The American Shore. Samuel R. Delany

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СКАЧАТЬ them once, the way people must have believed in the statues in the Cloisters, so long ago.₃₃

      His favorite was the gigantic killer-eagle landing in the middle of the monoliths in the memorial for the soldiers, sailors, and airmen killed in World War II. The largest eagle, probably, in all Manhattan.₃₄ His talons ripped apart what was surely the largest artichoke.₃₅

      Amparo, who went along with some of Miss Couplard’s ideas,₃₆ preferred the more humanistic qualities of the memorial (him on top and an angel gently probing an enormous book with her sword)₃₇ for Verrazano,₃₈ who was not, as it turned out, the contractor who put up the bridge₃₉ that had, so famously, collapsed.₄₀ Instead, as the bronze plate in back proclaimed:₄₁

       IN APRIL 1524THE FLORENTINE-BORN NAVIGATORVERRAZANOLED THE FRENCH CARAVEL LA DAUPHINETO THE DISCOVERY OFTHE HARBOR OF NEW YORKAND NAMED THESE SHORES ANGOULEMEIN HONOR OF FRANCIS I KING OF FRANCE ₄₂

      “Angouleme” they all agreed, except Tancred, who favored the more prevalent and briefer name, was much classier. Tancred was ruled out of order and the decision became unanimous.₄₃

      It was there, by the statue, looking across the bay of Angouleme to Jersey,₄₄ that they took the oath that bound them to perpetual secrecy. Whoever spoke of what they were about to do, unless he were being tortured by the Police, solemnly called upon his co-conspirators to insure his silence by other means. Death.₄₅ All revolutionary organizations take similar precautions, as the history unit on Modern Revolutions had made clear.₄₆

      How he got the name:₄₇ it had been Papa’s theory that what modern life cried out for was a sweetening of old-fashioned sentimentality. Ergo, among all the other indignities this theory gave rise to, scenes like the following:₄₈ “Who’s my Little Mister Kissy Lips!” Papa would bawl out, sweetly, right in the middle of Rockefeller Center (or a restaurant, or in front of the school), and he’d shout right back, “I am!” At least until he knew better.₄₉

      Mama had been, variously, “Rosebud,” “Peg O’ My Heart,” and (this only at the end) “The Snow Queen.”₅₀ Mama, being adult, had been able to vanish with no other trace than the postcard that still came every Xmas postmarked from Key Largo, but Little Mister Kissy Lips was stuck with the New Sentimentality willy-nilly.₅₁ True, by age seven he’d been able to insist on being called “Bill” around the house (or, as Papa would have it, “Just Plain Bill”).₅₂ But that left the staff at the Plaza to contend with,₅₃ and Papa’s assistants, schoolmates, anyone who’d ever heard the name.₅₄ Then a year ago, aged ten and able to reason, he laid down the new law—that his name was Little Mister Kissy Lips, the whole awful mouthful, each and every time. His reasoning being that if anyone would be getting his face rubbed in shit by this it would be Papa, who deserved it. Papa didn’t seem to get the point,₅₅ or else he got it and another point besides, you could never be sure how stupid or how subtle he really was, which is the worst kind of enemy.₅₆

      Meanwhile at the nationwide level the New Sentimentality had been a rather overwhelming smash.₅₇ “The Orphans,” which Papa produced₅₈ and sometimes was credited with writing,₅₉ pulled down the top Thursday evening ratings for two years. Now it was being overhauled for a daytime slot.₆₀ For one hour every day our lives were going to be a lot sweeter,₆₁ and chances were Papa would be a millionaire or more as a result. On the sunny side this meant that he’d be the son of a millionaire.₆₂ Though he generally had contempt for the way money corrupted everything it touched, he had to admit that in certain cases it didn’t have to be a bad thing. It boiled down to this (which he’d always known): that Papa was a necessary evil.₆₃

      This was why every evening when Papa buzzed himself into the suite he’d shout out, “Where’s my Little Mister Kissy Lips,” and he’d reply, “Here, Papa!”₆₄ The cherry on this sundae of love₆₅ was a big wet kiss, and then one more for their new “Rosebud,” Jimmy Ness. (Who drank, and was not in all likelihood going to last much longer.)₆₆ They’d all three sit down to the nice family dinner Jimmyness had cooked, and Papa would tell them about the cheerful, positive things that had happened that day at CBS, and Little Mister Kissy Lips would tell all about the bright fine things that had happened to him. Jimmy would sulk.₆₇ Then Papa and Jimmy would go somewhere or just disappear into the private Everglades of sex,₆₈ and Little Mister Kissy Lips would buzz himself out into the corridor (Papa knew better than to be repressive about hours),₆₉ and within half an hour he’d be at the Verrazano statue₇₀ with the six other Alexandrians,₇₁ five if Celeste had a lesson,₇₂ to plot the murder of the victim they’d all finally agreed on.₇₃

      No one had been able to find out his name.₇₄ They called him Alyona Ivanovna, after the old pawnbroker woman that Raskolnikov kills with an ax.₇₅

      The spectrum of possible victims had never been wide.₇₆ The common financial types of the area would be carrying credit cards like Lowen, Richard W.,₇₇ while the generality of pensioners filling the benches were even less tempting. As Miss Couplard had explained, our economy was being refeudalized and cash was going the way of the ostrich, the octopus, and the moccasin flower.₇₈

      It was such extinctions as these, but especially seagulls, that were the worry of the first lady they’d considered, a Miss Kraus,₇₉ unless the name at the bottom of her handlettered poster (STOP THE SLAUGHTER of The Innocents!! etc.) belonged to someone else.₈₀ Why, if she were Miss Kraus, was she wearing what seemed to be the old-fashioned diamond ring and gold band of a Mrs.?₈₁ But the more crucial problem, which they couldn’t see how to solve was: was the diamond real?₈₂

      Possibility Number Two₈₃ was in the tradition of the original Orphans of the Storm, the Gish sisters.₈₄ A lovely semiprofessional who whiled away the daylight pretending to be blind and serenading the benches. Her pathos was rich, if a bit worked-up; her repertoire was archaeological; and her gross was fair, especially when the rain added its own bit of too-much.₈₅ However: Sniffles (who’d done this research) was certain she had a gun tucked away under the rags.₈₆

      Three was the least poetic possibility, just the concessionaire in back of the giant eagle selling Fun and Synthamon. His appeal was commercial. But he had a licensed Weimaraner, and though Weimaraners can be dealt with, Amparo liked them.₈₇

      “You’re just a Romantic,” Little Mister Kissy Lips said. “Give me one good reason.”

      “His eyes,” she said. “They’re amber. He’d haunt us.”₈₈

      They were snuggling together in one of the deep embrasures cut into the stone of Castle Clinton, her head wedged into his armpit, his fingers gliding across the lotion on her breasts₈₉ (summer was just beginning). Silence, warm breezes, sunlight on water, it was all ineffable, as though only the sheerest of veils intruded between them and an understanding of something (all this) really meaningful.₉₀ Because they thought it was their own innocence that was to blame, like a smog in their souls’ atmosphere, they wanted more than ever to be rid of it at times, like this, when they approached so close.₉₁

      “Why not the dirty old man, then?” she asked, meaning Alyona.

      “Because he is a dirty old man.”

      “That’s no reason. He must take in at least as much money as that singer.”₉₂

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ