Coven (5 page)

“
I’ll have a beer,” he
eventually said.

“
You’ll have coffee, you
dumb schmuck,” Wade corrected.

“
And food,” Tom
said.

Jervis groaned.

Wade ordered from a
waitress whose frilled
bräuhaus
dress exposed enough cleavage to dry dock a
runabout. Tom and Wade glanced warily at each other, contemplating
a strategy to open Jervis up. Tom recognized the fragility of the
situation. Wade, however, preferred a slightly more direct
approach.

“
So she dumped you,
huh?”

Jervis wailed. Tom shook his head.

“
Look, Jerv,” Wade said,
“you can’t hide from this thing forever. You’re gonna have to face
it, grab it by the balls.”

“
Life’s got its ups and
downs,” Tom said. “This is one of the downs.”

Jerv’s forehead was on the table. “But I
still love her!”

Some can of worms,
Wade thought. “Take my word for it, buddy. You’ll
get over it. You got your whole life to look forward
to.”

“
Not without her,” Jervis
told the top of the table. “We were gonna get married. I even
bought a ring. It was going to be perfect.”

“
Jervis, no girl is worth
getting this bent out of shape over,” Tom offered. “When things
don’t work out, you find someone else.”

“
But I don’t want someone
else. I want
Sarah.
I
want my Sarah back!”

Wade tried to reason. “She’s not your Sarah
anymore. That may sound cold but it’s the truth. Women can be
treacherous, cunning monsters. One minute they’re telling you they
love you forever; the next minute they’re in the sack with someone
else, balling like there’s no tomorrow.”

Jervis jerked upright, pop eyed. He
began to make croaking noises. Then he jumped up from the table and
staggered away.

“
Good going, Wade,” Tom
smirked. “You really have a way with words. Why not just buy him a
bus ticket to Lover’s Leap?”

Perhaps the direct approach had been a bit
harsh in this instance. Wade had blown it.

The waitress with the St. Pauli Girl
cleavage brought their orders, a Spaten Oktoberfest for Tom, a
Samuel Adams for Wade, and coffee and gumbo for Jervis. “I knew he
was serious about her,” Wade said. “But I had no idea it was this
bad.”

“
Bad isn’t the word. Jerv’s
a sensitive guy. He keeps a lot of things to himself.”

“
Too many things,” Wade
concluded. “I warned him not to go falling silly in love with that
girl. I never liked her anyway.”

“
You just never liked her
’cause she’s the only girl on campus who never made a play for
you.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Just because I’m the
sharpest looking dude in the state doesn’t mean I’m
conceited.”

Tom laughed out loud.

After some time, Jervis returned, holding
two bottles of Kirin Dry, one of which was already close to
empty.

“
Jervis, I didn’t mean to
shake you up,” Wade apologized.

“
Don’t worry about it.”
Jervis sat down. “You guys are right. I’ve got to put this whole
thing behind me.”

“
Now you’re talking,” Tom
said.

Wade pointed to the bowl. “Eat your gumbo.
It’s good for you.”

Jervis dumped the gumbo into a potted plant.
Then he began: “She dumped me by letter, during the break. She told
me about the German guy, about how they’d been friends for a while,
about how caring and ‘sweet’ he was, and all of a sudden she didn’t
love me anymore. She’d stopped loving me months ago, she said, but
hadn’t realized it till then. That was it, that simple. She said
she didn’t want to see me anymore. And the last line”—Jervis
gulped—“the last line of the letter was ‘Have a nice life.’”

“
Serious bummer,” Tom
commented.

“
Oh, man,” Wade said. “That
really sucks.”

Jervis continued, as if
speaking from the grave. “I made mistakes, sure. I’m not perfect.
But true love is supposed to make up for man’s imperfections.
Love,
real
love,
is supposed to be enough.”

Ordinarily Wade wouldn’t have been too
concerned; this was just more of Jervis’ rhetoric. But although the
words were the same, the spirit in which they’d been spoken was
entirely different. The spirit was finality—total loss. This was
not just another girl dumps boy story. This was
dissolution of self.

But Jervis slapped his hands down as if to
prove he’d roused himself. “Anyway, enough of my moaning and
groaning,” he asserted. “There’s nothing worse than a sad sack
feeling sorry for himself. Things just got out of hand for a few
weeks. But I’m okay now, really.”

“
You sure about that?” Wade
questioned.

“
Positive. Time to get back
to my life.”

“
That’s the spirit!” Tom
said.

But Wade felt sad; he could see through
this. Jervis’ smile was as false as one carved in clay. Despite the
smile, there was nothing left for him but his loss. Wade could see
it in an instant: Jervis was never going to get over this, no
matter how happy he tried to act.

««—»»

•
A student named Nina
McCulloch lay awake. Above the bed hung a crucifix. Nina believed
fervently in God, and she believed that Jesus had died for her
sins. In the next room, through the wall, she could hear her
roommate, Elizabeth, who clearly
didn’t
believe in God. Elizabeth had
invited friends over to do drugs. They did drugs most every night,
and this bothered Nina. Drugs were a manifestation of Satan, and
people who did them became incarnates of the devil. Nina found that
she could not easily sleep when all that separated her from the
Lord of Darkness was one mere dorm wall. All night long Elizabeth
and her friends inhaled the satanic white powder while Nina tossed
and turned and prayed in snatches for God to protect her from
evil.

•
A man named Czanek waited
in the vacant parking lot. Eventually his client pulled up in a
silver Rolls Royce. The headlights flashed.
Hokey,
Czanek thought. He
got into the Rolls. “Good evening,” the client said. “Has the
matter returned to normal?” “No,” Czanek said. “Same guy, same
moves, and I keep picking up weird stuff on the bugs. They keep
mentioning
trances.”
“Trances?” “Trances. I can’t figure it.” “Keep on it,” the
client said. Czanek handed him the manila folder, which contained
pictures. The client thumbed through them and remarked: “Amusing.”
Why would a guy
want
to keep seeing pictures of his wife fucking another man? But,
hey, it was his money. The client passed him an envelope full of
ten hundred dollar bills. “Next week,” the client said. “Yes, sir,”
Czanek replied, “and don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. If
they try to make a move on you, I’ll know. I’ll protect you.” “Do
you really think that’s what’s happening? The insurance, the
inheritance?” “Could be,” Czanek said. Suddenly the client was
hugging him, sobbing. “Protect me! I’m afraid!” This was
embarrassing. Czanek tried to console the old man: “Don’t worry, if
that fat scumbag tries to move on you, I’ll blow his shit away from
a thousand yards.” “Would you really do that? For me?” Of course he
would. What, kiss all this money goodbye? “I’ll protect you,”
Czanek repeated, and patted the client’s shoulder. He went back to
his own car. The Rolls drove off. The client’s name was
Saltenstall.

•
A cop named Porker sat at
the booking desk, eating a box of cream filled doughnuts.
Another cop named Peerce sat at the super’s desk, flipping the
cylinder of his Ruger Blackhawk and musing over a glossy mag
called
Cum Shot Revue.
Another cop named White sat in the back office. The door was
locked. He was counting this month’s grease. Still another cop
named Lydia Prentiss sat alone in her bed, wondering where her life
had gone.

•
A student named Lois
Hartley sat on her boyfriend’s couch. The boy was named Zyro, and
he was typing his latest manuscript, “Billy Bud 1991,” which he
claimed was
about
“man’s inhumanity to man, a psychical allegory depicting the
suppression of spiritual freedom through capitalistic coercion.” It
was also
about
“the resulting self parasitism of corporate tyranny.” To
the publishers, though, it was
about
bullshit. Lois watched
Night of the Living Dead
on cable. “It’s about zombies,” she said. “It’s
not
about zombies!” Zyro
yelled back. “It’s about the hunted within the sanctuary of the
hunter! It’s about the cyclic futility of the black race trapped in
a white supremist world! It’s
not
about zombies!” Lois Hartley sighed.
It’s about zombies, you asshole.

•
Two more students named
Stella and Liddy were playing Strip Twister with a third student
named David Willet. They played lots of games together. Others were
Grease the Cucumber, Eat it Off, and Human Sandwich. David Willet’s
nickname was “Do Horse,” which he’d earned the first time he
took his clothes off in the locker room.

•
A handsome young man
named Wilhelm exclaimed,
“Gott! Was ist
dies scheiss?”
The TV picture had winked
out. “Willy, what’s wrong?” his new American girlfriend, Sarah,
asked. “Your Americana television ist piece of scheiss.”
“It’s
Japanese,”
Sarah
scolded. “Das right, you
Americana do not even support your own economy.” Sarah’s cat, Frid,
purred from atop the refrigerator. “Forget about the TV,” Sarah
cooed. She dropped her robe and was nude beneath.

•
A man named Sladder drove
hurriedly toward the campus power station. “Dag power failures,” he
muttered. “Blam it!” But suddenly a headache developed. It was so
intense he had to pull over and stop.

•
Nina McCulloch’s roommate
and friends were still in the next room doing drugs and ministering
to Satan, the Great Deceiver.
Please
forgive them, God,
Nina prayed. “They’re
coming to get you, Barbara,” she heard from the TV.
They’re coming to get you Nina,
she thought sleepily. She dreamed of something
huge falling—Satan. But the closer it got, the smaller it
became.

•
A sleek shadow moved
quietly down the main hall of the admin building. A flashlight
played over muskets and powder horns, an exhibit of colonial
relics. Keys jingled; the shadow unlocked the last display case. A
large object was removed. The shadow moved away as the object cast
its own shadow in the moonlight—that of an impossibly large
ax.

««—»»

Penelope dried off and
examined herself nude in the full length. She combed her hair
out to dark red lines. Light freckles covered her like fine mist.
Her breasts were large, pale nippled. Last Christmas her
grandmother had called her a “breeder,” eyeing her breasts and wide
hips. “You have a breeder bosom, dear. You’re going to make some
wonderful babies someday.”
Make.
Babies.
What a thing to say at Christmas!
The image caused her to clench.

Her pubis was a slant of shiny russet fur;
pink peeked out from its cleft. She bared the tender opening with
her fingers and shivered. How could babies come from something so
small?

There was nothing to do in the dorm, and no
one around to talk to. Sarah and the Erbling sisters were the only
other girls on the floor for the summer sessions, but they were all
too busy with boys to bother with Penelope. Her horse posters
stared at her. The lights reflected too brightly off the walls; she
felt trapped by its blaze, spied on by imaginary peepholes. She
dressed quickly, got into her ZX, and left.

She felt lonely even in crowds. Most of her
friends were only cursory; they were friendly but they really
didn’t consider her a friend. They kept their distance because they
thought she was weird. Her only real friend, she guessed, was Mr.
Sladder, and he was an old man. At least he was nice to her. At
least he cared.

She drove off the campus
proper, opened up the ZX. The engine purred softly, her red hair
danced in the breeze.
The horses!
she decided. That’s what she’d do, she’d go see
the horses.

The agriculture/agronomy department had six
cows, some pigs, sheep, and chickens. They also had four horses—two
jet black hackneys and two palominos, one brown, one white.
They were special to her. Daddy had arranged with the dean for her
to be the stable groom again. It was a good way to keep her from
“moping another summer away,” she’d overheard him telling her
mother. But that was fine with her; she wouldn’t have to see the
psychiatrists, and she loved to care for the horses. She loved
brushing them and riding them. They were beautiful, and her only
peace.

The campus had the agro site because many of
Exham’s students came from rich farm families. The site occupied
several dozen acres along the stretches of farmland on Route 13.
Thoughts of the horses made her smile. She couldn’t wait to see
them. Mr. Sladder, the night watchman, always let her in, even this
late. The other security guards were young and leering, but Mr.
Sladder was always very nice to her, and never crude. He was skinny
and old, and tended to ramble about his past, but Penelope didn’t
mind. He was just a nice, friendly old man, and one of the few
people who didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. Her psychiatrists,
of course, told her it was all subconscious “phallic
fear removal reinforcement” precipitated by her
“pseudo mandala”: she accepted the impotent old man because he
did not contribute to her fear of being penetrated.