Kay, honey, even though I’m 9000 miles away from you and the boys, my heart and mind are there with you, believe me. I still feel that I’m the king in that little kingdom. I feel like a government-in-exile or something, waiting for the signal from you, or from somebody, that it’s okay to return. (Hey, I’d better be careful or the military censors will think I’m talking politics, eh? Ha ha!)
At last, I heard the boys happily slamming each other with pillows, and wearily I got up and started setting the table for breakfast.
11.
That very afternoon, I received the letter from Washington, D.C., the Department of Defense, informing me that Rex’s plane had been shot down by the enemy while on a mission over North Vietnam, and he had been taken prisoner. He was now a POW, and, as far as they knew, he was not injured.
In that one brief moment, as I read the letter, I felt my life turn over and go back to zero and start anew, the opposite of drowning. I still loved Rex, of course, but deep inside, I said a prayer of thanks to the North Vietnamese gunners who had shot him down. I would never be able to explain that gratitude to anyone, I was sure, and I probably could not explain it even to myself, but I could not deny to myself that I felt it, no matter how hard I tried. And though I was not especially proud of the feeling, neither was I ashamed of it.
I joined a group of POW wives from central Florida, and for a while went around with them, speaking to groups of men who were said to have influence in Washington in ways that would somehow benefit the POWs. But I could never quite understand how POWs or their wives could benefit from a more aggressive war policy, so I dropped out of the group. I took good care of my sons and our home, saw Ben about once a month, and just sort of cooled my heels for a while.
12.
Gradually, I became used to the idea that I was on my own and, therefore, had no choice but to take care of myself. I enrolled in night school and got my high school diploma with an ease that astounded me. I went on a diet and exercise program and studied yoga at the Sarasota YWCA. I started sending Rory to a reading clinic, because of his disability, and no longer insisted that the boys get their haircuts where their father had always gotten his. I started trying new foods, exotic dishes, and occasionally took in an X-rated movie with Ben. I took driving lessons, got my license and borrowed the money from a bank to buy a Japanese station wagon.
Rex would have forbidden me to do all these things, if he’d been here, and when the war is finally over and he has been repatriated, he will come home again, and I hope we both can sit down and cry for what has been lost. If he can’t do that, I will leave him.
THE END
11
1.
It was morning when their jumbo jet was ready to descend, and by then Egress and the Loon were both quite drunk. — Boy, oh boy, Loon, I feel like havin’ a party! Le’s take some speed an’ stay up four days ‘n’ nights in a row! It ain’t every day y’get back from a goddamn pilgrimage, y’know! the king cried to his diminutive friend.
— Hoo haw! Hoo haw! Hoo haw! the Loon carefully responded. He knew how wild the king could get when he was drunk.
Champagne glasses in hand, the two staggered out the door of the aircraft and walked unsteadily through the arrival gate. — They ain’t no one here t’ meet us, the king observed, surprised.
— And it’s a good thing, too, the way you’re dressed, the Loon said, pointing at the king’s grain bag, which was spattered with caked mud, champagne, salt spray, dried semen.
— Yeah, I guess you’re right, the king agreed, and they walked to the taxi stand, got into a cab, and instructed the driver to take them to the palace. — Toot sweet! the king said flirtatiously.
— Going to see the queen? the driver impertinently asked. He was a bent-over, long-haired hippie type who closely resembled a ballboy who’d once worked at the gymnasium.
— You betcha! Egress said heartily. He loved the fact that the driver didn’t recognize him. — I’m gonna fuck ’er, he confided.
— Yeh. You and everybody else, the driver said, winking.
2.
When the cab pulled up at the palace gate, the Loon saw the handwriting on the wall and decided to seek cover. — Say, Egress, I’m going to split for my place, okay?
— Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, Egress said, thinking only of Naomi Ruth and how happy she would be to see him again.
As soon as he reached his tree house, the Loon made a few quick phone calls and confirmed his suspicions. Just as I suspected, he thought. The queen has taken over. He made one more call, found out when the next bus left for his small, southern hometown, and packed a large suitcase with most of his belongings, his simpler, lightweight clothes, his chambered nautilus, his five favorite records, three favorite books, four favorite autographed photographs of movie stars, and his thumb-sized lump of hash.
The Loon was not a prophet, actually, but with regard to political matters, he was practically clairvoyant. This was doubtless because he himself was as apolitical as a four-year-old child. With his talent, he ought to have been made the premier political advisor in the state. But, ironically, the very thing that gave rise to his talent disqualified him as a councillor: he had no loyalties whatsoever to anyone, except as he himself was personally threatened or rewarded. His politics were based entirely on what he saw as necessary for his own continued survival. This did not, however, make him amoral, for, in all his personal dealings with people, he remained both generous and kind.
3.
Egress the Hearty strode manfully into the Great Hall and roared, — Honey, I’m home!
The tapestry-covered walls soaked up his noise and left him standing alone in silence. — I like the way she’s decorated the place, he mused, fingering one of the thick tapestries. — French. Then he saw her, standing on the dais at the far end of the enormous room, and he ran, arms spread wide, to her. — Baa-a-a-bee-e-e! he bellowed.
After he had kissed, hugged, and fondled her awhile, he began to realize that she had not responded, that she had stood still throughout, as if she were made of alabaster, silent and motionless and cold to the touch. — What’s the matter? Aren’t you thrilled to see me? he asked her. — Hey, baby, he growled in his sexy voice, — you really turn me on when you hold it back like this. He started to paw her breasts.
But still there was no reaction. — What the fuck …? he exclaimed, drawing back to look at her. Maybe she had the rag on or something. You never can tell.
Finally, she spoke to him in a low, calm voice. — Egress, you’ve been gone for more than seven years, and in that time I’ve acted in your place…
— Fantastic, terrific, he said. — That’s why you’re the queen.
— And in those years, she went on, — I’ve made a number of decisions, executive decisions. Foremost among these is the decision that I am to remain the chief executive, even after your return. I am, to put it simply and crudely, taking my turn, she declared.
— If you were a fucking man, he hissed, — I’d kill you. But you’re not. You’re a woman. My woman. Now, c’mere and give me some ass.
4.
A troop of Abenakis emerged from behind the arras next to the queen, and at a signal from their chief, the one called Horse, they surrounded Egress and tied him with deerhide thongs and pitched him onto the floor in a heap at the queen’s feet. Egress was beginning to feel a little frightened. — You’re serious! he exclaimed to her.