Free The crying of lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon

wine brought in, and begins an orgy.
The act ends with Gennaro's forces drawn up by the shores of the lake. An enlisted man comes on to report that a body, identified as Niccol6 by the usual amulet placed round his neck as a child, has been found in a condition too awful to talk about. Again there is silence and everybody looks at everybody else. The soldier hands Gennaro a roll of parchment, stained with blood, which was found on the body. From its seal we can see it's the letter from Angelo that Niccol6 was carrying. Gennaro glances at it, does a double-take, reads it aloud. It is no longer the lying document Niccolo read us excerpts from at all, but now miraculously a long confession by Angelo of all his crimes, closing with the revelation of what really happened to the Lost Guard of Faggio. They were—surprise—every one massacred by Angelo and thrown in the lake. Later on their bones were fished up again and made into charcoal, and the charcoal into ink, which Angelo, having a dark sense of humor, used in all his subsequent communications with Faggio, the present document included.
But now the bones of these Immaculate Have mingled with the blood of Niccold, And innocence with innocence is join'd, A wedlock whose sole child is miracle: A life's base lie, rewritten into truth. That truth it is, we all bear testament, This Guard of Faggio, Faggio's noble dead.
    In the presence of the miracle all fall to their knees, bless the name of God, mourn Niccolo, vow to lay Squamuglia waste. But Gennaro ends on a note most desperate, probably for its original audience a real shock, because it names at last the name Angelo did not and Niccol6 tried to:
He that we last as Thum and Taxis knew Now recks no lord but the stiletto's Thorn, And Tacit lies the gold once-knotted horn. No hallowed skein of stars can ward, I trow, Who's once been set his tryst with Trystero. /
    Trystero. The word hung in the air as the act ended and all lights were for a moment cut; hung in the dark to puzzle Oedipa Maas, but not yet to exert the power over her it was to.
The fifth act, entirely an anticlimax, is taken up by the bloodbath Gennaro visits on the court of Squamuglia. Every mode of violent death available to Renaissance man, including a lye pit, land mines, a trained falcon with envenom'd talons, is employed. It plays, as Metzger remarked later, like a Road Runner cartoon in blank verse. At the end of it about the only character left alive in a stage dense with corpses is the colorless administrator, Gennaro.
According to the program, The Courier's Tragedy had been directed by one Randolph Driblette. He had also played the part of Gennaro the winner. "Look, Metzger," Oedipa said, "come on backstage with me."
"You know one of them?" said Metzger, anxious to
leave.
"I want to find out something. I want to talk to
Driblette."
"Oh, about the bones." He had a brooding look.
Oedipa said,
"I don't know. It just has me uneasy. The two things, so close."
"Fine," Metzger said, "and what next, picket the VA.? March on Washington? God protect me," he addressed the ceiling of the little theatre, causing a few heads among those leaving to swivel, "from these lib, overeducated broads with the soft heads and bleeding hearts. I am 35 years old, and I should know better."
"Metzger," Oedipa whispered, embarrassed, "I'm a Young Republican."
"Hap Harrigan comics," Metzger now even louder, "which she is hardly old enough to read, John Wayne on Saturday afternoon slaughtering ten thousand Japs with his teeth, this is Oedipa Maas's World War II, man. Some people today can drive VW's, cany a Sony radio in their shirt pocket. Not this one, folks, she wants to right wrongs, 20 years after it's all over. Raise ghosts. All from a drunken hassle with Manny Di Presso. Forgetting her first loyalty, legal and moral, is to the estate she represents. Not to our boys in uniform, however gallant, whenever they died."
"It isn't that," she protested. "I don't care what Beaconsfield