Part 29 (1/2)
”An essay? Mr. Shelborne, I don't want to disappoint you, but I haven't written anything for twelve or thirteen years. Why would you come to me?”
”Trust me, Charles. May I call you Charles Charles?”
”Of course.”
”All right, Charles.” Shel glanced over at David as he said it. He'd toyed with the idea of trying Charlie Charlie. ”Perhaps you know my father, Michael? He has always been quite enthusiastic about your work.”
”Michael Shelborne?” Lamb considered it. Shook his head. ”I don't know the gentleman.”
”Let me show you a picture.” Shel produced the usual photo.
Lamb reacted much as Aristarchus had. But no, he had no recollection of the man.
”In any case,” said Shel, trying not to show his frustration, ”we've looked at your Tales of Shakespeare Tales of Shakespeare. And at the Works of Charles Lamb Works of Charles Lamb.”
”And you liked them?”
”Of course. We'd like you to write essays for us. On a regular basis.”
”Are you serious, sir?”
”Of course I am.”
”If I may ask, I'm not familiar with your name. Will you be the editor?”
”I'm financing the project. Behind the scenes, you understand. My name won't appear anywhere.” Shel told him who the editor would be.
”I see.” Lamb grew thoughtful. A suspicious look pa.s.sed between him and Mary.
”Listen,” said Shel. ”I'd be doubtful, too. But what have you to lose? All I ask is that you send us an essay. Find out whether I'm serious.”
Everybody's mood lightened. Shel asked whether he and David might take the Lambs out for dinner. ”To celebrate.”
”I'd like to, very much,” he said. ”But we have friends coming this evening.”
Mary looked at Shel. ”Perhaps,” she said, ”if it's convenient, Mr. Shelborne and his a.s.sociate might like to join us next week.”
”We'd be delighted,” said Dave.
Lamb smiled. ”Sam will be here Wednesday. He would enjoy meeting you.”
SAM turned out to be Charles's longtime friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He was something of a comedian, a quality Shel would never have guessed from his written work. Not that he'd read much of it. He had a hearty laugh and he commented that Shel's interest in Charles demonstrated his impeccable taste. ”The truth is,” he said, ”I've been trying for years to persuade him to move in my direction, to switch over to poetry, where the big money is.” turned out to be Charles's longtime friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He was something of a comedian, a quality Shel would never have guessed from his written work. Not that he'd read much of it. He had a hearty laugh and he commented that Shel's interest in Charles demonstrated his impeccable taste. ”The truth is,” he said, ”I've been trying for years to persuade him to move in my direction, to switch over to poetry, where the big money is.”
That brought a hearty laugh. And Lamb corrected him: ”Romantic poetry.” Even Mary thought that was funny. poetry.” Even Mary thought that was funny.
”With Byron and Sh.e.l.ley running loose out there,” said Coleridge, ”G.o.d knows we need all the help we can get. By the way, has anyone here read Frankenstein Frankenstein?”
”I have,” said Mary.
”What did you think?”
”I saw some resemblances to 'The Ancient Mariner.' In fact, I'm not sure it wasn't an homage to you.”
”Really?”
”Do you know know Mary Sh.e.l.ley?” asked Dave. Mary Sh.e.l.ley?” asked Dave.
”Oh, yes.” Coleridge lit up. ”She's a talented young woman.” He glanced at Lamb for confirmation.
”Haven't read it,” he said. ”But yes, she is.”
Coleridge admitted the book was occasionally slow going. ”She could have picked up the pacing a bit, though I'm sure she'll figure that out for herself. But I liked the notion of an artificial man with a taste for Milton. Mary has an exquisite sense of humor.”
MICHAEL had been a baseball fan. On a hunch, they showed up at Wrigley Field on August 25, 1922, to watch the Cubs beat the Phillies 26-23, in the highest-scoring major-league game ever. And they went to Berlin for Jack Kennedy's celebrated ” had been a baseball fan. On a hunch, they showed up at Wrigley Field on August 25, 1922, to watch the Cubs beat the Phillies 26-23, in the highest-scoring major-league game ever. And they went to Berlin for Jack Kennedy's celebrated ”Ich bin ein Berliner” address. Finding anyone in either of those crowds was, of course, out of the question. But Shel was enjoying himself. There was an especially moving aspect to sitting in on an event armed with a historical perspective. As to finding his father, he was close to giving up.
”You know what's really painful?” he said, moments after they'd returned from Berlin.
”That your father probably didn't have time to do much of what we've been doing?”
”It goes deeper than that, Dave. Truth is, I don't know how many places he visited. But what strikes me is, we're getting a kind of G.o.dlike view of the world.”
Dave nodded.
”We stood out there today, listening to Kennedy, and we know what's coming. We know the Cold War will end, that everything will turn out okay in Europe. And we know that in five months, Kennedy will be dead.”
”Yeah.”
”The whole time we were listening to him, that was what kept running through my head. That he was going to be taken out by that nutcase in Dallas, and n.o.body would ever even know why.”
”I know. I thought about that, too.”
”When we were watching Lincoln, it was the same thing. And King. I don't like knowing what's coming.”
Dave unclipped the converter and sat down.
Shel's eyes lost their focus. ”I hate that part of this.”
”I saw a movie once.”
”Yeah?”
”It was called TimeQuest TimeQuest. A time traveler goes back and does what you're talking about: He warns JFK.”
”How does it turn out?”