JORDAN THAYER CHASE
“Elaine?”
“Yes?”
“It’s not a good
line.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted to
say…”
“What? I can’t hear
you, Jordan.”
“I just wanted to say
I love you.”
“What?”
“I love you,
Elaine.”
“I love you. I hate
this goddamn line, though.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you-still
in Mykonos?”
“Still in Mykonos,
yes.”
“For a while
yet?”
“A little
while.”
“Come back soon,
Jordan. Will you? Please?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you.”
“What?”
“I said I miss
you."
“Soon. Jordan. Okay?
All right?”
“Yes. Soon.”
It was less than an
hour before dawn, that time when most people die who are going to
die, when the temperatures of men and of the earth sink lowest,
that Chase leaned sleepless out of his window to gaze at the sea
and saw Lelia Narkisos standing naked in the water, holding out to
him a tiny bundle of likewise naked flesh that screeched and
writhed in her hands while she smiled and then moved just the
slightest bit away from him so that the writhing bundle, the baby,
became his own maggot-white dripping severed head.