though I doubted very much that he had a vehicle waiting in north Waxahachie.
During the long bumpy ride he regaled me with the sexual highlights of his trip to Rio and Buenos Aires. A hardened priest who had heard a million confessions might still have blanched or blushed at hearing the things Godwin told me.Godwin, the renowned classicist, made no distinction between sexual and textual; he spoke of butt-fucking as lengthily and casually as he might have discussed some emendation of Euripides. I was too tired to mind particularly, but many of the passengers traveling with us had not been deadened by twenty-three hours in an airplane; when the doors of the little train opened at each stop, passengers bolted like rats. After six or eight stops Godwin finally noticed.
“What’s wrong with these people?” he asked. “You’d think we were contagious.”
“Well, Godwin, after what you’ve just been describing, maybe you are,” I suggested, as gently as possible.
“Oh, rot, perfect rot!” he said, glaring at the remaining passengers, all of whom were huddled warily at the far end of the car. At the next stop, South Remote Parking A and Auto Rental, they all converged on the door, obviously planning to bolt the second it opened.
The sight enraged Godwin; he had always had a short fuse. Just before the train stopped he leaped up and began to jerk and twitch, as if he had Saint Vitus’ dance. Then he lurched into the passengers and began to pant in their faces.
“I have a new disease,” he shouted suddenly. “It’s called omniplague. It’s a fungoid disease which combines the worst features of leprosy and lupus. It’s transmitted by human breath—soon whole populations will be wiped out by it. I caught it in the jungles of the Amazon while fucking a monkey.”
He panted at them some more.
“Terribly sorry but we’re all doomed now,” he said, just as the doors opened, allowing the terrified passengers to spill out.
One burly passenger, who was wearing Levi’s and a dozer cap and looked as if he had just come off rig duty in the Gulf or perhaps Alaska, didn’t take his doom casually: he swatted Godwin in the face with a small tote bag. The tote bag must have had rolls of silver dollars in it, because it knocked Godwin down and broke his nose. He sprawled on the floor at my feet, bleeding like a stuck hog.
“Omniplague! Omniplague!” Godwin yelled, just as the doors closed. The passengers were safe, but what about me?
“I hope you were just making that up,” I said, offering a handkerchief. “I hope you didn’t really fuck a monkey.”
The whole front of his suit was covered with blood, but his mood was much improved.
“Wouldn’t attempt it, they bite,” Godwin said.
16
Eventually we got to my car. Godwin’s nose was still bleeding freely; his condition was beginning to alarm me. He was weaving around the parking lot in a glassy-eyed fashion, but his mood was euphoric.
“Odd how the flow of blood energizes a man,” he said. “It must have to do with evolution.”
“I think it has to do with insanity,” I said. “I think you’d better take it easy. You’re losing significant amounts of blood.”
“Nonsense, I have quarts and quarts of it,” he said. “Would you like to go to a bar? It’s been decades since we talked.”
Ten seconds later he collapsed on the asphalt. I began to hyperventilate—Godwin always had that effect on me. My memories of first aid methods were sketchy, but I knew I had to do something. Fortunately he was a tiny man, easy to drag. I stretched him out on the little sidewalk in front of my Mercedes and dug a dirty T-shirt out of my luggage. I used the T-shirt to attempt to stanch the flow of blood.
Then, when it seemed to be slowing a little, I raced over to the rent-car counters, which proved to be farther away than they looked. By the time I actually reached them I had slowed to a walk and was so out of breath I could hardly stammer.
“Hey, you’re
During the long bumpy ride he regaled me with the sexual highlights of his trip to Rio and Buenos Aires. A hardened priest who had heard a million confessions might still have blanched or blushed at hearing the things Godwin told me.Godwin, the renowned classicist, made no distinction between sexual and textual; he spoke of butt-fucking as lengthily and casually as he might have discussed some emendation of Euripides. I was too tired to mind particularly, but many of the passengers traveling with us had not been deadened by twenty-three hours in an airplane; when the doors of the little train opened at each stop, passengers bolted like rats. After six or eight stops Godwin finally noticed.
“What’s wrong with these people?” he asked. “You’d think we were contagious.”
“Well, Godwin, after what you’ve just been describing, maybe you are,” I suggested, as gently as possible.
“Oh, rot, perfect rot!” he said, glaring at the remaining passengers, all of whom were huddled warily at the far end of the car. At the next stop, South Remote Parking A and Auto Rental, they all converged on the door, obviously planning to bolt the second it opened.
The sight enraged Godwin; he had always had a short fuse. Just before the train stopped he leaped up and began to jerk and twitch, as if he had Saint Vitus’ dance. Then he lurched into the passengers and began to pant in their faces.
“I have a new disease,” he shouted suddenly. “It’s called omniplague. It’s a fungoid disease which combines the worst features of leprosy and lupus. It’s transmitted by human breath—soon whole populations will be wiped out by it. I caught it in the jungles of the Amazon while fucking a monkey.”
He panted at them some more.
“Terribly sorry but we’re all doomed now,” he said, just as the doors opened, allowing the terrified passengers to spill out.
One burly passenger, who was wearing Levi’s and a dozer cap and looked as if he had just come off rig duty in the Gulf or perhaps Alaska, didn’t take his doom casually: he swatted Godwin in the face with a small tote bag. The tote bag must have had rolls of silver dollars in it, because it knocked Godwin down and broke his nose. He sprawled on the floor at my feet, bleeding like a stuck hog.
“Omniplague! Omniplague!” Godwin yelled, just as the doors closed. The passengers were safe, but what about me?
“I hope you were just making that up,” I said, offering a handkerchief. “I hope you didn’t really fuck a monkey.”
The whole front of his suit was covered with blood, but his mood was much improved.
“Wouldn’t attempt it, they bite,” Godwin said.
16
Eventually we got to my car. Godwin’s nose was still bleeding freely; his condition was beginning to alarm me. He was weaving around the parking lot in a glassy-eyed fashion, but his mood was euphoric.
“Odd how the flow of blood energizes a man,” he said. “It must have to do with evolution.”
“I think it has to do with insanity,” I said. “I think you’d better take it easy. You’re losing significant amounts of blood.”
“Nonsense, I have quarts and quarts of it,” he said. “Would you like to go to a bar? It’s been decades since we talked.”
Ten seconds later he collapsed on the asphalt. I began to hyperventilate—Godwin always had that effect on me. My memories of first aid methods were sketchy, but I knew I had to do something. Fortunately he was a tiny man, easy to drag. I stretched him out on the little sidewalk in front of my Mercedes and dug a dirty T-shirt out of my luggage. I used the T-shirt to attempt to stanch the flow of blood.
Then, when it seemed to be slowing a little, I raced over to the rent-car counters, which proved to be farther away than they looked. By the time I actually reached them I had slowed to a walk and was so out of breath I could hardly stammer.
“Hey, you’re
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