Desperation

“Holy shit,” the cop muttered. His right hand, the one below the bloodstained cuff and sleeve, went up to his right cheek. For one bizarre moment he looked to Joh

“What’s the trouble, Officer.” Joh

“You’re… JohnEdwardMarinville!” the cop gasped, ru

“Well, yes, I’m Joh

“Oh, forget that,” the cop said, and seized Joh

Joh

“Man,” the cop was saying, “you are one of my favorite writers! I mean, gosh, Song of the Hammer… I know the critics didn’t like it, but what do they know.”

“Not much,” Joh

“Not much, damned straight! Song of the Hammer’s the best book about Vietnam I ever read. Forget Tim O’Brien, Robert Stone—”

“Well, thank you, thanks very much.”

The cop finally loosened his grip and Joh

“What are you doing out here, Mr. Marinville. Gosh! I thought you lived back East!”

“Well, I do, but—”

“And this is no kind of transportation for a… a… well, I’ve got to say it: for a national resource. Why, do you realize what the ratio of drivers-to-accidents on motorcycles is.

Computed on a road-hours basis. I can tell you that because I’m a wolf and we get a circular every month from the National Safety Council. It’s one accident per four hundred and sixty drivers per day. That sounds good, I know, until you consider the ratio of dri-vers-to-accidents on passenger vehicles. That’s one in twenty-seven thousand per day. That’s some big differ-ence. It makes you think, doesn’t it.”

“Yes.” Thinking, Did he say something about being a wolj did I hear that. “Those statistics are pretty… pretty Pretty what. Come on, Marinviile, get it together. If you can spend an hour with a hostile bitch from Ms. magazine and still not take a drink, surely you can deal with this guy. He’s only trying to show his con-cern for you, after all.

“They’re pretty impressive,” he finished.

“So what are you doing out here. And on such an unsafe mode of transportation.”

“Gathering material.” Joh

“For a new novel.” The cop was excited. Joh

“Well, a new book, anyway. Can I ask you something, Officer.”

“Sure, yeah, but I ought to be asking you the questions, I got about a gajillion of em. I never thought… out in the middle of nowhere and I meet… ho-lee shit!”

Joh

“Well, since you’re obviously familiar with my work, what would you think of a book of essays about life in contemporary America.”

“By you.”

“By me. A kind of loose travelogue called”—he took a deep breath—“Travels with Harley”.

He was prepared for the cop to look puzzled, or to guffaw the way people did at the punchline of a joke. The cop did neither. He simply looked back down at the tail-light of Joh

Then the cop looked up and stu

“That’s it!” Joh

And once again the cop told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

“No! Good gosh, no. It’s got to be you.”

“Actually, I think so, too,” Joh

… but real,” the cop said. He looked up at Joh

Marinville.”

“No smile,” Joh

“And a little distant,” the cop said. “Looking off. Like you were thinking of all the miles you’d been—”

“Yeah, and all the miles I’ve still got to go.” Joh