Hare in March Read online

  Peter Hagerman had taken him the rest of the way. Peter was the perfect leader for Bud — cynical but rigid, sophisticated but conforming, rebellious but Republican. Burroughs, at the end of three years, saw his father objectively as an honorable, well-meaning, good-natured man overburdened with lower-class prejudices; subjectively he saw him as a clod; he happened to love him, but that could not alter the fact he was a clod.

  It was this opinion of his father which led Burroughs to alternately worship and despise Hagerman, for Hagerman had been most influential in crystallizing this truth, so Hagerman was to be thanked for the emancipation it carried with it, and blamed, too, for the ensuing flashes of guilt.

  “That’s it! That’s it!” Hagerman was muttering behind Burroughs. “Burroughs, you are a genius!”

  Burroughs turned around and glared at Hagerman, furious at Hagerman’s unrelenting self-absorption. Here was Burroughs on top of something really impressive, something he had been so eager to tell Hagerman about that he had half-run and half-walked the three miles from the lab, and there was Hagerman dancing around with his silly felt-backed clipboard, to which he attached his plans for Pi Pi’s pledges.

  Peter really was an adolescent; the irony was Peter thought of himself as the mature, cool member of this partnership; he thought of Bud as the wide-eyed, artless disciple.

  Peter said, “Your father’s gun.”

  “What?”

  “I’m really out to get Shepley tomorrow. Thorpe, too, but Shepley has priority. Shepley’s at the top of the list.” “Is that right? I had no inkling.”

  “Listen, Bud, neither of them knew their Divine Comedy responses. I was just down there to give them their itineraries, and neither one could get out one goddam word of the response.”

  “No!”

  “Burroughs, don’t get on your mother-loving high horse! I’ve got a bug up me, Burroughs, so don’t horse around with me.”

  “Isn’t it ever going to end? Shepley’s just another guy. He’s just another guy, Peter.”

  “Oh. Is he, Burroughs? How many other guys got their fathers to promise the house a set of silverware if we initiated them?”

  “Like Blouter said, we need the silverware, and Shepley isn’t a pig, and he is a legacy. So what the hell?”

  “Pi Delta Pi, Burroughs, is not reduced to having to take legacies!”

  “Like Blouter said, if they come bearing gifts and they’re not pigs, what do we have to lose?” “Our honor.” “Come off it, Peter!”

  “Shepley bought his way in, and he knows it!” “He does not know it, Peter! His father made that damn clear; his father wouldn’t want him to know it! Jesus!” “He knew it, Bud! He was a smug bastard at Rush!” “Shepley’s an aloof type guy.”

  “And why, Bud? Because that mother-lover knows he can buy his way in places.”

  “Okay, Peter What do you have up your sleeve?” “Your father’s gun, Bud.”

  “Sure. Sure, Peter. I’ll run over to the house and get it. It’ll only take me a minute. Be sure and hold your breath while I run that little errand.”

  “You could get it.”

  “Sure. Now I’ll tell one.”

  “Buddy, listen — this is important. I want to scare the bejesus out of Shepley. A little game of Russian roulette ought to do it, Buddy. Buddy, I don’t mean we’d really leave a bullet in, but we’d make that fuckface think there was a real bullet in that gun, and Buddy, I’ll bet my bird that fuckface will get down in the mud and pray for mercy. I’ll bet my bird he will!”

  Burroughs sighed and flopped down on his bed. He said, “In the first place, Peter, my father is never without his gun. Never! He sleeps with it under his pillow. That’s a fact. You talk about your bird, my father would cut his off before he’d part with his gun!”

  Hagerman pulled a chair up to Burroughs’ bed. “Bud, never say never. When your old man takes a bath, where’s his gun?”

  “Peter, there are penalties for every misstep a policeman takes, and one of the biggest is the one for losing his gun.”

  “We’d just borrow it for a few hours.”

  “Be realistic, huh? You’re talking about something that isn’t feasible. You know me. I like to deal in facts.”

  “Doesn’t he have more than one gun?” “No! Now get off it!” “I can see that I’m pushing you too far.” “I hope you can see that.”

  “Yeah. That’s too much to ask. I can see that.” “It really is!”

  “I said it was … You know me; I’m a compulsive hothead.”

  “I also know you’re sitting there trying to dream up a new approach to the same plan, Peter. The soft-soap approach.”

  Hagerman laughed. He pulled out a pack of Gauloises. “Smoke?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Hagerman lit one for himself, sucked in the smoke, and blew out three perfectly shaped rings. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Hey, what excited you? You never did tell me.”

  “My old man let me play with his gun.” “I’m serious, Bud. What was it?”

  “Are you really interested, or still practicing strategy?”

  “Mother-lover, you know me. It’s probably a combination, but at least I’m honest.”

  “At least it’ll change the subject, which is all I’m interested in.” Burroughs sat up and faced Hagerman. “I’ll take that cigarette, okay?”

  Hagerman passed him one and lit it for him.

  Burroughs said, “I’ve been experimenting at the lab, Peter. A couple of days ago I got some ergotamine tartrate and some lysergic acid. You know what I have today?”

  “I hope to God you’re going to say Spanish fly.”

  “Seriously, Peter — I’ve got a very good facsimile of LSD.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No. I have.”

  “Where? Let’s see it.”

  “It’s back in the lab refrigerator. There’s nothing to see. It’s in some sugar cubes. It doesn’t look like anything; it’s what happens when you swallow it, Peter.”

  “Yeah. You go off your rocker.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Some guy murdered his mother-in-law when he was on the stuff, didn’t he?”

  “That couldn’t be proved; that was a lot of yellow journalism. It’s a good drug, Peter. I’ve read all the literature on it.

  Maybe two out of two thousand have a bad reaction. The hazards are minimal.”

  “Life magazine said it made people go nuts.”

  “No, it didn’t! You show me that in print anywhere, and I’ll give you fifty dollars!”

  “I read somewhere it makes a schizophrenic out of you.”

  “It can produce a temporary schizophrenic state; that’s a slim possibility. But if you use it right, it’s worth the risk. Peter, the whole world changes. It really does!”

  “Drugs give me the creeps. I like the world the way it is.”

  “You don’t have to try it.”

  “But you are going to try it, hmm?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s been nice knowing you, Bud.”

  “Peter, I want your help. All you have to do is be with me while I do it.”

  “That’s all, hmm? And if you should turn into a goddam nut? What happens then?”

  “I won’t. That’s propaganda, Peter. You just feel differently, inside. Music has color and ordinary food tastes like ambrosia — it all happens inside.”

  “What about that little kid they took to the hospital; she was laughing and crying, half out of her mind. Remember reading about her?”

  “She didn’t know what was happening to her. That was an accident. Her parents didn’t know anything about LSD and they got panicky. If they’d known how to handle the situation, they could have reassured the kid. It was the worst thing they could do, add to her confusion by rushing her to some hospital to have her stomach pumped out.”

  “Forget it, Bud. It spooks me.”

  “Peter, remember when we smoked marijuana last year?” “Sure
.”

  “It was great, wasn’t it? Did it hurt us?” “No.”

  “You know what the newspapers make marijuana seem like; they make it into something that sends people out to rape and steal. You know how they distort the truth. What’d we do when we had it? We sat around and giggled. Right?”

  “Marijuana’s different.”

  “So is LSD, Peter, and it’s just as harmless. Sure, if some kid got ahold of marijuana and ate it and didn’t know anything about it, he’d think he was off his rocker; his parents would think so, too. But when you know, you go with it, don’t you? It can’t scare you because you’re expecting a change. LSD is the same way.” “I don’t believe that, Bud.”

  “Put liquor into somebody who’s never had any, who doesn’t know how liquor affects a person. The same thing would happen.”

  “Marijuana can’t turn you into a schizophrenic, and neither can liquor.”

  “Neither can LSD, Peter. The only way it can ever come close to doing that is with a particular type of person who’s already unbalanced. That type could just as easily become temporarily deranged smoking pot or having a few Scotches.”

  “Count me out,” Hagerman said. “I just don’t like to mess with a drug.”

  “You really surprise me, Peter. You disappoint me. Remember when we first roomed together, and you used to say, ‘Hey, Burroughs, take your nose out of your ass and look around. There’s a big world going on, and you shouldn’t miss it. You’re narrow, Burroughs. You’re operating with an archaic superego.’ Remember, Peter? I really thought you believed that.”

  “I do believe that, but it’s not going to turn me into a goddam dope addict.”

  “LSD isn’t addictive.”

  “It spooks me, I said!”

  “I’m not asking you to take it, am I?”

  “I don’t want to be party to anyone else taking it, either, you infantile son-of-a-cop!”

  “And what are you, Peter? What are you? Oh. I know. You’re the Pi Delta Pi Pledge Director at Far Point College. Big deal! The Pi Pi P.D. at F.P.C. Oh, that’s something to be!”

  Hagerman ground out his cigarette while his neck and face turned red. He stood up and went across to his desk, jerked out the chair and sat down with his back to Burroughs.

  “Peter?”

  Hagerman didn’t answer.

  Burroughs stood up, a thin, long-nosed, redheaded boy with pale skin and myopic brown eyes hidden behind swirls of glass. “I didn’t mean that, Peter … It’s just that I thought you’d be excited too. I wasn’t at all sure I could make the stuff. It isn’t as easy to make as the newspapers say it is.”

  Still Hagerman was silent.

  Burroughs reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a slip of paper. “Let me read you something, Peter. Just listen to this.” He unfolded the paper. “LSD cannot be used without caution. But you can say the same thing of household ammonia, the family car, a bottle of gin, a book of matches, an oven, a paring knife, a speedboat. There are risks in everything. But the risks involved in using LSD are thought to be greater than the gains only because we have insufficient knowledge of the drug. When our ancestors had insufficient knowledge about the universe, some were against exploration and investigation of it; more were just afraid of the unknown; a few were brave enough to think man did not have to live in a cave, or starve before daring to search unknown regions for food, or die of disease before attempting treatment. There will always be, thank God, a few brave souls in any time. If man can risk a trip to the moon, why is he afraid to risk a trip into his own being? Does he believe more in the moon than in himself?”

  Burroughs put the paper back in his pocket.

  He said, “That was written by a doctor, Peter. An M.D.”

  After a small silence, Hagerman mumbled, “I wouldn’t go to the moon, either.”

  “I didn’t mean to belittle your position as Pledge Director, Peter,” said Bud Burroughs. “I admire the way you take it seriously. I remember when I went through The Divine Comedy. It made a great impression on me, because you were P.D., and you took it seriously. It’s just that lately I’ve been all fired up about the psychedelics. Peter, I really think we’ve got something we can’t even begin to fathom, something important, something worth taking risks for.”

  Hagerman turned his chair around and faced Burroughs. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you I do.”

  “Yes. It makes The Divine Comedy seem like small potatoes. I can see that, all right.”

  “Well, not exactly, but — ”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “You’re right. I’m just a Pi Pi P.D. at F.P.C.” “Look, Peter, I said that like you say I’m a son-of-a-cop.” “You are … you are … But you’re stretching and I’m not.”

  “Jesus, Peter, modesty doesn’t become you.”

  “You’ve called something very important to my attention, Bud.”

  “Knock it off!” “No, you have.”

  “If you’re going to be uncomfortable being with me while I try the stuff, I don’t want you to do it.” “I would be uncomfortable, Bud.” “Well. No hard feelings.”

  “But I think you’re right about it being worth the risk. It’s just that I can’t see you taking the risk.” “I can get someone else to be with me.” “Bud?” “What?”

  “Instead of getting someone else to be with you, while you take the risk, let’s get someone else to take the risk.” “I want to try it.”

  “Good!” said Hagerman. “And I want The Divine Comedy to be something more than just another dumb fraternity stunt!” Hagerman smiled. “So you take LSD after we see what it does to Shepley and Thorpe.”

  Five

  INFERNO

  CANTO I

  (Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate!) The South Pole of the Heavens at high noon is well above the southern horizon, and all is bathed in light. Turning north, Shepley perceives Palisades Woods. Nearest to him is Thorpe. In the heart of the forest, the pair come to a clearing, whereon they gather wood for a fire to burn ten hours. They return from whence they came.

  CANTO II

  When the shadows of day say it is in its fourteenth hour, Shepley hears a harmonious chant: “Lamb of God, locate a portable radio, a blanket, make sandwiches, secure a jar of instant coffee.” Nearest to him is Thorpe, and he perceives that he must pack it all together in preparation for a journey, north to hell.

  CANTO III

  Shepley is roused by the sight of Hagerman’s Corvair when the day is in its fifteenth hour. He descends to the curb whereupon he enters the back, wordlessly. Nearest to him is Thorpe.

  PRAY FOR THEM NOW

  IN THE HOUR OF THEIR NEED

  When Charles Shepley finished reading his itinerary to Lois Faye, on the eve of the Inferno, he stuck the paper back inside his coat and put her pocket flashlight back in her bag. He placed the bag between them on the seat of her black Thunderbird. She drove up 9W in the rain, headed for Grandview Park. Charles had called the Bluebird Motel to reserve a room, which they would probably occupy for one hour, four hours from now, but there had been nights with her when she waited in front of the motel, with the motor running, while Charles paid for a room they never used. The clerk knew Charles; he trusted him to pay the eight dollars whether or not Charles and Lois took the room, and since the Bluebird was the only place within ten miles that never questioned a young couple, Charles was conscientious about living up to that trust.

  She said, “Are you nervous about it? It sounds like a strange picnic.”

  “Hagerman has it in for me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not rah-rah enough for him, I guess.” “I hate to drive on a night like this.” “Thorpe is really nervous. He thinks Hagerman’s psychotic.”

  “If anything ever happened to this car, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Thorpe thinks Hagerman’s psychotic.”

  “I’d
never forgive myself … You know something, Charles?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a very lucky person.” “Why?”

  “I wish things weren’t so important to me.” “Things like the car?” “Yes, things like the car.”

  “If I had a car, I suppose I’d worry about something happening to it.”

  “Oh, you don’t know what I mean.” “Then tell me.”

  “Well. You don’t have a car, but it doesn’t bother you.”

  “I’d like to have a car.”

  “What kind?”

  “I don’t know. A car.”

  “I begged my family for this car.”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t beg for one.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.”

  “Probably not.”

  “But I did!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “It was important.”

  “I believe you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I do, Lois.”

  “And not just any car. It had to be a 1957 Thunderbird!” “I see.”

  “No you don’t.” “Okay, I don’t.” “I know I’m selfish.”

  “No, you’re not selfish. What the hell.” “I am.”

  “I don’t think you are, particularly.” “I’ve been told that I am, and I am!” “All right!”