Read Still Life With Woodpecker for Free Online Page A

chauffeur, and after such a ride, it would have taken more than a little turbulent air to unnerve her. Gulietta was simply too old to be unnerved by anything, although she was still pouting about the confiscation of her totem. As for Bernard M. Wrangle, who sat behind the Princess studying her red hair, his heart thumped peacefully against the explosives taped to his chest.
    As the aircraft bobbed, so did Leigh-Cheri’s mind, up and down, from one level to another, thinking one moment of the charms of Hawaii, to which she had a mild addiction; thinking the next of the Care Fest and the great good that might come from it; bouncing to thoughts of herself, who she was and who she might be.
    “I’m a princess,” she reminded herself, with a minimum of conviction, “a princess who grew up in a blackberry patch near Seattle, who’s never so much as set a tennis shoe in the nation where her royal blood was formed, a princess who doesn’t know diddly squat about princessing, a princess who’s behaved like a twit and a twat; who’s been, well, disappointed in men and romance, who’s a bit confused, who’s got a lot to learn, but a princess, after all; just as fucking much as Caroline or Anne, and although in the last quarter of the twentieth century the very idea of royalty may seem artificial, archaic, and somewhat decadent, I insist on my princess-hood because without it I’m just another physically attractive woman with that I-went-to-college-but-it-didn’t-do-me-any-good look and nothing much to offer anyone. If I’m lost as a lover, I’m still right here as a human. I feel the pain of humanity inside me, in my tummy, about eight inches above the peachfish. Whether I’m unduly sensitive to this pain because I’m a princess—could the whole world be the pea under my mattress?—I don’t know, but because I’m a princess, I might be able to do something to help lessen humanity’s pain. And the Care Fest just may show me the way to do it. I wonder if Ralph is staying at our hotel? I hope I packed my No Nukes T-shirt. Don’t Crosby, Stills, and Nash hang out in Lahaina? Can I drink more than one mai tai without taking on the aroma of an aroused butterfly?”
    Her thoughts dipped and lifted in unstable air.
    Before long, they had passed over Molokai and could see the reddish corona of Haleakala rising in the southeast like the stone in a Truman Capote mood ring. “Maui,” whispered Leigh-Cheri to Gulietta. “Maui.” Her own red top bounced as she sat up straight in her seat. Bernard—the Woodpecker—regarded it with the gaze of an expert.

20
    SUSPECTING THAT THE AUTHORITIES might run checks on hair dye purchases, Bernard made his own coloring from roots and bark. It had a peculiar smell, but women did not find it unattractive. To Bernard, the odor evoked memories of vulture shadows and wolf howls; of cocaine, high explosives, and sure-footed steeds; of the hideout behind the waterfall. As for its effect on others, he’d been asked more than once if he didn’t shampoo with root beer. He limited the dying to the hair on his head and for that reason was careful to make love only in the dark. Once, he spilled the dye all over his shoes. From then on, he dyed with his boots on.
    The Twelve Most Famous Redheads:
     
Lucille Ball, comedienne
Gen. George Custer, military maverick
Lizzie Borden, hatchetwoman
Thomas Jefferson, revolutionary
Red Skelton, comic
George Bernard Shaw, playwright
Judas Iscariot, informer
Mark Twain, humorist
Woody Allen, humorist
Margaret Sanger, feminist
Edna St. Vincent Millay, libertine poet
Bernard Mickey Wrangle, bomber
    From this list, the analytically minded might conclude that persons with red hair tend to be either dangerous or funny. But of the dozen, only one ever had to hide his or her hue. Even Judas flew his natural colors. Judas Iscarrot-top.
    How did Bernard feel about dressing his woodpecker strands in suits of crow? From the admiring looks that he aimed at