In the first-floor men’s room, even before he saw Perry’s feet in the farther stall, he sensed an airless stickiness, a male adolescent anxious to be left alone.
“Perry?”
The voice in the stall was muffled. “Yeah, Dad. One second.”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“Coming coming coming.”
“A hundred and forty people are waiting for you.”
On the rim of the sink were Perry’s wire-framed eyeglasses, newly prescribed for astigmatism. The frames weren’t the least expensive or most rugged that Marion could have let him choose, and indeed he’d already broken them. Finer wire was tightly wound around the damaged bridge.
The toilet roared, and Perry banged out of the stall, went to the sink, and splashed water on his face. His corduroys, though belted, were halfway down his hips. He no longer had any bottom to speak of; had altogether lost a lot of weight.
“What’s going on?” Russ said.
Perry violently pumped the paper-towel dispenser and tore off a yard-long sheet. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Everything is A-OK.”
“You don’t seem right to me.”
“Just pre-road nerves. A little episode of you-know-what.”
But there was no smell of diarrhea in the air.
“Are you on drugs?”
“Nope.” Perry put on his glasses and snagged his knapsack from the stall. “All set.”
Russ gripped him by his scrawny shoulder. “If you’re on drugs, I can’t let you on the bus.”
“Drugs, drugs, what kind of drugs.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, there you go. I’m not on drugs.”
“Look me in the eye.”
Perry did so. His face was blotched with crimson, clear mucus seeping from his nose. “I swear to God, Dad. I’m clean as a whistle.”
“You don’t seem clean to me.”
“Clean as a whistle and frankly wondering why you’re asking.”
“David Goya is worried about you.”
“David should worry about his own pot dependency. As a matter of fact, I wonder what a search of his luggage might turn up.” Perry held up his knapsack. “You’re free to search mine. Go ahead and pat me down. I’ll even drop my pants, if you can stand the embarrassment.”
He was giving off a very sour mildew smell. Russ had never felt more repelled by him, but he didn’t have hard enough evidence to send him home to Marion. Time was passing, and the responsibility was his. He made himself take it.
“I want you in Kitsillie with me. You can have Becky’s place.”
A laugh burst from Perry like a sneeze.
“What?” Russ said.
“Could there be anything that either of us wants less than that?”
“I’m concerned that you don’t seem well.”
“I’m trying to help you, Dad. Don’t you want me to help you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll stay out of your business if you’ll stay out of mine.”
“My business is your welfare.”
“Then you must be—” Perry snickered. “Very busy.” He shouldered his knapsack and wiped his nose.
“Perry, listen to me.”
“I’m not going to Kitsillie. You’ve got your business, I’ve got mine.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Really? You think I don’t know why you’re going on this trip? It would be too hilarious if I knew it and you didn’t. Do you need me to spell it out for you? She’s a total F-O-X. And I don’t mean some esoteric oxyfluoride salt of xenon, although, interestingly, they’ve synthesized some salts like that, in spite of the supposed completeness of xenon’s outermost electron shell, which you’d think couldn’t happen, and, yes, I realize I digress. My point in mentioning chemistry was that it’s not the point, but you must admit it’s pretty incredible. Everyone assumed that xenon was inert, I mean it’s such a credit to the fluorine atom—its oxidizing powers. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s incredible?”
Perry smiled at Russ as if he believed he was following his nonsense and enjoying it.
“You need to calm down,” Russ said. “I’m not at all sure you should be coming with us.”
“I’m talking about a valence of zero, Dad. If we’re comparing your qualifications with mine, do you even know what a chemical valence is?”
Russ made a helpless gesture.