Free Turning Idolater by Edward C. Patterson Page B

Philip said, an admittance he
seldom made. “Good and warm.”
    “For you to feel good and warm, some part needs to
be cold.”
    Philip broke loose. It wasn’t the words. They were
fine. It was the probe that hurt — the subtle barb of insincerity.
A dash in confidence. “I’m afraid a good deal of me is cold,” Philip said. He had never admitted this before. The words
chilled him.
    “I cannot accept that,” Thomas said. “Perhaps you
think me a warm soul. A man who sees through people in order to
catch their spirits and repackage them in books.”
    “I’m sure I’ll wind up in one of your books.”
    Thomas twitched, and then shifted his weight away
from Philip. He sat on the edge of the bed, his feet puddling for
his slippers. Philip grasped his shoulders.
    “No, no,” Thomas said. “You just struck a nerve,
nothing more. It has nothing to do with you. I am a man who feels
the weight of what I do for a living. You know Melville and I have
some things in common.”
    Philip sidled up to him. “You are both authors and
use words to catch us little fishies.”
    Thomas smiled at this. “Little fishies and big bad
marine mammals too. However, we are really thieves and . . .
liars.”
    “No. I don’t believe that.”
    “Yes. Sad to say, it is true. We spin our yarns at
the expense of others. We steal their secrets — their breath, their
very lives and we spill it across pages of crisp, printed and
well–edited lies. None of it is true.”
    Philip pouted. He didn’t care for this talk. It was
sodden, beaching the great marine mammal never to swim free again.
“I won’t hear it,” he snapped. He hugged Thomas. “You bring joy to
the hearts of the likes of me.”
    Thomas grinned. “The likes of I.”
    “You see, already you’re improving my lot. Perhaps
I’ll find . . . edification in your shadow.”
    “Splendidly put.”
    “And you would call that a lie.”
    Thomas buckled himself to this beauty, pressing
chest to chest. “In the shadow of my sails you wish to rove, over
uncharted seas in the clutch of sunlight or in the jaws of the
storm?”
    “I wish it.”
    “Then let it be.”
    Then let it be , Philip thought, as sure as
we lie, Queequeg and I.

Chapter Seven
    “ Old Times till Nearly
Morning”
1
    Since sleep didn’t come, Thomas clasped his hands
behind his head, stretched over his pillow and spoke to the
ceiling.
    “Let me tell you then how I met my agent.”
    “I don’t like him much,” Philip muttered.
    “No one does.”
    “You must.”
    “By degrees I have loved him better and indeed, far
worse as his madness progressed, but if the subject does not
interest you, I can outline my marketing plan for my latest
undertaking.”
    “I don’t think I’d like that much better.”
    “Then, hush and listen. Twenty eight years ago, I
was stationed in Germany at a place called Grafenwöhr.”
    Philip propped himself on his hand. “You were in the
army?”
    “Yes, indeedy. I served the beast in the Bavarian
woods, I did.”
    “Twenty-eight years ago?”
    “1980.”
    “I wasn’t even born then.”
    “Keep quiet and listen or I will need to spank you.”
Philip giggled. “Cheeky monkey.”
    Philip tickled him, but Thomas pinned him down.
    “Now, there is this thing about tickling that gets
to me, boy,” Thomas said. “So just listen and learn.”
    “Yes, Tee,” Philip said, but still giggled. “I mean,
I love ancient history.”
    “As well you should.” He flattened his pillow and
resumed his stance. “Now, although I was stationed at Grafenwöhr,
the Army sent me on TDY to Nürnberg.”
    “TDY? Like in Tdye?”
    “No. It is army spiel for Training. It stands
for Temporary Duty assignment.”
    “So you went on a training trip to Nerdberg?”
    Thomas laughed. “Not Nerdberg. Nürnberg. You
probably know it better as Nuremberg.”
    “Then why didn’t you call it that?”
    “Because I believe that a place should be pronounced
as it is by its natives. The Germans do not