Read Online Zod Wallop by William Browning Spencer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Browning Spencer
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director with photographic clarity, right down to the mottled teeth, the pendulous lower lip, and the sly, calculating gleam in the eyes. The artist had, however, taken liberties with Theo’s attire. At no time in his life—to Gabriel’s knowledge, in any event—had Theo ever worn a gray cloak made from what appeared to be entwined lizards (biting each other or, perhaps, goodness, copulating). In the book he was called Lord Lepskin.
“Well, it’s a book, and a very nasty one, the product, obviously, of a diseased mind, but I don’t think it warrants all this fuss,” Gabriel said, with undisguised irritation. It didn’t sit well with her, consoling her own psychiatrist. It felt—well, it felt very perverse.
Then Theo Lavin had said an odd thing. “It changes,” he said.
“What?”
“The book,” he said, “the book changes. The pictures change. Oh, not when you are looking at them but…” His voice lowered. He was obviously unhappy with this thought. “It’s hard to stop looking at. I think it’s…it’s changing me.”
Gabriel laughed, one sharp, brittle bark that made the man look up sharply.
“My son has run off, God knows where, and you are worried about a children’s book that contains an unflattering portrait of you. I think you have lost track of your priorities, Theodore. Perhaps, subconsciously, you desire a different career. No telling what your subconscious is up to. I’ve never thought of it before, but a psychiatrist’s subconscious must be quite a swamp, a sort of public restroom. Well, I don’t care to think about that either. As long as you are here, I think a session is in order.”
Gabriel walked swiftly across the thick carpet, threw herself with acrobatic grace onto a low white sofa that curved like drifted snow against a wide window. The window offered a vision of springtime industry, the long driveway filled with gardeners toiling over colored banks of flowers.
Gabriel was dressed casually, in old jeans and a gray sweatshirt, but she had turned the air on high, feeling a need to deny the season, and she had donned the voluminous white mink coat that Marlin Tate had given her on the first anniversary of their marriage.
Now she snuggled in the coat and regarded the crystal chandelier that dominated the room like some cold, transcendent spaceship.
“I was an unhappy child,” Gabriel said. “My emotional needs were not met. I never had a real dog, you know. Only puppies my father borrowed from an uncle who owned a kennel. I’d cry and cry when they came for the puppies. ‘Getting too big,’ my father would say. ‘Getting too big.’ Do you think, Theodore, that I might have developed a fear of getting too big, of just being shuttled off one day?”
“I don’t think it’s a good day for a session,” Dr. Lavin said.
“I’m upset,” Gabriel said. “I need to talk. You don’t even know what day it is, do you?”
She turned her head quickly, like a schoolteacher hoping to catch an inattentive child in some perfidious act, and Theo Lavin blinked. “What day?”
“Today is the day Marlin killed himself. Four years ago today,” Gabriel said.
“Ahhh,” Lavin said.
Gabriel turned her back to Lavin, pulled her knees to her chest, and retreated further into the warmth of her fur coat. She spoke to the window and its shimmering vista of renewal.
“I feel guilty, Theodore.”
“You think you could have stopped him?”
Gabriel sat up and stared out the window. “No. Nobody could stop him. He thought the drug would make him a god.”
“Delusions of grandiosity. These are symptoms of drug addiction,” Theo said.
Gabriel slid around on the sofa so that she faced Dr. Lavin. “Oh, I believed him. It was just a matter of time. But he lost his nerve, you see. He killed himself, destroyed all the research. It was a failure of nerve.”
“He was a brilliant man destroyed by drugs,” Lavin said. “It is a sad story, but not an uncommon one, and you are not
“Well, it’s a book, and a very nasty one, the product, obviously, of a diseased mind, but I don’t think it warrants all this fuss,” Gabriel said, with undisguised irritation. It didn’t sit well with her, consoling her own psychiatrist. It felt—well, it felt very perverse.
Then Theo Lavin had said an odd thing. “It changes,” he said.
“What?”
“The book,” he said, “the book changes. The pictures change. Oh, not when you are looking at them but…” His voice lowered. He was obviously unhappy with this thought. “It’s hard to stop looking at. I think it’s…it’s changing me.”
Gabriel laughed, one sharp, brittle bark that made the man look up sharply.
“My son has run off, God knows where, and you are worried about a children’s book that contains an unflattering portrait of you. I think you have lost track of your priorities, Theodore. Perhaps, subconsciously, you desire a different career. No telling what your subconscious is up to. I’ve never thought of it before, but a psychiatrist’s subconscious must be quite a swamp, a sort of public restroom. Well, I don’t care to think about that either. As long as you are here, I think a session is in order.”
Gabriel walked swiftly across the thick carpet, threw herself with acrobatic grace onto a low white sofa that curved like drifted snow against a wide window. The window offered a vision of springtime industry, the long driveway filled with gardeners toiling over colored banks of flowers.
Gabriel was dressed casually, in old jeans and a gray sweatshirt, but she had turned the air on high, feeling a need to deny the season, and she had donned the voluminous white mink coat that Marlin Tate had given her on the first anniversary of their marriage.
Now she snuggled in the coat and regarded the crystal chandelier that dominated the room like some cold, transcendent spaceship.
“I was an unhappy child,” Gabriel said. “My emotional needs were not met. I never had a real dog, you know. Only puppies my father borrowed from an uncle who owned a kennel. I’d cry and cry when they came for the puppies. ‘Getting too big,’ my father would say. ‘Getting too big.’ Do you think, Theodore, that I might have developed a fear of getting too big, of just being shuttled off one day?”
“I don’t think it’s a good day for a session,” Dr. Lavin said.
“I’m upset,” Gabriel said. “I need to talk. You don’t even know what day it is, do you?”
She turned her head quickly, like a schoolteacher hoping to catch an inattentive child in some perfidious act, and Theo Lavin blinked. “What day?”
“Today is the day Marlin killed himself. Four years ago today,” Gabriel said.
“Ahhh,” Lavin said.
Gabriel turned her back to Lavin, pulled her knees to her chest, and retreated further into the warmth of her fur coat. She spoke to the window and its shimmering vista of renewal.
“I feel guilty, Theodore.”
“You think you could have stopped him?”
Gabriel sat up and stared out the window. “No. Nobody could stop him. He thought the drug would make him a god.”
“Delusions of grandiosity. These are symptoms of drug addiction,” Theo said.
Gabriel slid around on the sofa so that she faced Dr. Lavin. “Oh, I believed him. It was just a matter of time. But he lost his nerve, you see. He killed himself, destroyed all the research. It was a failure of nerve.”
“He was a brilliant man destroyed by drugs,” Lavin said. “It is a sad story, but not an uncommon one, and you are not
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