bill and rich drive to rushmore...bill and rich go to rushmore 1 chapter 1 rich wasn’t sure how it...

BILLANDRICHGOTORUSHMORE

Chapter1

Richwasn’tsurehowitcametohim-TheThought-thethoughttodriveouttotheBlackHillsofSouth

DakotaandblowupMountRushmore.SinceTheThoughthadsettledintohismid-50’sscleroticbrain,

hejustcouldn’tthinkofmuchelse.HewonderedifitbeganwithDeeBrown’s“BuryMyHeartat

WoundedKnee”thattorturedtomethathehadreadsome30yearsbeforeandthereadingofwhich

hadburroweditswayintohisshrivelinggrey-matterlikeatomatohorn-worm(heisItalianafterall)–

notthatBrownhimselfhadanythingtodowithTheThought,oritswormingways.No,itdefinitely

wasn’tJUSTBrown’staleofWhiteMan’smistreatmentoftheIndians,eventhoughonthinkingaboutit

Richdidrememberthatwhenhefinishedreadingsaidbookhedidceremoniouslythrowit-alaSandy

Koufax-acrossthelivingroomhewassittinginatthetimeinalittleoldfarmhouseinUpstateNewYork

andputalargeorsmallhole(hedidn’tremember)intheopposite150-yearoldgypsumandlathewall.

Butthatwas30yearsbefore.Itprobablywasfesteringallthattime,buthecouldn’tcomeupwiththe

precisemomentthateverythinghadcrystallizedintoit-TheThought.

ForthepastyearRichhadbeenconstructingscalemodelsofRushmore.Outofclay,plaster,wood,

foundobjects,haddonenumerouspaintingsofthemountain,madeakind-ofshrinetoitwithburning

candles,smallsagefirestopurifyhisapartment,andhadhadritualisticroastsofsmallrodentshe

caughtinhisHave-A-Hearttraps.Andotherthangoingtowork–hedidhavetopaytherent,heat,

taxes,etc.–Richhardlyeverlefthisone-roomcold-waterflatinthelittlevillagehenowlived

in.Hewasthinkingthathewas,subconsciously(ofcourse),becomingliketheRichardDreyfuscharacter

inSpielberg’s“CloseEncountersoftheThirdKind”,onlyheknewthat(unfortunatelyforRich’ssenseof

aesthetics)FrenchfilmdirectorFrancoisTruffaut-whoplayedascientistin“CloseEncounters…”–

wouldnotbetheretogreethimatRushmore(hehaddiedyearsbefore),whenallofasuddenthedoor

flewopen.ItwasBill.BilltheLaughingBuddha.Richhadn’tseenhiminawhile;hisfriendofthelast

thousandlifetimes.

“Hey…,”Billsaysashetakesinthesights,twiddlinghisfingersandrockingonhisheelslikeatourist

perusingthesights.“Alittleobsessedarewe?”

Richlooksupathim(heiskneelingashetriestojoinTeddyRoosevelt’sfoam-coremustachetotheold

Prez’swoodenhead),“Yeah…so?”

“Ididn’tknowyouhadsuchasenseof…of…,”Billsays,lookingaroundandsmilingthroughhugechiclet

teeth.

“What!?SenseofWHAT!?saysRich,withhisnowdailyirritationnewlystoked.

“Idon’tknow…”laughsBill.

“Don’tlaugh,man!...What?Yougotsomethingtosayaboutthis?”andRichgestureshaphazardlytothe

varioushomagesthatfilltheroom.

“No…no…justthatIneversawitas…as…”

“Aswhat,man?”saysRichthroughgrittedyellowingteeth.

“Sublime…IneversawMountRushmoreassublimeasyou,apparently,do.”

Richisworkedup.“ITisn’tsublime,Bill!…ITisridiculous!Thefuckingthingisridiculous!”

“Oh,“saysBill,lookingawayandtryingtosoundabsent-minded.

“It’sfull-blown,man!Full-blown!Full-blownfuckingridiculous!”

“Oh…OK,”saysBill,checkingoutthethree-foot-by-six-footplastermountainthatsitsinthemiddleof

theapartment,rightwhereRich’sfuton/bedusedtobe.

“AndI’mthinkingofdrivingouttherewithacarfullofexplosivesandblowingthefuckingthingto

smithereens,”saysRich,lookingupatBillasTeddyR’sstacherefusestoadheretohiswoodenface,

“…and,”hemutterstohimself,“IneedsomeepoxyinsteadofthisElmer’sshit!”

“Smithereens?Isn’tthatthenexttownover?”saysBill,chucklingtohimself.

RichstaresupatBill.“Trytobeliteral,OKBill?”

“I’llgiveitago…So,heregoes…WhydoyouwanttoblowupMountRushmore?”

“ForthefuckingIndians,man.”

“Whichones?”

“Allofem!Whattayoumean,whichones?”

“Dotheyknowaboutyour…plans?”

“Naaaah…it’skarmic,man,justkarmic.”

“LikewiththeBuddha?Thatkindofkarmic?””

“Iguessso…We’rejustgonnadotothemwhattheydidtotheIndians.”

“Huh,WE’REgonna?...Huh…butthesearestoneheads,Rich,notpeople.AndbesidestheBuddha

doesn’tbelieveinrevengeofanykind.It’snotthedharma.”

“Karma?Dharma?Whogivesarat’sass!...Look,man,I’mgoin’,anddoyouwannagowithmeandblow

thefuckeruporwhat?”

Billthinksforamoment.Alongmoment.Then,smilingdownatRich,tellshim,“Sure…Why

not?...Alwaysgameforalittleroadtriptoblowupanationalmonument.”

RichjumpsupandpatsBill’sback.Heishappierthanhehasbeeninalongtime.Probablysincethelast

timehesawBill.“Great…butwe’llhavetogetsomesuppliesalongtheway.”

“Supplies.”

“Yeah…fireworks,propanetanks,fertilizer…andyeah,analarmclock.”

“Fertilizer?Youmeanlikechickenshit?”

“Yeah,it’sveryexplosive.”

“Chickenshitisexplosive?”

“Yeah,that’swhatthatguyMcVeighused.”

“TheguyfromFleetwoodMac?”

“Idon’tknowthetownhecamefrom…Youknow,theguywhoblewupthatbuildinginOklahomaand

killedallthosepeople?”

“Oh,him…didn’ttheyexecutehimforthat?”

“Sure,”laughsRich,“butwe’renotgonnakillanybody,man,justblowupanationalmonument…You

know,Bill,likeyousaid,justsomestoneheads.”

Chapter2

BillandRichhadmet30yearsbeforeatamutualfriend’shouseinPeekskill,thelittlecityalongthe

HudsonRiverwhereRichcamefrom.Richhatedtheplace,butlikedtovisithisoldfriends.AndBillwasa

friendofafriendofthatparticularoldfriendthatRichhadgonetovisit.Onthatnow-fortuitousday,Bill

mistookRichforsomeoneelsetheirmutualfriendhaddescribedandthoughthe,thatfriend,sounded

like“anasshole”–toputitinBill’sterms-andRichthoughtthatBillwas,thoughhumorous,somewhat

mentallydisturbed.Eventuallythehaltingconversationbetweenthemgotaroundto,asitoftendoes

withtwopeoplewhosharecertainanomaloustraits,theHutusandtheTutsisofRwanda(thiswasnot

particularlyprescient,eventhoughthisconversationdidtakeplacemanyyearsbeforetheHutus

slaughtered800,000Tutsisinonemonthinthe1990’s).

“Howdotheytellthedifference?”askedRich,asheplayedwithhisone-yearoldsonCloud,layingin

diapersonablanketbetweenthem.

“I’mnotsure,”saidBill.“MaybeIDcards?”

“IDcards?...SobeforeeitheraHutuoraTutsichopssomebody’sheadoff,theychecktheirIDcard?”

“Iguessso…Soundsfairtome.”

“Tome,too,”saidRich.“ButwhatifaTutsistealsaHutuIDcardandtriestopasshimselfoffasaHutu?”

“TheIDcardhasaphoto?”

“Aphoto…buttheylookalike,don’tthey?”

“YoumeanBlackpeople?”laughedBill.

“No…,”laughedRich,“THESEBlackpeople…itisn’tlikethere’sanydistinguishingcharacteristics

betweenthem,isthere?…Onegrouparen’tpygmies,arethey?”

“I’mnotreallysure,”saidBill.

FromthisfirstencounterBillandRichslowlyformedalastingfriendship,bothfiguringthatan

uninformedconversationaboutHutusandTutsisonabalmysummerafternooninPeekskillwas

somehowkarmic.BillwasateacherinYonkers.TaughtEnglishtoBlackandHispanichighschoolers.Not

aneasygig,butonemadeeasierbyBill’sreputationasacrazy.Big,red-haired,Irish,Billwasa

visuallyimposingpresencetothestudents.Andhis“don’tgivemeanyshit”attitudecutshortany

behavioralproblemsintheirgestationstage.ShortlyafterBillandRichmet,Billmadetwomajor

decisionsastothedirectionhislifewouldtake.Onewastolookintobeinganadvertisingguy;theother,

aBuddhist.Rich,thoughanartist/painter,andlivingtheninthatlittleoldfarmhouseinUpstateNew

York–theonewherehehurled“BuryMyHeartAtWoundedKnee”againstthewall–workedcleaninga

bowlingalley.HehadnophoneandtheonlywaythatBillcouldreachhimwastocallthealley.And

eventhoughtherewasthedifficultyinmakingarrangementstogettogether…theydid.AndOften.

BillwouldshowupatRich’shouseunannounced,drivingupfromYonkersacoupledaysaweek(taking

offsickdaysfromschool)andtheywouldsitaroundlikebefore,onablanket,playingwiththediapered

Cloud,wholaybetweenthem,anddiscussBill’sdecisiontoabandonteachingwhilesmokinghundreds

ofcigarettesandeatingDevilDogs.SinceBillandRichbothdespisedadvertisingandBillwasdoingitto

revolutionizethateternallycompromisedworld–afterallhewasapoet–andRichwantedtohelphim

outwiththatendeavor,theycameupwithanunusual“campaign”forJoy,ahigh-endperfume,that

includedimagesfromAuschwitzandsomepithyquotesfromAdolfhimself.“Theideashouldgrab

people’sattentionrightaway,”BilltoldRich.Obviously,the“campaign”–thoughwell-thoughtoutand

withahigh-potentialforattention-grabbing–didn’tgetofftheground.“Itdidn’tfly,”BilltoldRich,

usingtheparlanceoftheadvertisingexecutivesattheYoungandRubicampagencywherehewastrying

togetajob.IntheendBilldidn’treallycareallthatmuchanyway.Helookedatthewholethingasa

waytospendtimewithRich.

Buddhismwasanotherstory.AndBilltookseriouslytheBuddhistadagethat,“IfyouseetheBuddhaon

theroad…youkillhim.”Helikedtocollectringingbowls,prayerflagsandbells,knewthedifference

betweentheTibetanandtheChineseversionsofthedharma,wasordainedintotheChinese-styleatthe

BigBuddhamonasteryoutsideofCarmel,NewYork,andonthedayhewasordainedwenttothelocal

dinerwithRichandorderedbreakfast.InkeepingwiththesolemnityofthedayRichorderedjustblack

coffeeandabutteredbagel,andthoughttwiceaboutthebutter.“Inhonoroftheoccasion,”hesaidto

himself.Bill,inafestivemood,orderedastackofpancakes,twoeggs,sausage,bacon,homefriesand

coffee,withextracreamandsugar.

“Bill…IthoughtdenialofsensualpleasureswaspartofBuddhism,”askedRich,watchingslabsof

pancakequicklydisappearintoBill’smouth.

Billlookedsurprised.“Yeah?So?”

“Andaren’tBuddhistssupposedtobevegetarians?Youknow,respectforallsentientbeingsandall

that?”andRichpointsatthesausageandbacononhisplate.

“Yeah?So?”

“Well…?”

“Fuck‘em!”saidBill,laughing,aspiecesofsausageclungtohishugeteeth.Andofcoursetheyboth

startedtolaugh.Hysterically.Theyoftendidwhentogether.

Afterwardstheysharedasmoke.Newports.“ForEdwardHopper,”RichtoastedBill,withagrin.

TheduohadalsodevelopedahighlysophisticatedinterestintheSpanishCivilWar,witheach

interpretingeventsfromtheRepublicanandtheFascistsides,bothreadingHughThomas’ssoup-to-nuts

historyoftheconflict,Orwell’s“HomagetoCatalonia”,JohnCornford’swarpoetry,StephenSpender’s

andJulianBell’s,studyingtheLincoln,JeffersonandWashingtonBrigadesthatwereslaughteredinthat

conflict,andwouldcueeachotherastowhichbattletheywoulddiscussonanyparticularday.Oneday

BillwouldbeFascistGeneralMolaadvancingontheEbroandRichwouldbeDurrutitheSyndico-

AnarchistburningdownachurchinZaragoza;thenexttimetheygottogetherBillwouldbethe

Republic’sDoloresIbarutta(laPassionaria)exortingthemassesto“Nopasaran!”andRichwouldbe

GeneralJoseAntonioPrimodeRivera,whofoundedtheFalange(Fascists),similarlyexhortingthe

Churchandthebourgeoisietostampoutthe“Republic.”BothhadtraveledseparatelyinSpainduring

theFrancoEra…andseenthebullet-holessillshiningblood-redonstonewallsinthehotsun.

“Fascistfiringsquads,”RichtoldBillwhenhereturned.

“LiketheydidwithLorca.TheyshotHIMintheasshole,”BilltoldRichwhenhereturnedafewmonthslater.

Inbetweenthesetravels,recitationsandremembrances,BillandRichwouldfeedeachotherlinesfrom

theJohnFordfilmofJohnSteinbeck’s“GrapesofWrath”,withBillalwaysbeingMuleytoRich’sTom

Joad.“Iwasbornonit.Farmedit.Gonnadieonit.Andthat’swhatmakesitarn,”Bill(Muley)wouldtell

Rich(Tom),kneelingdowntoscrapeupabitofdirtfromsomeparkinglotorotherwheretheywould

meeteverycoupleweeks.OnedayRichcamehomefromworkandtherewasamessagebeeping-red

onhisnewphone:“Hello…ThisisMrs.Joad…IsmysonTommythere?”saidtheplaintivehigh-pitched

voice.ItwasBill.BothwerealsoadeptatvoicingGrandpa’sdispleasurewhenherefusedtogoto“Cali-

for-nee!”OrswitchingroleswhenMaJoadtellsTomatthedance:“Ain’tyougonnasaygoodbye,

Tommy?”TheybothmemorizedTom’slabor-organizerspeechattheendofthefilmandwouldsing

CaseythePreacher’s“Yes,Sir,That’sMySavior”inunisonastheydrovearoundinBill’sFordFiesta.

Theywouldenduptherecitationseitherlaughingorsobbing.Either/or.Nothingeverinbetween.

Intheend,Billstayedteaching.KepttryingtokilltheBuddha.SawRicheveryweekortwo,untilRich,

oneday,disappearedintoTheThought.

InbetweenthatfatefulmeetinginPeekskillyearsbeforeandTheThought,Rich,stocky,hairy,Italian,

50ishlikeBill,hadheldastrangesuccessionofjobs(paintingbackdropsfordepartmentstoredisplays,

makingartificialtrees,workinginabogussoapfactory,janitoring,truckdriving,shovelingshitona

horsefarm,thebowlingalley,postal-worker,clerkinabook-store,teachinginaprison,etc.),blewhis

marriage,anddecidedthathewasjustbetteroffalone.Painting.Thinking.Musing.Alone.Andwhen

Billburstinonhimconstructinghis“manyRushmores”hehadbeentoilinginpleasantanonymityfor

thelocalpaperinthesmalltownhehadsettledintowhenhismarriagewhenbust.Cloud,whowasnow

inhisthirtiesandwhohesawacoupletimesayear,hadstartedafamilyandhadbecomeafarmerin

theSouth.Hewas,likeBillandRich,relativelycontentwithhislife.

So,that’skindofwhereBillandRichwereatwhenBilldecidedtojoinRichonthecross-countrytripto

blowupMountRushmore…itwasasBill’sborder-linepersonalityMomusedtosaywhenhewouldgive

heragiftforherbirthdaythathehadsavedupforallyear:“Bill,that’snice,butit’salwaysjustThe

Thoughtthatmattersmost!”

Chapter3

BilldrivesasRichsitsandridesshotgunacrossAmerica.Theywatchastheindustrialrevolutioninallits

rustandpoisonedriversstreamsby.

“God,isthisshitorwhat…wherearewe?”asksRich,edgyandgettingedgierasthehoursofgrimand

grimeyPennsylvaniarollbythewindowofBill’sFordFiesta.“Jesus!Whatshit!”…Wherearewe,Bill?”

“Golgotha,”saysBill,smilingattheBiblicalreference.HewaslikeRich,onceaparticipatingCatholic.

Bothhavingstartedtounparticipateintheirteenyears.

ForBillitwasanaturalprogressioninhisthinking,beingraisedinsouthernIllinoiswhereGod’s

tornadosrippedapartseveralsmall,poorfarmingcommunitieseverySpringandSummer,andwhereHe

thenburiedthemin30-feetofsnowintheWintermonths.“Fallwasnice,”wasallBillwouldsayabout

livingoutontheGreatPlains.“That’swhenpeopleusuallysnapandshoottheirfamilies…Winterwas

coming.”ForRich,raisedinthenon-tornadoEasterncorridor,itwasatraumaticexperience,losinghis

alreadyshakydevotionwhenDiane,thegirlhewasfoolingaroundwithwhenhewas14,wasnotstruck

bylightningasshewenttoreceiveHolyCommuniononeSundaymorning.Theyhadgonetoconfession

thenightbeforewithherparents,thenwentuptotheparkforsomedry-humpingbeforehewent

homeandtheyallwenttoMassthenextmorning.Heknewthatiftheywenttothealtarthatmorning

they,bothheandthefrolicsomeDiane,wouldbestruckdead.InCatholic-worlditisamortalsinto

receivethetransmutedbodyandblood(read:breadandwine)ofJesusifyouwereinsin.ButDiane

wentanyway.Justgobbleddownthathostthatwasofferedherbythepriestandthensashayedher

sweet-assbacktothepewwithalittlesmiledancingacrossherlips.Richdarednotgouptothealtar.

Hedidn’twanttodie.Tobestruckbylightning.Notthere.Burntlikeacharcoalbriquetteashekneeled

interroratthealtar.RichexpectedDianetobestruckdeadonthespot,butnothinghappened.Nothing

atall.DianesmiledandwinkedasPeekskillcontinuedtopulseoutsidethechurchdoors.So,afterthis

closenon-encounterwithGod’sretribution,RichandDianecontinuedtheirSaturdayevening

confessionsandsubsequentSaturdaynightdry-humping,followedbyHolyCommunionSundaymorning

forthenextfewmonths,whenDiane,out-of-the-blue,announcedtheirrelationshipover.Itwas

anotherguy.ButRichknewitwasGod.

BillseesaMcDonald’sonthePennsylvaniaInterstateandpullsoffandparksthecarinahandicapspot.

“Somehowthistripmakesmefeelhandicapped,”hetellsRich,astheystandatthecounterwaitingto

beserved.

“CanIhelpyou?”saysthecounter-boy.Heisallof16.

Billorderstwohamburgers,acheeseburger,aBigMacwithbacon,largefriesandaDietCoke.

“IthoughtyouwerestillaBuddhist,”asksRich,stilledgy.“Aren’ttheystillvegetarians?Youknow,still

haverespectforalllivingthings.”

“Frenchfriesaren’tlivingthings.”

“Yeah,IknowFrenchfriesaren’talive,but…isn’ttheBuddhistphilosophystilloneofself-denial?”

“Notforme.”

Thecounter-girlasksRichifhewantsanything,callinghim“sir”.

“Sir!...Noonecallsmesir,Miss!”

Thecounter-girl,herselfallof16,ispuzzled.“Mister?”

“Mister!”

Thegirlisgettingworried,wonderingifshehasasociopathicmassmurdereratthecounter.Shelooks

overtothecounter-boy-”Senor?”shesaystoRich,hopingthatinsteadofaninsanepersonsheis

dealingwithaMexicanwithalanguageproblem.

“SENOR!”

Thecounter-girlisbecomingalarmedandreadiesherindexfingertopressanalarmthatwillbringthe

localpolice,whenRichdemures:“It’sRich,younglady…andmeandBillhereareonourwaytoMount

Rushmoretoblowthefuckerup…Youknowit?”

Thecounter-boy,overhearingasksRich:“Rushmore?Isn’tthatamovie?”

“Amovie!Whatfuckingmovie?”

TheboysmilesnervouslyatRichandrushesawaytogetBill’sorder.

“It’sanationalmonument,man…aFUCKINGNATIONALMONUMENT!”

TheboyhandsBillhisfood.“I’msorry,Idon’tknowit.”

“Don’tknowit?TheheadsofthePresidentscarvedintotheIndian’smostsacredmountain?

“Indians?HereinPittsburgh,”saystheboy.

“Naaah,man,inSouthDakota…AndtheseheadsarecarvedintothePahaSapa…theholiestplaceofthe

PlainsIndians…YouknowtheSioux?”

“Sue?”andheturnsandpointstothecounter-girl,nowhidingbehindhim.“Pahasapa?No,noone

worksherewiththatname,sir,there’snoSuePahasapaworkinghere.”

“HowabouttheBlackfeet?”

“Thisisanequalopportunityrestaurant,sir…”

“Rich,mynameisRich,”saysRich.

“Thisisanequalopportunityrestaurant,RICH,andwedon’tdiscriminatewhocaneathere.Blackfeet,

Whitefeet,Yellowfeet,orwhomever…”

“It’satribe,man.”

“Tribe,group,ELKSClub,GirlScouts…wedon’tdiscriminate,sir.”

“Rich.”

“Rich…wedon’tdiscriminate,Rich.”

“Rich?...Whydon’tyouordersomething?”saysBill,munchinghiswaythroughaBigMac.

“What?...Oh,yeah…CouldIgetabottleofwater.”

Chapter4

AstheytravelthroughthebowelsofOhio…

“Listen,”saysBill,pointingtoalittlehomely,forlornhousesittingtoad-likebythesideofthehighway.

“IfI’meverlivinginaplacelikethatoffsomeGod-forsakenhighwayoutsideofsomedesperately

horrifictowninsomefrighteninglymiserableMidwesternstate,pleasekillme.”

“Apromise,”saysRich.

Theydriveinsilenceforawhile,takinginthebeat-up,down-troddenmiddleofthecountry.Finally…

“Ihopewegetlaidonthistrip,”saysBill.

“Thisisbiggerthanusgettinglaid,man,”respondsRich.

“Notforme…maybeanIndiangirl.”

“WhatIndiangirl?”

“SomeonelikePrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-Spring,”answersBill,staringabsentmindedlythroughthe

frontwindshieldasRichdrives.

“FromtheHowdyDoodyShow?

“Yeah…Ihadmyfirsthard-onwatchingher.”

“Whatwereyou,five?Andshewasn’tanIndian,Bill,shewasanactress.”

“Shewasbeautiful.Iusedtodreamabouthernaked…DoIndiangirlsgiveblow-jobs?”

“What?...Blow-jobs?Ihavenoidea.”

“Theymust…I’msurethePrincesswouldgivemeablow-job.”

“Bill…she’snotafuckingPrincess…andshe’sprobably75years-oldbynow.”

“Idon’tcare.”

“Youdon’tcarethatyou’rebeingblownbysome75year-old?”

“Look,man,she’snotjustSOME75year-old…she’sPrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-Spring!”

“Yeah,”saysRich,“howstupidofme.”

Theycontinuetoridealonginsilence…then…

“God,”saysRich,shakinghisheadindisbelief,“howfuckinguglyallthisis…Itwasn’tlikethiswhenthe

Indians…”

“Hopenot,”saysBill.“Otherwiseweshouldgetourglassbeadsback.”

Theydriveinsilence.

“Whattayasaywegetoffthehighwayandgetonsomebackroads?”saysBill.

“Why?”countersRich.“WhodoIlooklike,man,thatLeastHeatMoonguy?”

“He’sanIndian…andtheyhaveallthegreatestnames…,”andBillstartstochuckletohimselfandrepeat

LeastHeat’snameoverandover.

“What?”saysRich,staringatBill,hishandsoffthewheelashehits90andthenoseofthecarenters

Illinois.

“Weshouldrenameyou,”laughsBill,“Rich‘LeastSane’Carrazzini!”

Theybothchuckle:Bill’sneartoafull-throatedlaugh;Rich’sclosertoagargledgrimace.

“Youknow,man,IhaveanoldgirlfriendinMinneapolis.”

“SheanIndian?”

“Don’tthinkso.HernamewasTina…shortforConcertina…”

“Concertina?You’rekidding,right?”

“NO…thatwashername,herparentswereaccordionplayers…Youknow,‘LadyofSpain’andallthat…”

“Great!Oneofmyfavoritetunes…Maybetheycancomealongandentertainus.”

“Ah,she’sprobablymarried…changedherlastname…”

“Whatwasit?”

“What”

“Herlastname?”

“Wilson…theychangeditfromMastrogiacomoantonio.”

“Isthattheliteraltranslation?Wilson?”

“Nah…immigrationdidit.”

“Whatmadeyouthinkofher?”

“MountRushmore.”

“Why?ShelooklikeThomasJefferson?”

“Yeah…that’sit,Bill...”

“So,Rich,youthinkshemightwanttoreacquaintherselfwiththe55year-oldversionofTheMad

Greaseball?Iknowitwouldsoundenticingtomostwomentoreconnectwithsomeoldboyfriendfrom

35yearsagowholivesinaone-roomapartment,worksforadyingnewspaperinsomelittleone-horse

townandwhoisonhiswaytoblowingupanationalmonumentwithchickenshit…Soundsenticingto

me,butespeciallyforawomanwholookslikeThomasJefferson.”

Richisn’tlistening.Theyridealonginsilence,withRichslippingintowhatpassesforhimasreverie.

Afterafewminutes…

“Shewasfuckingbeautiful,man.”

Billlaughs,ashortstaccatoburstofair.“Aren’ttheyall?”

Richissilent.ThinkingofTina.HisConcertina.

“Wannaknowhowwesplit?”

BilllooksoveratRichandsmiles.“WhydoIfeelyou’regoingtotellmenomatterifIdoordon’t.”

“Well…,”andRichdownshifts,“wewerelivingtogetherintheVillage,intheCity.CorneliaStreet.And

wewerehappyashell,medoingmyartthingattheSchoolofVisualArtsandmakingthosefucking

artificialtreestopaymywayandherworkinguptheblockatMetLife.Weweresupposedtomeetfor

lunchoneday,butshedidn’tshow.Shequitherjobthatmorning.Disappeared.Justdisappeared.No

note.Nomessage.Gone.Nothingforfourdays…andwehadfuckedthatmorningbeforeleavingour

place.EverythingseemedOK.ThenIgetthiscallfromRapidCity…”

“Police?”

“No.Itwasher…Tina.Shewasfrantic.HadbeenhavingnightmaresaboutMountRushmore…”

“Ah…Isee…”

“Shetoldmethatshehadtogothere,thatsomethingwasdrivingher,orshefeltlikeshewasgoingto

gofuckingmad.”

“Soundslikemosttourists.”

“C’mon,man,”saysRich,annoyedwithBillonceagain,“I’mbaringmyfuckingsoulhere…Shesaidthat

shewasbeingcalledtoit.Avoiceinherhead.Itdrovehercrazy.Shecouldn’tgetitoutofherhead.”

“Hadshejustseen‘NorthByNorthwest’?”

“Idon’tthinkso…”

“Then…”

“Idon’tknow.Shewouldn’ttellmewhenshegotbacktotheCity.Butshewrotemealetterbreakingit

offwithme.Permanently.Isawheronceafterthat,butnotsince…Ithinkshemayhavebeenlivingwith

anotherguy.”

“OK,Iknowthismaybehardtodealwith,butmaybeshewaswithCaryGrant.”

“CaryGrant?”

“RememberwhenhewashangingoffGeorgeWashington’snoseatRushmore.Ialwaysfelthewasina

veryvulnerablepositionatthetime,andverysusceptibletothewilesofacompletelycrazywomanwith

apreternaturalobsession.”

“Yeah,”saysRich,annoyed,beforeheslipsbackintohisreverieofTina,ConcertinaWilson,hisyoung

love.“Shewasincrediblybeautiful,man…”

Billjustnodsandstaresoutthewindshield.

“Wannagofindher?”saysRich,snappingfromhisreverielikewhiplash.

“Thinkshe’llblowme?”

Thepairdriveforawhileinsilence,boththinkingofTina.Rich,theTinaheremembersfromlongago;

Bill,theTinahewantstoknow,carnally.Buildingahunger,theystopatanotherMcDonald’s.Itlooks

strangelyfamiliar.Theygoinsideandthesamecounter-boyandcounter-girlarewaitingfortheirorders.

“CouldIhelpyougentlemen,”saysthecounter-boy.

“Sir?”thecounter-girladdressesRich.

“Itoldyoumynamebefore,”hetellsher.

“Sir?”saysthecounter-girl,lookingperplexed.

“Don’tcallmeSIR,Itoldyoubefore…it’sRich!”

Thecounter-boystepsintothefast-risinginexplicabletension.“OK,Rich,wouldyoulikeavaluemeal?”

“Value?”ashestaresincredulouslyattheboy,thenthegirl,andbackagain.“WhereamI?”

“McDonald’s,”saysthecounter-boy.“CanIgetyousomethingtoeat,Rich?...Avaluemeal,perhaps?”

“Value?It’sallaquestionofwhatyoumeanbyvalue?”saysRich,hismindreelingatthepossibilityofa

pairoftwins,afemaleandmaledouble-dip,workingintwoseparateMcDonald’sinseparatestates.

“Unbelievable?”hefinallysays.

“Value?Unbelievable?Whatdoyoumean,sir…er,Rich?”sayscounter-boy.

“I’llaskthequestions!”hesnaps.

“WhilethesetwoareexorcisingtheirSocraticdialogue,I’llhavetwomorehamburgers,acouplemore

cheeseburgers,twomoreBigMacs,largefriesandaDietcoke,”saysBill,smilingatthecounter-girl.

“Yes…ah…er…yourname?”

“Sir.”

“OK,Sir,”andshewalksawayfromthecounter.

“So,whatisofvaluehere,man?”

“I’mnotsurewhatitisyouraskingme,sir…ah,Rich?”saystheagitatedcounter-boy,hisfingersreadyto

pressthebuttonunderthecountertocallforthemanagerandmaybeeventhepolice.

“Itseemsprettycleartome…Howaboutyou,Bill?”

“Seemsprettycleartome,”shrugsBill.

“Areyouaskingifthemealsareofvaluein-of-themselvesorifonevalue-mealisofmorevaluethanthe

other…Rich?”sayscounter-boy.

“Whatthefuckareyouinto,man…Kierkagaard?”

“No,Rich,I’mnotintothatkindofstuff…I’maheterosexual.”

“Ididn’taskyouthat,man.”

“Oh,sorry…Rich…Whatareyouaskingthen…er,Rich?”

Thecounter-girlbringsBillhisorder.“Thankyou,Sir…Isthistogo?”

“Unfortunatelyforyou,no.”

Richleansacrossthecounterandeye-ballscounter-boy.”Don’tyourealizethatthefuckingWhiteman

stolethePahaSapafromtheIndians,themostsacredplaceontheplanetforthem,thecenteroftheir

universe,andrenameditMountRushmore?”

“Sorry,Rich,butIhadnothingtodowithit…Iwasworkinghere.”

“Andthen,”continuesRich,“theycarvedoutthefacesofthosefourjackalsonthatsacredmountain?”

“AgainI’msorry,Rich…Maybewecanofferyouafreevalue-mealtomakeupforit…Canyouwaita

momentandI’llgetthemanager?”

BillisstandingnexttoRicheating.HetapsRichontheshoulder.“Youshouldatleasttrythefries.”

Chapter5

BillandRichtravelacrosstheplainsofIllinois.

“God,whatafuckingwasteland.Empty.Horrible.Deadly…Didn’tyoucomefromsomewherearound

here?”asksRich,stilldrivingasBillwatchestheflatlanddisappearintothehorizon.

“Justpassedit.”

“IfeellikeGeorgeEliot,”saysRich.

“T.S,”saysBill,matter-of-factly.

“TS?What?Toughshit?”

“No…T….S…”saysBill.

“Whatisthat,somekindofIrishcodewordorsomething?”

“Yousaid‘Wasteland’andthensaidGeorgeEliot…so,asacorrective…itwasT.S.Eliot.”

“WhatwasT.S.Eliot?”

‘Whowrotethe‘Wasteland’…GeorgeEliotwrote‘SilasMarner’.”

“WhothefuckisSilasMarner?”

“Amiser,”answersBill.

“Youreallyhavetostopthisliteraryshit,Bill,I’mgoingtodriveoffafuckingbridgeifyoudon’t…Ijust

wanttoblowupMountRushmorenotdebatewhichoftheEliotBrotherswrotewhichstory…CHRIST!”

“Well…theyweren’tbrothers…andoneofthemwasawoman…”

“Whichone?”

“George.”

“What,hehaveasex-changeorsomething?”

“Yeah…orsomething.”Andtheydrivealonginsilence,Billthinkingofhisyouthspentlookingat30-foot

snowdriftsthatburiedthefamilyhouse,hisFatherthedoctorbecomingrabidlyinsane,hisMotheraloof

tothepointofinvisibility,hisbrotherandsisterdegeneratingintoferalcreatures.“Youknow…theysay

thatthereasonsomanyserialkillerscomefromtheMidwest,andartistsandwriterstoo,isbecauseof

theWintershere…they’reso…so…,”andhefallssilent.Richisn’treallylisteninganyway,he’sthinkingof

amanhavinghisgenitalssevered.PoorGeorgeEliot,hethinks,Howfuckedupmusthebetodothat?

Billbreakstheirreveries.“YouknowanyactualIndians?OtherthanTina?”

“ImetRussellMeansonce.”

“TheAIMguy?”

“Yeah,Iinterviewedhim20yearsago.”

“Forthatlittleassholepaperyouworkfor?”

“Yeah,oneandthesame.”

“Whatwashelike?”

“HatedWhitepeople.”

“You,too?”

“DoIhateWhitepeople?”

“No…didhehateyou,too?”

“Ofcourse…listen.”AndRichreachesintoabagandrustlesaroundforatape.Hetakesitoutandpopsit

intotheportableplayerunderthedashboard.TheylistenasRussellMeansscreamsatRich,threatening

tocutofftheinterviewifhepersistsinaskinghimabouthistalkthenightbeforeatSkidmoreCollege.“I

TOLDYOUABOUTALLTHATLASTNIGHTATTHELECTURE,MAN.IFYOU’RETOOFUCKINGLAZYTONOT

HAVEMADENOTESONTHAT,THENITISJUSTTOOFUCKINGBAD!I’MNOTHEREFORSOMEWHITE

MANTOMAKEMONEYOFFOF!”

“Itwentdownhillfromthere,”RichtellsBill,andshutsoffthetape.

“Wasn’theChingatchcookin…”

“Yeah,”answersRich,“hekilledMagua…IlikedMagua…HewantedtobutchereveryWhiteperson,

exceptMadelineStowe.”

“MadelineStowe?…Whywouldanyonewanttobutcherher?...Andwasn’tMaguathatactor,theone

withthepock-markedface?”

“Yeah…WesStudey…usedtobeafootballplayer.”

“IthoughtthatwasJaySilvertoes?”

“Silverheels…andhewasTonto.”

“Oh,yeah,”smilesBill,“andtheniceIndianin‘DancesWithWolves’?”

“GrahamGreene?”

“TheThirdMan?”

“TheIndian.”

“Oh,”saysBill,losinginterestastheyenterMinnesota.“Isurehopewegetlaidonthistrip…Maybein

Minneapolis.”

TheydrivepasttheMinneapolisexit.

AstheydoBillwavestoit.“GoodbyeRich’soldgirlfriendthatditchedhimatMountRushmoreforCary

Grant!”

“I’msureshe’smarriedandhaskids,”saysRich.

“WithCaryGrant,”saysBill,andthenturnstoRich.“Isthatwhatthisisallabout,man,revengeforCary

Grantstealingyourgirl?Makingoffwithherasyouslavedawayinthosepatheticjobs.Knowingthathe

probablytookherbacktoHollywood,didlotsoffucking,ablow-jobhere-and-there,hadafewkidsthat

looklikemoviestars,alllivinginsome35-roommansioninBeverlyHills,drivingaJagback-and-forthto

thehairstylist,oooodlesofmoney…andyouthinkshemighthavegivenallthatupandislivingbackin

Minneapolisandwaitingforyoutocall?”

“Yeah…probablynot,”saysRich.

Chapter6

TheyreachtheDakotasandtravelthestraightesthighwayknowntohumankind.ItmesmerizesBill,at

thewheel,whileRich,ridingalongside,juststaresoutthewindshield.

“God,”saysRich,“thisistheugliestfuckingplaceintheworld.TheIndianslikedthisplace?”

“Musthave,”saysBill,“theyfoughtawfullyhardtokeepit.”

“Why,doyouthinktheyshouldhaveshareditwithfuckingWhitey?”

“Rich…,”saysBill.

LookingoveratBill.“What?”

“Lookintothesidemirror.”Helooks.

“Seeinganythinginparticular?”

“No…Why?”

“You’reaWhiteguy!”

“Onlyonthesurface,man,underneath,inmysoul,I’mafull-bloodedSiouxwarrior.”

“Theyknowthat?”

“Who?”

“TheSioux.”

“HowthefuckdoIknow,man,they’refuckingIndiansforGod’ssake.Whoknowswhattheyknow?

Theyjusthangaroundbangingtom-tom’sallday,chanting,prayingforrainandallthatshit.Andthey

havethatweirdwayoftalkingwiththeirhands.Sendmessagestoeachotherwithfuckingsmokeand

blankets.Stickneedlesintheirtitsandswingfrompoles…Man,iftheyhadjustabitoftheknowledge

wehavenowtheywouldn’tneedmeandyoutoblowupMountRushmoreforthem…Thereprobably

wouldn’tevenbeaRushmoreiftheyhadsomeoftheknowledgewehavenow…”

Billispuzzled.“Whatknowledgeareyoureferringto?”

“Advancedtechnology,”saysRich.“Youknow,likewehavenow.”

“Theyhadchickens.”

“Yeah,butnowaytomakethechickenshitintoanythinguseful…”

“Nosurprisethere,”grinsBill.

TheyseeanotherMcDonald’supthehighwayandpullin.Whentheygouptothecountertheynotice

thatitisthesamecounter-boyandcounter-girlthatwereinthepreviousMcDonald’soutsideof

PittsburghandinIllinois.

“Thisisweird,”saysRich,ashestudiesbothofthem.

“Theymustmovethemaround,”saysBill.

“Maybethey’redoppelgangers,”saysRich.

“Sadiftheyare,”saysBill.“CondemnedforeternitytoaMcDonald’ssomewhereintime.”

“Kindoflike‘InvasionoftheBodySnatchers,’”saysRich.

“Thinkthey’repod-people?”saysBill.

“Let’ssaysomethingfunnytothemandseeiftheylaugh.Remember,pod-peoplehavenoemotions.”

“LikemyMother,”saysBill.Andtheymoveuptothecounter.

“Hi…CanIhelpyou?’askscounter-girl.

Richislaughing.“Yeah…Iputabombinthebathroomjustnowandit’sgoingtoblowupintwo

minutes.”

“What,sir?”askscounter-boy,standingbycounter-girl’sside.

“ABOMB!...There’sabombinthebathroom…”

Counter-boycalmlyreachesfortheubiquitousbuttonunderthecounterthatcallsthemanagerandthe

police.Richreachesacrossthecounterandstopshimfrompressingit.“Onlykidding,man…Onlykidding

…andit’sRich,notsir,”andlooksoveratBill,whoisoglingthelunchmenu.“See,Bill,nosenseofhumor

atall…They’refuckingpod-people!”

BillasksthecountergirlifRushmoreisn’tnearby.

“Rushmore?”shegiggles,“that’samovie!

BillsmilesatherandthenatRich.“She’sdefinitelynotapod-person.”

“Howabouthim?”saysRich,stillholdingthecounter-boy’shandtostophimfrompushingthebutton

underthecounter.“Heseemslikeone…Andher,maybeshejusthasn’tfallenasleepyet.Youknowthe

personbecomesapod-personwhen…”

“Iknowhowsomeonebecomesapod-person…,”andBillasksthegirltogethimsix

cheeseburgerstogo,alargeorderoffriesandadietcoke,asRichreleasescounter-boy’shand.

“YouwantedtoknowaboutMountRushmore?”sayscounter-boytoBill.

“Yeah,isitnearhere?”

“It’safewhundredmilesacrosstheBadlands.”

Richhearsthemagicname.“BADLANDS?!...ThatwasMartinSheenandSissySpacek!”

“Sorry,sir,whatdidyouwantorder?”askscounter-boy.

“It’sRich.”

“What’sRich?”

“Hisname,”saysBill.

“Andwhatdoeshe…er,Rich…wanttoorder?”

“Idon’twantanything…IjustsaidMartinSheenandSissySpacekwerein‘Badlands’,”saysRich.

“I’mnotfamiliarwiththem…Dotheyhaveasouvenirstandthere,sir?”

“Rich…andno,theydon’thaveasouvenirstandthere,man.”

“I’msosorry…ah,Rich…butIonlymovedhererecently.Butwouldyoulikesomethingelse?”

“He’llhaveabottledwater,”saysBill.

Chapter7

BillandRichdrivethroughtheBadlands.Forhours.Thetemperatureisover100-degreesandthe

ancientstonesaremeltinginthesun.

“God,thisistheworstplaceonEarth…Doyouthinktheyhaveahardwarestorearoundhere?”says

“Probably…everyplacehasahardwarestore.”

“Becauseweneedsupplies…”

“Yeah,”saysBill,“andmaybethere’sanotherBodySnatchersMcDonald’snearby.”

“Athemerestaurant?”

“Goinandcomeoutapod-person.”

“Itwouldbedifficultforustobecomepod-people,butmoresoformethanyou,”saysRich.

“Howso?”saysBill.

“I’mItalian.”

“Howtrue…Howtrue…”

IntheswelteringdustyhazethathoversovertheroadthroughtheBadlands,Billspotsashimmering

outpostofcivilization.“Look!”andhepointstowhatlookslikeastore.Ahardwarestore.

“Iknewthere’dbeonearoundheresomewhere,”saysRich,astheydriveintotheparkinglotof

Mohammed’sJihadHardwareOasis.

“Looksliketherightplace,”saysBill.

BehindthecounterisMohammed,a40-ishmanofswarthycomplexionanddarkbeard.Hewearsa

blackjalabaandturban,withascimitartuckedintoagoldensasharoundhiswaist.“CanIbeofzom

zervicetoyougentleman?”hesays,withathickaccent.

“Yeah,”saysRich,“we’relookingforsomestufftomakeabomb.”

“Abomb?Abombyouzay?”

“Yeah,”saysRich,“we’reheadedtoMountRushmoretoblowitup.”

MohammedstartstogiggleandasksRich,allwide-eyedandchildlike,“You’regoingtoblowupMount

Rushmore?”

“Yeah,”saysRich.

“Why?”saysMohammed.

“WhyMountRushmore?”saysRich.

“Yes,thatizzzwhatIasked,”saysMohammed.

“Doyouknowwhat‘sonMountRushmore?”

“Ofcourse,”saysMohammed,“fourgreatAmericanprezzzzidents.”

“Great?!”saysRich,lookingoveratBillandthenbackatMohammed.

“Ofcourzzzze.Greatmen.Fourgreatmen!”

Richcanbarelygetouthisresponse.“Great!...”hesputters,“THEY’REFUCKINGSWINE!”

“Zwine?Likepigzzzz?Withclovenhoofzzzz?No,no,no,theyaremen,greatmen,”saysMohammed.

“Theysuck!”saysRich.

“No,no,zir…theydon’tzuck.Theyaregreatmen,zir!”

“Doyouknowwhatthosecock-suckershavedone,Mohammed…YouareMohammed,right?”

“Yes,zir,andiftheyhaveunlawfullyeatenafewroosterzzzzz…whatiztheharm?”

“Rich.”

“Pardon?”saysMohammed.

“It’sRich.”

“WhatizRich?”

BillpointstoRich.“Hisname.”

Mohammedsmilesandbeginslaughing.“Oh…thatizzzzzagoodname…averygoodname.”

“Iguesshe’snotapod-person,”BilltellsRich.

“YouthinkThomasJeffersonwasagreatman,doyouMohammed?”asksRich.

“Idon’tknow,Mr.Rich…wazzzzzn’the?Hisfazzzeisupthereonthemountain.”

“That’smypoint,Mohammed.”

“Whatizzzyourpoint,Mr.Rich?”

“Thatyoudon’tknowafuckingthingabouthim,buthemustbeagreatmanifhe’supthereonthat

motherfuckingmountain!Right,Mohammed?Didyouknowthatthefuckerownedslaves,

Mohammed?”

“Mr.Rich,couldyouwatchyourlanguage…pleazzzze…theothercustomerzzzz.”

BillandRichbothlookaroundattheemptystore.

“Heownedslaves,Mohammed.Blackpeople.HeownedBlackhumanbeings.”

“Yezzzz,Mr.Rich,thatwazaverybadthingtodo.”

“Fuckin’ehitwas!Andhesoldthemjustbeforehedied.Didn’tgivethemtheirfreedom…Wannaknow

why,Mohammed?”

“Wazn’the…youknow…incarnalrelationzzzzwiththem,Mr.Rich?”

“Thatwasn’twhy,Mohammed.Youknowwhy,Mohammed?Wannaknowwhy?”

“IthinkMohammedwantstoknowwhy,Rich,”saysBill,lookingbored.

“Yez,yez,ofcourse…Pleazzzzzetellme,Mr.Rich.”

“Tosavehisfuckingfarm.Hismansion.Theplantation.TosavefuckingMonticello…Heneededthe

moneyhegotfromsellingthosepeopletokeephisland!”

BillleansovertoMohammed,whostandslookingatRichwithamixtureofwonderandincredulity.“Got

that,Mohammed?”

“Yez,yez…Gotit,Mr.Rich.”

Rich,warminguptohis‘IHateThomasJefferson’diatribe,flailsaroundthehardwarestore.“Iwent

therenotlongago–toMonticello–justtohearwhatthoseracistswouldsayabouthim,andthis

docent…”

“Pardon,Mr.Rich…whatizzzzthis‘do-zen’?”

“Guide,”Billtellshim,asRichsputtersandfumestothepointofnearapoplexy.

“Yessssss…andthefuckingflunky,thisguidetoldallthetourists–allWhiteImayadd–thattheday

ThomasJeffersonsoldhisslaves…SOLDTHEM!...hewatchedfromhishugepicturewindowastheslaves

weresoldoffandhadtearsinhiseyes…’ItwasMr.Jefferson’ssaddesthour’,saidtheguide…HIS

SADDESTFUCKINGHOUR!”

“Yez,thatizzzzzad,Mr.Rich.”

“SAD!It’sfuckingdespicable,Mohammed!”

“IthinkMohammedunderstandsthedispicablenessofit,”BilltellsRich,whostareswild-eyedat

Mohammedacrossthecounter,hisheadinfull-twitchmode.

“Yez,yez,Mr.Rich,hewasdezzzzpicable.Arealzhit.Nofuckinggood.Hezhouldhavebeendecapitated

andburiedupzzzidedowninapileofcameldungas52virginzpizzzzzedonhisheadlezzzzbody…But,

otherthanthat,whatdoyouneedforthizzzzbomb?”

Richhasslowlystoppedtwitching.“Oh,yeah…yeah…Ithoughtyoumightknow.”

Mohammedisshocked.“Me?Whyme?”

BillleansovertoRich.“Ithoughtyouknewhowtobuildoneofthesethings…theFleetwoodMacguy

andallthat…”

“Ireadthemanual,”saysRich.

“Manual?Whatmanual?”

“TheoneIboughtatWal-Mart,”saysRich.

“Wal-Martsellsmanualstobuildbombs?”

“Oh,theyzelleverythingthere,zir,”saysMohammedtoBill.HeissmilingandgleefulnowthatRich

seemstohavecalmeddown.“Everything.Grozzzeriez,explosivezz,toiletpaper,woman’zitemz…next

they’llbezellingzlavezzzz…Blackonezzzzzz!LikeMr.Jefferzzzzondid!”

BillandRichstareatMohammed–Billwithanamusedglintinhiseye;Richtryingtocontainhisnascent

fury.“LookMohammed,”Richfinallyasks,swallowinghisbile,“canyouadviseusonthebestbomb

materialstoblowupMountRushmore?”

“Ofcourse.LetmegetFatima,mywife,zheistheknowledgableoneinzzesematterzzz…FATIMA!...”

AndFatimaappearsfrombehindabead-curtainatthebackofthestore,sheiscoveredhead-to-toeina

blackrobeandveil,withtwoeyeholestoseethrough,herhandscoveredinspiralsandcurli-cuesofred

henna.BilltellsRichshelookslikethewomanwhosetthebombintheFrenchmilkbarinthe

“BattleofAlgiers”.OutsideofTheGrapesofWrath,NorthByNorthwestandTheThirdManbyGraham

Greene–“NottheIndian”-itishisfavoritemovie.SoBilltakesthisasagoodsign.Rich,whohasn’t

seenthemovie,asksBillhowcouldshelooklikeanyone,coveredfromtop-to-bottomina“bathrobe,

withaveil?”

“Herass,”saysBill,smilingatFatima’sbottomasshequietlytalkswithherhusbandafewfeetaway.“I

cantell.Icanalwaystell.Assesdon’tlie,Rich.”

Atthat,MohammedtellsBillandRichthattheyneedsomeammoniumnitrate,adetonatingdevice,a

timer…”and100poundzzzzzoffertilizer.”

RichlooksoveratBill.“Fertilizer!”

“Iguessyouwereright,”shrugsBill.“Chickenshitherewecome.”

“Wouldanalarmclockworkasatimer?”RichasksMohammed.

“Yezzzzz,thatwouldbegood.Wezellthemhere.”

“Andadetonator?”

“Youcanuzzzzefireworkz…IthinkM-80’zarethebezzzt…Wehavezemalzo.”

“Andthefertilizer?”

“Zat,I’mzorrytozzzzay,wedon’thave…You’llhavetogotothefeedztoreforzat.”

“Closeby,”asksBill.

“Justafewmilesdownthehighway.AttheendoftheBadlandzzzz.”

“Whyiscalledthat?”asksRich.

“Pardon?”saysMohammed.

“TheBadlands…Whyisitcalledthat?”asksRichagain.

Mohammedstartstolaugh.Hard.Hebeginstochokeheislaughingsohard.Finallyhesqueezesthe

wordsout:“Mr.Rich,haveyoulookedatzisfuckingplace?!”

RichlaughswithMohammed,andlikeMohammed,hecanbarelygethiswordsout:“Yeah!(yuk-yuk-

yuk)...Itisfuckinghorrible!(yuk-yuk-yuk)...Ahell-holethatIwouldn’twishonmyworstenemy!(yuk-

yuk-yukthenfollowedbyoneslowyuk)…Sowhydoyoulivehere?”

“Itremindzmeofhome,”smilesMohammed.

Chapter8

BillandRichdrivetotheendofthehighwayandfindMohammed’sJihadFeedStoreOasisatthe

intersectionoftheBadlandsandtheInterstate.Itisdecorous,likeMohammed’sHardware,withtwo

toweringminaretsandismadeofadobe,paintedontheexteriorwithgeometricpatterns.

BilllooksoveratRichbeforetheyleavethecar.“Abrother?”

BillandRichenterandgotothecounter.AndtherestandsthesameMohammedasinthehardware

store.

“Howcouldhedothat?”RichwhisperstoBill.“Wejustlefthimuptheroad.Thisisn’tmorepod-people

shit,isit?”

“Teleportation,”saysBillquietly.“Idon’tthinkArabsknowabout‘InvasionoftheBodySnatchers’.”

“Whatthefuckisthat?”saysRich,about‘teleportation’,thenturnstotheman–“Mohammed?”–

behindthecounter.

“Goodmorning,”saysthisMohammed,exhibitingnoaccentwhatsoever.“CanIhelpyou?”

“Aren’tyou?...Didn’tyou?”RichsputterstothisMohammed.“Ishe…?”heasksBill,whostandsbeside

himsmilinglikethechesirecat.“Hegotridofhisaccent.”

“Theyalllookalike…ormaybehewenttoBerlitzinbetweenourleavingthereandcominghere,”says

Bill,hisgrinbeginningtolookmoronictoRich,whoisbefuddledbyeverything,includingthis,the

appartentlydoubleMohammeds.

“IthoughtthatwasBlacksandOrientalswholookedalike?AndArabshaveneverbeentoBerlitz.How

wouldtheygetthere,Bill?Onafuckingcamel?”

“Yeah…that’sright,”saysBill.“Mymistake.”

“So,gentleman?”asksMohammed.

AftergettingpasttheirconsternationatthetwoMohammedstheyexitthestorewitha100-gallon

drumofliquidfertilizer.Theytrytogetitintothetrunkofthecar,butitwon’tfit.Richsuggeststhat

theytiethedrumoffertilizertotheroofofthecar.

“Withasignthatsayswehaveexplosivesattachedtoit?”saysBill.

“Fertlizer,man…fertilizer!”

“Yeah,Iforgot,”asBillhelpsRichgetthedrumupontotheroof.“Wecantellpeoplewe’regonnafarm.”

TheysetthedrumprecariouslyontheroofoftheFiesta.Itmakesanalarmingbulgeoverthe

driverseatofthecar.

“I’llgoinsideandgetsomerope,”saysRich,asBillholdsthedrumsteady.Richreturnswithafew

bungeecordsandthetwoproceedtostrapthedrumoffertilizertotheroofofthecar.“Allsettogo,”

saysRich,astheystepbacktoadmiretheiringenuity.

“Maybeweshouldputan‘I’mGoingtoBlowUpMountRushmore’stickeronit,”saysBill.

“Yougotone?”laughsRich,becomingdeliriouslyhappy,giddyalmost,attheprospectinfrontofhim.

Well,THEM…butitisRich’sdream,hisThought,thattheyhavecomethisfar…”Sofar,we’vecomeso

far,”herepeats,imitatingGandhipreparingfortheSaltMarchthatledtoIndia’sliberation.Richhasno

suchgranddesigns.Infacthehasnodesignsatallexcepthispersonalrepulsionatthefourpresidents–

“jackals”tohim-whositnot-so-benignlypassingjudgementonthosefarbelow…mostofthemIndians.

NottheGandhiIndians…Richdoesn’tknowmanyofthem.Onlyonereally.Agirlhemetinhighschool.

ShewasanexchangestudentfromsomewhereinIndia.“Itwashotthere,”shetoldhim.Richtriedto

wooher,inaway–hewasveryyoung–butshewascosmopolitan,whichshockedRich,forhethought

thatallIndiansfromIndialivedinmud-hutsandinterriblesqualor.Shethoughthewasnice,buttold

himhewas“limited…mentally”.Richdidn’tunderstandwhatshemeant.ShewentbacktoIndiaand

Richneversaworheardfromheragain.Hegotheraddressfromthefamilyshehadlivedwithandsent

herapairofnylonsandsomechocolatebars,“IsawitinaWorldWarIImovie,”hesaid,butfiguredthe

chocolatehadmeltedontothenylonsandruinedthem.“Shesaiditwashotthere,”heremembered.

Andthatwasthat.

BillandRichhopintothecarwiththe100-gallondrumoffertilizerstrappedtotheroofandtakeofffor

Rushmore.Andonthewayupthewindingmountainroad…

“Ialwayswonderedwhythosethingsarecalledbungeecords,”saysRich.

“Probablynamedaftertheguywhoinventedthem,”saysBill.

“BUNGEE!...That’safuckingstupidname.Andit’sjustabigfuckingrubber-band,man!Howcan

somebodyinventabigrubberband?”

“It’sAmerica…Peoplejumpoffbridgeswiththemtiedtotheirankles.”

“Yeah…Whatthefuckisthatallabout?”

“It’sAmerica…freecountry,right?”

“GoingoverNiagaraFallsinabarrel?”

“America.”

“Flag-polesitting?”

“America.”

Squeezing50moronsintoaphonebooth?”

“America.”

“Carvingtheheadsoffourfuckingmass-murderersintoasacredmountain?”

“Yup…America.”

“Iwonderifsheevergotthenylonsandthechocolatebars?”Richmutterstohimself,ashestares

throughtheside-window,suddenlythinkingofhispast,andher.

“Ifwhogotnylonsandchocolates?”asksBill,lookingoveratRich.

“AnIndiangirl.”

“Tina!Yousenthernylonsandchocolate?...Iknewit!YouAREplanningonmeetingherouthere,aren’t

you?...Aren’tyou?”

ButRichdoesn’tanswerBill,insteadthinkingabouttheonetimethatheandKamalawentoutona

date.Itdidn’tgowell.Hewantedtoimpressher;shejustwantedtohavesex.Andsincehehadlittleto

noexperienceinthisregard,hecouldbarelyimpressher,thisworldlyyoungIndiangirl.Sohemadeup

amorousadventuresforhimself,butsheknew,fromherrealamorousadventures,thathewasjust

makingthingsup.Shewasamused,butintheend,becamefrustratedwithRich,andhisincessanttalkof

sexwithwithJaneandJeanandJoanandJillandJessieandJoandJennyandJasmine,andthenBarbara

andBillieandBabsandBertieandBethandBettyandBette,andthenAngieandAnnieandAnnand

AnnaandArtisandArtemesiaandAndiagain,and…onandon…andon.

“Jesus…wasIafuckingassholeorwhat?”Richsaystohimself,thinkingofKamalaplayingwithhiswillie

throughhischinos.Hethinkshehadanerection…”WhatthefuckwasIwaitingfor?”hesays,again

underhisbreath…”WasIafraid?”

“What?’asksBill,overhearingRich’smumurs.“Waitingforwhat?Afraidofwhat?”

TheypassayoungIndianmanhitch-hikingonthesideoftheroad.Billstopsandwavestotheyoung

Indian,whowalksuptothecar.

“Whereyouheadin’,Chief?”asksRichthroughtheopenpassengerwindow.

“Chief?”

“GreatSiouxwarrior?”

TheyoungIndianstartslaughing…”Warrior?”

“Whatever,man,whereyouheaded?”

“UptoRushmore.”

“Rushmore!Whyyougoin’upthere?”

“Iworkthere.”

“YOU!...Youworkatthatfuckingtravesty?”

“Yeah,it’sprettyfuckingstupid,isn’tit?”

“Morethanthat…rightBill?”

“Yeah…sure…”saysBill.

“Imean,howthefuckcanyouworkthere?”

“Needthejob,man…Ineedthejob.”

“Butthehistoryofthatfuckingplace.”

“Ineedthejob.”

“Butit’sthePahaSapa.”

TheyoungIndianlaughs,butisstartingtogetannoyed.“Ineedthejob,man.”

“Rich…heneedsthejob,”saysBill.

“Andbesides,”laughstheyoungIndian,withacertaindegreeofsarcasm,“whatdoacoupleofPale

Facesknowaboutit?”

Richisindignant.“Iain’tnofuckingPalaFace,Tonto,I’mItalian!”

“Ooooooooh…sorryaboutthatman,”saystheyoungIndian,laughing,“butyouguysalllookaliketous.”

BillandRichareamusedbythisyoungIndianandtellhimtohopin.Theyrideforawhileinsilence.

“Youreallygoin’uptoRushmore?”askstheyoungIndian.

“Yeah.”asksRich.

TheyoungIndianchecksoutBill,thenRich,andsmiles.“Touristas?Youguysdon’tlooklikeregular

touristas.”

ThisamusesBill.“Oh,yeah…Whatdoesaregulartourist…tourista…looklikeouthere?”

“Youknow…bermudashorts,Hawaiianshirt,baseballcap,Americanflag-pin,usuallycartingacouple

obnoxiouskidsthatwanttoseeus,THEIRIndians,dosomekindofwar-whoop,orspeaktothemin

Indian-talk…”

“What’sIndiantalk,man,”asksRich.

“C’mon,man,you’veseenthemovies…’How,littlebrother.Yourheartistrue.Nospeakwithforked

tongue…’andallthatshit…LoneRangerandTontostuff…setusback100years…”

“Nah,”saysRich,“we’renotlikethat.We’renottourists…we’regonnablowthefuckerup!...Didn’tyou

noticethedrumoffertilizertiedtoourroof?”

TheyoungIndianlaughs,butispuzzledbyRich’soff-the-cuffintensityandBill’slaissez-fairenon-

involvedpassivity.“Smelledit…ButIthoughtyouwerejustacoupleofWhiteassholeswhoweregonna

tryandfarmouthere…it’sbeentriedbefore.”

“See…farmers,”saysBill,withabigsmile.“Farmers.”

Theyrideforawhileinsilence…

“Blowitup?”saystheYoungIndianunderhisbreath,thentoBillandRich…”BlowupMountRushmore?

Whatthefuckyouwanttodothatfor?”

“Foryou,”saysRich,smilingandpattingtheyoungIndianonthearm.

“Forme?...Iworkthere.”

“Don’tworry,man,wewon’tdoitwhenyou’rethere,andthenyou’llqualifyforunemployment.”

“Unemployment?Thisisthefirstfuckin’jobI’vehadintwoyears.”

“Don’tworry,”saysRich,“you’llgetit.”

TheyoungIndianthinkswithinthecar’ssilence,looksoveratBill,whodrivesalongplacidly,thento

Rich,whoissmilingtohimselfashestaresthroughthewindshield.“Hey…,”andhepointstoadirtroad

snakingawayfromthehighway,“whydon’tyouturnoffhere?”

“Why?”asksRich.

“There’ssomebodyIwantyoutomeet,”saystheyoungIndian.

BillturnsthelittleFiestaoffthemainroadtoRushmoreandtakesthedirttrackheadingdownintoa

littlevalley.Thedrumoffertilizerbouncesandboomsontheroof,itsimpressionisticdentcavingcloser

andclosertohishead.“Youthinkthefertilizerwillholdupthere?”heasksRich,gesturingtotheroofof

thecar.

“Gotto.Bungee.America…right,Bill?”answersRich,laughing.

“Yeah,Iforgot.”

Theycometoadeadendandthereisabeat-upoldtrailersurroundedbyold,rustedcars,refrigerators,

washingmachines,stovesandotherdetritusfromthemachineage.

“Thisit?”asksBill.

“Yeah,”saystheyoungIndian,“honkthehorn,he’sprobablywatchin’TV.”

Billhonksthehorn.Itechoesthroughthepine-coveredvalley.

“TV?Atthistimeofday?”asksRich.

“Yeah,helikesthesoaps.”

“Wholikesthesoaps?”asksBill.

“MyGrandfather.”

AndanoldIndianmancomestothedoor.DressedinnothingbutjeansandaT-shirt,barefoot,withlong

braidedwhitehair,helookstoBillandRichlikeChiefDanGeorgefrom“LittleBigMan”,hisfaceacross-

countrymapoffoldsandcreases.TheTV,partiallyvisiblebehindhim,blasts“TheDaysofOurLives”

throughthedoorofthebroken-downtrailer.

“Grandfather,Ibroughtyousomevisitors.”

TheoldIndiannodsandwalksovertotheFiesta.“What’sthis?’hesays,pointingtothedrumof

fertilizerontheroof.

“Fertilizer,”saystheyoungIndian.

TheoldIndianlooksamused.“Whataretheygonnablowsomethingup?”

BillandRichlookateachotherandsmile.

“Yes,Grandfather…MountRushmore.”

TheoldIndiansmilesandwavesBillandRichoutofthecarandwelcomesthemintohissweltering

trailer,pointstoacoupleofbustedchairsforthemtositonandoffersthemadrink.“Fire-water?”They

bothdecline.AstheoldIndiansipsfromatumblerofwhiskeyhepointsattheloud,blaringTV.“It’s

stupid.”

BillandRichnodinagreement.

“WatchjusttoseewhatWhitepeopleareupto,”saystheoldIndian,smilingatBillandRich.

“TheywanttoblowupMountRushmore,Grandfather,”saystheyoungIndian.

“It’stoolate.”

“Why,sir?”asksRich.

“Wherewereyou100yearsago?Nowit’slikeTV.Noonecares,it’sjustthere.”

“Wedo…right,Bill?”saysRich,asBill,bathedinsweat,nodstotheoldIndianandmopshisbrow.

“Why?”askstheoldIndian.

“BecauseitisthePahaSapa,”answersRich.

“ThePahaSapa?!...Whatdoyouknowofthatplace?”

“IknowitwasthecenteroftheSiouxuniverse.”

“Stillis,”saystheoldIndian,staringatRichasifatararespeciesofanimal.

“AndthosefourheadsareaninsulttoallIndians.”

“They’remeaningless.”

“Butwewanttoblowthemup.”

“Why,areyouaSioux?”

“No,notanIndian,orSioux,bybirth,butanIndianofthespirit,”saysRich,withacertainuncomfortable

bravado.

“Youdon’tsay?”saystheoldIndian.

“I…We…believeinwhatyoubelievein.”

“Leavemeoutofthis,I’mjustalongfortheride,”addsBill,his300-poundgirthsufferingintheheat.

“It’slikeafuckingtoasteroveninhere…Canwegooutside?”AndBillgoesovertothedoorandstands

facingtheslightbreezethatwaftsthrough.

“Doyou?”saystheoldIndiantoRich.

“Yes…Ofcourse…Ibelieveinwhatyoudo.”

“AndwhatisitIbelievein?”

“ThatthatmountainistheheartoftheSiouxNationanditwasstolenbytheWhiteman,whothen,to

rubtheSiouxnosesintothedirtafterdestroyingtheirculture,builtamonumenttotheWhitemanthat

looksdownuponnotonlytheSioux,butanyofuswhocareabouttheSiouxandtheirwayoflife.”

Thereissilence.RichstareshopefullyattheOldIndian.Billstandsinthedoorwaycatchingabreeze,as

theoldIndiansaystohisGrandsoninLakota:“Ithinkyourfriendhereneedstogetlaid.”

“They’rebothinsane,”saystheyoungIndian,answeringhisGrandfatherintheirancienttongue,asBill

andRichlookon.“ThebigoneremindsofthatcharacterfromthatSteinbeckbook.”

“Yes,Iseewhatyoumean,”saystheoldIndianinLakota,“theonewholikesrabbits…Doyouthinkwe

shouldkillthem?”

“Wecan’tdothat,Grandfather,”answershisGrandsoninLakota,“asstupidastheylooktheyprobably

havesomeWhitewomenlivingwiththemandwho,stupidly,willlookforthem.”

“Ah,Whitewomen!”saystheoldIndianinLakota.“Ihadoneofthemonce!”

“Really,”askstheyoungIndianinLakota,“whenGrandfather?”

“Longago,beforeImatedwithyourGrandmother,”theoldIndiananswersinLakota.“Yes…Yes…she

wasn’tverygood.Didn’twantmetomounther,insteadwantedto…whatisthatphrase?”

“Whatphrase,Grandfather?”askshisGrandsoninLakota.

“TheEnglishphraseforwhenawomanputsaman’serectpenisintohermouthandsucksitlikeapeace

pipe?”saystheOldIndianinLakota.

“Oh…ablow-job,”saystheyoungIndian,returningtospeakinEnglish.

Bill,bythedoor,hearsthemagicwordsandturnstoRich.“BLOW-JOB!Whataboutablow-job?...Iknew

it.TheseIndianwomenliketogiveblow-jobs.JustlikethePrincess.”

“Blow-job?”RichaskstheyoungIndian.

“Grandfatherwasjustreminiscingaboutawomanheknewmanyyearsago.”

“Iguessyouwereright,”RichsaystoBill.

“AskyourGrandfatherifshe’sstillaround,”saysBilltotheyoungIndian.

Chapter9

AfterleavingtheyoungIndianwithhisGrandfather,BillandRichdetourthroughthePineRidge

Reservation.Realizingthattheirattempttoblow-upMountRushmorecouldbemisinterpretedasa

twisted,paranoidWhiteresponsetoreal-or-imaginedpersonalslightsthateachhasincurredthrough

thefirst50-or-soyearsoflife…theynowknewthattheyneededIndianallies.Especiallyaftertalking

withtheoldIndian.

“WannagofindRussellMeans?”asksRich.

“Ithoughthehatedyou,”saysBill.

“Hedid.”

“ThoughtyouwereaWhitepieceofshit.”

“That’swhathetoldme.”

“Andthatifheeversawyouagainhe’dcrushyourballswithastonetomahawk.”

“Yeah,hedidsaythat.”

“So,”saysBill,“wheredowefindRuss?”

Theydrivethroughthereservation.Burnedoutandrustingcarsareeverywhere.

“Somethingtellsme,ohkemo-sabi,thatyourIndiansaren’tintotechnology,”saysBill.

“Canyoublamethem?”

Billshakeshisheadno.“I’mhungry.”Andhespotssomethingthroughtheroad-dustthatswirlsacross

theirfrontwindshieldlikedryfog.“Canitbe?...”

“Youthink?”saysRich,marvelingatthetallgoldenarchesstandingabovethedustanddirtlikethe

gatesofheaven.

“Let’sfindout,”saysBill,gleefully,astheydriveintotheparkinglotofthePineRidgeMcDonald’s.

BillandRichwalkuptothecounterandthesameboyandgirlarethereagain,onlythistimewearingwarbonnets.

“AreyoutworealIndians?”asksBill.

“Ofcoursenot,”gigglesthecounter-boy,“we’rePresbyterians.”

BillandRichlookateachotherwithsighsofrelief.

“Canwehelpyou?”asksthecounter-girl.

“I’mlookingforaRussellMeans,”Richtellsher.

“AndI’llhavefourcheeseburgers,twolargefries,twoapplepiesandadietcoke,”saysBill.

“Sothat’sfourcheeseburgers,twolargefries,twoapplepiesandadietcokeforyou,”asshenodsto

Bill.“AndaRussellMeansSpecialforyou,”andshenodstoRich.

“ARussellMeansSpecial?WhatthefuckisaRussellMeansSpecial?”

Thecounter-boycomesovertoRichandinalowvoiceaskshimtocontrolhislanguage.“Thisisan

IndianReservation,sir…Let’sshowsomerespect.”

“IT’SRICH!YOUKNOWIT’SRICH!...YOUFUCKINGPOD!”

“Please,sir,”whisperscounter-boy,“please…”

IT’SRICH!!...YOUFUCKINGDOPPELGANGER!FUCKINGCLONEOFANASS-HAIR!...IT’SRICH!ANDYOU

GOD-DAMNWELLKNOWIT!!!

“Ifyoudon’tcontrolyourlanguage,sir…er,Rich…Iwillhavetocallthemanager!”sayscounter-boy,

withmoreurgency.

“Who’sthat,RedCloud?!”interjectsBill,chucklingtohimself.

“Yes,asamatteroffactitis,”sayscounter-boy.

“GOODGOD,BILL,”screamsRich,“I’MGOINGTOEVISCORATETHELITTLEBASTARD!”

“Holdon,man,”asBillgrabsRichandaskscounter-boy,“You’retellingmeyourmanager’snameisRed

Cloud?”

“Yes…weallhaveIndiannames.”

“BILL…LETMEKILLTHELITTLETURD!SCALPHIM!”AndRichgrabsaplasticknifefromatrayandtriesto

lungeacrossthecounter.

“YouallhaveIndiannames?”Billaskscounter-boyashestrugglestoholdbackRichfromleapingacross

thecounter.

Counter-boyisterrifiedofRichandstepsbackfurtherfromthecounter.“Ofcourse.”Asheanswers,

counter-girlbringsBill’sorder.

“Andyoursis?”heaskscounter-boyasheholdsRichwithonehandandtakeshisorderfromcounter-

girlwiththeother.

“Thunder-Thud,”gigglescounter-boy.

“CHIEF…Thunder-Thud?”asksBill,nearlybesidehimselfwithglee.HetriestocalmRich,whoisswinging

theplasticknifearoundrecklessly…”FromHowdyDoody!”Andheturnstothecounter-girl.“Ohmy

GOD!...Ifhe’sChiefThunder-Thudthenyoumustbe…”andhecrossesthefingersonthehandhehas

wrappedaroundRich’smid-section,

“PrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-spring,”shesays,smilingwithtrepidation.

“MYGOD!”andBillreleasesRichfromhisgrasp,whothenfallsagainstthecounter,exhausted.Billis

beaming.Hisheartaflutter.Hishandsatwitter.Hisfaceflush…”I’vefoundyou!MyGod,I’vefoundyou!”

Ashort-timelateroutsidethePineRidgeMcDonald’s,BillandRichsitinthecar.Billeyesthefrontdoor

tothefast-foodjointandeatsravenouslywhileRichstaresathim.

“Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou?”RichasksashewatchesBilltearingthroughhischeeseburgers.

“What?”answersBill,hismouthfullofcheeseburger.

‘What?What?...You’vebeenlikeeating10mealsadaythiswholetrip.”

“So?”

“So?...Youtohaveprepareyourselfforthejobathand,Bill.”

“Iam,”isBill’smuffledanswerthroughyetanothercheeseburger.

“Youare?You’regettingreadytoblowupRushmorebyeatinglike50cheeseburgersaday?”

“Hamburgers,too…Fries…BigMacs…Anoccasionalchickennuggetortwo…”ashekeepseating.

RichstaresatBillforalongtime.“Whatthefuck,Bill?Whydidwecomehere,anyway?”

“Iknowwhatyou’reherefor,butI’minitforthesex,”saysBill,justbeginningtoseetotheendofhischeeseburgers.

“SEX!Whatsex?”

“With…”andBillnodstowardtheMcDonald’s,“thePrincess.”

“Princess?!Bill,she’snotafuckingPrincess.She’safuckingteenagePresbyteriandressedinafucking

warbonnet!”

“She’saPrincesstome.”

“AnythingthatwalksisaPrincesstoyou.”

“Nottrue!...I’vebeen…youknow…”

“You’vebeenwhat?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing…nothingatall,”andBillfinishesthelastofthecheeseburgersandfriesandgurglesthelast

fewdregsofDietCoke.

“ChiefThunder-ThudtoldmethatRussellMeanshasaranchovernearPorcupine,”RichtellsBill.

“Youtakethecarandgoseehim.”

Richcan’ttakehiseyesoffBill.Watchinghimeatandwatchinghimsmilingtohimself.Hetakesthe

keystotheFiestafromBill.“Whatthefuckisgoin’on,Bill?”

“He’syourfriend.”

“AndwhileI’mgettingscalpedwhatareyougonnabedoing?”

“I’llbewaitinghere…overatthattable.”

AsRichdrivesawayforhishoped-forpow-wowwithRussellMeans,Billsitsatthepicnictableoutside

thePineRidgeMcDonald’s,hisPrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-Spring–thegreatloveofhisyouth–inside

servingupBigMacsandfries,andbeginstoday-dream…

Billissittingbyariver.TheGreasy-Grass.Heiswearingaloin-clothmadeofdeer-skin,achest-plateof

deer-bones,hisbigbellyprotrudingfromunderit.Onhisfeetaremoccasinsmadeofdeer-hide.Hehas

eaglefeathersinhishair.HeisanIndian.ASiouxwarrior.AndheiswaitingforhisPrincess.Sheglides

acrossthemeadowneartheriverandcomesuponBillsittingandmeditating,hislegscrossedinalotus

position.Shesitsdownnexttohimashechants.ShelooksathimasanIndianmaidenwouldagreat

warrior,especiallynowthathehasbroughthistribeheretotheGreasyGrassforthegreatmeetingof

thetribes.Therearemorethanthree-thousandLakotaandCheyennebraveshereatthisplaceandshe

haschosenBill–BigRedManheiscalledbyothers–tositwith.Theytalk,butthewordsaremuffled.

Buffaloes,rabbits,owlsandeaglesroamabout,smilingandwavingtoBillandthePrincess.Theyarein

loveandthesceneisfilledwithlushcolors:thegrasstoogreen;thewatertooclear;theskytooblue;

thecloudstoowhite,asBillandthePrincessstand,holdhandsandwalktothewater’sedge.Billlooks

intothewaterandinitsclarityheseeshimselfasayoungman,hishairinlongredbraids,beardless,

chicletteethgleaminginthetoogoldensun.ThePrincessistall,slender,herraven-blackhairpartedin

themiddle,herMcDonald’shead-bandholdingitinplace.TheyareinloveandBilltakesthePrincess

intohisarmsandkisseshersoftly.Billhearsmusicinthedistance,comingfromtheIndiancamp.Itis

LouieArmstrongsinging“It’sAWonderfulWorld”-Whatishedoinghere?hethinks,ashesmilesathis

Princess.Allisperfectandheisinlove.“Everythinginitsplace,”hesaystohimself,astheanimals

prancearoundthemandheandthePrincessexchangeweddingvows.“Aslongasthegrassisgreen;as

longastheskyisblue;aslongastheriversflow;Iamyours,”theysaytoeachother.Billhasneverbeen

happier.EventhebirthofhisdaughterMaevemanyyearsbeforeandinanotherlifetime,didn’tmake

himsohappy.AndhelovedMaevemorethanlifeitself.AsBillandthePrincesskissstandinginthe

GreasyGrassandthewindingriver’ssparklingwaterdancesaroundtheirlegs,thereisastrangesound.

Ablaringtrumpetfromafar.NotfromLouieArmstrong.No,thisisagratingsound.Aharsh,violent,

aggressivesound,rippingthroughBill’sbrainanddrainingthedreamofcolor.HeturnsandthePrincess

isgone;thegrassisredwithblood;theskyblackwiththunderclouds;theanimalsdisappeared;andthe

riverfilledwithbodies–Indianbodies-thatfloatintothedistantworld.Thisworldisnomore.Bill,Big

RedMan,isnomore…thisdreamhasended.

“Hey!”callsapoliceman,anIndian,standingbyasnow-whitesquadcar.HewalksovertoBill,whosits

forlornatthepicnictable.“OK,bigboy…What’sgoingon?”

“Myworldhasjustended,”saysBill,absentmindedly.

Asecondpoliceman,alsoanIndian,walksover.“Wattayoudoin’here,bigboy?”

Billcan’tanswer.Heisdevastated.Finally,withtearsrollingdownhischeeks,hetellsthem:“Waitingfor

thePrincess.”

“WhatPrincess,bigboy?”asksthefirstcop.

“PrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-Spring,”Billsays,aslightglimmerofhopeinhiswords.

“What,shegonnameetyouhere?InPineRidge?”saysthesecondcop.

“Nah,she’sinside.”

“InsideMcDonald’s?”asksthefirstcop.

“Yeah,I’vebeensearchingforherforever,andnowIfoundhere…justlikewithJohnWayne.”

“JohnWayne?TheDuke?”asksthesecondcop.

“Yeah,”answersBill,“inthatmoviewithNatalieWood.”

“WestSideStory?”asksthefirstcop.

“Nah,theotherone,”saysBill.

BothcopsstandandstaredownatBill,whoishunchedoverwithadistantgleamdancingacrosshis

eyes.HestaresattheMcDonald’s.“It’sover,isn’tit?...Iheardthebuglesound…”

AsBillisquestionedbythepoliceatthePineRidgeMcDonald’s,Richdrivesaroundthereservation

lookingforPorcupine.AndRussellMeans.HehonksthehornoftheFiestatoalltheIndianshesees

alongtheway.Friendly-like.Butnooneknowswheretheone-timeleaderofAIMlives.Ortheyjust

don’twanttotellaWhiteguy.HefinallystopsbyayoungIndianmansittingonaburnedout

OldsmobileDelta88.

“Hey,man…YouknowRussellMeans?”

“Yeah.”

“Great!...Knowwherehelives?”

“Yeah.”

“Canyoutellmewhere?”

“Whoareyou,man?”

“Afriend…Well,notexactlyafriend…Morelikeanacquaintance…Iinterviewedhimonce…Maybe20

yearsago…Hehatedme…Threatenedtocrushmyballswithastonetomahawk…Scalpme…Cutoutmy

innardswithadullbuffaloknife…Decapitateme…Putmyheadonapoleandpissonit…”

“Thatsoundslikehim.”

“So,”asksRich,“youknowwhereIcanfindhim?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“NewYork.”

“NewYork?Whatthefuck’shedoin’there?”

“WhatthefuckYOUdoin’here?”smilestheIndian.

“Me?I’mheretoblowupMountRushmore.”

TheIndianlooksatRich,sizeshimup,andthenstartstolaugh.Andlaugh.Hecan’tcontrolhislaughter.

Richjuststaresathimashislaughterbuildstoacrescendo,withwaveafterwavecirculatinginthestill

air.Hefinallyreachestheapex,thenpauses,startslaughingagainsohardthathebendsovertocatch

hisbreath.“Wow…thatwasagoodone.”

“I’mserious,”saysRich.

“Iknow,”saystheIndian,andhebeginslaughingagain.

Chapter10

BillsitshandcuffedinthepolicecarlookingoutattheMcDonald’s.Thefirstpolicemanwalksthe

counter-girlovertothecarandasksherifsherecognizesBillasthemanwhohasharassedher.Billsits

quietlyintheback-seat,asshesays“yes…hekeptsayingsomethingaboutHowdyDoodyandablow-

job….andcallingmePrincess.”

“DoyouthinkthisDoodyistheotherguy?”asksthesecondpolicemanofthefirst.

“Morethanlikely,”saysthefirstpoliceman,“pervertsusuallyworkinpairs.”

“Whatelsedidhesaytoyou?”thefirstpolicemanaskscounter-girl.

“Notmuchelse,justsomethingaboutMountRushmore.”Andbothpolicemangiveknowinglooks.“And

somethingaboutRussellMeans.”Bothpolicemannodtoeachother.

“Thinkweshouldtakehimin?”asksthesecondpolicemanofthefirst.

RichdrivesthroughtherestofthereservationheadingbacktotheMcDonald’sandBill.Ashenearsthe

GoldenArchesapolicecarpasses,withBillsittingstifflyinthebackseat.Richlooksthroughtherear-

viewmirror,makingsureit’sBill,pullsoverintothesagebrushandwatchesthepolicecardisappearinto

acloudofdust…

”Andaheartyheight-hoSilver!”heyellstohimself,thenlaughs,morefromexasperationwithhislong-

timeBuddhistfriendwiththesexualobsessionthanfrommirth.Richdoesn’tfeelmirthful.Hefeelsput

upon.Heturnsaroundandfollowsthedust-trailintoPineRidge,thinkingofagoodstorytotellthe

BillandRichsitintheFiestainfrontoftheMcDonald’s…onceagain.

“Youalmostgotusfoundout,”saysRich,afteralongsullensilence.

“Yeah,”saysBill,absent-mindedly,“sorryaboutthat,”

“Bill,yougottayourselfundercontrol.”

“Right,”saysBill,lookingatRichoutofthecornerofhiseye.

“You’regonnagetuskilledwiththisPrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-Springshit.”

“Right,Rich…butnooneiswonderingwhywe’redrivingaroundwitha100-galloncanofchickenshit

bungeedtoourroof…Where’stheircuriosity?...Theyonlycareaboutsex.”

“Itlooksthatway…Sowhatdidyoutellthem?”

“AboutthePrincess?”

“FUCK!BILL!...NotaboutthefuckingPrincess…aboutMountRushmore?”

“Nothing…theydidn’task…Whatdidtheyaskyou?”

“ItoldthemwewerefromNewYorkandthatIwasyournurse.Thatyouhadhadamental

breakdownandjustwantedtoseetheWestandplaceslikeMountRushmoretohelpyougetbetter.

Andmaybeevenbuysomelandouthere.”

“That’sit?”

“Well,whentheyheardIwasyournursetheyquicklyputtwo-and-twotogetherandaskedifwewere

homosexuals…Ididn’tanswer.ToldthemI’dtakethefifth.”

“Thefifthwhat?”

“Youknow…makingincriminatingstatements.”

“Sotheythinkwe’regay?”

“More-or-less.TheyaskedaboutRussellMeansandItoldthemwhathehadtoldme,sothatwasit.

ThentheyaskedmeifIknewabouttheFortLaramieTreatyof1867andhowitprohibitspeoplelikeus

-supposedWhitehomosexuals,Iguess-frombuyinglandonthereservation…ItoldthemIdidn’tknow

that…andthentheyletyougo…inmycare.”

“That’sfitting.”

BillandRichgetbackontheroadtoRushmore,theirnotiontoenlistanIndianintheirplantoblowit

upcomingtonothing.It’seveningandthetwilightbathesthesurroundingBlackHillsinavelvetmantle.

“Beautiful,ehBill?”

“Yeah,beautiful.”

“Bill?...Youeverthinkwe’dbeheredoingthis?”

“Doin’what?”

“Drivingheretoblowthefuckerup?”

Billsmiles.“YouknowwhenIwasakidmyMotherhadallthisplanned.Totakemybrotherandsister

andmeonaWesternvacationfortheSummer…MountRushmore…theGrandCanyon…Mesa

Verde…Bryce…Arches…Zion…theFourCorners…”andhechucklestohimself,“thewholesheeee-bang!”

“Didyougo?”

“Nah,myFatherhunghimselfthatSummer.Iguesshewasdepressed.”

“Soyoudidn’tgo?”

“No…MyMotherwentwithoutus.SheleftuswithmyAuntandUncle,myFather’sbrother,whowasa

pervert…Helikedtotakebathswithus,mybrotherandI…”

“Huh…apervert,”saysRich,thinkingbacktoabig1950’sbrightredCadillacconvertiblepullinguptoa

groupofyoungboysplayingbaseballinthestreet.Thedriverisalargegreyingmaninhismid-40’sand

wearingaNewYorkYankeebaseballcap.Hemotionsforthemtocomeovertothecar,andholdsupa

ballandbaseballbatforthemtohold.Theboysarefriendlytotheman…theyknowhimfromthe

neighborhoodasChip,whoonce–sohesaid–playedintheminorleaguesfortheYankees.Apitcherhe

said.“IknewMickeyMantle…hewasjuststartingoutwhenmyarmwentbad,”hewouldtellthem,

smiling,alwayssmiling.Helikedtochatwiththeboys.Tellthembaseballstories.Onedayheinvitesone

oftheboys–a10-yearold–togoforarideinthecar.TheboyjumpshappilyintothefrontseatasChip

giveshimthebattoholdandputstheYankeecaponthekid’shead.Everyoneissmilingandlaughingas

hedrivesoffwiththeyoungboy.FromthatdayonthroughtheSummer,Chipwouldstopandtalktothe

boys,regalethemwithbaseballstoriesagain,andgivetheboyanotherride.Theboy’sparentsknew

Chipandlikedhim.AndtheyknewthatChiplikedtheirson.AndsinceChip,thoughmarried,hadno

childrenofhisown,theywouldtelltheotherneighborsthatChiptreatstheirsonashisown.After

thosefirstfewridesinhisbigredCaddy,hetooktheboytobaseballgamesatYankeeStadiumthat

Summer.TotheBronxZoo.ToBearMountaintogoswimming.Andtohisapartmentontheotherside

oftown.Thenoneday,asSummerwaswinding-downandChiphonkedtheCaddy’s-hornoutsidehis

house,theboytoldhisparentsthathedidn’twanttogowithChip.Notanymore.HisMother

wentoutsidetotellChipandhedroveoff.ThatwasthelasttimetheboysawChip.

Chapter11

BillandRichpullintotheparkinglotforMountRushmoreandlookoutthewindowatthefacesonthemountain.

“Wow!”saysRich,“Ineverrealized…”

“Yeah,“saysBill,finishingRich’sstatement,“they’rebig…Reallybig…Iwonderwherethehouseis?”

“Whathouse?”

“Theoneontopoftheheads…inthemovie.”

“Movie?”

“NorthByNorthwest…youknow,Hitchcock?”

“Ohyeah…theyprobablytoreitdownafterthefilming,likewiththattownin‘Ryan’sDaughter’.”

“TheDavidLeanmovie?TheoneinIreland?”

“Yeah,theguywhodid‘LawrencefromArabia’.”

“WhatdoesthathavetodowithMountRushmore?”

“Nothing,”admitsRich.

BilllooksatRichandshakeshishead.“Hewentdownhillafter‘Lawrence’.Ryan’sDaughterwasareal

pieceofshit.”

“YouonlysaythatbecauseyourIrish.”

“Nah…itwasjustapieceofshit.WastedSarahMiles.”

“Yeah,whywouldanybodywannawasteSarahMiles?”

“Yeah,”saysBill,staringdumb-struckatthehugenessofthefourheads.

“Yeah,”saysRich,musingonthefourheads.“Fuckingbig,ehBill?”

“Yeah,Iwonderhowlongittookthatguytodothis?”

“Fiftyyears.”

“Yousure?Wecanaskintheguyintheoffice…theRanger.”

“Ranger?”

“Yeah,that’swhattheycalltheguysoutherewhowatchplaceslikethis.”

“Yousureyou’veneverbeenherebefore?”

“Nah…thatSummermyMothercameoutherewewereallbeingfuckedbymyUncle.”

“Ohyeah,Iforgot,”saysRich.“Let’sgoandseetheranger.”

BillandRichwalkintotherustic-lookinginformationcenterandsureenough,thereisaRangerthere

standingbythedeskandwearingaSmokey-the-Bearhat.Billaskshimforsomeinformationaboutthe

Mount.

Smilingandfriendly,theRangerbegins:“Sure…TheMount…”

AndRichcutshimoff:“OriginallycalledtheSixGrandfathersbytheLakotaSioux…

TheRangerlooksoveratRichandsmiles.“Yeah…that’sright…Itwasre-namedforCharlesE.Rushmore,

aprominentNewYorklawyer,duringanexpeditionin1885,andwassculptedbyGutzonBorglum…

AndRichinterruptsagain.“WhowasamemberoftheKuKluxKlan.”

TheRangerstopsandstaresatRich,whogrinsathim.Hecontinues…”andlaterhissonLincolnfrom

1927to1941,andfeaturestheheadsofformerpresidents…lefttoright…GeorgeWashington,Thomas

Jefferson,TheodoreRooseveltandAbrahamLincoln…andare60-feetinheight.SouthDakotahistorian

DoaneRobinsoniscreditedwithconceivingtheideatopromotetourisminthearea…”

“WhichwaspartoftheroutethatLakotaleaderBlackElktookonaspiritualjourneythatculminated

atHarneyPeak,”addsRich.

“Yes…that’scorrect,”saystheRanger,staringatRich.

“AndtheownershipoftheareahasbeenindisputedbytheLakotaSiouxonthebasisofthe1868Fort

LaramieTreaty…”saysRich,noddingtowardtheRangerandBill.

“Theonethatstopshomosexualsfrombuyinglandouthere?”asksBill.

TheRangercontinuestostareatRich,thensmilesbroadly.“Man,youcertainlyknowalotaboutthis.

Whyareyouaskingme?”

“It’syourjob,isn’tit?”

“Icoulddothis,”saysBill.“IcouldbeaRangeratMountRushmore.”

“Butthat’snotwhywe’rehere,”saysRichquietlytoBill.

“Ohyeah,Iforgot.”

“So…ClaytonMoore…”saysRichtotheRanger.

“ThenameisRoger…RogerDeerPaw.”

“You’reafuckingIndian?!”

“Ineedthejob,”theRangertellsRich,“sogetoffmycase!”

“WOW!AnotherrealIndian…DoyouknowPrincessSummer-Fall-Winter-Spring?”interjectsBill,grinning

fromear-lobetoear-lobe.

Chapter12

BillandRichstandbytheFiestalookingupatthefourheadsonRushmore,asdusksettlesinaround

allofthem:BillandRichandtheheads.

“Whichonewastheworst?”BillasksRich,alreadyknowingtheanswer,butwantingtohearhimrant

andrave.ItalwaysmadeBill’sbloodcirculatefaster;hisbrainwhirquicker;hiseyesrollaroundlike

pinballsinsidetheirsockets.Inotherwords–helikedit.

Richpretendstothinkaboutit,butheknowsthatBillknowstheanswer,andhealsoknowsthatBillhas

adeepappreciationofhisemotionaloutbursts.“Richisnopod-person,”hetellsanyonewhoasks.

“ProbablyJefferson,”saysRich.

Billactssurprised.Likeheneverheardthisbefore.“Hmmmmm…Jefferson?…Isitallthatstuffyousaidto

ThunderThudbackatMcDonald’s?”

Richisn’tlistening.Hestaresattheheads.“Rooseveltwasawar-mongeringasshole…Bully-Bully!Andall

thatshit…AndWashingtonwasanunrepentantIndiankiller…alsoownedslaves…andLincoln,ifforthe

EmancipationProclamationshouldbeexcluded,buthisattitudetowardBlackswasnodifferentthan

somefuckingKlanmembers…Thoughttheywerelikechildren.Unabletohandle‘freedom’,

irresponsible…ButJefferson…Jefferson…hewasthebiggesthypocriteofthemall.Allhisflowerybullshit

intheDeclartationofIndependence.AndthatManifestDestinycrap…Whatafuckinghypocrite.A

fuckingslaveownertotheend.Life,LibertyandthePursuitofHappiness,myass!”

BilltellsRich–post-rant–thathedoesn’tthinktheycangetcloseenoughtoblowuptheheads.

“We’llseewhenitgetsdark,”saysRich,soundingannoyed.

“Yeah,butRangerRogerinthereisn’tgoingtoletusunloadallthisbombstuffandwalkitupontothe

mountain.EvenifheisanIndian.”

“We’llseewhenitgetsdark,”saysRichagain,obviouslyannoyed.

“Buthe’llseeus…”

“How’shegoingtoseeuswhenit’sdark?”

“Idon’tknow…aflashlight?”

“Indiansdon’tcarryflashlights,Bill…onlytorches,”saysRich,gettingpissierbythesecond.

TheystandbythecarasRangerRogerapproaches…carryingaflashlight.He’slaughing.“Wattayouguys

stayingthenight?”

“Yeah,Roger,wewanttogetthefulleffect,”Richtellshim.

“Yeah,thefulleffect,”nodsBill.

“That’sacoolidea,”saysRoger,“buttheparkclosesatnightfall.Somaybeyouboysshouldcheckintoa

motelorcampgroundsomewhere.”

“Yeah,thatsoundslikeagoodidea…right,Rich?”saysBill.ThereisnoanswerasRichstaresatthe

heads.Heseemsinatrance.“Rich?”butthereisstillnoanswer.SoBilltriesagain.“Itseemslikeagood

ideatostayatamotelorcampground,rightRich?”

Richjoltstoawareness…”What?...Oh,yeah…amotel…”

“Oracampground,”saysBill,shakinghisheadasRogerstandsofftotheside.TheRangerhasalready

cometotheconclusionthatthetwoaredruggies,stonedonsomethingorother.Butfiguresthatthat

isn’thisproblem.Hethinks,‘Hey,therejustacoupleofidiotWhiteguys…whatdoIgiveashitfor?’

“Ok,”saysRoger,“haveanicenight,boys,”andhewalksbackintothevisitorcenter.

“You’reright,Bill,wecan’tgetcloseenoughtothefuckingheadswithoutTontooverthereseeingus,

so…”

“Whydon’tIlikethesoundofthat…”

“Solook,Bill,maybeweshoulddrivethecarascloseaswecantoitandblowitupthere.”

“Blowwhatup?”

“Thecar.”

“Thecar?!...It’smyfuckingcar!...Andhowdowegethome?”

“Idon’tknow…andwhatdifferencedoesitmakeanyway?”

“Whatdifferencedoesitmake?!...It’sMYfuckingcar!”

“Iknow,Iknow,butit’swhatwecameheretodo.”

“NO!...No,no,noway!That’snotwhatWEcameheretodo!Blowupthemountain…yes,OK,butnot

myfuckingcar!”

“It’stheonlyway,”saysRich,lookingatBillwithpleadingeyes.

“It’smyfuckingcar,Rich!...Andyoudon’tevendrive,atleastlegally.”

“Look…Youcancollecttheinsurance…sayyouwerethevictimofrandomterrorism…anybodywould

understandTHAT!”

“Whatterrorists?...WEaretheterrorists!...AndwhataboutRoger?”

“Whatabouthim?”

“Hesawus.Talkedwithus…Heknowswhoweare.”

“Hewon’tdoanything.”

“WHAT?!Howdoyouknowthat?”

“He’sanIndianisn’the?”

“Yeah,but…but…but,”andBillissputtering,heissodistraught,seeing20yearsbehindbarsandhim

wearingthathideousprisonjump-suittomeetingswithMaeve.‘I’lllooklikeanorange,’hethinks.

“He’sanIndian,anddeepdownhewantsustoblowthisfuckerup.”

“Whatdidyouchannelhimorsomething?Howdoyouknowthat?”

“IknowIndians,Bill.”

“Youdon’tknowanyIndians!...JustTinaoverthereinMinneapolis…whatthefuckareyoutalking

about?!”

RichseemscalmerasBillbecomesever-moreexcitable.Itisanotherfacetoftheirfriendship.“Look,Bill,

I’mgonnapushthecaroverthere,”andhepointstoaparkingspaceneartheInformationCenter.“Then

afterTontoleaveswe’llsetoffthebomb…Youwithmeonthis?”

“WecameallthiswaytoblowuptheMountRushmoreVisitorCenter?...IthinkI’llwaithere…”

SoRich,usingeveryounceofhisstrength,hopsintothedriver’ssideoftheFiesta,steeringwithhis

righthandandwiththedooropen,pushingthecaralongwithhisleftlegalongtheparkinglotmacadam

towardthevisitorcenter.It’snoteasy,butheisdedicated,asdedicatedtonowblowingupthecenter

ashewasoriginallyaboutblowingupthefourheadsonRushmore.Billsitswatching,dispassionately,

ontheground100feetaway.Richthensqueezesunderthecarandbeginstohookupthewirestothe

detonatorthatwillsetoffthechickenshitthatwillblowupthecar,thevisitorcenter,buthopefullynot

RogerDeerPaw,oneoftheIndianswhohecametosavefromthetreacherousWhiteman.Asheworks

onthewiring,checkingtheWal-Martmanualwithhisminiatureflashlightashedoesso,Rogerwalks

overfromtheVisitorCenter.

“Hey,man,youOK?Cartrouble?”

“Yeah…Roger…butit’llbealright…”

“Look,man,Idon’twanttorushyou,buthowlongyougonnabe?”

“Notlong,Roger…I’llgetitgoinginacoupleminutes.Youcancut-outifyouwant.”

“I’mnotsupposedtoleaveanyonehere,but…Areyousure?Ifyoudon’tgetitgoingandI’mgoneit’s

likeafive-milewalktothenearestmotel.”

“It’sOK…Ifitdoesn’tgetgoingwe’llcallsomeone.Wegotacellphone.”

“Icanwaitabitmore.”

“Don’tfret,Roger,we’reOK.”

AndRogerlooksoveratBill,whositsstoicallywatchingthesceneplayout.“Whatabouthim?Helooksdepressed.”

“He’sOK,he’sjustbi-polarandnowhe’sattheSouthPole,”saysRich,andbothstartlaughing.Rich,his

headjuttingoutfromunderthecarandRogerleaningagainstthefenderandlookingdownathim.

“Yeah,”saysRoger,continuingtolaugh,“myGrandfatherislikethat.Oneminutelaughingandthenext

talkingaboutstartingawartoregainthePahaSapaforthepeople.ThenhegoesovertoBearButteto

sitaroundandchantallfuckin’day!”

“Ha!IsheaBuddhist?...Heis,”andRichextendshisarmfromunderthecarandpointsbackatBill.

“ABuddhist?MyGrandfather?No,he’sLakota.Idon’tthinkheeverheardofBuddhism.He’sneverleft

theBlackHillsinallhis88years.Couldn’t.HewasalwayslookingforCrazyHorse’sheart.”

“I’veseenhimchantallday,”saysRich,pointingagainatBill.

“MaybeheisLakota,”smilesRoger.

“Hewishes…Irish…differenttribe.”

RogerlooksoveratBill,whohaslaindownonthegrasslookingupatthebrightstarsoverhead.Nothing

isvisibleexceptthesolesofhissneakersandbeyondthat,likeamountainitself,hisbigbelly.“Soyou

guyswillbeOKifIcut-out,right?”

“Yeah,Roger,thanksforeverything,man,butwe’llbefixedupinacoupleminutes.”

“OK…”andhewalksovertohisOlds88,jumpsinanddrivesawayquickly,beepinghishornashe

disappearsintothenight.Itisdarksaveforthestarsoverheadandthesuddenflashunderneaththe

Fiesta,asRichwalksbacktowardBill.Hesitsnexttohislong-timefriendandwatchestheflameslowly

engulftheentirecar…butthereisnoexplosion.BillandRichwatchimpassivelyasthecarburns,turning

itselfintoablackenedhulksittingintheMountRushmoreparkinglot,just20-feetfromtheVisitor

Centerandnearly100yardsfromthoseheads.

“Imusthavedonesomethingwrong,”saysRich.

“Youthinkso?”saysBill.

“Probably,”saysRich.

“Probably?”saysBill.

“Thinkweshouldgetoutofhere,”saysRich.

“How?Youburnedthecar,”saysBill.

“Wannacallataxi?”saysRich.

“Withwhat?”saysBill.

“Yourcell-phone,”saysRich.

“It’sinthecar,”saysBill.

“Whyisitinthere?”saysRich.

“Sorry,Ididn’tthinkthatyouwouldneedit…here,”saysBill.

“Youdon’thavetobesarcastic,Bill.”

“SARCASTIC!Who’ssarcastic!...YoudrivemeoutherewiththepromiseofsexwithandIndian

princess…”

“Ineversaid…”

“…soyoucanblowupMountPapaDooWopoverthere…”

“…PahaSapa,andit…”

“…andyoudon’tevenknowafuckingIndian–exceptthatchickfrom40yearsago…”

“…Tina,hernamewasTina…’

“…andyet…ANDYET!...Youwannablowthisfuckerupbecauseofpeopleyouheardhadfuckedthemup

overahundredyearsago…”

“…it’swelldocumented,Bill…”

“…andthatTHEY,theIndians,obviouslydon’tgiveashitaboutanymore…”

“RussellMeansdoes!”

“Hewantedtokillyou,cutoffyourballswithastonetomahawk…”

“Hewasconfused…”

“Howabouttherestofthem?”

“They’reindenial.”

“So,fortheseIndiansindenial,youwanttoblowupMountDoo-Doohere…”

“Rushmore.”

“…andwindupturningmycar,myonlycar,mybelovedFordFiesta,intoacharcoalbriquette

withoutanydamagetonotonlytheVisitorCenter,whoneverdidanythingtoyouoryourfriendsthe

Indians,ortothosefourstupidfucksupthereonMountJerk-offwhodid…”

“Rushmore.”

“THERE!”andBillpointstoRushmore.“UPTHERE,RICH!LOOK,FORCHRIST’SSAKE!ARETHEYSTILLUP

THERE?!”

“Youdon’thavetobesobitteraboutit,Bill.”

“BITTER?!WHO’SBITTER?!”

Chapter13

BillandRichsitinthegrass100feetfromthecarwatchingthefiresmolderandeventuallygoout.They

sitlikethatforalongtime.Richthinkingofthenextopportunity-Maybenextyearwecancomeout

againwithabetterplan,notonefromWal-Mart,andabettercar;andBillthinksofPrincessSummer

Fall-Winter-SpringatthePineRidgeMcDonald’srunningtohiminslow-motion,largefriesinhand–She

wassobeautiful,justlikeontheHowdyDoodyShow.

“Iwannagohome,”saysBill,breakingtheirreveries.

“Metoo,”saysRich,andhegetsupandwalkstowardtheVisitorCenterasBillwatches.Heislookingfor

apay-phoneoutsidethebuilding.Findingoneonthesideofthecenterhedropsaquarterintoitand

waits.FifteenminuteslaterMohammed’sJihadTaxiOasispullsintotheMountRushmoreparkinglot.

“Acousin?”saysRich.

“Mustbe,”saysBill.

AndMohammed,whoisthespittingimageoftheMohammedfromMohammed’sJihadHardwareOasis

andMohammed’sJihadFeedStorestepsoutofthetaxiandwalksovertoBillandRich.

“Apod?’”saysRich.

“Probably,”saysBill.

“Youcalledforacab?”saysMohammed,withanaccentsomewherebetweenMohammedHardware’s

verypronouncedoneandMohammedFeedstore’snearlynon-existentone.

“Itlookslikeit,”saysRich.

Mohammedlooksoverattheburned-outcar.“Yourcar?”heasksRich.

“Mine,”saysBill.

“Oh…sorry,”saysMohammed,bowingandtwirlinghisrighthandtowardBill.

“Thanks…Mohammed?...Weweretryingtoblowupthemountainanditdidn’tworkout,”saysRich.

“Oh…sorry,”hesays,andbowstoRich,makingthatcirclingmotionwithhisrighthandthatArabmen

offerasasortofprayer,saying:Sorryoldchap,I’msorry,butI’mgladitwasyourcarandnotmine.

“Soweneedaridetoamotel,”saysRich.

“Ok…Fine…MycousinMohammedrunsaverygoodonenearby.”

“Isit…like,youknow…doesithave…youknow…”andRichstumblesoverhiswords.

“Youwanttoknowifitisatentmadeofgoatskins,withdroppingsalloverthedirtfloor,withno

runningwaterandyouhavetoshitinahole?”

“Sorry,”saysRich,“wemeantnodisrespect.”

“Ofcourseyoudid!Andyes,itisatentofgoat-skinwithdroppingsallunderfoot,norunningwaterat

all…andyes…YES!...youdohavetoshitinahole!”andhesmilesatthem,benignly.

“Howmuch?”asksRich.

“Includingbreakfast?”

“What’sforbreakfast?”asksBill.

“Goat,”saysMohammed.

“Thesameonethat…?”

“…leavesdroppingsalloverthefloor?OFCOURSE!”andhestartslaughing.Benignly,ofcourse.

“Soundsholistic,”saysBill.

“We’lltakeit…Sohowmuch?”asksRich.

“Willthatbeonestrawbedortwo?Theyarequeensize.”

“Two,”saysBill.

“Agoodchoice…Nowwe’llhavetoputyourbreakfastoutsideforthenight,”andMohammedlaughs,

shakinghisheadathisownironichumor.“Ahhhhh,Mohammedwillbesopleased…customers.”

“Sohowmuchfortheroom,twobeds,breakfast?”asksRich.“Anddoyoutakecreditcards?”

“350,000dirham,withthetaxiride…”

“That’sprettysteep,”saysRich.

“Yes,I’msorry,”andhecalculatestherateofexchangeinhisheadasBillandRichstareathim.“Itis

6.75inAmericandollars…andyeswetakeallcreditcards,debitcards,evenlibrarycards,”and

Mohammedonceagaincrackshimselfup.“Thatwasajoke…wedon’ttakedebitcards,”andonceagain

hestartslaughing,asBillandRichlookathimstone-faced.

BillandRichsitinthebackofMohammed’staxi,windingthroughthedarknight,whenpolicelightsflashby.

“IthinktheyareheadeduptotheMountain,”saysMohammed,asBillandRichsitinsilence,not

wantingtoanswertheirdriverandnotwantingtoturnaroundandlook.

“Maybeyoushouldjustdropusatthebusstation,”saysRich.

“TheonlyoneisRapidCityandthatis25milesaway,”saysMohammed.

“Howmuchwillitcosttotakeusthere?”asksRich.

“$6.75…andcanIaskyouboyssomething?”

“Sure,”saysRich.

“Imeanitisnoneofmybusiness,but…WhydidyouwanttoblowupMountRushmore?”

BilllooksoveratRich.“Wouldyouliketoanswerourgooddriverhere?”

“Itdoesn’tmatternow,”answersRich.

“Wasitsomekindofsecretmission?”

“Yeah…itwasfortheCIA,”answersRich.

“TheCIA?!YoutwoareCIAagents?!Thatisincredible,”andMohammedstartstoguffaw…andloudly.

RichstaresatMohammed.“Actually,Mohammed…itISMohammed,right?...ItwasfortheBLT.”

“BLT?...Idon’tknowthatone…anothergovernmentspyagency?”

“No,asandwich,”saysBill.

“Asandwich?”

“Naaah,Mohammed,wejusthadnothingbettertodo,”saysRich.

“Really,nothing?”

“So,wefiguredwemightaswellgoouttoSouthDakotaandblowupMountRushmore.”

“Butwhythisone?”

“FortheIndians,rightRich?”saysBill,oozingsarcasm.

“Mohammedlaughs.“FortheIndians?”

“Why?Youthinkthat’sfunny,Mohammed?”saysRich,irritated.

“No,sir.”

“Rich.”

“Who’sRich?”

“Him,”andBillpointsatRich.“Him,that’shisname.”

“Andyou?”MohammedasksBill.

“Bill.”

“BillandRich…ah,veryniceAmericannames…BillandRichgotoMountRushmore…”andMohammed

laughs.

“Eh,Mohammed…CanIaskyousomething?”saysRich.

“Sure,Mr.Rich,fireaway!...Isthatright:fireaway!”

“Yeah…fireaway…butwhatIwanttoknowiswhyYOU’REhere?”

“Me?”

“Yeah…You…Why?”

“Idon’treallyknow.”

“Soundslikeus,”saysBill.

“Yes,”saysMohammed,laughing,“maybeIamjustasbiganasshole…isthatright:asshole?...asyou

two.”

“Youthinkwe’reassholes?”saysRich,hisirritationrising.

“Yes,ifthatisthewordforatotallyignorantpersonwhohasnoideaintheworldwhattheyare

doing…don’tbeoffendedMr.Rich,Mr.Bill.”

“Andthat’syou,too?”asksRich.

“Ofcourse,”laughsMohammed,lookingintotherearviewmirrorathistwosolemnpassengers,who

mayjustbeBLTagents…”Hey,lightenup!...Isthatthephrase:lightenup?...Likemostpeopleinthe

worldIhavenotacluewhatI’mdoinghere,oranywhere…likeyoutwo,also…realassholes,thethreeof

us!...realassholes!”

BillpatsRich’sarmandsmiles.“Solightenup,Rich?”

“Whatarewetodo,killourselves?YoumightaswellblowupMountRushmoreMr.RichandMr.Bill.

Right?Enjoyyourselves…Look,thewayIseeit,notbeingborninAmerica,thissocountryissofullof

assholeslikeusthatIhaveahardtimetakinganyofitseriously.Lookatthosemencarvedintothe

mountain…IcheckedthemoutwhenImovedhere…”

“WiththeotherMohammed’s?’asksBill.

“Yes,withthem…Ifoundouttosomepeoplethattheyweregreatmenandtootherstheywereno

differentthangoatdroppings…”

“So?”asksBill,wonderingwhereMohammedwasgoingwiththis.

“So,Mr.Bill,whereIcomefromthereisonlyonetypeofman.”

“Whois?”asksRich,alsowonderingwhatMohammedistalkingabout.

“Notwho,Mr.Rich,butwhat…”

“OK,Mohammed…Whatkindofman?”

“Amanwhowillnotaskoranswerquestions.”

“Whatisthisafuckingriddle?”saysRich.

“Goon,Mohammed,”saysBill.

“ThatiswhyIcameWest.”

“Soyoucanaskandanswerquestions?That’sfuckingstupid!”saysRich.

“Nottomeitisn’t,Mr.Rich.”

Thethreeofthem,Mohammeddriving,BillandRichinthebackofthetaxi,ridealonginsilence.

“WhatquestionwouldyoulikeUStoanswer,Mohammed?”saysBill.

“Iamnotsureyouwillknowtheanswer.”

“It’sOK,man,I’maBuddhist,soIunderstandyourreticence.”

“Whatisthisren-a-sense,Mr.Bill?SomethingfromItaly?”

“Notrenaissance,reticence,”laughsBill.“R-E-T-I-C-E-N-C-E…orisitR-E-T-I=S-E-N-S-E?...Whateveritisit

meansnotsureofdoingorsayingsomething.”

“YES!Thatistheperfectword,Mr.Bill,forhowIfeelaboutthisquestionIwanttoask!”

“Goahead,Mo,”andBillsmilesathim,“CanIcallyouMo?”

“Mo?IsthatanAmericanname,Mr.Bill?”

“Kind-of…it’sanickname.”

“Ah,aNICKNAME…Mo…anickname…”

“Soaskaway,”saysBill.

“Askaway!...Thatisgood!”andMohammedchucklestohimself.“Veerygood…veeerygood…”

“WELL!”saysRich,hispatiencesincetheMountRushmoreabortionataverythinedge.

“Oh,yes,myquestion,”

“WearealmostinRapidCityforfucksake!”

“Youcursealot,Mr.Rich.”

“Willyouaskyourfuckingquestion,man?”

OK…heregoes…,”andMohammedtakesalongpause…”Mr.Rich,Mr.Bill,doyouknowwhereIcangetablow-job?”

“YOUTOO!”shoutsBill,andpatsMohammedontheshoulder.

“Isthattheword?Blow-job?Youknowwhenthewomantakesaman’syayaandshe…you

understand?...thewomeninmycountrydon’tdothis…itis…itis…”andMohammedneverfinishesthe

sentenceasthetaxirollsintotheRapidCitybusstation.HedropsoffBillandRichanddrivesaway,

beepingandwaving,hisquestionforeverunanswered.

BillandRichsitquietlyinthebusstation,waitingforthenextbus,anybus,East.Overtheloudspeaker

comesanannouncement:“LadiesandGentlemen,thenextbusoutisthe7:05localtoMinneapolis-

St.Paul,arrivingshortly.”

“TINA!”yellsBill,hisarmswavingoverhead.

“Youmaygetoneyet,Buddha-boy!”laughsRich.

“Yeah,toobadMohammed’sgone.”

BillandRichsitinthebackofthebustoMinneapolis-St.Paul,watchinganddreamingalongwiththe

Americanheartland.

“God,itisfuckinguglyouthere,”saysRich.

“I’mhungry,”saysBill.

SomewhereinMinnesotathebuspullsintoaMcDonald’sandBillandRichdisembarkwiththerestof

theriders.

“Whattayouthink,Rich?”asksBill,astheywalkunderthegoldenarches.

“Aboutwhat,Bill?’answersRich.

“Pod-people,”saysBill.

Epilogue

AfewmonthsafterthetriptoSouthDakotaandtheirthwartedattempttoblowupMountRushmore,

Billdied.Ananeurysm.HehadcollapsedoneeveningtutoringastudentinEnglish,wastakentothe

nearbyhospitalanddiedontheoperatingtable.Maeve,Bill’snow20-yearolddaughter,triedtoreach

Rich,buthehadnophone.Again.Shefinallyrememberedthenameofthelittlecaféinthetownhe

livedinwhereshehadvisitedhimwithherFatherandleftamessageforhimtocallher.Richwas

surprisedtohearfromher.“IseverythingOK?”heasked,thinkingthatthecallhadsomethingtodowith

his“ThoughtsofRushmore”exhibitthatwasopeningthatverynightatthelocalcollegeArtGalleryand

thatBill,andpossiblyMaeve,weregoingtoattend.AtleastheknewthatBillwas.Hehadhopedthat

Maevewouldtoo.ButheheardMaevecryingontheotherendoftheline.“Whatisit?Iseverything

alright?”heaskedagain.ButMaevecouldn’tspeak.“IsitBill?”Richasked,suddenlysosadthatit

seemedthatmostofthelightonthatperfectlybluer-than-blue-skySeptemberdayhadbeen

quicklyextinguished.“No,”saidMaeve,nearlyunabletomouththewords:“Daddidn’tmakeit.”Rich

heardhimselfsob.“No…no…no…no…”isallhecouldsaytoher,thendroppedthephoneandranout

intothestreetsofthelittletown.Walking.Walking.Thinkingthethought.ThethoughtofBill.Hisfriend

ofthousandsofyears.HeroamedthelittletownaloneuntilitwastimeforhisArtopeningatthe

college.Hewent,butfeltblank.Didn’ttellanyoneaboutBill.Hedidn’twanttosharehisfriendshipwith

Bill.HisfeelingsofBillwithanyone.Aftertheopeninganddrivinghomeonthedarkeststretchofroad

onthedarkestofnightsRichsawhimilluminatedintheheadlightsofhiscar-theBuddha–smilingand

wavingtohimfromthesideoftheroad.Sohekilledhim.

Itwastheonlythingtodo.

AndinmemoryofBill,andcrimescommittedandcontemplated,Richsaidgoodbye.

TheEnd

“BillandRichGoToRushmore”

astoldby

RichardCorozineandBillFord

e:richardcorozine@yahoo.com

(stillnophone)

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