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knew him quite well when we were younger, when he was writing plays. Did you
know him then?
No, Madame. I was a lobe sod. I met him thirteen years ago.
Madame de Roche nodded then shook her head, frowning. Please. We both
remember a time when language was civilized.
Your pardon.
Was the pd certain Goldsmith was the murderer?
They seemed to be, Richard said.
She put on a contemplative air, arms limp on the wicker rests of her peacock
chair. That would be a most interesting thing, Emanuel a killer. He always
had it in him, I thought, but it was a crazy thought. I never voiced it...
until now. You were an acolyte, were you not? You admired some of his women?
I was a sycophant, Madame. I admired his work.
Then you re sad about this.
Surprised.
But not sad? she asked, curious.
If he did it. then I m furious with him. It s a betrayal of all the
untherapied. He was one of our greats. We ll be hounded till our deaths, our
styles will be degraded, our works shunned.
That bad.
Richard nodded almost hopefully as if anticipating the ordeal.
This transform pd you met... She was not negroid, you say, but she was
black.
Oriental in some features, Madame.
Black nemesis. I d like to meet this woman sometime ... Elegant, composed, I
presume?
Very.
One of the therapied?
I would think so. She had the air of the combs.
There was once a time when police, public defenders, were underpaid, lower
class.
I remember, Madame.
They probably enjoy coming into the shade.
Emanuel lived on the third foot of East Comb One, Madame.
She nodded, remembering. I wouldn t worry if he is caught and convicted, she
said, voice light as down. He was never really one of us. Untherapied, yes,
but a natural needs no such thing. We are none of us naturals, my dear. We are
merely untherapied.
Our badge of mock protest. Oh, no. Emanuel will dishonor a much higher
category than ours.
Madame de Roche dismissed him and his spirits fell immediately he was outside
the door.
+
More and more I am nothing without someone. To be alone is to be in bad
company.
Richard paced one yard this way one yard that on the root heaved concrete.
Five minutes after a signal from his beeper another little rounded white
autobus hummed into the eucalyptus screen and opened its wide doors.
Destination, the bus asked him, voice pleasantly androgynous.
+
People. A place that brings an end to a rough.
Richard gave an address in Glendale on Pacific, an avenue leading to and in
shade of East Comb Three. A literary lounge where home brew could be had and
most important of all where he would not be alone. Perhaps there he could tell
the tale again maximum effect maximum purgation. Black nemesis. Work on that.
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One hour, the bus told him.
So long?
Many calls. Please come aboard. Richard boarded and took a strap.
Moses came down from Horeb, hair on fire with God, God s soot around his lips
where he had eaten the pwasy leaves of the burning bush, his humanity blasted
from him, leaving him like carbon steel touch him he might ring, and
contemplated his future. A
leader of men. And women. He sat near his dear wife Zipporah in the dark and
cursed his misfortune.
Men didn t know what they wanted, or how to go about getting it They did
whatever came into their minds first. They hated at the drop of a hat and
spurned love because they feared being taken advantage of. They leaped into
violence before an angel could blink, and then called their murder and
destruction valorous, and boasted of it and wept while drunk. And women! Did
not carbon steel deserve something more?
Give me a glorious task, Lord, away from this rabble.
And that was when God descended and was sore vexed with him, making the land
outside their tent quiver. Zipporak daughter of Jethro said, Moses, Moses,
what have you done now?
I have thought unworthy thoughts/ Moses said, hoping that was enough to
mollify God, but the landscape turned bloodred and the sky filled with bloody
clouds.
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