grief! She blames me ! he cried.
    â€”Why not? the Loon asked.—You’re supposed to be in charge of everything, aren’t you?
    â€”This is no time to be funny, the king said sadly.—She’s blaming me because I’m the one who taught him to use a gun.
    â€”Oh, said the Loon.—I see. And you didn’t teach him very well.
    â€”Oh, I taught him well, all right, groaned the king.
    â€”No, you didn’t, the Loon said sympathetically.—You can’t take all the blame for this onto yourself, Egress. You taught the boy as badly as you could.
    â€”Oh, no, I didn’t.
    â€”Yes, you did.
    â€”No, Loon, I didn’t.
    â€”Sure you did.
    â€”I did?
    â€”Of course.
    â€”Thanks, Lone, you’ve been a sweetheart. I wish I could talk to my wife this way.
    8.
    Basically, the Loon was a gentle soul and tried always to hurt no one. But to avoid exploitation, to keep from becoming “passive,” as they say, he was forced to develop certain stratagems. He developed these early in childhood, and because they worked, kept them into adulthood. As can no doubt be observed, one thing he was very good at was “Changing the Subject.” He was also good at “Non Sequitur” and “Petitio Principii.” If none of these worked and it looked like he was going to be forced into a choice between hurting someone and being exploited by him, he still had two, somewhat extreme, stratagems left: “Fawning,” and, if that failed, “Total Surrender.” Social scientists have called this last stratagem “Self-objectification,” turning one’s self into something else, in Loon’s case, the exploiter’s self. This didn’t matter to the Loon, however, because, for him, it was a question of survival.
    9.
    That afternoon, the king learned of the barbarous death of Prince Egress. He first called the Loon at four, but wasn’t able to rouse him until six-fifteen, when the sun’s setting set off a gong inside the Loon’s head. Still drowsy, he answered the phone.—H’lo?
    â€”Oh, Lone, Lone! They’ve killed my baby! Egress, the wild and woolly one, gone, gone, gone! cried the king.
    â€”Who did it? the Loon asked.
    â€”I did it,