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

And then she heard a familiar voice ring out from the middle row of seats in front of them, and her found her eyes drawn to a cascade of green dreadlocks over a seatback.

—Tamika?

—Surprise! said Tamika, turning.

Other heads turned to her right and left and she realized they were surrounded by guests from the party: Ashlee the jewelry maker, Boogie the surfer, Leslie the cancer survivor, and Clint the heckler who’d worn camouflage but now seemed to be garbed in a suede cowboy jacket with a long, swinging fringe. There were other faces she recognized without knowing names.

—She’s all surprises, that girl, said Ben under his breath.

—We’re coming with! called Larry, smiling broadly as ever from his seat beside Tamika.

Ann took a breath and smiled back at him shakily, and as she sat down she turned to Oppenheimer, who was assigned to the seat behind them.

—I didn’t know, he said, and lifted two fingers to his brow. —Scout’s honor.

Leslie had a seat directly in front. She turned to prop herself up on the headrest.

—Larry paid for our tickets, she confessed in a hushed voice. —Fourteen of us! Besides them.

—I don’t understand, said Ann. —Are you just coming for—?

—Larry offered, and some of us believe in him, you know?

—You believe in Larry?

—Oppie!

—Believe in him? asked Ben.

—Like Clint for example. He saw Oppie’s head in a vision and it was surrounded by this halo of pink sparks but on Arnold Schwarzenegger’s body.

—That would have been the LSD, I’m thinking, said Ben.

—Don’t be so negative. Some of us choose to believe, you know? No offense, but try not to poison us with your cynical attitude, OK Ben?

—Please take your seats, said a flight attendant, pushing past. —We have passengers behind you here who need to get through. OK?

—Sorry, said Ben, and closed the overhead compartment.

—I don’t follow, said Oppenheimer. —He saw me with pink sparks coming out of my head? And now he’s coming with us to New Mexico?

—He had a vision, said Leslie. —Clint! Oppie wants to talk to you!

—Quite all right, said Oppenheimer, sinking down into his seat and stretching a long leg out into the aisle. —Maybe later.

It was too late: Clint the camo man, stringy-haired and leathery-faced with his drooping mustache and fringed cowboy jacket, bore down on them from his seat a few rows behind. He blocked the aisle to talk to them as the last stragglers onto the plane stowed their gear.

—Yeah, man, he said, —it was yesterday, the day after the party, you know? I was sober by then. Or at least I was hung over. I wasn’t tripping.

—Sir, I’m going to need you to sit down, said the flight attendant, passing again. —You can feel free to continue this conversation once we take off, OK?

Clint moved into an empty seat.

—I left Larry’s place and I got on the subway, right? I was looking at this ad, it was for some movie I think, and then where the guy’s head was—

—Didn’t you say it was Arnold Schwarzenegger? broke in Leslie. —That’s what you said.

—But I’m not so sure it was him anymore, OK? I don’t go to movies that much. It could have been some other buff guy with a bodybuilder thing going on. Like Stallone.

—But you said—

—Just shut up, would you Leslie? Anyway he had a big gun and so the train’s going along, right? I was standing up and it was one of those ads that hangs down right onto people’s heads, right? So I’m tired, I’m kind of falling asleep as I’m standing there, holding on, you know? And I look up and here’s Oppie on this movie poster instead of the other guy. Now he’s holding the gun. But his head is surrounded in this sort of—

—Pink light! said Leslie eagerly.

—Would you shut your piehole? It wasn’t a pink light, it was more of a—what do they call them, a scarf? No wait. Like the old Spanish ladies wear, you know, wrapped around their heads.

—A shawl? said Ann.

—A shawl? asked Oppenheimer. —I was wearing a shawl?

—I don’t think you were seeing Oppenheimer in the subway there, Clint, said Ben. —I think what you saw was a transvestite.

—Ha ha, man. It was Oppie. I’m telling you. This shawl, it wasn’t a normal shawl, OK? It was like a shawl of awareness.

—What? said Ben.

—Don’t knock it, OK? said Clint. —I’m just telling you what I saw. And his face—your face, sir—it like had this saintly look. Like it does. I mean look at him! This guy looks like a stained glass window!

Ann almost remembered something, but failed. She studied Oppenheimer: he was pale and his eyes stood out. It was true that he looked, as he had always looked, paper-thin and absorbed, hunger shining.

—But the deal is, like, the shawl made me understand, it was this like feeling coming off the shawl. The shawl was like, I don’t know. Holy.

—Congratulations, said Ben to Oppenheimer. —You can let the whole Robert Oppenheimer identity go, finally. Now you’re the Virgin Mary.

—I don’t want you to be disappointed, said Oppenheimer earnestly to Clint. —I mean this isn’t a circus. We’re not going to perform. What exactly do you plan to do in Santa Fe?

—Just go with the flow, said Clint. —Keep the eyes open, you know? Eyes of the world, man. Don’t sweat it.

—Santa Fe is a powerful healing place, said Leslie. —I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve never been to New Mexico.

—If you’re thinking of finding a vortex, said Ben, —I should warn you that’s Sedona.

—Sir, the seatbelt, please, said the flight attendant to Clint, making a sweep past Leslie before she turned. —Ma’am? Can you sit down for me please? You need to have your seatbelt on for us to pull away from the gate.

—We’ll need your help, said Szilard to Clint, leaning around from the row behind Clint as the plane began to pull back from the gate. —We need manpower. We’re launching a major PR