Page 80 of Going Home in the Dark

“I will generously forgive your interruption,” said Britta. “Your kind cannot help being rude. It is as congenital as anyphysicalbirth defect.”

“Please. Tell us,” Bobby urged. “Ernie’s dad. Not Larry.”

“I can’t take this,” Spencer said. “Not knowing. I can’t.”

Britta continued, “To my Larry, you promoted the absurd claim that you killed a man. That was mere acting, and of a low quality. You haven’t the spine and calculation to kill a man. I know what it requires to succeed at homicide. I killed Ernie’s father. I was not caught and never will be.”

The silence in the parlor was preternatural until Bobby said, “Well, that’s different.”

“It wasn’t me,” Pastor Larry said. “I’m not the boy’s father. My affair with Britta started long after Ernest was born. And it’s the best sex of my life. Her lust is—”

“No!” Bobby commanded just as Spencer shouted, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Words alone might not have stopped Pastor Larry from revealing something that would have caused the amigos grievous psychological damage that no therapist ever born could ameliorate. However, when Bobby and Spencer made threatening moves toward him, the reverend quieted and covered his face with his hands.

“WhowasErnie’s dad?” Rebecca asked.

“That does not matter,” Britta replied. “He was a person of no consequence. You are all persons of no consequence—I am surrounded by your kind—but he was of even less consequence than you, if you can imagine such a thing. He returned when Ernest was three years old and expected to be in my son’s life. He learned otherwise.”

“Wow,” said Rebecca.

“You will cease to take that impertinent tone with me,” Britta said. “I will not tolerate it. You are in no position to behave as you have been behaving, and you will cease. Do you understand what you have been told? Have you the intelligence to recognize the predicament you’re in and respond to it rationally?”

Rebecca shook her head. “You’re bug-shit crazy.”

“I am saner than any of you. I have been wise enough to align myself with Beta.”

“Praise Beta,” said Pastor Larry.

Britta smiled. “You will all die here shortly. Beta will see to that.”

“Praise Beta,” Larry repeated.

46Alpha

The amigos had much to think about, and in spite of what Britta said, they were intelligent enough to know the following: (1) the professor was as insane as she was arrogant; (2) Pastor Larry was a pig; (3) they would never align with Beta because Ernie’s mother was hooked up with it and because Hornfly was as well; (4) whatever else Beta might be, it was evil; (5) they were going to have to endure one of those tiresome talking-head scenes in order to learn what Alpha and Beta were; (6) the talking head would be Britta; (7) they were in deep doo-doo.

So when the murderous, lusting professor told them to sit down and pay attention, the three perched side by side on the mohair sofa as a statement of solidarity.

Knowing that she had a captive audience and relishing her hold on their attention, Britta swanned around the room as she made her revelations, forcing the amigos to turn their heads and crane their necks to follow her.

Pastor Larry also kept his eyes on her, smiling that creepy smile. Because he was likely to be thinking about his paramour’s “charms,” none of the amigos could stand to look at him without being overcome by nausea, acid reflux, and a death wish.

“Most people know nothing about anything worth knowing about,” said the professor. “These ignorant bores resemblecud-chewing cows more than they do people, and I would vote to have them put out to pasture, by which I do not mean ‘pasture’ or merely ‘put out.’ Of the people who know something, at least half the information they possess is incorrect, and they are just a different kind of fool from the ignorant bores.”

Pastor Larry said, “Which is one good reason to exterminate ninety percent of humanity.”

Britta continued, “Ignorant scientists of numerous disciplines believe they have identified the world’s largest organism and its location. They claim it is a fungus calledArmillaria ostoyae, in the Malheur National Forest of Oregon. It produces amber-colored honey mushrooms in the autumn, but that is all it reveals of itself aboveground. It covers over twenty-four hundred acres, might weigh thirty-five thousand tons, and is said by some to be as much as eight thousand years old. By comparison toourfungus in Maple Grove, theArmillariain Oregon is pindling.”

“Pindling?” Bobby asked.

The professor fixed him with her Medusa stare. “It means ‘tiny.’ It is a colloquial word, yes, and of older use, but it remains a legitimate descriptive.”

“I like it. I’ll use it in one of my novels.”

“One of the laborious works you insist oncallingnovels. Now, Mr. Sham—”

“Shamrock.”

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