Free Yonder Stands Your Orphan by Barry Hannah Page A

understand what improvement
single
could be over more. He had been to California twice to talk to Larry Flynt the pornographer. In his opulent antiqued office, Flynt had expressed himself that a woman was the prettiest picture God allowed on this black earth. Mortimer’s man had stolen Flynt’s Lexus SUV and his secretary’s Infiniti SUV. Flynt was an atheist and democrat who was scared stupid by snake handlers in Kentucky when he was a tiny lad. Woman, the most exquisite vision in nature, he said. It was odd there was also a Venice, California, with slimy moats or what all in it too. Sea slugs, for God’s sake. He did not walk to the ocean.
    Mortimer and Booth became large in self-congratulations. It was early spring. They discussed life’s good old goodness. Then they gave their names. Then they talked about their fine hot women. Both women would lie a little, but that was somehow even more zesty. You had to say thatfor these days, they were living. They had it made, it might not get any better. Mortimer in sympathy imagined this gentle soul Booth with some pliant granny of a girlfriend he thought was a rich find.
    He noticed the fellow was, well, a tad effeminate. That was fine. All types. This great U.S.A. open for business, to even old guys, twenty-four / seven. He cheered Booth and cheered his own Conway Twitty–faced self. Booth was a navy veteran, no damned sissy anyway. It was the malt, though, had to be, when Booth told him he was a SEAL in peacetime. His man Lloyd was a SEAL, and Mortimer exercised the courtesy of not mentioning this to the silvery-haired old dreamer. Booth told him his mission was to train violent assault dogs to swim underwater toward Japanese drift-net fishermen, the voracious everything-killing nets fifty miles wide in the Gulf of Mexico. Mortimer did not blink. He was just on the brink of handing the keys of his Lincoln Navigator over to his pal to use a week. Let him dream even bigger.
    Then the name Dee Allison came up. The same nurse over at Almost There nursing home. Onward, rather.
    â€œI’m proud to pick such a blossom off that tree, given my years,” Booth said. “I must have something left, because that is one satisfied thirty-six-year-old minx.”
    His new pal blinked and got sober.
    â€œYou say Dee Allison? Then we both owe her something, Frank. Come on out here to the carport and let’s chat on it.”
    He pointed to the Mississippi River when they were outdoors, wide and powerful. Just an old barge road now, with its memories. The Siege of Vicksburg, Gibraltar of the West, 1864. The flood of 1927. Lanterns on the levee. Oyster barrels from New Orleans and Texas grapefruit up forChristmas plantationers. Mortimer did not know the dates. He did not like history or time.
    They sat in the behemoth Navigator, large as some fighting machines in Desert Storm.
    â€œDee Allison should be floating dead down that water right now,” he said to Booth. “We both guessed we got all of her. We gave her everything. All we had was another cheat. I love her, Frank, if I’ve ever had love. But she just grabbed for the leavings, likely just for spite of us both. I cannot believe you trained underwater dogs, old man. But I believe you came in my woman, unless this is a prank.”
    â€œNo it isn’t. I forgot your name.”
    â€œMan’s my name. Man Mortimer. Means death by sea.”
    â€œWell this is a shock, with Dee.”
    â€œJust think on this a minute.”
    They talked about the sickening whirlpools down in that river. The Civil War dead in their sniper pits, still yearning for a clean head shot on Sherman or Grant. They agreed one expert Navy SEAL sniper could have won the war that month. When slavery would have perished as an institution. It was common wisdom that the South would have given the slaves their freedom the instant they kicked the North’s ass, but that the slaves would have chosen to remain. This