“But why is he locked in, why won’t he let anybody else even see Davis?” Then, in a sudden decision, he said, “I’m going to see for myself,” and started to strip off his shirt.
“Don’t confront Mark, it won’t do any good. You’ll just make him worse.”
“I won’t confront him.” Larry stepped out of his trousers and shorts, shoes and socks, then, naked, went down the pool steps and swam across to the deep end, making as little disturbance in the water as possible. Above the window he inhaled deeply, then plunged.
The window; from an angle a cold clear shimmering sheet, from straight on a transparency. Larry’s arms and legs moved, fighting his body buoyancy, and he looked through the window into the dim-lit room.
It was like a picture in a dream, like some kind of fantastic television. It was as though Larry were tripping, rather than Liz; these shimmering shapes, this underwater quality, had been present sometimes in trips he’d taken before quitting acid, four or five years ago. Through a yard of water, through the twin thicknesses of the glass, was spread the diorama of the room; Koo Davis lying on the couch, twitching from time to time, his head occasionally turning fretfully on the pillow, his eyes closed or no more than slightly open, a sheet half covering him and leaving exposed his panting chest, while seated across from him, unmoving, waited Mark. Still, silent, Mark seemed relaxed in his chair, but he was gazing without pause at Koo Davis, staring at him as though the very appearance of the man contained the answer to some urgent question. The shifting water made vision uncertain, so that Larry couldn’t be certain of the expression on Mark’s face. It seemed bland and calm, yet intent; was that possible? The usual rage, coldness, unrelenting dissatisfaction, none of that seemed present now in Mark’s face, though it could merely be an ambiguity of the water that made him seem so tranquil. He would be listening to the radio in there, the same news, the same planet; but it seemed a planet far far away from the room.
Larry’s lungs were hurting, but the scene held him, the sick older man and the black-bearded young man together in tableau in their underwater cave. It seemed to Larry the scene somehow meant something, that it was both a question and an answer, and if he could comprehend what he was seeing he would understand everything. He fought to remain under the surface, while his lungs and chest and ears strained and his heart pounded, until he suddenly realized that what he was seeing, whether he understood it or not, was too private. He wasn’t supposed to know this. Afraid all at once that Mark would turn his head, see him, and never forgive this knowledge, Larry relaxed his arms and floated to the surface, then swam slowly back to the shallow end.
Liz was still in the chaise, the same as before, but Joyce had risen and was standing by the edge of the pool when Larry climbed out. She said, “He isn’t hurting him, is he?”
“He’s just watching him. Sitting there unmoving. Koo seems unconscious, but I suppose that’s best for him. But Mark just sits there.” Larry looked back down at the water, as though Mark lived down in those chlorinated blue depths. “There’s something weird about him. Weirder than usual.”
Joyce managed a laugh, and said, “I suppose you’re right, we all are going crazy a little bit, at least for—”
“Wait.”
Larry had heard the announcement begin, from the tinny portable radio on the tiles by Liz’s chaise. “The Los Angeles office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation has asked all radio stations in this area to present the following taped statement at this time.” And then another voice came on, sounding strained and hurried:
“This is Michael Wiskiel of the Los Angeles office of the FBI. I have been involved on the FBI side in the Koo Davis kidnapping. Early this morning, we delivered to the kidnappers medicines necessary to keep Koo Davis alive. Although we had promised not to use this humanitarian act as an opportunity to capture the kidnappers, we felt that certain legal, moral, and medical considerations were more urgent than our promise, and so we inserted a form of tracking device in with the medicine, hoping to follow its transmission and rescue Koo Davis. Unfortunately, the kidnappers found the device and returned it to us with a taped message. Here is part of that tape.”
Now Mark’s cold angry voice pushed itself into the sunny day: “We’ll be listening to the radio news all morning. Until we hear an apology from you, Michael Wiskiel, in your own voice, Koo Davis gets no medicine.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Larry said.
The Michael Wiskiel voice had come back: “The most important consideration, of course, is Koo Davis’ health and safety. I certainly do apologize for my decision to use the tracking device, since it clearly has resulted in increased danger for Koo Davis. I not only apologize, I am voluntarily removing myself from further connection with this case. I can only hope this delay has not caused irretrievable harm to Koo Davis. I beg the kidnappers, please, to give Koo his medicine now.”
Peter had come out during the statement, looking both jubilant and relieved, and when it was over Larry turned on him, angrily saying, “Do you like that victory? Peter? He took it away from us, it’s a triumph for them. They broadcast as much of what Mark said as they wanted—and what a wonderful voice he has to play a villain!—and they made it sound as though it was their idea to turn over the medicine. Are you really pleased with that?”
“Be quiet, Larry,” Peter said. “They apologized, didn’t they? Let’s go downstairs and give the man his medicine.”
13
Koo lies on the couch, his head propped by pillows, and eats spoonfuls of oatmeal fed to him by the woman called Joyce. “After this,” he says, still whispering because of his ragged throat and still gasping with fatigue, “will you—read me a story?” To his complete surprise and embarrassment, she responds with an utterly tragic and despairing expression of face; two large tears ooze from her eyes and roll unhindered down her cheeks. They look hot, and the skin itself looks both hot and dry. All in all, her appearance is in Koo’s eyes unhealthy, as though she doesn’t eat right, doesn’t sleep right, doesn’t have good medical advice. “Hey,” he whispers, lifting one weak hand from his side, “you trying to—break my—self-confidence?—That’s the worst—reaction to a gag—I ever got.”
She turns away, fumbling the oatmeal bowl onto the counter, swabbing at the tears with shaky fingers of her other hand. Then she covers her face with both hands and just sits there, huddled over like a refugee in a bombed bus station.
Koo frowns at her. His strength is slowly returning, and with it the determination somehow to help himself, be of some use to himself.
For instance, he knows where he is. It came to him in one of his deliriums, and now that he’s once again more or less in his right mind he’s convinced he’s right. He’s never been here before, but he definitely knows where he is. Could the knowledge be turned to use?
He also wonders if he could work some sort of deal or something with one of the kidnappers. So far he’s seen five of them, and is beginning to get a sense of each as an individual. There’s the leader, probably the one referred to as Peter; he likes to stay behind the scenes, put in an occasional dramatic or sardonic appearance, and then fade away again. The old eminence grise routine. Along with him there’s Vampira, the naked blonde chickie with the scars; Koo doesn’t know her name, and would be perfectly happy never to see her again, with or without clothing. Another nut is Larry, the lecturer in Advanced Insanity; there’s a weird sort of sympathy inside Larry, but it’s probably useless to Koo, since Larry clearly is a True Believer, one of those intellectual clowns who can’t see the goods for the theories. A completely unsympathetic type is Mark, the tough guy with the chip on his shoulder; Koo knows that fellow is just waiting for an excuse to do something really drastic.