Outer Banks

by Russell Banks

  —We just got paid for cutting trees for the lumber barons, so we kind of decided to drift into town to spend all our money in a few hours of hysteria, the red man said.—Know of any bars that’ll serve Injuns? he asked.

  —There’s always the Tam, Egress said.—They’ll serve anyone at the Tam.

  —What we really want is white wimmen, the Indian added.

  —Oh, Egress said.—Mind if I tag along?

  —Not at all, please do, said the Indian.

  10.

  One thing about Indians attracted Egress more than any other: They were in touch with their anger. He used to talk about his attraction with his analyst.—They’re so damned self-entitled! he would exclaim.—You can take everything away from them, their land, their history, their whole culture, for god’s sake, and they still come back at you with that wonderful drunken Indian thing! It’s incredible!

  And sure enough, when they got to the Tam, all the Indians started ordering double boilermakers three at a time, and in fifteen minutes they were fighting with each other and anyone else who’d hung around. They broke all the furniture and glass in the place and, with Egress joining in, paid for the damage and moved on to the next place, a hotel bar called Lulu’s, where, Egress had assured them, there would be “plenty white wimmen.”

  It was at Lulu’s that Egress told the head Indian, whose name was Horse, about the plan he had received from the ghost on the parapet. Horse thought it ridiculous.—You white-eyes really go for that apocalyptic crap, don’t you?

  11.

  —I’ll tell you the one thing you white-eyes can’t seem to learn from us, no matter how well-intentioned, disciplined, and sensitive you are. It’s the distinction between the impulse to anger and the impulse to destroy. Too bad. Some of you make pretty good drunks, and except for that destruction impulse, your suicides are downright attractive, Horse said.

  Egress unfortunately didn’t hear him. He was eating his glass, and all he could hear was the snap and crunch of a mouthful of shards.

  —For example, Horse went on,—an Indian would never break his glass with his mouth, because, for an Indian, the impulse would never be to destroy, not the glass and certainly not his mouth. Rather, the impulse would be to hurl the glass, to create a missile, and if, as a result, the glass were shattered, it would not matter, for it would already have been converted, by anger, into something else. To illustrate his point, Horse threw his own glass into the mirror over the bar and created a beautiful silver explosion.—Intentionality is everything, he said.—Everything.

  12.

  Egress fell off his chair, gagging and choking on his own blood. He had coughed unexpectedly and had torn open his throat with a sliver of glass, and in a short time he had strangled. The white people in the room were horrified and, looking for officials, ran out of the bar into the streets. The Indians knew it was an accident, so they continued to drink and brawl. They only got to town once a month and they wanted to make the most of it. They had liked young Egress, though, and, to honor that fact, they played “The Ballad of the Green Man” on the jukebox over and over, all night long, until dawn, when Horse hallucinated and thought the jukebox was a bear and attacked it with his hatchet. He made a beautiful robe of the skin and wore it proudly for the rest of his days.

  7

  1.

  The Green Man was not the real name of the Youth in the Green Suit. Prince Egress had first called him that, rather publicly, and consequently most people took it to be his real name. But, as one may recall, the truth is that he had many names, none of them legal. He was, in all respects, an alias, a true underground man. It’s not even clear that he was a man; he may have been a woman, as well. Thus he was the definitive guerrilla, a person with absolutely no past.

  All this, but nothing more than this, was known to the king within hours of the youth’s arrival in court and his presentation there of his odd request, or, as some said, his demand. The king, after the youth had spoken, had leaned over to his chief of intelligence, the well-known Grand Inquisitor, and had said to him,—I want that kid’s past on my desk this afternoon!

  But all he got was an empty manila envelope.

  —All right, the king had said, after his rage had fled,—then watch him. The bastard’s got to have a present!

  2.

  The youth is extremely attractive, to men as to women, although it’s not exactly sexual. They stare at him unabashedly wherever he goes. Of medium height and build, he moves with extraordinary grace and purposefulness and seems thus to be both a taller and a stronger person than he probably is. His “costume,” upon close examination, turns out to be hand-tailored, somewhat conservatively designed, of a lightweight, finely woven fabric imported either from the Middle East or North Africa, possibly from Greece. The youth himself, however, is a Nordic type. The color of his suit is forest green and is not “slick” or “shiny,” as was thought, a mere illusion caused by the way in which the finely woven cloth reflects light. The general impression given to strangers by the youth is that of a person with immense, unquestioned authority. It is not yet clear, however, what exactly his authority is over, for he seems to disdain exerting it.

  3.

  After completing his address to the king, immediately the youth, hereinafter referred to as the Subject, departs from the court. The crowd eagerly backs off to make way for him. Outside, in the great yard, he is seen talking with Genghis, the Royal Dwarf. A fragment of their conversation luckily is overheard and taken down:

  SUBJECT: You’re treated kindly?

  GENGHIS: Ya, except for all da time ven dey are laffink at me.

  SUBJECT: They think you are funny, then?

  GENGHIS: Ya! Dey like da vey I am so short in da body und so big in da head. I tink it’s kinda fonny myself!

  SUBJECT: It must be painful for you, to be treated as other than human.

  GENGHIS: It’s a job. I got a family.

  SUBJECT: Personally, I think you’re disgusting. You should try telling jokes. Make them laugh at your jokes.

  At this point, the Subject departs from the dwarf, heading downtown.

  4.

  At a busy, downtown intersection, the Subject seems bewildered, as if he is not familiar with the plan of the city. He notices an adolescent girl standing near him, waiting for the light to change. She is wearing a short red skirt, a football player’s sweater many sizes too large for her with a huge, red A sewn onto the front, and saddleshoes. She is a schoolgirl.

  —Can you tell me where the gymnasium is located? the Subject asks her.

  —Hi! she replies.—I’m 37-24-37! Terrific, huh?

  —I’m trying to locate the gymnasium. I want to see the famous Prince Orgone run and jump and throw.

  —Jeepers, my daddy says I’ve got the body of Raquel Welch, the personality of Marie Wilson, and the brains of a quail! I love the prince! I’ve got all his records! Do you know the prince? Jessum, how em-barrassing! I’m 34-27-34! I mean, 37-24-37! How em-barrassing! I can’t even remember my own name!

  —Are you all right? he asks.

  —I’m dying! she cries, and noticing the light has turned green, she scampers across the street, scattering books and papers behind her as she runs. The Subject speaks to no one else and succeeds in getting to the gymnasium on his own.

  5.

  The Subject wears his hair in current fashion. He has little or no facial hair and no distinguishing facial marks, scars, moles, warts, or tattoos. He is quite harmless-looking. Except for his obvious intensity and the fact that none of his graces appear to have been learned (the final grace), he looks like a young man or woman in the diplomatic service. Thus, even though he does not present the proper identification papers, he is waved into the gymnasium area by the guard, is issued a “Distinguished Visitor” pass, and is given the run of the place.

  It should be noted that everywhere he goes, the Subject inadvertently reveals flaws, oversights, and malfunctions in the various systems. It is not clear whether
this is intentional. If not, he might be of immense use to the systems.

  Conclusion: The Subject warrants further study.

  6.

  He leans against the chain link fence that encloses the playground behind the gymnasium proper and watches the Crown Prince run, jump, and throw. When the prince has completed his exercises and has gone into the showers, the Subject departs, and, as he departs, he drops, or perhaps throws, to the ground the small piece of paper on which he earlier was observed writing:

  Right-handed, favors left knee and hip slightly (chondromalacia, probably). Will doubtless move to his right when threatened. Large muscles are overdeveloped, small ones underdeveloped: not as much endurance as he probably thinks he can rely on if threatened. Could be dangerous, if threatened, especially because of martial skills, but can be overcome by almost any opponent using disciplined, intelligent force.

  On the strength of this note, the Subject is arrested and imprisoned, where he presently languishes unafraid.

  7.

  FIRST INTERROGATION

  INQUISITOR: Are you working alone?

  SUBJECT: Alone?

  INQUISITOR: Do you have co-conspirators?

  SUBJECT: No. Of course not.

  INQUISITOR: Then you are working alone!

  SUBJECT: Well, yes.

  SUMMATION: Subject insists no one else involved in his assassination plot.

  8.

  SECOND INTERROGATION

  INQUISITOR: Did you realize, when you hatched your insidious plot, that in this country assassination is a capital offense? Did you know that we execute assassins?

  SUBJECT: I surmised it.

  INQUISITOR: Aha!

  SUMMATION: Subject is not insane, as was formerly thought, and must be judged responsible for his actions.

  9.

  THIRD INTERROGATION

  INQUISITOR: What is your real name? Your legal name.

  SUBJECT: Steve Katz.

  INQUISITOR: Don’t fuck with me, wiseass, or I’ll break your fingers. What’s your real name? We have ways…

  SUBJECT: Ronald Sukenick.

  INQUISITOR: Cut the funny stuff. This is serious! You are in no position to be funny.

  SUBJECT: Artemas Ward. Laurence Sterne. Lamar Sabacthani.

  INQUISITOR: One last time, before we break all your limbs. What’s your real name?

  SUBJECT: John Doe.

  SUMMATION: Subject is hereinafter to be referred to as John Doe.

  10.

  FOURTH INTERROGATION

  INQUISITOR: Why were you in the vicinity of Blue Job mountain when Prince Dread was shot and killed?

  JOHN DOE: I went there to watch him hunt a cougar. I wanted to know if he was the hunter he thought he was.

  INQUISITOR: And was he?

  JOHN DOE: No. Obviously not.

  SUMMATION: John Doe freely admits to having tracked down Prince Dread on the ill-fated “Blue Job Cougar Hunt.”

  11.

  FIFTH INTERROGATION

  INQUISITOR: What were you doing at Lulu’s the night Prince Egress was killed by the Indian band?

  JOHN DOE: I wanted to see if he was as in touch with his anger as he seemed to think he was.

  INQUISITOR: And was he? No, never mind. Disregard that last question.

  SUMMATION: John Doe freely admits to having goaded the child-like band of Abenaki “Friendlies” into attacking Prince Egress at Lulu’s.

  12.

  SIXTH INTERROGATION

  INQUISITOR: Do you know a schoolgirl named 37-24-37? She claims that you are her father and that you made obscene sexual overtures toward her.

  JOHN DOE: I know her only slightly. But I’m not her father, a man who insults and reviles her and who, therefore, is probably the person who made a pass at her. Thus, she’s only half-right. Someone made a pass at her. But I would never do such a thing. I’m virtually a stranger to her.

  INQUISITOR: Do you know the dwarf Genghis? He claims you are responsible for his having been fired from his job.

  JOHN DOE: I do know him, and I’m glad he’s being treated more fairly, but no, I can’t claim responsibility.

  INQUISITOR: Okay, answer this one correctly and you get all the prizes. How did you kill Prince Orgone?

  JOHN DOE (PROUDLY): Blood poisoning. You’ll recall that he broke a bottle of body cologne in the shower a few days ago and stepped on a piece of the broken glass, cutting his left foot slightly. He should have stayed away from those public showers until after the cut had healed, but he knew he’d go crazy if he skipped a workout. He was trapped by himself, like the others.

  INQUISITOR: Well said, Mr. Doe. But just for the hell of it, why these three young princes, each in the prime of his life? Why these young fellows? Why not the king?

  JOHN DOE: I’ve got a thing about princes, I guess.

  SUMMATION: We’ve got our man. We’ve got his plot.

  8

  1.

  The Loon, because of his job as janitor, or custodian, for the Star Chamber, a position obtained for him by the king, had no difficulty in keeping abreast of developments. He knew more about what was going on than did the king himself. Unlike the king, however, he didn’t care about what was going on, which is why the king had appointed him to this somewhat delicate post in the first place. The king had many faults, but he knew how to maintain security. He knew that every morning, after a night of cleaning up the inquisition rooms, the Loon would go home to his tree house in Central Park and forget practically everything he had seen, heard, or smelled. The Loon was much too self-absorbed to be a busybody.

  2.

  The Loon was like a bat. He slept all day long, from sunrise to sunset, regardless of where he was or what was expected of him. He would, as the sun rose, simply fold whatever piece of cloth there was at hand, a drapery, a rug, a coat, around him like a shroud and drop off to sleep, usually positioning himself in a foetal heap in a corner. The only thing that could wake him was the sunset. In many ways, the habit was inconvenient and sometimes embarrassing to others, but it was a habit he had formed early in childhood and thus he was devoted to it. Actually, all his habits were formed early in childhood, and he was devoted to all his habits. He had not formed a new habit or broken an old one since his fourth birthday.

  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 a
nd 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.