Louse Read Online Free Page B

as not to make noise with her heels. Her posture is very good and her uniform is crisp. She really is the most outstanding staff member by all means, a good example to us all.
    Poppy’s euphoria has worn off by the time Ms. Lonesome and I enter his chambers. He is in the very center of the bed curled intoa tight ball. Upon seeing us, he struggles to his knees, sounding a barely audible groan. I retreat to the shadows of the northwest corner of the room as Ms. Lonesome places the tray of food on the eastern night table and proceeds to slip on a pair of rubber gloves. Meanwhile, the package of rice collects condensation and steams through the dull red streaks of the surveillance cameras.
    â€œNow, Ms. Lonesome,” Poppy says in a broken voice.
    â€œYes, Mr. Blackwell.”
    Ms. Lonesome removes the pot from the tray and places it before Poppy. She hands him the box of Kleenex, from which he grabs two large fistfuls of tissue. Ms. Lonesome takes hold of Poppy’s frail arm and shoulder as he secures himself over the silver rim. I can see Ms. Lonesome hold her breath as Poppy takes one, and I can see her continue to hold it as Poppy, in one retch, vomits a tablespoon of black bile into the pot. Ms. Lonesome continues to hold her breath as Poppy waits for the pain to subside. He positions himself in anticipation for more. But tonight no more comes.
    His muscles go slack.
    Ms. Lonesome pulls the pot away.
    Poppy falls into his pillow.
    Ms. Lonesome, with pot in hand, silently exits the chambers.

2. THE EXECUTIVE CONTROLLING PARTNER’S HAGIOGRAPHY
    Herbert Horatio Blackwell was born into humble, but dignified, beginnings. His family resided in the oil town of H., located near the Buffalo Bayou, the marshy tributary linking S. and T. His father was a sheriff and fortune seeker, his mother, a refined debutante from D. who longed to return to her family home. Although Mr. Blackwell’s mother found H. uncivilized, barren, and desperate, she dutifully stuck with her husband and child. She remained silent as the town fell into a postboom decline, when H.’s brackish waters became contaminated with decomposing cattle rejected by the stockyards. Small pox and typhoid fever spread and became recurrent epidemics killing many young children. She watched as yellow fever quarantines appeared on doors across the district and black rot, canker, and elm disease denuded the landscape. Incinerator fires burned all day and night as the noise of drills wound around in their derricks.
    Mr. Blackwell’s mother became so affected by these conditions, she was terrified of all small and large animalsalike and obsessed with the perils of mosquitoes, roaches, flies, and beetles. She locked herself away from the stench of sulfur rising from the tidal marshes, the odor of mud, silt, and oil. Only on crisp winter days would she take the young Mr. Blackwell out walking, during which time she made him write down all the miserable sights she saw, including the sickly children wandering through town with fever in their eyes. Her lists of abysmal visions grew long and tedious and she began dreaming of mice carrying plagues that crept into her food. She dreamed the oil from the fields rained down on her house. She dreamed of typhoid and tuberculosis, yellow and scarlet fevers, dripping through the roof tiles.
    Meanwhile Mr. Blackwell’s father enforced order on H. He chained his prisoners to trees and let them wait in the rain for the prison wagons to arrive. During his idle time, he staged cockfights with outlaw wildcatters and spent days whoring around with his brother, gambling away small fortunes, falling over drunk in saloons. In his spare time, he conceived inventions. He patented designs for oil derricks, machine shops, and tools. His greatest conceit was a drill bit that revolutionized the oil industry and made his family wealthy for as long as there is a future. The drill bit was nothing anyone had seen before—a small