Oh Pure and Radiant Heart by Lydia Millet (shoe dog free ebook .txt) 📕

that she had never liked sauerkraut as much as she did now.

—What did Leo call it. That thing that debutantes have? Like a coming-out party?

—In the middle of nowhere? asked Ann with her mouth full of dog.

—See but Leo’s got all the local TV stations coming in!

Fermi hardly spoke as they drove and Ben could not bring himself to break the silence. Ahead there was Ann, who needed him to keep driving.

—How about we stop and get dinner, he said finally.

—That will be fine, said Fermi politely.

—You know, I would have let you stay back at the house if I could.

—Why couldn’t you?

—You’re not safe all alone, Enrico. You know that now. You could disappear overnight and we might never see you again.

—It would not be a tragedy, said Fermi quietly.

Ann followed Tamika out of the bus only because it was cloying. She had started to feel she was breathing her own recycled breath, sweating into her own skin. She did not want to be outside with the crowds, the off-road vehicle enthusiasts and Deadheads and bikers and spinners with their colored balls, but unless she decided to hitchhike she had no other choice. She would look for a beer of her own to drink, she decided, and maybe she would ask Oppenheimer for one of his cigarettes. Maybe she would come to understand why he liked them.

She felt a lift at the thought.

A big truck was pulled up beside the bus, open at the back, and stocky men were unloading beer kegs. In the distance, beyond a row of campfires, a firework burst in the air. White rockets showered down above a row of ATVs and Harleys. Someone was stringing Christmas lights across the food tent and Big Glen was standing in a guard stance outside the bus, his feet wide apart, hands on hips. Beside him sat Webster on a yoga mat, meditating beside a flickering votive candle, and a few feet from him she could make out David, squatting in the dirt in his usual stance, a scope lifted to his eyes.

—Can he see through that in the dark?

—It’s a night-vision scope. Infrared. He keeps it on Oppie even when there’s a tent in between them.

—Huh.

—Oh and hey, he called after her, —could you tell Szilard we got the sat phones in?

—Sat phones?

—Satellite phones.

By the time she made it past Big Glen and was heading up the steps men were howling and hooting around one of the pyres. She turned and saw them jumping and smashing something at their feet.

—They’re like baboons at the zoo, said Webster from his cross-legged stance, without opening his eyes.

—Yeah, said Big Glen. —Getting ready to hurl their own shit at tourists.

Inside Oppenheimer and Szilard were both typing on laptops, seated on folding camp chairs. Between them was Dory, sitting close to Oppenheimer on a stool and looking over his shoulder as she typed on her own laptop. Laptops were multiplying.

—So let me understand, said Ann, —you’re going to be giving a talk on world peace to these ORV guys?

—They’re just our studio audience, said Szilard. —Of course, the broadcast will reach a broader public. The primary purpose of this particular—

—So the answer is yes, she said impatiently, and then turned to Oppenheimer. —May I have one of your cigarettes, please?

—Certainly.

He moved the computer off his lap and stood up, his long legs awkward.

—You don’t smoke, Ann, said Szilard primly.

—Right now I do.

Outside the door there was a single floodlight hanging off a nearby tree. Webster’s candle had blown out in the breeze and Big Glen was holding the flashlight on the candle while he tried to relight it.

Oppenheimer extracted his cigarettes from a pocket as she poured them plastic cups of beer from a keg. Behind him she could see and hear too many people, speaking loudly, laughing with a grating raw edge and stamping their crushed cups into the ground. Leslie and Clint wandered over, grizzled heavyset men beside them.

—When’s the speeches starting? asked Clint with beer foam on his mustache.

—Ask Leo, said Oppenheimer. —He’s the master of ceremonies.

—Not till the TV cameras get here, said Ann. —You can bet on that.

—What we need is lighters, said Clint, nudging hard against Ann’s side as he leaned over her to talk to Oppenheimer. —For people to hold up, you know?

—Can I talk to you privately for a minute? Ann asked Oppenheimer, and pulled him away

—Thank you, said Oppenheimer, as they hunkered behind the food tent in darkness with Joshua trees framing them. —Wherever I go they’re all there.

—There isn’t room for us anymore, she said.

He lit her cigarette and then, as she inhaled, his own. She put it in her mouth, a cool and papery cylinder. She liked the feel of that, but when she breathed in it tasted bad.

—Have you considered, you know, asked Ann, exhaling through her nose. She remembered the plumes from high school, how they had made her feel like a dragon lady when she smoked to be cool. —Quitting?

—Never, said Oppenheimer.

—Not the cigarettes, the campaign.

—I promised Leo, said Oppenheimer.

—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, she said. —I mean should I help? Or am I—I mean do you even want me here?

—Of course we do, said Oppenheimer.

He took a deep drag and looked around, then leaned in.

—I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but many of our followers are mentally—

—Hey Oppie!

Someone was intruding rudely around the edge of the food tent, a head sticking out at them. It was Larry, three sheets to the wind, his face redder and puffier than usual. It shone like a beacon.

Behind him was Dory, with her microphone raised. Oppenheimer smiled at her and Ann noticed how quickly she smiled back.

—The TV people are here!

Szilard and Oppenheimer disappeared into the swallow of crowds and buses and lights, people and news vans. Suddenly she could see no one she knew.

She had the half-drunk cup of beer in her hand and the stale taste of the cigarette in her mouth, but around her