Worse than
Shakespeare!'"
"Wonderful," Charlie said. "Chekhov--didn't he die after a last swallow
of champagne?"
"It was sad," Margery said. She turned and stared out the side window.
They drove out of town in silence. The cemetery where Margery's father
and son were buried was an hour and a half up the coast and midway down
a long peninsula. The drive had become an annual event. Margery had no
car. Charlie drove her one year and then had just continued. This was,
what, the fourth or fifth trip? He couldn't remember.
"Margery, did you see that picture of President Bush on the carrier
deck, wearing the pilot get up?"
"I did."
"Wasn't that ridiculous? The little son of a bitch went AWOL when he
was in the National Guard. I read that it delayed the troops their
homecoming by a day and cost a million dollars."
"Light comedy," Margery said. "The Emperor Commodus fancied himself a
gladiator. Romans had to watch him fight in the colosseum many times.
He never lost. His opponents were issued lead swords."
"Nothing's changed," Charlie said. "Commodus?"
"Second century, A.D. We're not a police state, yet. Things get really
crazy under one man rule. Have you not read Gibbon?"
"The Decline and Fall--never got around to it."
"Good for perspective," Margery said.
"That green!" Charlie waved at the trees along I-95. "We only get it
for a week when the leaves are coming out.
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