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

on the counter and lined them up carefully. There were strands of gray in her hair at the temples, and the fake-tortoiseshell arm of her glasses was deeply scratched.

—Lonely, she said softly. —He probably is.

She looked down at her hands, realized she had nothing in them to buy, and left Dory standing there.

Outside the bus Ben was standing talking to a biker chick, a woman in her fifties with a stumplike torso and flyaway dyed-black hair. As Ann approached them the woman handed him a cigarette.

—Do you think I could have one too? asked Ann, but the woman stared at her without blinking or smiling. —I’d be happy to pay for it.

—My wife Ann, said Ben. —You probably already met? She doesn’t smoke either.

—Why dontcha just buy a pack.

Back at the Luxor she left Ben in the shower and went down to the lobby with Larry and Szilard to put the ransom money in a hotel safe deposit box.

—We’re supposed to meet them in Pharaoh’s Pheast, said Larry.

—What’s that? asked Szilard.

—It’s a buffet, said Ann, and pointed. —Over there.

—Do you think the food there is actually Egyptian? asked Szilard eagerly.

—Sure, said Larry. —Egyptian hamburgers, Egyptian Coke.

They found the two felons lounging at a booth near the back. They wore baggy jeans and flimsy gray witch masks with long hooked noses. One of them was sipping soda through a straw inserted into his mouth hole. His T-shirt said in large block letters FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING FUCK.

—So you are kids. Just like we expected, said Szilard, as he and Larry slipped into the booth beside them. Ann stood at the end of the table with her arms folded on her chest, waiting.

—And you fat.

—Pardon me?

—Let’s skip the small talk, said Larry. —Where is he?

—First I gotta go get the money, said the first witch.

—I stay here with lardass, said witch number two, and then elbowed Larry. —Hey, hippie. Got the key for the box?

When the first witch had gone off in the direction of the safe deposit box, Ann swiveling to watch him as he wove across the floor between rows of slot machines, Szilard reached out and grabbed his untouched soda.

—I’ll have this, he said to witch two, and then sneezed on it.

—Gross, said the witch.

Fermi knocked on the door and when Ben let him in he was wearing a suit with loosened tie and carrying a bucket of ice.

—Where did you get that?

—Leo made me wear it. He says we have to do a press conference later.

—And you agreed to do that for him?

—I just move when somebody pushes me, said Fermi, and sat down heavily in a chair. —The tap water tastes dusty.

—You go get him, said Szilard. —It’s the women’s rest room. When she knocked on the first stall a woman shrilled Occupied! at the top of her lungs, as though facing an inquisition.

—Robert? Are you here?

The next stall was empty so she knocked on the handicapped stall at the end. A body bumped against the door. She shook the handle but the door was bolted so she got down on all fours. Luckily the tiles were clean, and she smelled only disinfectant when she wriggled underneath.

Anyone else would have looked like humiliation, but Oppenheimer leaned gracefully against the wall as though he had been daydreaming. Except for the gray duct tape across his mouth he was as usual.

—Don’t worry, she said, and scrambled upright to face the duct tape. —This may hurt a bit, though, and she began to peel it off.

—Quickly, not slowly, said Oppenheimer through stretched lips, when she was halfway through.

—Sorry, she said, and ripped off the rest. —You OK?

—I just need a cigarette. The hands, please, said Oppenheimer, and turned so she could unwrap him, his hands together at the small of his back, duct-taped lavishly.

—At least they left you in the handicapped, she said.

—Roomy.

She finished unwinding the tape from his hands and he touched his wrists gingerly. Then they exited the stall together, surprising only an over-tanned young woman in pumps and a white suit. When they walked up behind her she was leaning forward over the sinks to apply purple lipstick, pouting at the mirror.

—Oh! Is this unisex? she squeaked as they passed her, and Ann shook her head.

—They took my cigarettes away, said Oppenheimer. —Those pipsqueaks smoked joint after joint the whole afternoon and then had the temerity to lecture me on the evils of tobacco.

Ben and Fermi lay on the double beds in the hotel room, watching the news. Ben drank Japanese beer.

One of the local stations was running footage from the peace protest, and watching it he had to admit he almost wished he had been there. It seemed stupid and grandiose, a rock concert from a bygone era with its wild throng of hippies, bikers, longhairs, and disgruntled off-road vehicle guys. Occasionally a peace-loving priest or nun stumbled in front of the camera, apparently lost.

—Shouldn’t we tell them it’s on? asked Fermi.

Ben said nothing and both of them stayed where they were. Fermi had removed his shoes and set them neatly beside his bed; he had removed the bedspread and folded it neatly.

The camera panned across tacky posters of the three scientists, looking like the Three Tenors, and then a reporter stepped into frame beside a teenager wearing a T-shirt with a line drawing of Oppenheimer in his porkpie hat.

—This is Ron Stubac, a tenth-grader from Reno. So Ron. What brings you to this Peace Camp protest party?

—Oppie! My main man!

—Tell me, Ron. Do you believe the man calling himself Dr. Robert Oppenheimer is actually the famous scientist from World War Two?

—Totally! Time travel! I mean I read Stephen Hawking. Do you?

—Well thanks Ron, that’s quite a vote of confidence, said the reporter, and smiled terminally. He turned away from Ron and gave a different smile to the camera. —We certainly have some fans here!

—Apocalypse! yelled Ron Stubac, popping back into frame.

—Don’t you wish he was wearing a T-shirt with your face on it? Ben asked