Chapter 25

As Mount Can’t becomes home to a variety of tents and temporary shelters, the governor, various state officials and National Guard brass treat with Tom and a select group of his followers at the park office.

The authorities agree to let scientists of Tom’s choice assess the site, and Tom agrees to let the state’s experts continue their own study. The Guard will stay at Mount Can’t so long as its presence is for public safety, not offensive, and so long as the park is open to the public. Tom and the governor shake hands on the compromise. The press captures the moment on various audio-visual equipment. One of the “rebels” fixes a sign to the restroom where Tom had been arrested: Mount Can’t Observatory. The sign enjoys its own share of fame.

Signs in windows along Main Street declare Fair Mantle the home of Mount Can’t. Businesses take advantage of the town’s notoriety by developing Mount Can’t gimmicks: Mount Can’t sweatshirts. Mount Can’t T-shirts. Mount Can’t ice cream dishes. Mount Can’t coffee (which features an elaborate mound of whipped cream). Bertie’s restaurant takes the mashed potato and gravy volcano beloved of countless homes across America and formalizes it into a main course simply called “Mount Can’t.”

Effen nearly has to perform the Heimlich maneuver on Matt and Ben when he predicts over lunch that some enterprising soul will probably patent a Mount Can’t condom. He can’t stomach the Mount Can’t nonsense. He grouses about how a real volcano might have been terrifying, but in the end, would have sobered a lot of people and compelled them to examine their lives. “All this hype about what appears to be an imaginary volcano is a crime: a vulgar, reasonless crime. It makes fools out of everybody, not just those who would have been forced to reconcile themselves to all their selfish iniquities.”

Matt and Ben beg to differ with “Pope Francesco.” They think it’s time the town had some fun. All the Mount Can’t stuff is making the state, not the town, look bad.
Matt points his fork for emphasis. “If the state can’t prove there really is a volcano, and if the state doesn’t want to let somebody else prove there isn’t, then the state deserves all the abuse it can take.”

“Hell, France,” Ben adds, “the state made a fool out of you. Look what it did to your horselets. You of all people should want retribution.”

Effen doesn’t want to mention that he was warned his license could disappear if he sought a case against the state. All he says is, “Well, what I want and what I can do is really beyond your control, so don’t waste your time thinking about it.”
Matt’s derisive whistle blows crumbs around the plates. “My, aren’t we cranky! I hope I’m not like that when I get to be as old as you.”

Effen catapults a stuffed olive off his fork and into Matt’s person. “Respect your elders.”

Ben sticks his own foot in his mouth. “Yeah, France, how old did you say you are?”

“Prematurely Methuselah, thanks to you two reprobates. Oh, do you want one, too?”

Ben ducks. The olive splats on the floor. Ben sends it back to its point of departure. Soon tiny round, green bodies are arcing over the table, pimentos flapping like tongues.

Gustie retreats to the second-floor study.

What’s going on is no different from the fruits of giddiness seen in many places of business. But to Gustie. It’s foreboding, not relaxing. She hasn’t seen Effen so light of heart in a long time. She’s afraid it’s the product of the confidence and unconscious joy that takes hold of us when we find the person we’ve unknowingly been looking for all our life.

Gustie once knew that joy. She thought it left her a long time ago. She knows now that she was wrong. And now could be too late.

Her throat aches. Her eyes swim. She can’t cry here, but the harder she tries not to cry, the stronger the urge to cry. She hides in the corner next to the window and presses her hands flat against her face, hoping the wall and her anatomy absorb some of the sound.

Effen is calling her. From downstairs. While going up the stairs. In the hallway. He should be looking into the room any second now.

She turns to the window, pretends to look outside. Maybe he won’t see her face.

“Gus? Do you want dessert? Gus?” He walks across the room. “What’s wrong?”

So. He sees her after all.

Damn. What to say? The tears spill. She lies. “This stuff about Tom. I don’t know how you guys can make such fun of it. It scares me. It scares me to death.”

“Why didn’t you say something? We’re down there acting like unmentionables figuring you could use a laugh or two.”

The profession of generosity makes Gustie cry outright. She blabs about going to see Tom. She’d feel better being at Mount Can’t. “Maybe then I’ll be able to laugh. Who knows? It might be something to laugh at. I’d like that.”

She doesn’t know that Effen would like to speak to her. She dashes downstairs, laughing about how much she wants to see Mount Can’t.

She’s not thinking of her work or making up time at work or having her pay docked. Nor does she consider she might be taking advantage of The Owner, who doesn’t like to penalize his staff for suffering the vagaries of life. She needs to go to Mount Can’t, if only to put considerable, if temporary, distance between herself and Francis Hume.