The goodby people, p.11
The Goodby People, page 11
When it was all over, I felt a mixture of relief and letdown. The violence of the ritual subsided to an aimless drifting away. On many faces seemed to be written the question, Where can we go now? Walking back toward the car, Gary and I noticed that an emergency hospital had been set up, with doctors and Red Cross nurses. A few patients were bruised and bleeding, but most of them looked as if they needed bringing down from drugs. Cops watched with a kind of self-satisfaction, and the fog thickened.
Gary slept during most of the drive home. When we got back to the house, he said he was too stoned to get out of the car. I started to help him, but he pushed me away. “No,” he said. So I put the car in the garage and left him there. I went to bed early. Sometime in the night I was shaken awake. Gary was laughing. It was dark, I couldn’t see his face, but I felt him trembling, almost convulsed, astonished by some secret bliss. Then he sprawled across me and grew gradually calmer. All he said was “I liked it, really.”
* * *
Next morning was rather like the very first morning, except that it was raining again. After breakfast, Gary said cheerfully, “I’m going out for a while, have a good day, see you later.” At the end of the afternoon it was still raining. I’d finished work and was reading and didn’t know he’d come back until I heard his voice immediately behind me, calling my name. He sounded different, and when I looked up I saw that he was soaking wet, hair matted, water running off his clothes, a blank, unfocused vagueness in his eyes. He said, “Please help me.” I asked what had happened, and he told me he’d taken LSD and was having a very bad trip. He kept on saying that everything felt down and very low, and he wanted out, but he seemed more confused and depressed than likely to do himself harm. I took him upstairs, removed his clothes, helped him into bed, reassured him as well as I could, and promised I’d be back in a couple of minutes. The first two pharmacists I asked for glucose gave me rather sly, unpleasant looks and said they didn’t stock it. The next offered to place an order, but warned it would take a week. At the health store they were sympathetic, but said there was no demand for it any more. (Did nobody ever want to come out of a trip?) I drove home in the fierce rain and dissolved a pack of granulated sugar in a saucepan of hot milk, then gave it to Gary to drink. He lay in bed, subdued and withdrawn, eyes completely dead. He complained that it tasted nauseating, but drank it all like an obedient child, anxious to please, and after a while began to feel sleepy. He closed his eyes and pulled the sheet over his head.
I stayed in that evening, reading, while he slept. The rain stopped, then a new storm arrived. I went upstairs to see if the thunder had wakened him, but he didn’t stir. About midnight, when I was deciding to go to bed, he came downstairs wearing my bathrobe. He looked totally recovered. He smiled, yawned, gave a leisurely stretch. “That was a pretty crazy thing to do, but I felt in a crazy mood. Okay if I put another log on the fire?”
He did so, then switched out my reading lamp. Only the garden lights burned now, putting a glitter on the rain, on weeping, drooping trees. He settled himself on the floor in front of the fire, propping up his head on cushions, and asked for a cigarette. I lit it for him. “When I was fifteen,” he said, “I tried all the hard stuff, I shot coke and speed but both of them brought me down. Really down. So I felt lucky to have gotten through all that pretty early, and until today I never used anything stronger than hash.”
I asked who gave him the LSD.
“Someone on the beach.”
“You went on the beach in the rain?”
“No, not today. Someone I met on the beach before. A couple of weeks ago. And I’d met her before that, too. A little hippie kid who had this baby by some guy and lived in that house in the hills I told you about. Now she’s living in an apartment in an old building near the pier. I dropped by this morning, and she said she had these capsules, why don’t we do it? It’s such a lousy day we both need something to make us feel good. I was still kind of high anyway from the concert, but she begged me to do it with her, and there was nothing else around, and when you looked out the window it was like the end of the world.” He half closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can describe what happened.”
“Can you try? I’d like to hear.”
“Well… D’you have another cigarette?” I gave him one and he said, “Don’t light it for me, I want to light it from the fire. I love this fire.” He rolled a piece of newspaper into a taper, crouched over the fire and lit the cigarette. I noticed that his hands shook slightly. He didn’t lie down again but stayed close to the fire, crouching, holding his unsteady hands toward it. “It was all to do with death. At first it was life, and okay, but then it was all death.” From the distance came a snarl of thunder. It startled me, but he seemed hardly to hear it. “She had this single rose in a cracked jar, and it was breathing. But then it died.”
When the rose died, so did everything else. The girl was dead, a skeleton on the bed, mouthing words he couldn’t hear. The baby in its hammock was quite dead. Gary’s blood went cold, his limbs froze and shriveled, and the bones came through. He saw that everything in the little apartment was cracked, beginning with the glass jar, then the walls and ceiling and windows. Gradually the floor split down the middle. He opened a window and leaned out; the sill cracked under his elbows and drowned people floated in the ocean. He himself was dying now, but not completely dead; there seemed a chance of surviving if he could escape. The way was difficult, all the corridors and stairs in the old building began to crumble and give off a sickly moldering smell, but somehow he reached the boardwalk outside and felt the rain. The rain at least was a sign of life, but it was still necessary to hide. It looked safe under the pilings of the pier; they were rotted and slanting but he had the impression they wouldn’t actually fall. After he’d taken shelter there for a long time, it seemed that things were mending, although the scars would never heal. He found his car. The blotches on the paintwork were all festering, like a leper’s skin, but the engine started. He drove home very slowly, skirting abysses in the road and other cars that hurtled by out of control, their drivers dead.
I asked Gary if I’d looked dead to him.
“No, that’s why I thought you could help me. Then I wasn’t sure, because after you put me to bed and said you were going out, I felt pretty scared. I knew they put people to bed when they’re going to die. But I was so relieved to have gotten back here, and so tired, I thought—well, I’ve done everything I can, if you don’t realize how near death I am, there’s nothing more I can do.”
“Have you thought a lot about death?”
He shook his head violently. “Not real death. Only the living kind. You know, the whole straight world. You must have thought about that, too.” Then he wanted me to lie on the floor beside him and look at the fire. He said that a fire at night with the rain outside was one of the most beautiful things in the world, and after what had gone before it seemed an oddly, flatly conventional thing, until he explained that the fire was alive and good to watch after a day of death. We lay side by side for a while, not speaking, and I could feel him subside into a kind of peace. A log broke and spurted flames. He said quietly, without the usual tease and challenge, “I really want to get to know you better. The best way is to read one of your books, and that’s what I’m going to do tomorrow. All day tomorrow I’m going to do that, and I hope it doesn’t stop raining. Then we’ll have dinner and I’ll tell you what I know.”
* * *
I woke late, to the return of sunlight. Outside, the air was so still that I could hear not only each wave as it broke half a mile away on the shore but also the tide sucking it out again. Gary was already up. I felt sure that with the weather clearing he’d happily forgotten his plan of last night and gone down to the beach. In a way, I was pleased. A few hours without him would be good, because we had reached a point at which I couldn’t go on letting things happen. A decision had to be made.
Then I noticed the drawers of a chest were open. Looking in the closet, I found his suitcase and clothes no longer there. A few of mine had vanished, too, a couple of shirts, a sweater, a sports jacket. My wallet lay on top of the chest. He hadn’t taken any money, which was somehow right. In Gary’s book that would be serious theft, while the clothes were just things that he liked and knew I could spare.
He’d left no message but had made coffee. The pot was still on the stove, half full, lukewarm. The front door stood open. You always had to close it with a slam, and obviously he hadn’t wanted to wake me. There were few other traces: unwashed coffee cup in the sink, some sugar spilled on the kitchen counter, a cigarette butt in an ashtray. I cleared them up automatically and was left more with a sense of mystery than of loss. In itself the surprise was so characteristic as to be no surprise at all, but I couldn’t understand why he left in secret, why he ran away from me. He’d told me he only did that to avoid a threat or a scene, and he couldn’t have expected either from me. I remembered something he’d said last night, just before falling asleep. He asked me why people can become more deeply intimate as the result of a casual attachment rather than a long love or close friendship. I didn’t know, but supposed that impermanence had something to do with it. “Right,” he said. “When time’s running out, you get a touch of fever.” Then he turned away from me and curled up in his usual position.
The phone rang. A girl’s voice, sounding rather faint and frightened, said: “Oh! Could I speak to Gary please?”
I told her that he wasn’t here, and she seemed put out, and asked when I expected him back. I said that I didn’t. There was another “Oh!” and then; “You mean he’s left? Gone away? For good?”
“It looks like it. He didn’t tell me he was leaving, but he’s gone.”
“I wonder where?”
“I’ve no idea at all.”
“If he’s left you, I’d have thought he’d be here.”
“Where is that?” I asked.
“Oh!… Excuse me, I’m a friend of Gary’s, my name is Sally.”
“Sally O.?” I said.
“That’s right. Did he tell you about me?”
“No, just that you’d placed a want ad for him in the Free Press.”
“He never answered it,” she said, sighing. “He never answers. I just happened to run into him again a few weeks ago. On the beach. I’m living near the pier right now.” A baby began howling. She excused herself, then came back on the line. “Was he all right after the trip?”
“Yes. It was bad, but he seemed to get over it.”
“Great. I knew it was bad, I could see, but so was mine. I couldn’t help. I was wiped out!” She laughed. “I didn’t kind of adjust to him not being here any more until this morning. Then I was kind of worried. Listen, I’ve no right to ask you this, but Gary told me so much about you and I would love to come and see you. Just for a few minutes? I really would appreciate it.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be right over!”
Sally O. arrived cradling the baby in her arms. I guessed it was about a year old. It looked very thin. “He’s sleeping now,” she said, “but I’m afraid he may be sick. He threw up earlier.” I asked if she planned to consult a doctor. “Oh!… Well, maybe I should if he doesn’t get better soon.”
Gary had described her as a little hippie kid, but she was in her early thirties. She wore a light, semi-transparent caftan, and her body looked lithe and young, very sexual. Yet, in spite of this, and the vague wistfulness, and the long hair trailing down her back, the face was that of an aging flower child. It was delicate but faded. She looked around the room, not seeing it. You felt a disconnection between herself and her surroundings; wherever she happened to be, she was really on her way to somewhere else. “I’m not exactly sure why I came,” she said. “D’you have a cigarette?” I gave her one. “All I want is to find Gary,” she said, “and you don’t know where he is.” She gave me a hopeful glance, as if I might possibly have changed my mind.
“No. I told you.”
“Why did he go away?”
“I don’t know. But he does that kind of thing, doesn’t he? He moves on.”
She nodded. “Yes, he moves on.” I hoped she wasn’t going to cry. “But I always told him, if anything went wrong, he should come to me.” Then, with a touch of defiance: “I love him a lot. I love him more than anybody. He knows that!” The defiance subsided; she became lost and childlike again. “I thought it was all going to work out yesterday. I mean, if he dropped acid, wouldn’t he really find me? It happens, you find what you truly want. My cigarette’s gone out.”
I relit it for her, and she said: “I want to look after him. What can I do?”
“I don’t know.” It was somehow the inevitable answer to all her questions. “Maybe he’ll call you.”
“Oh!…” For a moment she seemed reassured. “Maybe he will. Listen, I’ve no right to ask this, but you didn’t have a row or anything? You didn’t turn him out?”
I shook my head.
“Then…?” She looked bewildered. The baby woke up, blinked at her, gave a sudden enraged cry. “He really must be sick,” she said.
* * *
A few moments after she left, the phone rang again. “Hello!” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. Sally O. was just here.”
“That’s one reason I called. You didn’t tell her anything?”
“I didn’t know anything to tell her.”
“Right.” He laughed. “Anyway, if she tries again, don’t even tell her you’ve heard from me. She’s very sweet but I’ve really had that scene. I had it the first time, but she was so… Anyway, it’s not healthy.”
“I had a wild thought,” I said. “It’s not your baby?”
There was a long pause. “You must be out of your mind. I’d never do a thing like that. I mean, if it was my baby, I’d look after it. Somehow. I’m not irresponsible.”
“Of course.”
He laughed again. “I believe you’re putting me on. Are you very angry with me?”
“No, but I’m sorry you felt you had to clear out without a word.”
“You’re angry.”
“No. It’s just that if you wanted to leave, you only had to say. There’d have been no scene, nothing unpleasant.”
“I know. That wasn’t the reason.” He sounded hesitant. “I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t think of anything to say. Understand?”
“No.”
“Well. I woke up early and it was such a beautiful day. And I thought—it was so beautiful too last night, it got to a point where it was just perfect. I mean that! And then I thought, Isn’t that the point to move on? You can’t top it, you can only come down, like from a crazy trip.” He paused again, and I knew he was smiling. “I had a friend who used to say, ‘Gary, don’t fuck with perfection.’ ”
“In what sense?”
“Come on! You know what I mean.”
“I suppose so. Anyway, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. By the way, I took some of your clothes.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“You did tell me once I could have that sweater.”
“It’s all right.”
“You probably haven’t noticed yet I also took a bottle of Scotch and a bottle of brandy. But neither of them were full.”
“That’s all right, too. Am I not supposed to ask where you are?”
“I’m…” He broke off. “I could give you a phone number, except I won’t be here very long. But as soon as I’m settled—that sounds unlikely, doesn’t it, but you know what I mean?—I’ll give you a call. You understand my situation?”
“More or less.”
“Listen. If I give you a call, and suggest having dinner, what would you say?”
“Yes.”
There was another pause. “Good. That’s really…” He sounded awkward, at a loss, unsure how to bring it off. It was unlike him. “On the move,” he said out of nowhere. “Somewhere in the world.” Then the old manner returned. “I really am quite glad I met you, and I know you feel the same about me. I may not be the ideal guest, but the great thing about being a guest is, you’re bound to win one way or the other. Either they’re happy to see you arrive or happy to see you go. Right?”
* * *
During the next few weeks, when I met people who’d met Gary with me and they asked how he was and I told what had happened, there was no surprise. It seemed the most natural piece of news in the world. They said things like “Well, he was never quite here, was he?” or “Well, I’m sure he’ll be all right.” Only Sally O. remained puzzled and sad. She called again and asked if I’d heard anything from Gary yet. I told her no, and she gave a long sigh. “Why doesn’t he get in touch? Doesn’t he know?” I asked how the baby was, and she said it was still crying most of the time. She hadn’t taken it to a doctor because she’d been too busy.
“I’ve got to decide what to do. It’s time I found out what I’m really about. You know? Stop thinking about Gary, stop looking for him? And go and live up in the mountains?”
I asked how she could go and live in the mountains, and she said she’d met this very beautiful man who invited her up there. “They live like a family up there.” She sighed again. “He found this old ranch house that nobody wants. And it sounds so beautiful…” His name was Newt Godson and he wasn’t handsome or anything, rather small and too thin, but there was something about him. “You believe in him, that’s what he’s got. There are people like that. You know? Just the way they look, and the sound of their voices… He writes songs and he sings them. Beautiful songs…” Godson had told her it was no use living in the world any more, it only broke your heart. Up there, in the mountains, they kept to themselves and found each other. They sang and cooked and turned on and tamed wild animals and watched the sun rise and go down.
