Oh Pure and Radiant Heart, Lydia Millet [top romance novels .txt] 📗

stood watching them sleepily, holding a blue-and-yellow beach ball in her arms. It looked like the end of a vacation but it was almost October and beside the van a spindly maple already had red leaves. He wondered if they had been to the beach, if they had walked on the sand with a cold wing springing up, in jackets and sneakers. A family.

—We weren’t forced to stay, said Ann, a small voice on the other end of the line. —But we’re staying anyway. I mean Glen, Larry, Tamika and me. And Dory. The people in the other bus already left. They pulled out right before dawn.

—You’re staying there when these guys have guns pointing at you?

—They’re not pointing at us anymore.

—So now they trust you? Now they’re just going to let it go back to how it was before?

—Leo made a deal with Bradley. We can ride ahead of the crowd as long as the leadership van is with us.

—Leadership van?

—The Christians. You know, Bradley and some of the others. I don’t know who exactly. Plus some of their soldiers I guess. The soldiers have their own jeeps.

He sat down in front of the window as the mother ushered her children into the back seat, leaned in to fasten her daughter’s seat belt and then set the beach ball on the girl’s legs. As the mother slid the door closed she looked up and saw him watching them, but looked away again, barely noticing.

—So where should I meet you then?

—I can’t hear you!

—Where should I meet you then?

—You can stay put. We’re still heading for the Jersey Shore sometime after breakfast. We’ll be there tonight.

As the van backed out Ben saw a colorful plastic cup wobbling on the hood and falling off. It spilled a purple liquid on the gray metal and then fell and rolled on the ground, but no one in the family seemed to notice, their faces behind the windshield already preoccupied, already turned to the prospect of a next event that would never be known to him.

The crowd would be managed by Bradley’s army and would maintain a safe distance behind them. As Bradley assured Oppenheimer over breakfast at the picnic table, his army was full of actual retired Army guys and National Guardsmen. —There’s guys with us that actually got drafted, way back when, he told them as he spooned up stewed prunes. —There’s guys that came to Jesus in Saigon.

—Tell me why any of us need guards, said Oppenheimer, —if we’re traveling alone. Because I’d like us to get rid of our weapons. I’d like us to divest ourselves of the trappings of violence. Since after all we’re a peace movement.

—There is purity in your heart, said Bradley, —but sadly, we live in a world governed by the whore of Babylon.

—Good gracious, said Oppenheimer testily, and got up from the table to light a cigarette. —Dory, is there any more coffee in the thermos?

—We still want privacy, said Szilard, —in case you were wondering. Just because we’re traveling with you and your thugs doesn’t mean we don’t need our space.

—Believe me, said Bradley, as Oppenheimer and Dory and Ann walked away from them with coffee and cigarettes, —we need time alone too. Time to pray and worship.

—Dr. Oppenheimer! called out a woman behind them.

When they turned it was Bradley’s mousy wife, carrying a small white umbrella.

—Can I walk with you?

Huts tagged along behind them as they went through the gate, keeping their distance from Bradley’s men who stayed vigilant alongside the bus. Outside the perimeter fence Bradley’s sentries stood guard, each with a rifle held vertical against his shoulder, each, Larry had told Ann, wearing a silver cross on a chain around his neck.

Some of the soldiers, Larry had said, had their old dog tags around their necks too, and these nestled against the crosses over their hearts.

—I wanted to ask a special favor, said Mrs. Bradley, trotting along beside them as they walked down a pebbly path toward a small public park tucked into a cul-de-sac. Ahead there was a swing set, empty of children. —I have a women’s prayer group, and we meet for special worship twice a week. There’s a meeting tonight. And it would mean so much to them if you could speak. You don’t even know how much it would mean. They worship you! They do!

—These women are under the impression that I am the Second Coming of Christ?

—They believe in you.

—I don’t know what I would say to them, Mrs. Bradley, said Oppenheimer, patience strained. —That’s the problem.

—But all you have to do is be yourself!

—Myself is a Jewish physicist from New York, said Oppenheimer drily. —I enjoy a nice bourbon and reading the classics of Eastern philosophy.

—We know all about you, said Mrs. Bradley warmly. —We are bathed in the light.

And she opened her umbrella suddenly and raised it over his head, though she could barely reach.

—It’s not raining!

—It will be, she said.

—Can I film you? asked Dory. —For our records? I record oral histories.

—Oral? asked Mrs. Bradley uncertainly, and Dory raised the camcorder.

—I can give them half an hour this evening, Mrs. Bradley, said Oppenheimer finally, —but this will be a one-time event, do you understand me? And for future reference, I don’t do children’s birthdays.

They sat down at a table beside a seesaw. Ann wanted to sit on one end of it and go up and down but none of them would sit at the other end. She looked around at the still objects of the park, the red and blue slide, the yellow roundabout, a jungle gym in the shape of a rocket ship. Empty and motionless, they called up the same feeling.

Without play there was only getting old.

A few minutes later the rain was falling. While Oppenheimer smoked placidly beneath his dome of white, Ann and Dory stood under the tin overhang of the rest room roof sharing one of his cigarettes between them. At the table in the middle of the