“Apostolic Succession?” said Will Barrett, looking from one to the other.
“A laying on of hands which goes back to the Apostles,” said Jack Curl, smiling and nodding at the highballers.
“It occurred,” said Father Weatherbee in a dry hoarse voice. When he spoke, a red bleb formed at the corner of his mouth like a bubble-gum bubble.
“There you go,” said Jack Curl.
Father Weatherbee said something.
“What’s that?” asked Will Barrett, cocking his good ear.
“I said he reminds me of a kumongakvaikvai,” said Father Weatherbee, nodding at Jack and blowing out a bleb.
“What’s a kumongakvaikvai?”
“It’s the dung bird of southern Mindanao. It follows herds of Kumonga cattle and eats dung like your cattle egret. Characteristically the bird perches on the backs of the beasts and utters its cry kvai kvai." And Father Weatherbee uttered a sound which could only have been the cry of the bird.
“Ha ha,” laughed Jack Curl, giving Will Barrett the elbow. “I told you they’re all characters up here.”
4
“What do you think of these great John Kennedy rockers?” Jack Curl called out on the front porch. “You know I slipped a disc last year and instead of surgery I rocked. I mean really rocked. Do you know you can get a workout in one of these?”
There were at least fifty rocking chairs, damp from the fog, none occupied.
After supper he sat in a rocker and watched a cloud rise from the valley floor. To the left, where the valley narrowed, the cloud seemed to boom and echo against the sides of the gorge.
Suddenly he jumped up, remembering something he meant to ask Jack Curl, even though Jack had left hours ago. Instead, he called Vance.
“Vance, I just thought of something.”
“What’s that, buddy?”
“It just occurred to me that Leslie moved all my stuff here before she found out I was sick.”
“Ahmmm.” Vance cleared his throat. “Well, we all knew something was wrong. You were sick. It was only a matter of diagnosis. As a matter of fact, I was me only one who didn’t think you were crazy. As for what you got, we going to lick that mother, right? How’re you feeling?”
“Fine. But she moved me out before I came back. What did she have in mind?”
“Let me tell you something, Will.”
“All right.”
“Leslie is much woman.”
“Yes.”
“She is some kind of woman, a fine Christian woman.”
“Right. But—”
“You know what she’s going to do with St. Mark’s?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s transferring the convalescents to the new community Marion had planned over on Sourwood Mountain — as soon as we can get it built. And we’ll use the present St. Mark’s as a hospital with a new wing for radiation patients complete with a new beta cyclotron. I’m sure you’d rather live in the Peabody community. There’s no reason for you to have to live in a hospital.”
“The love-and-faith community.”
“Right.”
“I see. Where is the money for all this coming from?”
Vance coughed. “I thought you and Leslie and Slocum had worked that out. Christ, you’re a lawyer.”
“You’re talking about the Peabody Trust?”
“Yes.”
“There is no Peabody Trust. I am Marion’s sole beneficiary.”
“I know, but Leslie had given me to understand that you wanted to carry out Marion’s wishes in this — let alone considerations of your own health.”
“What about my health?”
He could feel the shrug through the telephone. “You’re going to be following a strict regime from here on out — and you’re going to be fine! But let’s face it. We don’t know a damn thing about Hausmann’s Syndrome except how to maintain a patient.”
“Are you talking about maintaining me or committing me?”
“Ha ha. As long as your pH doesn’t get over seven point four, you’re right as rain. In fact—”
“Yes?”
“We were wondering if you might not run the Peabody community, since you’re going to be out there anyway.”
“We?”
“Talk to Leslie. She’s another Marion.”
“I see.”
He went up to his room and turned on the stereo. Leslie had even popped in a tape. It was Strauss’s Vier letzte Lieder, which used to be one of his favorites.
Earlier Jack Curl had introduced him to Warren East, formerly with Texas Instruments, who was also a music lover and had in his suite a digital sound system. “You two guys got it made,” said Jack, reaching deep in his jump-suit pockets. “You can either swap tapes or get together. Warren’s got everything that Victor Herbert ever composed.” Again the handshake steering him against Warren East.
He looked at Warren East. Warren East did not look at him.
Leslie had put a book next to his favorite chair. It was the Bible. He picked it up. It opened to a bookmark. He read: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” Leslie had made a note in the margin: And what lovely hills!
Overhead in the attic the Wabash Cannonball rambled along with a rustle and a roar.
Closing the Bible, he got up fast, causing the gyroscope in his head to twist. He went by arcs down to the porch and sat in a John Kennedy rocker. It was damp. The porch was deserted. The cloud had come out of the valley. Everything beyond the banister rail was whited out. Through a window he caught sight of half of a giant TV screen in the recreation room. Lawrence Welk, still holding his baton, was dancing a waltz with a pretty young blonde.
Presently Kojak came on.
He felt an urge to get away from the silent white enveloping cloud and to go inside to the cheerful living room with its screen of lively sparkling colors and watch the doings of Kojak.
He rose carefully, taking care not to excite the gyroscope inside his head, then sat down with a thump.
Jesus Christ, he thought. I’m in the old folks’ home.
5
The friendly atmosphere of St. Mark’s was marred by two fights which occurred within the space of half an hour. He found himself embroiled in both of them. Remarkable! It had been years since he’d been in a fight or even seen a fight.
Kitty came to St. Mark’s and assaulted him. Then Mr. Arnold and Mr. Ryan, his roommate for two years, got in a fistfight. Kitty must have found his suite empty and tracked him all over St. Mark’s because she burst into the small room where he was visiting the two old men. It was clear when she came through the door that her rage had already carried her past caring who heard or saw her.
“You bastard,” she said. Her eyes showed white all around like a wild pony’s. “You—” She broke off.
“What?” he asked, noticing that he felt scared, and wondered if this natural emotion were not another sign of his return to health.
“What my butt,” she said. “Now I know why—” she said and again her voice broke off, with a sob. Then with a grunt of effort as if she had to fling down a burden, she raised her woman’s fists, thumbs straight along the knuckle, and, leaning across Mr. Ryan, began to beat him on the chest.
Later Mr. Ryan told him, “It looked like that lady was put out with you about something.”
“Now I know why you didn’t come to Dun Romin’ or the summerhouse or anywhere at all, you—” Again her breath caught as she shoved past Mr. Ryan’s bad knee to get at him. “You — you dirty old man!”