Lincoln in the Bardo(47)

To go.)

So distracted was I by the intensity of Mr. Lincoln’s musings that I had entirely forgotten my purpose.

But recalled it now.

Stay, I thought. It is imperative that you stay. Let Manders go back alone. Sit on the floor now and be comfortable, and we will usher the boy into you, and who knows what positive outcome may result from this reunion, a reunion which both of you so ardently desire.

I then supplied the most precise mental images I could conjure, of him staying: sitting; being content to sit; sitting comfortably, finding peace via the process of staying, etc., etc.

Time to go.

Thought Mr. Lincoln.

Rising up a bit on his haunches in a pre-leaving way.



When, toddling along, he went down, I swept him up and kissed away his tears. When none were playing with him in Prester’s Lot I came over with an apple and cut it up. For all.

That did the trick.

That and his natural way.

Soon he was bossing and leading.

And now I am to leave him, unhelped, in this awful place?

(You wallow. He is beyond your help. Old Mr. Grasse in Sangamon went to his wife’s grave forty days in a row. At first it seemed admirable but before long we were joking about him and his store went to ruin.) Therefore, resolved: Resolved: we must, we must now— (Cause yourself to have such thoughts, however harsh, as will lead you to do what you know to be right. Look.

Look down.

At him.

At it.

What is it? Frankly investigate that question.

Is it him?)

It is not.

(What is it?)

It is that which used to bear him around. The essential thing (that which was borne, that which we loved) is gone. Though this was part of what we loved (we loved the way he, the combination of spark and bearer, looked and walked and skipped and laughed and played the clown), this, this here, is the lesser part of that beloved contraption. Absent that spark, this, this lying here, is merely— (Think it. Go ahead. Allow yourself to think that word.) I would rather not.



(It is true. It will help.) I need not say it, to feel it, and act upon it.

(It is not right to make a fetish of the thing.) I will go, I am going, I need no further convincing.

(Say it, though, for truth. Say the word rising up in you.) Oh my little fellow.

(Absent that spark, this lying here, is merely— Say it.)

Meat.

An unfortunate—

A most unfortunate conclusion.

I tried again, giving it my all:

Stay, I beseeched. He is not beyond your help. Not at all. You may yet do him much good. Indeed, you may be of more help to him now than you ever were in that previous place.

For his eternity hangs in the balance, sir. If he stays, the misery that will overtake him is quite beyond your imagining.

So: Linger, tarry, do not rush off, sit a spell, make yourself at home, dawdle, and, settling in, be thee content.

I implore you.

I had thought this helpful. It is not. I need not look upon it again. When I need to look upon Willie, I will do so in my heart. As is proper. There where he is yet intact and whole. If I could confer with him, I know he would approve; would tell me it is right that I should go, and come back no more. He was such a noble spirit. His heart loved goodness most.

So good. Dear little chap. Always knew the right thing to do. And would urge me to do it. I will do it now. Though it is hard. All gifts are temporary. I unwillingly surrender this one. And thank you for it. God. Or world. Whoever it was gave it to me, I humbly thank you, and pray that I did right by him, and may, as I go ahead, continue to do right by him.



Love, love, I know what you are.

hans vollman





LXXV.

We had succeeded in hacking our way nearly through the waist-belt with our nails and a sharp stone we had found nearby.

the reverend everly thomas Almost there! I called in to Mr. Vollman.

roger bevins iii But it was too late.

the reverend everly thomas Mr. Lincoln closed the sick-box.

(My heart sank.)

roger bevins iii Lifted the box, carried it back to the wallslot, slid it in.

(All was lost.)

the reverend everly thomas And walked out the door.

roger bevins iii





LXXVI.

Into the now-hushed crowd.

the reverend everly thomas Which parted meekly to let him through.

roger bevins iii Gone? the boy cried out.

We had him free now. He pushed out from the wall and, staggering a few steps away, sat on the floor.

the reverend everly thomas Where the tendrils immediately began to take him again.

roger bevins iii





LXXVII.

Come, I said to Mr. Bevins. I, alone, was insufficient. I think we must both try. To stop him.

hans vollman

Reverend, Mr. Bevins said to me. Will you join us? Even one additional mind may make the difference.

Especially a mind as powerful as yours, said Mr. Vollman.

Many years ago, I had joined my friends in performing l’occupation upon an estranged young couple who had snuck into this place after-hours. We had, on that occasion, caused the young people to fornicate. And become re-engaged. A year or so after that reconciliation, the young husband returned to this place, seeking the site of that assignation. Curious, we performed l’occupation again, and found that those causes for dissension which had initially sundered their engagement had, in the fecund climate of marriage, grown and festered, leading, recently, to the self-destruction, by poison, of his young wife.