Vernon God Little

I lean over the bench and soak up Mom's clammy warmth. When the ladies join us, Mrs Lechuga comes to her window across the street. She sends a little wave, and I realize who's missing, for the full set of dice in my life – Palmyra. But, hey – I guess it ain't every day you get to play pinball on Oprah.

'Vern,' says Betty, 'Brad's just desperate to show you his birthday present.'

I try to nod politely, but my eyes snag on some dappled pink flesh behind the willows up the street. It's Ella with her suitcase. She wears a wool sweater over a loose cotton dress that swishes full of honey breeze. She grins when she sees me watching her. I told her I'd send a car, but she insisted on taking one last walk through town, crazy girl. Anyway, we'll be back. Mexico ain't so far.

'Kurt, stay!' Ole Mrs Porter bangs through her screen, and struggles down the lawn with a table full of knitted toys. Then, as I cross the driveway to meet Ella, Brad thumps onto the porch behind us.

'B-ooom! Suck shit muthafucka!'

That better not be loaded,' says Betty. 'Bradley Pritchard! Don't you point that thing, or it'll go right back to the store!'

I ignore him by rubbing lips with Ella. Then we both turn to watch Mrs Porter stand her toys by the roadside. She's setting up a fucken stall for chrissakes. We just swallow giggles.

'Ma'am,' I call over the road. 'Mrs Porter!'

She cocks her head, in a kindly way, and flaps a little wave.

'Everybody's gone, Mrs Porter. Everything's back to normal…'

Acknowledgements

Give me a spirit that on this life's rough seaLoves t'have his sails filled with a lusty wind,

Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack,And his rapt ship run on her side so lowThat she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air.

George Chapman

Love to Katz for gently stitching and filling such fine new sails; to my parents and family for this taste for the sea; and to all whose faith opened space beneath a ragged keel.

To the Burnbury Court of Miracles: Strawberries to Dawn amp; Mark, who practiced friendship with the stealth many reserve for crime; Lisa for energy and chocolate; Bubbles amp; Frog, who didn't put me up in Hong Kong; Val Wilson, Martinez, and the Cavendish milieu for enlightenment and vodka; to the CWs – Hawker Siddeley!

May the Watras be with Hog, Hildegard, and all Bara crew; Abrazos pa Toño y los cuates – ora si verda carnales; to Junius and family for longevity of faith; Lynn Pearce amp; family for mindful encouragement; to all whose shores remain littered with my sins – this could be the handle of a mop…

Special thanks to Clare Conville, of Conville amp; Walsh, Lee Brackstone and all at Faber and Faber, for the vigor with which they hoisted this sheet to the breeze, and to Grant Stewart, whose keen eye first sighted the craft approaching.

P.S. Gumby – still want that assassination?

About the Author

DBC PIERRE divided most of the first twenty-three years of his life between Texas and Mexico City. having dabbled in filmmaking and advertising, and lived the high life that proved costly along the way, he settle down to write Vernon God Little two days before his thirty-eighth birthday. He is currently working on his second novel.