The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove Chapter 4~5

FourEstelle BoyetAs Septembers compact wound mickle, a st lay step forward unrest came oer the people of pine Cove, due in no. scummy part to the fact that umteen of them were acquittance into withdrawal from their medications. It didnt happen all at once the streets were non abundant of middle-class junkies rocking and sweating and begging for a fix save slowly as the autumn days became shorter. And as far as they knew (because Val Riordan had called al itinerarysy one of them), they were experiencing the onset of a mild seasonal syndrome, tone of similar spring fever. Call it autumn malaise.The nature of the medications kept the symptoms gap precipitate forward all over the next a a hardly a(prenominal)(prenominal)(prenominal) weeks. Prozac and around of the ripened antidepressants took almost a month to leave the system, so those people slipped into the come up weeds slowly than those on Zoloft or Paxil or Well neverthelessrin, which was flushed from the system in provided a day or deuce, leaving the deprived with symptoms re-sembling a low-grade flu, consequently a break up disorientation akin to a temporary case of at 10tion famine disorder, and, in almost, a rebound of depression that dropped on them corresponding a smoky curtain.One of the first to feel the effects was Estelle Boyet, a topical anesthetic anaesthetic artist, successful and semifamous for her seascapes and idealized paintings of waste Cove shore life. Her prescription had run proscri crinkle a day onward Dr. Val had replaced the supply with sugar pills, so she was already in the midst of withdrawal when she took the first dose of the placebo.Estelle was sixty, a st bring pop, resilient woman who wore b castigately colored caftans and let her long gray hairs-breadth fly around her shoulders as she moved through with(predicate) life with an capacity and determination that inspired envy from women half her age. For thirty geezerhood she had been a teatimecher in the decaying and increas-ingly dangerous Los Angeles Unified School District, teaching ordinal graders the difference amid acrylics and oils, a brush and a pallet knife, Dali and Degas, and use her job and her marriage as a andification for never producing each art herself.She had married right out of art school day Joe Boyet, a promising young businessman, the save man she had ever loved and only the third she had ever slept with. When Joe had died eight years ago, she had nearly lost her mind. She magazine-tested to throw herself into her teaching, hoping that by inspiring the children she world source find honourable about yard to go on herself. In the face of the escalating violence in her school, she re soft touched herself to article of clothing a bullet-proof vest below her artist smocks and nonetheless brought in some paintball guns to try to gain the pupils interest, but the latter only rumpfired into several incidents of drive-by precis exp ressionism, and soon she received death threats for not allowing students to fashion crack pipes in ceramics class. Her students children living in a hyperadult world where play-ground disputes were settled with 9 mms in conclusion drove her out of teaching. Estelle lost her survive reason to go on. The school psychologist re-ferred her to a psychiatrist, who put her on antidepressants and recommen-ded immediate retirement and relocation.Estelle moved to Pine Cove, where she began to paint and where she fell under the wing of Dr. Valerie Riordan. No wonder then that Estelles painting had interpreted a swarthy turn over the last some weeks. She painted the nautical. all day. Waves and spray, rocks and serpentine strands of kelp on the set name, otters and seals and pelicans and gulls. Her canvases s antiquated in the local gal-leries as fast as she could paint them. But recondite the inner fall down at the testt of her waves, titanium white and aquamarine, had feignn on a dark shadow. Every beach scene verbalize of desolation and dead fish. She dreamed of le-viathan shadows stalking her under the waves and she woke shivering and afraid. It was set aboutting much difficult to get her paints and easel to the shore each day. The open sea and the blank canvas were just too fright-ening.Joe is gone, she thought. I start out no elevator c atomic number 18er and no fri annuls and I produce nothing but kitschy seascapes as flat and soulless as a velvet Elvis. Im afraid of everything.Val Riordan had called her, insistence that she come to a group therapy session for widows, but Estelle had said no. Instead, one evening, after finishing a tormented painting of a beached dolphin, she left her brushes to harden with acrylic and headed downtown anywhere where she didnt film to look at this shit shed been calling art. She ended up at the orient of the garget Saloon the first bar shed set foot in since college.The Slug was full of Blues and smoke a nd people chasing shots and running from bittersweetness. If theyd been hot dogs, they would grant all been in the yard eating grass and trying to chattering up whatever was making them feel so lousy. Not a bone gnawed, not a ball chased all tail went unwagged. Oh, life is a fast cat, a short leash, a flea in that place where you just cant scratch. It was dog sad in on that point, and mudcat Jefferson was the designated howler. The laze was in his eye and he was singing up the sum of human beings suffering in A-minor, while he worked that bottleneck slide on the National guitar until it sounded exchangeable a slow wind through heartstrings. He was grinning.Of the cytosine or so people in the Slug, half were experiencing some sort of withdrawal from their medications. in that location was a self-pity contingent at the bar, utter(a) into their drinks and rocking stand and forth to the Delta rhythms. At the tables, the to a greater extent social of the de-pressed were wh ining and slurring their problems into each others ears and occasionally trading hugs or curses. Over by the pool table stood the stir up and the aggressive, the people looking for for someone to blame. These were mostly men, and Theophilus Crowe was keeping an eye on them from his spot at the bar.Since the death of Bess Leander, on that point had been a fight in the Slug almost every night. In addition, there were more pukers, more screamers, more criers, and more unwanted advances stifled with slaps. Theo had been very busy. So had throstle Sand. throstle was happy some it.Estelle came through the accessions in her paint-spattered overalls and Shetland sweater, her hair pulled back in a long gray braid. Just inside, she pa utilise as the melody and the smoke swear out over her. Some Mexican laborers were standing there in a group, drinking Budweisers, and one of them whistled at her.Im an darkened lady, Estelle said. put down on you. She pushed her way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a white wine. Mavis served it in a plastic beer cup. (She was serving everything in plastic lately. Evidently, the Blues made people want to break glaze on each other.)Busy? Estelle said, although she had nothing to compare it to.The Blues for certain packs em in, Mavis said.I dont much care for the Blues, said Estelle. I respect Classical music.Three bucks, said Mavis. She took Estelles money and moved to the other end of the bar.Estelle felt as if shed been slapped in the face.Dont mind Mavis, a mans voice said. Shes continuously cranky.Estelle looked up, caught a shirt button, then looked up farther to find Theos s knot. She had never met the constable, but she knew who he was.I dont even live on why I came in here. Im not a drinker.Something going around, Theo said. I think perchance were going to defend a stormy winter or something. flock are coming out of the woodwork.They exchanged introductions and Theo complimented Estelle on her paintings, which hed seen in the local galleries. Estelle dismissed the compliment.This seems standardized a strange place to find the constable, Estelle said.Theo showed her the prison cell phone on his belt. Base of operations, he said. Most of the trouble has been starting signal in here anyway. If Im here already, I can stop it in the lead it escalates.Very conscientious of you.No, Im just lazy, Theo said. And tired. In the last triple weeks Ive been called to fivesome domestic disputes, ten fights, devil people who barricaded themselves in the stern and threatened suicide, a guy who was going rear to house strike hard the heads off garden gnomes with a sledgehammer, and a woman who tried to put on her husbands eye out with a spoon.Oh my. Sounds like one day in the life of an L.A. cop.This isnt L.A., Theo said. I dont dream up to complain, but Im not really seeful for a crime wave.And theres nowhere left to run, Estelle said.Pardon?People come here to run outdoor(a) from con flict, dont you think? Come to a small town to get out of the violence and the competition in the city. If you cant finagle it here, theres nowhere else to go. You might as well give up.Well, thats a minuscule cynical. I thought artists were supposed to be idealists.Scratch a cynic and youll find a disappointed romantic, Estelle said.Thats you? Theo asked. A disappointed romantic?The only man I ever loved died.Im sorry, Theo said.Me too. She drained her cup of wine. voiced on that, Estelle. It doesnt help.Im not a drinker. I just had to get out of the house.thither was some shouting over by the pool table. My forepart is required, Theo said. Excuse me. He made his way through the crowd to where two men were squaring off to fight.Estelle signaled Mavis for a refill and turned to watch Theo try to brand peace. lancetfish Jefferson sang a sad vocal music about a mean old woman doing him wrong. Thats me, Estelle thought. A mean old worthless woman.Self-medication was working by m idnight. Most of the customers at the Slug had given in and started clapping and wailing along with mudcats Blues. Quite a few had given up and gone home. By closing time, there were only five people left in the Slug and Mavis was cackling over a drawer full of money. Catfish Jefferson put down his National steel guitar and picked up the two-gallon pickle jar that held his tips. Dollar bills spilled over the top, change skated in the bottom, and here and there in the middle fives and tens struggled for air. There was even a twenty down there, and Catfish dug in after it like a kid going for a snapper Jack prize. He carried the jar to the bar and plopped down next to Estelle, who was gloriously, eloquently crocked.Hey, baby, Catfish said. You like the Blues?Estelle searched the air for the source of the question, as if it might have come from a moth spiraling around one of the lights potty the bar. Her gaze finally settled on the Bluesman and she said, Youre very goodly. I was g oing to leave, but I desire the music.Well, you through stayed now, Catfish said. Look at this. He shook the money jar. I got me upward o two snow dollar here, and that mean old woman owe me least that much too. What you presuppose we take a dry pint and my guitar and go down to the beach, have us a party?Id better get home, Estelle said. I have to paint in the morning.You a painter? I never knowed me a painter. What you say we go down to the beach and watch us a sunrise?Wrong coast, Estelle said. The sun comes up over the financial supportains.Catfish laughed. See, you done saved me a heap of waiting already. Lets you and me go down to the beach.No, I cant.It cause Im Black, aint it?No.Cause Im old, right?No.Cause Im bald. You dont like old bald men, right?No Estelle said.Cause Im a musician. You heard we arbitrary?No.Cause Im hung like a bull, right?No Estelle said.Catfish laughed again. Well, you wouldnt mind spreadin that one around town just the equal, would you?How would I know how youre hung?Well, Catfish said, pausing and grinning, you could go to the beach with me.You are a nasty and inflexible old man, arent you, Mr. Jefferson? Estelle asked.Catfish bowed his shining head, I truly am, miss. I truly am nasty and persistent. And I am too old to be trouble. I admits it. He held out a long, thin hand. Lets have us a party on the beach.Estelle felt like shed just been bamboozled by the devil. Something smooth and vibrant under that gritty old down-home shuck. Was this the dark shadow her paintings kept finding in the surf?She took his hand. Lets go to the beach.Ha Catfish said.Mavis pulled a Louisville Slugger from behind the bar and held it out to Estelle. Here, you wanna borrow this?They found a niche in the rocks that sheltered them from the wind. Catfish dumped sand from his wing tips and shook his socks out before laying them out to dry.That was a sneaky old wave.I told you to take off your shoes, Estelle said. She was more amused than she fel t she had a right to be. A few sips from Catfishs pint had kept the cheap white wine from going sour in her stomach. She was warm, despite the chill wind. Catfish, on the other hand, looked miserable.Never did like the ocean much, Catfish said. Too many sneaky things down there. Give a man the creeps, thats what it does.If you dont like the ocean, then why did you ask me to come to the beach?The tall man said you like to paint pictures of the beach.Lately, the oceans been giving me a bit of the creeps too. My paintings have gone dark. Catfish wiped sand from between his toes with a long finger. You think you can paint the Blues?You ever seen Van Gogh?Catfish looked out to sea. A trio-quarter moon was pooling like mercury out there. Van GoghVan Gogh playact player outta St. Louis?Thats him, Estelle said.Catfish snatched the pint out of her hand and grinned. missy, you drink a mans liquor and lie to him too. I know who Vincent Van Gogh is.Estelle couldnt call up the last time shed been called a girl, but she was pretty sure she hadnt liked hearing it as much as she did now. She said, Whos lying now? Girl?You know, under that big sweater and them overalls, they might be a girl. accordingly again, I could be wrong.Youll never know.I wont? at a time that is some sad stuff there. He picked up his guitar, which had been leaning on a rock, and began contend softly, using the surf as a backbeat. He sang about wet shoes, running low on liquor, and a wind that chilled right to the bone. Estelle closed her eyes and swayed to the music. She realized that this was the first time shed felt good in weeks.He stopped abruptly. Ill be damned. Look at that.Estelle open up her eyes and looked toward the pissline where Catfish was pointing. Some fish had run up on the beach and were flopping around in the sand.You ever see anything like that?Estelle shook her head. More fish were coming out of the surf. Beyond the breakers, the body of water was boiling with fish jumping a nd thrashing. A wave rose up as if being pushed from underneath. Theres something woful out there.Catfish picked up his shoes. We gots to go.Estelle didnt even think of protesting. Yes. Now.She thought about the huge shadows that kept appearing under the waves in her paintings. She grabbed Catfishs shoes, jumped off the rock, and started down the beach to the stairs that led up to a bluff where Catfishs station wagon waited. Come on.Im comin. Catfish spidered down the rock and stepped after her.At the car, both of them winded and leaning on the fenders, Catfish was digging in his pocket for the keys when they heard the roar. The roar of a thousand phlegmy lions equal amounts of wetness, fury, and volume. Estelle felt her ribs vibrate with the noise.Jesus What was that? arrive at in the car, girl.Estelle climbed into the station wagon. Catfish was already fumbling the key into the ignition. The car fired up and he threw it into drive, kicking up gravel as he pulled away.Wait, your shoes are on the roof.He can have them, Catfish said. They better than the ones he ate last time.He? What the funny farm was that? You know what that was?Ill tell you soon as Im done havin this heart attack. phoebe birdThe Sea BeastThe great Sea Beast paused in his sideline of the delicious radioactive aroma and move a subsonic pass on out to a gray whale passing several miles onwards of him. Roughly translated, it said, Hey, baby, hows about you and I eat a few plankton and do the wild thing.The gray whale continued her relentless swim sulphur and replied with a subsonic thrum that translated, I know who you are. Stay away from me.The Sea Beast swam on. During his journey he had eaten a basking shark, a few dolphins, and several hundred tuna. His focus had changed from nourishment to sex. As he approached the atomic twist 20 coast, the radioactive scent began to diminish to almost nothing. The leak at the power plant had been discovered and fixed. He found himself less than a mile offshore with a belly full of shark and no warehousing of why hed left his volcanic nest. But there was a seethe reaching his predators senses from shore, the listless re-solve of prey that has given up depression. Warm-blooded food, dolphins, and whales sent off the same signal sometimes. A large school of food was just asking to be eaten, right near the edge of the sea. He stopped out past the surf line and came to the surface in the middle of a kelp bed, his massive head breaking though strands of kelp like a zombie pickup truck breaking sod as it rises from the grave.Then he heard it. A hated sound. The sound of an enemy. It had been half a century since the Sea Beast had left the water, and land was not his natural domain, but his instinct to attack overwhelmed his sense of self-preservation. He threw back his head, shaking the great purple gills that stood out on his neck like trees, and blew the water from his vestigial lungs. Breath burned down his cavernous throa t for the first time in fifty years and came out in a horrendous roar of pain and anger. Three of the protective ocular membranes slid back from his eyes like electric car windows. allow-ing him to see in the bitter air. He thrashed his tail, pumped his great webbed feet, and torpedoed toward the shore.GabeIt had been almost ten years since Gabe Fenton had dissected a dog, but now, at three oclock in the morning, he was thinking seriously about taking a scalpel to muleteer, his three-year-old Labrador retriever, who was deep in the throes of a psychotic barking fit. Skinner had been banished to the porch that afternoon, after he had taken a roll in a dead seagull and refused to go into the surf or get near the hose to be washed off. To Skinner, dead bird was the smell of romance.Gabe crawled out of bed and padded to the door in his boxers, scooping up a hiking boot along the way. He was a biologist, held a Ph.D. in animal deportment from Stanford, so it was with great pedantic c redibility that he opened the door and winged the boot at his dog, following it with the behavior-reinforcing command of Skinner, shut the fuck upSkinner paused in his barking fit long enough to duck under the flyingL. L. Bean, then, confessedly to his breeding, retrieved it from the washbasin that he used as a water discus and brought it back to the doorway where Gabe stood. Skinner set the soggy boot at the biologists feet. Gabe closed the door in Skinners face.Jealous, Skinner thought. No wonder he cant get any females, smelling like fabric softener and soap. The Food true cat wouldnt be so cranky if hed get out and sniff some butts. (Skinner always thought of Gabe as the Food Guy.) Then, after a alert sniff to confirm that he was, indeed, the Don Juan of all dogs, Skinner resumed his barking fit. Doesnt he get it, Skinner thought, theres something dangerous coming. Danger, Food Guy, dangerInside, Gabe Fenton glanced at the computing machine screenland in his living room as he returned to bed. A thousand tiny green dots were working their way, en masse, across the single-valued function of the Pine Cove area. He stopped and rubbed his eyes. It wasnt possible.Gabe went to the computer and typed in a command. The purpose of the area reappeared in wider scale. Still, the dots were all moving in a line. He zoomed the map to only a few square miles, the dots were still on the move. Each green dot on the map represented a rat that Gabe had live-trapped, injected with a micro run, and released into the wild. Their location was tracked and plotted by sitellite. Every rat in a ten-square-mile area was moving east, away from the coast. Rats did not behave that way.Gabe ran the data backward, looking at the rodents movements over the last few hours. The exodus had started abruptly, only two hours ago, and already most of the rats had moved over a mile inland. They were running full-tilt and going far beyond their median(prenominal) range. Rats are sprinters, not long-distance runners. Something was up.Gabe hit a key and a tiny green number appeared next to each of the dots. Each chip was unique, and each rat could be identified like airplanes on the screen of an air traffic controller. Rat 363 hadnt moved outside of a two-meter range for five days. Gabe had assumed that she had either given birth or was ill. Now 363 was half a mile from her normal territory.Anomalies are both the jinx and bread of researchers. Gabe was excited by the data, but at the same time it made him anxious. An anomaly like this could lead to a discovery, or make him look like a total fool. He cross-checked the data three different ways, then tapped into the weather station on the roof. cryptograph was natural event in the way of weather, all changes in barometric pressure, humidity, wind, and temperature were well in spite of appearance normal ranges. He looked out the window a low cloud was settling on the shore, totally normal. He could just make out the l ighthouse a hundred yards away. It had been shut down for twenty years, used only as a weather station and as a base for biological research.He grabbed a blanket off of his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders against the chill, then returned to his desk. The green dots were still moving. He dialed the number for JPL in Pasadena. Skinner was still barking outside.Skinner, shut the fuck up Gabe yelled just as the automated answering service put him through to the seismology lab. A woman answered. She sounded young, probably an intern. Excuse me? she said.Sorry, I was yelling at my dog. Yes, hello, this is Dr. Gabe Fenton at the research station in Pine Cove, just wonder if you have any seismic activity in my area.Pine Cove? stern I get a longitude and latitude?Gabe gave it to her. I think Im looking for something offshore.Nothing. Minor tremor midwayed at Parkfield yesterday at 9 A.M. Point zero-five-three. You wouldnt even be able to feel it. Have you picked something up on you r instruments?I dont have seismographic instruments. Thats why I called you. This is a biological research and weather station.Im sorry, Doctor, I didnt know. Im new here. Did you feel something?No. My rats are moving. As soon as he said it, he wished he hadnt.Pardon me?Never mind, I was just checking. Im having some anomalous behavior in some specimens. If you pick up anything in the next few days, could you call me? He gave her his number.You think your rats are predicting an earthquake, Doctor?I didnt say that.You should know that theres no concrete data on animals predicting seismic activity.I know that, but Im trying to eliminate all the possibilities.Did it occur to you that your dog might be scaring them?Ill factor that in, Gabe said. Thank you for your time. He hung up, feeling stupid.Nothing seismic or meteorological, and a call to the highway patrol corroborate that there were no chemical spills or fires. He had to confirm the data. perhaps something was wrong with the s atellite signal. The only way to find out was to take out his portable antenna and track the rats in the field. He milled quickly and headed out to his truck.Skinner, you want to go for a ride?Skinner wagged his tail and made a beeline for the truck. About time, he thought. You need to get away from the shore, Food Guy, right now.Inside the house, ten green dots were moving away from the others toward the shore.The Sea BeastThe Sea Beast crawled up the beach, howl as his legs took the full weight of his body and the undertow sucked at his haunches. The necessity of killing his enemy had diminished now and hunger was upon him in re-sponse to the hunting expedition of moving out of the ocean. An organ at the base of his brain that had disappeared from other species when mans only living an-cestors were tree shrews produced an electric signal to call food. There were many prey here, that same organ sensed.The Sea Beast came to the fifty-foot decrease that bordered the beach, reare d back on his tail, and pulled himself up with his forelegs. He was a hundred feet long, nose to tail, and stood twenty-five feet tall with his broad neck extended to its full height. His rear feet were wide and webbed, his presence talonlike, with a thumb that opposed three curved claws for grasping and killing prey.On the dry grass in a higher place the beach, some of the prey he had called already waited. Raccoons, ground squirrels, a few skunks, a fox, and two cats ca-vorted on the grass some copulated, others dug at fleas with blissful abandon, others just rolled on their backs as if overcome by a fit of joy. The Sea Beast swept them into his great seafarer with a flick of his tongue, crunching a few bones on the way down, but swallowing most whole. He belched and savored the skunky bouquet, his jaws smacking together like two wet mattresses, and a flash of neon color ran across his flanks with the pleasure.He moved over the bluff, across the Coast Highway, and into the slee ping town. The streets were deserted, lights off in all the businesses on Cypress Street. A low fog splosh against the pseudo-Tudor half-timbered buildings and formed green coronas around the streetlights. Above it all, the red Texaco sign shone like a beacon.The Sea Beast changed the color of his skin to the same smoky gray as the fog and moved down the center of the street looking like a serpentine cloud. He followed a low rumbling sound coming from under the red beacon, stony-broke out of the fog, and there he saw her.She purred, taunting and teasing him from the front of the deserted Texaco station. That come-hither rumble. That low, sexy growl. Those silver flanks reflecting fog and the red Texaco sign called to him, begged him to mount her. The Sea Beast flashed a rainbow of color down his sides to display his kingly maleness. He fanned the gill trees on his neck, sending bands of color and light into their branches.The Sea Beast sent her a signal, which roughly translated into Hey, baby, havent seen you around before. She sat there, purring, playing coy, but he knew she wanted him. She had short black legs, a stumpy tail, and smelled as if she may have recently eaten a trawler, but those magnificent silver flanks were too much to resist.The Sea Beast turned himself silver as well, to make her feel a scant(p) more comfortable, then reared up on his hind legs and displayed his aroused member. No response, just that shy purring. He took it as an invitation and moved across the parking lot to mount the fuel truck.EstelleEstelle placed a mug of tea in front of Catfish, then sat down across the table from him with her own. Catfish sipped the tea and grimaced, then pulled the pint from his back pocket and unscrewed the cap. Estelle caught his hand before he could pour.You have some explaining to do first, Mr. Bluesman. Estelle was more than a little rattled. When they were only half a mile away from the beach, she had been overtaken by a sudden urge to ret urn and had fought Catfish for control of the car. It was crazy behavior. It shake her as much as the thing at the beach had, and when they got to her house she immediately took a Zoloft, even though shed already had her dose for the day. pass on me be, woman. I said Id tell you. I needs me some centre medicine.Estelle released his hand. What was that at the beach?Catfish splashed some whiskey into Estelles tea first, then into his own. He grinned, You see my name wasnt always Catfish. I was born(p) with the name of Meriwether Jefferson. Catfish come on me sometime later.Christ, Catfish, Im sixty years old. Am I going to live long enough to hear the end of this story? What in the hell was out in the water tonight? She was definitely not herself, swearing like this.You wanna know or not?Estelle sipped her tea. Sorry, go ahead.