Plucky's sisters made no attempt to marry the clan back into wealth and society, but settled instead for a barber and a civil engineer, whom, presumably, they loved. Plucky's brother, rather than scrambling to rescue a bit of family prestige by entering the medical or legal professions or, preferably, the Episcopalian clergy, played and later coached pro football.
In fact, the elder Purcell son was a three-time All-American halfback at Duke University. Plucky received an athletic scholarship to the same institution, for scouts who'd seen him in action at Culpeper High were of the opinion that he would develop into a harder runner if not a more accurate passer than his big brother. That is, scouts who'd seen Plucky in action on the gridiron. Had they seen him in action on the back roads of Culpeper County, they might have more accurately forecast his future.
After a mediocre start his sophomore year at Duke, Plucky blossomed toward the end of the season. In the last three games he scored ten touchdowns, four of them on carries of more than fifty yards. Sportswriters from all corners predicted confidently that Plucky Purcell would run off with national scoring honors the following season. Who among them could have guessed that a week before the season opened, Plucky Purcell would run off to Mexico with the backfield coach's wife?
It was decided that Mon Cul would travel in the nursery truck. Although he was well past the age when his peers were said to grow cantankerous, and although he was a chacma—the largest of the baboon families—Mon Cul was considered a fit companion for the circus tots. “My friends has shared private amusements with children on five continents,” Ziller assured the parents. “He has romped with heirs to a hundred fortunes and a dozen thrones. There will be no unpleasantries."
In a canvas jump suit decorated with watercolor landscapes and embroidered Indonesian butterflies, Amanda mounted the BMW behind her husband, who was in loincloth and leather. She had been warned by Nearly Normal that the harsh bouncing of the motorcycle might jar the embryo loose from its moorage, but rather than be separated from Ziller, she elected to assume the risk.
The day was an Indian summer showpiece. In the sunny calm, the canyon seemed a gallery of bronzes and jades. High overhead a hawk traced a helix on unblemished newsprint blue. A frictional vitality burnished the guts of everyone in the caravan. It quickened when Nearly Normal sounded the move-out command on the Tibetan devil horn. The show was back on the road! As Ziller was about to kick the BMW into action, little Pammie, the goat and yak girl, ran up to his side.
“Mr. Ziller,” she cried, “Mr. Ziller, I just wanted to tell you how much I dug the Hoodoo Meat Bucket. Oh, it was super groovy. All my friends have your record album. Got it on the black market. My mother wouldn't allow it in the house. Said it was the sickest thing she'd ever heard. But I love it. So beautiful and funny. Why did you break up? I mean just when you were getting accepted? What led you to take off to Africa?”
The sun gleamed on Ziller's opal-studded helmet. He stood erect over his motorcycle as though he were about to bend it to his will. To Pammie he handed a page that had been ripped from some kind of journal. And as the BMW roared to the front of the motorcycle, she read:
The invitation to
Tarzan's bar mitzvah,
written in nut juice
and wrapped in a leaf
Arrived in my mailbox
with an organic rustle,
smelling of camel dung
but promising a feast
And evoking immediate
black jungle visions:
The hair of the cannibal
and the sweet of the beast
A rather anxious football coach flew to Mexico in pursuit of his wife and her famous athlete lover. While the sporting world reeled from the delicious blow of the scandal, the lovers ate mangoes and fondled one another in the streets of Guadalajara; and that is where he, the husband, caught up with them—in the plaza of
In fact, the elder Purcell son was a three-time All-American halfback at Duke University. Plucky received an athletic scholarship to the same institution, for scouts who'd seen him in action at Culpeper High were of the opinion that he would develop into a harder runner if not a more accurate passer than his big brother. That is, scouts who'd seen Plucky in action on the gridiron. Had they seen him in action on the back roads of Culpeper County, they might have more accurately forecast his future.
After a mediocre start his sophomore year at Duke, Plucky blossomed toward the end of the season. In the last three games he scored ten touchdowns, four of them on carries of more than fifty yards. Sportswriters from all corners predicted confidently that Plucky Purcell would run off with national scoring honors the following season. Who among them could have guessed that a week before the season opened, Plucky Purcell would run off to Mexico with the backfield coach's wife?
It was decided that Mon Cul would travel in the nursery truck. Although he was well past the age when his peers were said to grow cantankerous, and although he was a chacma—the largest of the baboon families—Mon Cul was considered a fit companion for the circus tots. “My friends has shared private amusements with children on five continents,” Ziller assured the parents. “He has romped with heirs to a hundred fortunes and a dozen thrones. There will be no unpleasantries."
In a canvas jump suit decorated with watercolor landscapes and embroidered Indonesian butterflies, Amanda mounted the BMW behind her husband, who was in loincloth and leather. She had been warned by Nearly Normal that the harsh bouncing of the motorcycle might jar the embryo loose from its moorage, but rather than be separated from Ziller, she elected to assume the risk.
The day was an Indian summer showpiece. In the sunny calm, the canyon seemed a gallery of bronzes and jades. High overhead a hawk traced a helix on unblemished newsprint blue. A frictional vitality burnished the guts of everyone in the caravan. It quickened when Nearly Normal sounded the move-out command on the Tibetan devil horn. The show was back on the road! As Ziller was about to kick the BMW into action, little Pammie, the goat and yak girl, ran up to his side.
“Mr. Ziller,” she cried, “Mr. Ziller, I just wanted to tell you how much I dug the Hoodoo Meat Bucket. Oh, it was super groovy. All my friends have your record album. Got it on the black market. My mother wouldn't allow it in the house. Said it was the sickest thing she'd ever heard. But I love it. So beautiful and funny. Why did you break up? I mean just when you were getting accepted? What led you to take off to Africa?”
The sun gleamed on Ziller's opal-studded helmet. He stood erect over his motorcycle as though he were about to bend it to his will. To Pammie he handed a page that had been ripped from some kind of journal. And as the BMW roared to the front of the motorcycle, she read:
The invitation to
Tarzan's bar mitzvah,
written in nut juice
and wrapped in a leaf
Arrived in my mailbox
with an organic rustle,
smelling of camel dung
but promising a feast
And evoking immediate
black jungle visions:
The hair of the cannibal
and the sweet of the beast
A rather anxious football coach flew to Mexico in pursuit of his wife and her famous athlete lover. While the sporting world reeled from the delicious blow of the scandal, the lovers ate mangoes and fondled one another in the streets of Guadalajara; and that is where he, the husband, caught up with them—in the plaza of
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