Second Interlude

After I read the summons from Rat Twitch, I put my hat back on and tell Nanalea, "I'm going out." Then I take four or five sheets of letterhead from my desk and my fountain pen. When I step outside, the sun is brighter than I have ever seen it, damn near scrubbing out the courthouse and Sterling's Nickel and Dime and the Rexall drugstore and the Western Auto, everything in and around the square, in a blinding glare whiter than a new sheet of paper, whiter than robes washed in the blood of the Lamb, whiter than the sands Oahu. I fold the sheets of letterhead and put them in my inside jacket pocket and push my glasses up on my nose. Then I speak aloud to no one, "Fifty years ago I sailed around the world. I saw the Gates of Gibraltar and the ports of Said, Suez, Mumbai, and Moresby. I spent four months in Yokohama and learned the trade that supported me most of my life. I probed the minds of men, made love to many women, and observed all manner of customs and costumes and kingdoms. These observations taught me that people are nothing more than a collection of disparate stories they pretend to believe, stories they recite to themselves over and over before they go to sleep. Well, the time has come for my story to end."

Then I say, "Shit," because I forgot the pistol. I'm such a scatterbrain.