3.
People in positions of power seemed to fall in love with the Loon, through no design or effort of the Loon himself. There were the director of the nursery school he had attended, the cop on the block, the mayor of the small town in the South where he had spent his middle childhood, the president of the University of Virginia where he had matriculated, the governor of a large industrial state in the northeast, the head of a television network, a Latin-American dictator, a Greek shipping magnate, a U.S. Secretary of the Interior, and, most recently, Egress the Hearty, a king. Only coincidentally were all these powerful persons men, but as a result of that coincidence, most people thought the Loon was a homosexual. They did not, of course, think it of his lovers.
4.
Often, on late-night TV talk shows, he was asked by the host to talk about whether or not he was, as the host put it, a “homosexual.”—Are you, Mr. Loon, a “homosexual”?
— Way-yell, Dick, the Loon would drawl (he had a pronounced southern accent, especially on TV), — since you put it “that way,” ah, not really.
The audience and Dick the host would roar with laughter, winking and elbowing each other fiercely.
5.
When the Loon learned, one by one, of the deaths of the three princes, he was surprised but not particularly saddened. He had never thought of them as high-quality persons. All three of them had, at one time or another, jerked off on him while he was waiting, naked, in the anteroom for the king. They hated him, and even if they didn’t know it, he did. It was their ignorance, more than the semen on his hairless chest, that had bothered him. The king, on the other hand, had always known he hated the Loon, and thus he never once had jerked off on him. He simply would come into the anteroom and go right to work, buggering the Loon once or twice, and then lie back and tell him his troubles all night long. You had to respect the king.
6.
Because of his sleeping habits, the Loon ate breakfast at night and dinner in the morning. He usually took a light lunch around midnight. Although, as mentioned, he lived in an excellent and completely outfitted tree house, designed by Michael Graves, he rarely ate at home. Rich and exciting people were always calling him up and inviting him over for breakfast or dinner. Eggs Benedict at nine in the evening with the Loon was regarded as a social event of no mean proportions. This was partially because of the Loon’s physical attractiveness (resembling, however, a young Marcel Marceau, he clearly was not “handsome”), partially because of his well-known proximity to power, and partially because of the brilliance of his conversation: He disagreed with everything everyone said, but only by pretending purposefully to misunderstand what was said. He was therefore regarded as an accomplished and dangerous wit.
7.
The king learned of Dread’s death at three in the morning, when a group of Abenakis, led by the one called Horse, came in with the body. At four-thirty, he called the Loon, who had just got home from work. — Oh, Loon! The queen is mad with grief! She blames me! he cried.
— Why not? the Loon asked. — You’re supposed to be in charge of everything, aren’t you?
— This is no time to be funny, the king said sadly. — She’s blaming me because I’m the one who taught him to use a gun.
— Oh, said the Loon. — I see. And you didn’t teach him very well.
— Oh, I taught him well, all right, groaned the king.
— No, you didn’t, the Loon said sympathetically. — You can’t take all the blame for this onto yourself, Egress. You taught the boy as badly as you could.
— Oh, no, I didn’t.
— Yes, you did.
— No, Loon, I didn’t.
— Sure you did.
— I did?
— Of course.
— Thanks, Lone, you’ve been a sweetheart. I wish I could talk to my wife this way.
8.
Basically, the Loon was a gentle soul and tried always to hurt no one. But to avoid exploitation, to keep from becoming “passive,” as they say, he was forced to develop certain stratagems. He developed these early in childhood, and because they worked, kept them into adulthood. As can no doubt be observed, one thing he was very good at was “Changing the Subject.” He was also good at “Non Sequitur” and “Petitio Principii.” If none of these worked and it looked like he was going to be forced into a choice between hurting someone and being exploited by him, he still had two, somewhat extreme, stratagems left: “Fawning,” and, if that failed, “Total Surrender.” Social scientists have called this last stratagem “Self-objectification,” turning one’s self into something else, in Loon’s case, the exploiter’s self. This didn’t matter to the Loon, however, because, for him, it was a question of survival.
9.
That afternoon, the king learned of the barbarous death of Prince Egress. He first called the Loon at four, but wasn’t able to rouse him until six-fifteen, when the sun’s setting set off a gong inside the Loon’s head. Still drowsy, he answered the phone. — H’lo?
— Oh, Lone, Lone! They’ve killed my baby! Egress, the wild and woolly one, gone, gone, gone! cried the king.
— Who did it? the Loon asked.
— I did it, l’Ange! I’m the guilty one! the king hissed into the receiver. — Ask my wife, he added. — She’ll tell you.
— Have you asked her?
— No! God, no! These deaths of our children have riven us as a wedge splits a fallen tree. Just when we were really getting it together, too, he said wistfully. — Comfort me, Loon! the king commanded. — Comfort me! My wife doesn’t understand me!
— I once knew a man in Oregon who hadn’t any teeth, not a tooth in his head. Yet that man could play on the bass drum better than any man I ever met, the Loon said soothingly.
— Do you think so? the king asked.
— Of course.
— You know, I should have connected this to that kinky green-suited guy in the first place! You’re a genius, Loon! I’ll have him arrested immediately!
10.
— H’lo, Egress. The Loon knew who was calling even before he had picked up the phone. He was getting ready to go to bed and was sleepy and cross.
— Oh, Loon, my Lawn, my angel! Doom, doom, doom! the king bellowed.
— He got Orgone, eh?
— Yes, Orgone, my pride, my joy, my Crown Prince, my dauphin! Dead!
— And it’s your fault, I imagine.
— Yes, yes, yes. My fault, the king cried excitedly. — Comfort me, Loon! I need you to comfort me. I need you.
— You need me? the Loon asked, incredulous, and wary, too.
— Oh, yes, yes, yes. I used to think of you as my weakness, but now that it’s clear to me how much I am hated by my wife, I think of you as my strength.
— That doesn’t follow, the Loon said.
— No matter, it’s true! asserted the king.
— Okay, then. It’s not your fault because you did everything you could, the Loon reasoned.
— Yes, you’re right, you’re right. I did everything I could, the king said.
— Listen, Egress, it’s early, so I’ve got to get some sleep.
— Of course, of course. I’m sorry, I forgot.
— G’bye.
—’Bye. And, Loon, kiss-kiss.
— Kiss-kiss-kiss, the Loon answered. Then he hung up, and, feeling a bit antic, wrapped himself in a flag and went to sleep in a corner of the bathroom.
11.
— Oh, Your Majesty, your puissance, I’m deeply flattered by your proposal that I accompany you on your pilgrimage to the Empire State Building, but, really, no one so kingly, so majestic, so all-puissant, so inspiring, so inspired, so chosen, so exalted, so with-it, so hip, so heavy, so together, so tough, so mean, so fancy, so witty, so refined, so sensitive, so enlightened, so manly, so kind, so sunny, so benign, so wise, so benevolent, so flexible, so awesome, so handsome, so clean, so sexy, so potent, so resourceful, so brave, so balanced, so sane, so stable, so innovative, so talented, so considerate, so disciplined, so skilled, so patient, so independent, so deliberative, so wealthy, so restrained, so young … needs me!