In Dark Corners (35 page)

A commotion behind you, back in the room, catches Helen's attention.

"Oh, look, they are getting ready for midnight."

You follow her nearer to the closed glass panel, which screens away the varied smells of the crowd, gathered around Priam now, who is standing up on a slight stage after ringing a bell. "Okay, everyone. Twelve o'clock. Time to unmask. " His voice is slightly muffled through the glass barrier.

On cue everyone begins to strip away their disguises, taking off masks, some slipping out of bulky costumes, everyone laughing, pointing, shouting, and giggling drunkenly, completely exposing their true selves. Their fatness, their richness, their disdain…their naked cruelty.

"What about you, my anonymous friend?" Helen asks huskily, as she stumbles drunkenly, trying to lead you nearer the closed glass panel. "Time to take off your costume and mask. Join the crowd. The coupling room?"

Mask?

Of course you're not wearing a mask, you think, as you stare at the faintly luminescent, misshapen, ugly face reflected in the panel. No indeed. And these people laughing, smoking, drinking, and copulating up here high in the air, like gods above all the common misery down below. The arrogant, dismissive cruelty of the
Uppers
inflames your anger.

Your bloodlust.

Through a veil of murderous red rage, you watch the gargoyle in the glass growl ferociously, exposing its long yellowed fangs—

The panel slides apart, letting the chilling roar reverberate through the suddenly quiet room. The cloying stink of prey fear flares your nostrils wider, makes your mouth water, and incites your ravenous hunger.

You crouch into hunting mode.

(A tip of the hat to Poe, with perhaps a nod to Bulfinch.)

The sunlight streaming through his bedroom window awakens Shane Devlin. For a moment or two, as is his recent custom, he lies there lazily, but as the seconds tick by he feels a sense of urgency building and stirring his body.

Today is the day!

He sits up abruptly, shedding sheets and blankets.

Yeah, today just may be the day Robbie speaks again, he thinks, springing up from the bed to gaze out the big picture window of his Knob Hill apartment on Taylor Street.

The panoramic view east across San Francisco Bay is absolutely stunning, really unusual for a morning this time of year—normally it is obscured by fog until noon or later. But today is clear and sparkling, and in front of him Angel Island and Alcatraz seem so close, as if they are right in his backyard. The view is anchored on the left periphery by the Golden Gate Bridge, its burnt-orange twin towers rising up gloriously into a cloudless faded denim sky; anchoring the right is the grayish-blue Bay Bridge, its long twin spans separated by Treasure Island. Looking directly across the Bay is the most remarkable sight, because there is absolutely no smog haze; and Devlin can clearly make out the distant Berkeley Hills, even the Tower on the UC campus, and it has been that way for the last month. He shakes his head trying to recall, with no luck, another time in the recent past when the yellowish-brown haze did not shroud the East Bay hills. Devlin sucks in a breath, lingering in front of the golden morning, the postcard-perfect view stimulating an almost numbing sense of euphoria.

Then, suddenly he remembers his six-year-old son, Robbie, who is waiting for today's promised trip to the zoo. "Holy shit, it's 8:45 already," Devlin says aloud, after checking the clock, recalling that the zoo opens at 10:00.

He hustles around the bedroom, getting dressed, putting on shoes.

In the kitchen, he gulps a glass of orange juice, and crams down a strawberry yogurt bar.

It is just after 9:00 when Devlin dashes down the five flights of stairs to the garage and his silver-blue BMW, with the license plate: Bad Boy-1. He pauses for a moment, frowning as he gazes at the plate. It won't be easy getting Robbie's wheelchair into the trunk. Actually, he needs one of those new vans with the sliding side door. As he slips behind the wheel of the car, he makes a mental note to check out the showrooms over on Van Ness the first chance he gets.

***

Devlin negotiates the ride down from Knob Hill over to the Marina quickly and easily, running into no traffic at all, swinging around the occasional double-parked car or abandoned vehicle, making the whole trip in less than fifteen minutes. He double-parks in front of Lil's townhouse on Chestnut, but hesitates for a few moments, looking up at her second story window, his euphoria dampened by feelings of nostalgic guilt.

Jesus, how long had he lived there? Five, six years?

He slips into the past…

***

They'd moved in when Lil was pregnant with Robbie, escaping the tiny studio on Divisadero, when his band, Bad Boys, finally took off, after their song, "Radar Angel," became a Bay Area hit and eventually moved up the national charts to number one.

Then Robbie was born.

What a shock.

They'd been devastated, even with Dr. Karl's kind, encouraging prognosis of Robbie's condition—athetoid cerebral palsy. But all Devlin could think of at the time was that Robbie would
never
play a guitar or throw a ball…And it wasn't true like Lil later claimed that he immediately pressed for the European tour—the band was just getting established with the new INFINITE SPACE RECORDS deal; ISR pushed for the European gig, and the States tour, and the South American deal, and twelve hour days in the recording studio in L.A., too. Of course, ISR had nothing to do with the booze, dope, and chicks—that had just seemed to happen, all part of the rock and roll star deal.

Then the ongoing shock each time he finally came home as a stranger and looked at his son. The drooling, hideous grimaces when he tried to talk, lack of control of his limbs. Robbie looked retarded. But Lil remained adamantly convinced of the boy's smarts, sharing various incidents with Robbie revealing his innate intelligence, relating Dr. Carl's encouraging examples of many other athetoid C.P.s who were mentally gifted, like the Irish writer, Christy
something
—Devlin had forgotten his name, remembering only that they'd made a movie of his life. Still, Robbie did not seem all that sharp.

Then last year, the confrontation with Lil and the agreed trial separation, and Devlin moving to the apartment on Taylor.

Despite all the family upheaval, Robbie had made terrific progress at school during the last year, especially with his speech therapist, until about a month ago, when overnight he suddenly quit talking, quit trying.

Ironic, because Devlin had made up his mind at about the same time to curtail the band's travel schedule for a while, deciding to stay home, work on writing some new material, and spend more time with his son. The trip today was an attempt to stimulate some emotional response, get his boy to talk again or at least try. In his six years, Robbie had never been to the zoo, despite living in San Francisco all that time. Lil and Devlin had been too busy.

***

Finally, Devlin shrugs off the guilt reminiscence, recapturing a little of his earlier elation. Yeah, man, today's the day!

Then he races up the stairs to the townhouse, speaks briefly with Lil in the front room, then wheels Robbie down the hallway to the elevator.

"I'm excited, Robbie-boy," Devlin says, waiting for the elevator door to open, and it's true. He wheels the six-year-old into the elevator and adds, "I think I was about your age when my dad first took me out there. It was a great day. All the animals…and they have a merry-go-round, too. Let's see. Oh, yeah, we had a special treat—cotton candy."

Devlin glances down, but Robbie remains silent, kind of slumped in the chair.

It doesn't matter, now, Devlin thinks and smiles to himself. Just wait 'til he spots the animals.

At the car, he lifts his son into the front seat of the BMW, carefully fastening the seat belt, marveling at how small Robbie is. Then he folds up the chair, and with some deft maneuvering gets it jammed into the trunk.

***

Driving out toward the ocean on Geary, Devlin keeps up a steady stream of conversation, commenting on the beautiful day, even suggesting that pretty soon they may even try a trip to Pac Bell Park in China Basin and catch a Giant's game. He sneaks a glimpse at Robbie, because Lil mentioned the boy had been watching the team on Fox TV.

No visible reaction.

After a moment or two of strained silence, Devlin asks, "How's your summer school going? Your mom says you are taking a special kind of swimming class." Lil had indeed mentioned the innovative physical therapy program—floating the students in warm water, then later trying to get them to visualize the experience, using it as a relaxation technique to control contractures and facial grimacing. "Sounds like fun."

But even though Devlin hasn't mentioned it to Lil, he wonders if something is wrong at school, something affecting Robbie's speech? Trouble with another student or one of the staff? Out of the corner of his eye, Devlin thinks he sees Robbie make a slight facial grimace when he mentioned school. But he isn't sure.

As they ease into a parking spot near the zoo's main entrance on Sloat, Devlin feels his sense of euphoria beginning to erode, but he sucks in a deep breath and exclaims, "This is it, Rob-boy!"

He shifts his attention to external events, to setting up the wheelchair and making sure Robbie is seated properly and belted in. Then, as they head down the gentle hill to the zoo's main gate, he turns his face into the stiff breeze blowing in from the nearby Pacific. Sometimes, even during the middle of summer, the west wind blows in a chilling fog over the Sunset District; but right out here next to the ocean, the day remains clear and mild, the breeze little more than cool. He smiles to himself. It's going to be all right.

"Okay, Rob, here we are," Devlin announces after they enter the main gate. "Over there is the playground. See the merry-go-round? And the snack bar. Way over there are the animals. We'll go to monkey island first, okay? But maybe we better stop here at the main restrooms," he adds.

They come out of the MENS and Devlin pushes the wheelchair toward the primate area just beyond the snack bar.

Monkey island had always been Devlin's favorite as a boy. And he expects some response from his son, when he first sees all the monkeys playing, stealing food from each other, and generally roughhousing like a bunch of rambunctious kids at a neighborhood playground.

But Robbie does not make a sound as they gaze out on the monkeys, who
all
appear kind of lethargic, just lying around on the rocky island surrounded by the moat, cruddy debris and a greenish slime floating on the dirty water. A depressing scene.

Must be the warm weather, Devlin thinks, fighting off a rising sense of disappointment.

He had really suspected that the boy's lack of effort to talk the last month was more an indication of boredom than anything else…or perhaps something going on at school. In any event he'd hoped to break through here at the zoo.

The wind has picked up, sapping the remaining traces of his euphoria. Depressed now, Devlin thinks guiltily, he's never going to talk again. I should have spent
more
time with him before this last month, cancelled the tours and studio time earlier. Jesus, I hardly know him.

He shakes his head sadly, looking back the way they'd come…

The snack bar!

Quickly, they return to the playground area, the snack bar, Devlin remembering enjoying cotton candy here when he was a boy. "Hey, dude, how about some cotton candy?" he asks his son. "Which color do you like? Pink or blue?"

Robbie remains silent.

"Let's get a blue one!" Devlin says, forcing an enthusiastic edge to his tone.

He goes into the snack bar through an open side door, ignoring the bloated attendant lying on the floor; then he picks up one of the wrapped blue cotton candies, leaves a dollar and a half by the cash register, and exits carefully, insuring that he doesn't step on the prostrate young man.

"Here you go, kiddo," he says, trying to unwrap the cotton candy. But he has a little difficulty, the candy melted in a half a dozen spots, sticking to the wrapping, the whole ball looking a lot smaller than he remembers. Finally Devlin gets it unwrapped, and pulls off a gooey piece, tasting it. God, he says to himself, how did I ever eat this stuff? But maybe Rob will like it. Let's see.

Devlin offers his son a small wad of the sticky stuff, but the boy lets the candy drop to his chest.

"I guess it isn't very good, really—kinda stale," Devlin admits, throwing the remainder into a trash receptacle, asking himself:
What now
?

He sighs, almost completely discouraged; but he pulls himself together for one last try, looking back again toward the animal area. Maybe the big cats will have some effect, he decides, wheeling his son away from the playground and snack bar toward the lion dens.

***

"Hey, pretty scary," Devlin says half-heartedly to his son. "What do you think of him?" he asks, pointing at the big, bushy-maned alpha male.

Nothing.

Before Devlin can really get completely bummed out, he realizes he is facing into the wind now, and it is blowing across the lions directly into his face…

A wind laced with the overpowering, sweet stench of recent death.

***

The smell jars Devlin, and for a few moments he is forced to drop his delusion and confront reality: