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

—No thank you. Alcohol is a carcinogen.

—Oh, I didn’t know that.

It was already up to his lips so he took a quick swallow.

—I just wanted to say, because I believe in being honest and getting it out in the open will help me conquer it I think?—it’s just, I have feelings.

—Feelings?

—For you.

He held the beer in a long gulp.

—Sorry. Are you pulling my leg?

Her lips pursed.

—It’s just, he said quickly, —I didn’t think you even liked me. When we were on the airplane coming back from Tokyo you called me a cynic with a bad attitude. You said I didn’t have respect for the, uh, healing process.

—I think I felt your attraction to me and I was trying to repel you.

—My attraction?

—Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything.

—Uh, OK then.

—I know how you feel. You don’t want to be attracted to me but you are.

—Huh.

—I wanted us to clear the air. I figure once we admit it we can move forward, you know? I realize you’re married.

He almost still thought she was joking. Maybe she was wearing a wire, taping his responses to play back to a mocking crowd. He realized he was sitting in shadow and was glad it was her face, not his, that was illuminated.

—Yes I am.

—And I have a lot of respect for the institution of marriage even if it has completely exploited women.

He wondered if it would be insensitive for him to take another swig from his bottle.

—Well. Thanks for your, uh …

—Marriage actually shortens women’s lives, did you know that? But guess what, it makes men’s lives longer. Surprise surprise, right?

—Figures.

—Anyway. I just, I think you have this incredible sex appeal.

He drank and waited, afraid that anything he said could make her come nearer.

—Well. Thank you.

—OK. I guess I should be going.

She got up slowly and then swooped scarily close. He almost jerked back in his chair, but stopped himself.

—So goodnight, Ben.

She said his name with a sensuous slowness. It was not good. He thought of an aunt he barely remembered, who knitted and wore green pantsuits.

—See you, Leslie.

When she stood back up and moved away he exhaled at length.

Outside a huge weapons-building complex called Pantex in Amarillo, Texas, the scientists held another press conference. Ann was shocked at how many reporters attended, the black forest of cameras and microphones. Ben shook his head along with her, staring.

—It must be a slow news week.

Newspapers and magazines began to use the term A-bomb pretenders, but not without fondness. Oppenheimer had been featured in an apocalyptic Christian newsletter, which called him “a soldier for the Rapture”; Szilard was spurned by Christian publications because of his insistence on political screeds and his relentless promotion of the United Nations. The mainstream media used terms like mad scientists. When that quotation was read aloud to him Szilard shrugged and said that all publicity was good publicity.

But the Amarillo police were not happy to have the circus in town. They did not like protesters. Protesters represented the rabble, the underclass, while the police were advocates for Pantex. In their view citizens like Pantex were the kind they wanted more of in Texas.

So when the cavalcade rolled out the next morning it had a police escort. Many of the followers waved their flags as the motorcycle cops rode beside them and some had spray-painted their car windows with slogans. Oppenheimer spotted one that read FUCK THE POLICE and became distressed.

—Leo, he said gravely, —can’t you control them? The obscenities!

Fermi, still miserable from his encounter with the buxom girl in the wet T-shirt, informed Larry and Szilard with quiet resolve that he was leaving right away unless they instituted a crowd control policy.

—I’m sorry, he said, —but I can’t stand it.

—I’ll take care of it, man, said Larry. —No problem. Scout’s honor.

The next day Big Glen established a strict hierarchy of access. Ann and Ben, Larry and Tamika, Dory and Big Glen traveled with the scientists in the first bus, guarded by a surly Wackenhut named Kurt. Kurt communicated by cell phone with the other Huts in their vans. He used codes and jargon and was always gruff and businesslike, which Ann liked to ridicule silently. Kurt felt that he was authorized to take charge; Kurt felt it was only right and fitting that authority had been conferred upon him.

The groups from Tokyo and Peace Camp traveled in the second bus and pitched tents outside at night. They had to make appointments if they wanted to see the scientists privately.

—I mean what makes Glen so special that he gets to be a right-hand guy? asked Clint bitterly. —I been around longer than he has. I mean Vegas? Hell, I been with you since Tokyo!

—It’s not like that, OK? said Larry. —The scientists just need some time for themselves. The cutoff is arbitrary, man. It’s just the way it has to be. It’s a numbers game. Leo’s call.

The followers traveled in the chartered buses and trailers and their own cars and trucks, and between the buses and their vehicles was the contingent of Huts in their vans. When Big Glen was put in charge of conducting a census of the convoy he came back with a figure around two thousand.

After eleven at night there was a noise rule. This is not a party, read Szilard’s first edict, which was handed down in on pieces of green paper passed out by volunteers, one to each vehicle, outside a McDonald’s west of Oklahoma City. This is a mission. Those unwilling to submit to the discipline of a curfew and other limitations (see below) are encouraged to work for peace and nuclear nonproliferation on a separate and wholly independent basis.

Pantex was once the end point for assembly of most of the nuclear weapons manufactured in the U.S. It was later largely stripped of this function and became a weapons repository.

During the heyday of Pantex the majority of the workers who staffed the plant were Born Again Christians. For