of August Valcroix. He told me he visited here. Do
you remember him ?”
He twirled the ends of his beard around one long
mger.
“Once or twice a year we offer seminars on or-
gallic gardening and meditatiorl. Not to proselytise,
but to enlighten. He may have attended one of
those. I dont remember him specifically.”
212 Jothn
I gave him a physical description.of Valcroix but
it didn’t evoke recognition.
“That’s it, then. I appreciate yourhelp.’
He sat there, unblinking and unmoving. In the
stingy light of the room his pupils had expanded so
-that only a thin rim of pale iris was visible. He had
hypnotic eyes. A prerequisite for charisma.
“If you have any more questions you may ask
them.”
“No questions, but I would like to hear more
about your philosophy.”
He nodded.
“We are refugees from a former life We’ve chosen
a new life that emphasizes purity and industry.
We avoid environmental poisons and seek self-sufficiency.
We believe that by changing ourselves
we increase the positive energy in the world.”
Standard stuff. He rattled it off like some New
Age pledge of allegiance.
“We’re not killers,” he added.
Before I could reply, two of them came into the
room.
Matthias stood up and left without acknowledging
their presence. The man and woman took the
two empty’seats. The transaction was oddly mechanical,
as if the people were interchangeable parts
in some smoothly functioning apparatus.
They sat, hands in laps–more good schoolkids–and
smiled with the maddening serenity of the
born-again and the lobotomized.
I was far from serene. Because I recognized both
of them, though in quite different ways.
The man who called himself Baron was medium-sized
and thin. Like Matthias, his hair was cut
short and his beard left untrimmed. But in his case
BLOOD TEST – 213
the effect was less dramatic than untidy. His hair
was medium brown and wispy. Patches of skin
showed through the sparse frizzy chin whiskers
and his cheeks were covered with soft fuzz. It was
as if he’d forgotten to wash his face.
In graduate school I’d known him as Barry Graf-tlus.
He was older than I, in his early forties, but
had been a class behind, a late starter who’d decided
to become a psychologist after trying just
about everything else.
Graffius’s family was wealthy, big in the movie
business, and he’d been one of those rich kids-who
couldn’t seem to settle down–inadequate drive level
because he’d never been deprived of anything. The
consensus was that family money had gotten him
in, but that may have been a jaundiced view. Because
Barry Graffius had been the mos unpopular
person in the department.
I’ve always tended to be charitable in my evaluations
of others but I’d despised Graffius. He was
loudmouthed and contentious, dominating seminars
wi irrelevant quotes and statistics aimed at impressing
the professors. He insulted his peers, bullied
the meek, played devil’s advocate with malicious
glee.
And he loved toflaunt his money.
Most of us were struggling to get by, working
extra jobs in addition to our teaching assistantships.
Grafus delighted in coming to class in hand-tailored
leather and suede complaining about the repair
bill on his XKE, lamenting the tax bite. He was an
outrageous name dropper, recounting lavish Hollywood
parties, offering a teasing glimpse into a glamorous
world beyond the grasp of the rest of us.
I’d heard that after graduating he’d gone into
practice on Bedford Drive—Beverly Hills Couch
Row–planning to capitalize on his connections and
become Therapist to the Stars.
I could see where he’d mn into Norman Matthews.
He recognized me too. I could tell by the flurry of
activity behind his watery brown eyes. As we looked
at each other that activity crystallized: fear. The
fear of being discovered.
His former identity was no secret in the strict
sense. But he didn’t want to be confronted by it:
for those who imagine themselves reborn, bringing
up the past has all th appeal of exhuming one’s
own moldering corpse.
I said nothing, but wondered if he’d told Matthias
about knowing me.
The woman was older, but uncommonly pretty
despite the ponytail no-makeup look that seemed to
be de r/gueur for Touch women. Madonna-faced with