encountered the crowd gathered outside the new Biddenbrooks
store. It resembled some wild Iberian festival.
“Is everybody here for the free coffee?” she asked a woman in a
jogging suit.
“And pastry. Get in line. No cuts,” the woman replied. But there
didn’t seem to be a line. Sprout stood on a bench to see over the
crowd and into the store. It was literally packed with patrons.
Outside the store a rock band was setting up. Clowns were making
giant coffee cup hats out of balloons. People were laughing and
talking, drinking veritable oceans of coffee, licking their lips with
insatiate glee. Sprout pushed her way through the chattering horde
and tramped through the still-damp alley to Undergrounds.
No one was there. She walked back to Roy’s house and found him
asleep in his bed with a pillow over his head. Sprout sat down on the
mattress and shook his body but he didn’t respond. She called his
name but he didn’t reply. She kissed him on the cheek and pinched
his ass, but he didn’t react. Looking at the bed table she saw that after
all these years he had finally switched his drink of choice. Having run
out of Blue Mountain Rat-Cut, and moreover, having run out of hope,
he had moved up to V.O. and Valium. Both bottles were empty.
Sprout dragged him into the bathroom and forced him to vomit
it all out. Afterwards, he lay dazed on the tile floor babbling about
burnt faces and fiery abysses. She decided that what he really needed
was a medicinal dose of caffeine. But there was none on the premises.
Meanwhile back at the fiesta, some of the new Biddenbrooks
employees were fanning out into the crowd to provide coffee to those
who could not make it into the jammed store. They were strange-
looking proles, outfitted in bright new clothing, freshly shaved and
washed, but with years of wear etched into their faces. Improbably
deep tans combined with frayed blood vessels to produce skin of
remarkable hue. They glowed like saints or radiation victims.
Colin, and Niles stood off to one side. When one of the workers
tried to offer them a cup of the steaming beverage the Rastafarian
refused, saying, “No. We’re with you.” The worker walked away,
confused.
Sprout led Roy out onto the Promenade, desperate to put as
much caffeine in his system as possible, even if it had to be
Biddenbrooks. A cup was thrust into her hand. The hand that
proffered it looked as if it had been worn down to its essence. She
ABYSSINIA
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