Lincoln in the Bardo Read online

Leaving Mr. Bevins and me there below, alone.

  hans vollman

  In truth, we were bored, so very bored, so continually bored.

  roger bevins iii

  Each night passed with a devastating sameness.

  hans vollman

  We had sat every branch on every tree. Had read and re-read every stone. Had walked down (run down, crawled down, laid upon) every walk, path, and weedy trail, had waded every brook; possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the textures and tastes of the four distinct soil types here; had made a thorough inventory of every hair-style, costume, hair-pin, watch-fob, sock-brace, and belt worn by our compatriots; I had heard Mr. Vollman’s story many thousands of times, and had, I fear, told him my own at least as many times.

  roger bevins iii

  In short, it was dull here, and we craved the slightest variation.

  hans vollman

  Anything new was a treasure; we longed for any adventure, the merest lark.

  roger bevins iii

  There would be no harm, we thought, in taking a quick trip.

  hans vollman

  Out to where the gentleman sat.

  roger bevins iii

  We need not even tell the Reverend we were going.

  We could just…go.

  hans vollman

  It was always a relief to be free of the old bore for a bit.

  roger bevins iii

  XXXVII.

  Bursting out through the front wall, Mr. Bevins and I set off.

  hans vollman

  Ignoring the Reverend’s peevish cries of protest from the roof.

  roger bevins iii

  Cutting down through the clover-engorged dell occupied by the seven flood-sickened members of the Palmer family, we shortly reached that thin gray-slate trail that runs below, passing between Coates on one side and Wemberg on the other.

  hans vollman

  Wended our way past Federly, Blessed are those who die in the Light.

  roger bevins iii

  A chess-piece-looking monument, topped with a vase, that ends in what looks like a nipple.

  hans vollman

  And proceeded through the M. Boyden/G. Boyden/Gray/Hebbard cluster.

  roger bevins iii

  Into that slight hollow which is, in spring, overgrown with foxglove and coneflower.

  hans vollman

  But was now a massive dormant tangle of gray.

  roger bevins iii

  Wherein two slothful winter birds glared at us as we passed.

  hans vollman

  Birds being distrustful of our ilk.

  roger bevins iii

  Jogging down the far side of the North Hill, we greeted Merkel (kicked by a bull but still looking forward to the dance); Posterbell (a dandy whose looks had gone, who fervently wished that his hair might be restored and his gums might reverse their recession and the muscles of his arms might no longer resemble flaccid straps and his dinner suit be brought to him, and a bottle of scent and a bouquet of flowers, so that he might once again go courting); Mr. and Mrs. West (fire with no possible cause, as they were always meticulously careful regarding management of the hearth); and Mr. Dill (mumbling contentedly about his grandson’s excellent university marks, eagerly anticipating the spring graduation).

  hans vollman

  And proceeded past Trevor Williams, former hunter, seated before the tremendous heap of all the animals he had dispatched in his time: hundreds of deer, thirty-two black bear, three bear cubs, innumerable coons, lynx, foxes, mink, chipmunks, wild turkeys, woodchucks, and cougars; scores of mice and rats, a positive tumble of snakes, hundreds of cows and calves, one pony (carriage-struck), twenty thousand or so insects, each of which he must briefly hold, with loving attention, for a period ranging from several hours to several months, depending on the quality of loving attention he could muster and the state of fear the beast happened to have been in at the time of its passing. Being thus held (the product of time and loving attention being found sufficient, that is), that particular creature would heave up, then trot or fly or squirm away, diminishing Mr. Williams’s heap by one.

  roger bevins iii

  It was an extraordinary pile, nearly as tall as the chapel spire.

  hans vollman

  He had been a prodigious hunter and had many years of hard work yet ahead of him.

  roger bevins iii

  He called out to us, arms full of calf, asking us to keep him company, saying that his was good toil but lonely, as he was not permitted to ever stand and stroll about.

  hans vollman

  I explained to him that we were on an urgent mission and must not delay.

  roger bevins iii

  Mr. Williams (a good sort, never unhappy, always cheerful since his conversion to gentleness) acknowledged that he understood, by waving one hoof of the calf.

  hans vollman

  XXXVIII.

  Soon we approached the massive Collier sick-home, of Italian marble, encircled by three concentric rose gardens, marked, on either side, by an ornate fountain (waterless, now, for winter).

  roger bevins iii

  When one owns four homes and has fifteen full-time gardeners perfecting one’s seven gardens and eight man-made streams, one will, of necessity, spend a great deal of time racing between homes and from garden to garden, and so it is perhaps not surprising if, one afternoon, rushing to check on the progress of a dinner one’s cook is preparing for the board of one’s favorite charity, one finds oneself compelled to take a little rest, briefly dropping to one knee, then both knees, then pitching forward on to one’s face and, unable to rise, proceeding here for a more prolonged rest, only to find it not restful at all, since, while ostensibly resting, one finds oneself continually fretting about one’s carriages, gardens, furniture, homes, et al., all of which (one hopes) patiently await one’s return, not having (Heaven forfend) fallen into the hands of some (reckless, careless, undeserving) Other.

  percival “dash” collier

  Mr. Collier (shirt clay-stained at the chest from his fall, nose crushed nearly flat) was constantly compelled to float horizontally, like a human compass needle, the top of his head facing in the direction of whichever of his properties he found himself most worried about at the moment.

  The top of his head was now facing west. Our arrival causing his worrying to wane, he let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure, bobbed up to vertical, turned to face us.

  hans vollman

  Mr. Collier, said Mr. Vollman.

  Mr. Vollman, said Mr. Collier.

  roger bevins iii

  A new property-worry then crossing his mind, he was thrown violently forward, stomach down, and, with a grunt of dread, spun to face north.

  hans vollman

  XXXIX.

  Next we must short-cut through that swampy little section populated by our very lowest.

  hans vollman

  They sought the damp and moonless feeling here.

  roger bevins iii

  Here stood Mr. Randall and Mr. Twood, in perpetual conversation.

  hans vollman

  Rendered mutually inarticulate by we knew not what misfortune.

  roger bevins iii

  Faces reduced to gauzy unreadable smudges.

  hans vollman

  Torsos gray and shapeless but for the slightest torpedo-shaped suggestion of arms and legs.

  roger bevins iii

  Indistinguishable except that Mr. Twood’s movements retained a touch more vitality. Every now and then, as if making an attempt at persuasion, one of his arm-like appendages would pop up, as if to indicate, on a shelf, something to which he wished to call Mr. Randall’s attention.

  hans vollman

  Mr. Twood having been, we believed, in the retail line.

  roger bevins iii

  Drag out the big signage Immediately put it away again Drag it out again Not let slip from grasp Significantly reduced women’s.

  mr. benjamin twood

  In response
, the gray faceless wedge that had been Mr. Randall would sometimes enact a little dance.

  roger bevins iii

  Yield the seat Here’s a fellow who can really Tinkle the twinklers And the blokeat the piano would proffer his Then it was all me.

  jasper randall

  Sometimes, near sunrise, when all of the other swamp denizens were weary and depleted and had self-stacked and gone mute near the lightning-blasted black oak, Mr. Randall could be found bowing over and over again, as if to an imagined audience.

  roger bevins iii

  Leading us to surmise that he must have been a performer of some type.

  hans vollman

  Thank you thank you thank you!

  jasper randall

  EXTRAORDINARY VALUE WITHIN:

  Only recall your thin weary mother who mightyet be saved By the auto-iron, the cranking grater, the cold-box, the auto-salter, her once-fine posture revived, her winsome kindsmile revived, as of yore, when, in shortknees, you sported a branchsaber among the general pie-odor.

  mr. benjamin twood

  Slam, arpeggio, pause for smokedrink When I slammed a good one, small ripples would appear in the golden drink set before.

  jasper randall

  Any admiration we might once have felt for their endurance had long since devolved into revulsion.

  roger bevins iii

  Were we destined for a similar fate?

  hans vollman

  We thought not.

  roger bevins iii

  (Regularly scanned each other’s features for any indication of facial-smudging.)

  hans vollman

  (Continually monitored ourselves for the slightest degradation in diction.)

  roger bevins iii

  And they were far from the worst.

  hans vollman

  Consider Mr. Papers.

  roger bevins iii

  Essentially a cringing gray supine line.

  hans vollman

  Of whom one would only become aware once one had stumbled over him.

  roger bevins iii

  Cannery anyhelpmate? Come. To. Heap me? Cannery help? Can any wonder? Help. Conneg ayone heap? Unclog? May?

  Place hepMay.

  l. b. papers

  We had no idea what Mr. Papers might previously have been.

  roger bevins iii

  There being so little of him remaining.

  hans vollman

  Go on Move along Else receive an unglad message in your bentover I’ll come right up under and ventilate your undertenting.

  flanders quinn

  Flanders Quinn.

  hans vollman

  Former robber.

  roger bevins iii

  Bevins, I’ll piss a line of toxic in yr wretched twin wristcuts Gropping you by yr clubdick, Vollman, I’ll slang you into the blackfence.

  flanders quinn

  I, for one, was afraid of him.

  roger bevins iii

  I was not afraid of him.

  Exactly.

  But we had urgent business. Must not linger.

  hans vollman

  And trot-skimmed off along the swamp-margin, Quinn cursing us, then reversing himself and supplicating us to return, as he was frightened to stay in that place, and yet more frightened to leave it (and go), since what must become of a sinner who had slit the throats of a merchant and his daughter beside a broken-wheeled Fredericksburg cariole (plucked the pearls from her very neck and wiped them blood-free with her own silk wrap)?

  roger bevins iii

  Regaining higher ground we put on the speed, passed through the leaning toolshed, crossed the gravel road, and made good time along the old carriage path, which still retained, to my nostrils, some faint mysterious scent of newsprint.

  hans vollman

  XL.

  Just ahead now, past the slightly left-leaning Cafferty obelisk, a crowd had gathered around a freshly filled sick-hole.

  hans vollman

  Mr. Vollman approached the group.

  Is the new arrival still…with us? he delicately inquired.

  He is, yes, replied Tobin “Badger” Muller, bent, as always, nearly double with toil.

  Shut your traps, so I can hear ’im, barked Mrs. Sparks, on all fours, ear to the ground.

  roger bevins iii

  XLI.

  Wife of my heart laura laura

  I take up my pen in a state of such great exhaustion that only my deep love for all of you could so compel me after a day of such Unholy slaughter and fear. And must tel you frankly that Tom Gilman did not make it through the terrible fite. Our position being located in a copse. Much firing during which I heard a cry. Tom is hit & fallen. Our Brave & Noble frend laying upon his Face upon the Ground. I directed the Boys that we would avenge even if it meant stepping through the very gates of Hell.

  Such is the state of my Mind that tho I know we set off in that direction & with that Intent, what happened next I cannot recall. Only that all is Well and I embrace my faithful pen to inform you I am at present safe and hope these lines find my Dear little family enjoying the same great Blessing.

  I arrived here at this place by Distant journey. And confin’d all the while. It was a terrible fite as I believe I rote you. Tom Gilman is ded as I believe I rote you. But He who preserves or destroys by his Whim saw fit to preserve me to rite these lines to you. To say that although confin’d, I count my Blessings. I am Weary to the point I can scarcely tell where I am or how I got here.

  I await the nurse.

  Trees hang down. Breece blows. I am somewhat blue & afrade.

  O my dear I have a foreboding. And feel I must not linger. In this place of great sadness. He who preserves and Loves us scarcely present. And since we must endeavor always to walk beside Him, I feel I must not linger. But am Confin’d, in Mind & Body, and unable, as if manacled, to leave at this time, dear Wife.

  I must seek & seek: What is it that keeps me in this abismal Sad place?

  captain william prince

  A figure now burst up from the mounded earth, like some wild creature sprung from a cage, and began pacing about, anxiously gazing into the faces of Mr. Muller, Mrs. Sparks, and the others.

  roger bevins iii

  A soldier.

  In uniform.

  hans vollman

  Don’t be afraid, someone drawled from the crowd. You was in that old place, and now you is in this new place here.

  roger bevins iii

  The soldier became translucent to the point of invisibility, as sometimes happens with us during intense cogitation, and, head first, re-entered the sick-hole.

  Then of the instant was out again, look of bleak wonderment upon his face.

  hans vollman

  Dear wife of my Heart O Laura-Bunny,

  Inside my Confin’men is my trapings. I have just now looked. My cheek mole & hareline exact. It is uncomfortable to behold. With a sad look on the (burned!) face. And the torso marred by a grave wound difficult to

  I am here, am trapped here and I see of this instant what I must do to get free.

  Which is tell the TRUTH & all shall be

  O I cant tel shal I tell shall I tell all?

  I feel I must or

  stay forever

  In this drear & awful

  Laura send the little ones away & see that they cannot hear what comes next.

  I consorted with the smaller of the two. I did. In that rude Hamlet. Consorted with the smaller of the two and she asked after the Loket you had given me and asked Is she a good wife? even as she, atop me, gave a little thrust of the hips and looked me in the eye as to disgrace yr Honor but I assure you that (even as she thrust twise more, eyes still loked on mine) I did not give her that satisfaction, did not sully Yr name or memory, although to serve TRUTH (& thereby escape this place) I feel I must freely confess that as she bent low to proffer her womanly Charms, one of them and then the other to my mouth, asking did my wife do this was my wife as wild? I made an expulsion of breat
h that we both understood to mean NO my wife does not, my wife is not as Free. And all the further time we consorted there in that dirty leaning shed where her 3 babes did sleep on in there crude crib & her 2 pale Sisters and her Mother did kakle from the Yard, she kept the loket clenched in one hand and, when done, asked could she keep it? But my foul lust now rung out of me, I answered sharply that she could not. And took me to the woods. Where I wept. And there thought with true Tenderness of you. And desided it was kinder to deceive.

  To deceive you.

  captain william prince

  He was pacing a wide stumbling circle now, head in hands.

  roger bevins iii

  The Moon was high and I said to myself sometimes a man must preserve the peace & spare the One he loves. Which I have done. Until now. I planned to tell you this not in a leter but in person. When perhaps the warmth of the telling might soften the blow. But my situation appearing hopeless in the extreme, my homecoming now never to occur, I tell all to you, cry out to you, in truest voice (I fuked the smaller of the 2, I did, I did it), in hopes that you, and He who hears & forgives all, will hear & forgive all and allow me now to leave this wretched—

  captain william prince

  Then a blinding flash of light came from near the obelisk, and the familiar, yet always bone-chilling, firesound associated with the matterlightblooming phenomenon.