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XXXI Captain Random
If I try to recall Richard in specific ways, the memory usually breaks
down. If I think of his obsession with Japanese women and culture, I’m
distracted by how he and Aki would follow his favorite high school girls’
basketball team around the small towns of Montana. If I think of him as a
confirmed, dyed-in-the-wool alcoholic, I remember how his skin started to
turn orange shortly before his last departure when he was living on a diet
of carrots and water. Though a blizzard kept me from attending his goodbye
party at the Fondas, I heard tales of him and Tom McGuane, the original
carousers, hanging around the Perrier and vegetables all evening.
If I think of him as secure, famous and confident, tossing off such
phrases as, “I’ve made my mark,” or “The cat’s in the bag and the bag’s in
the river,” (one of his favorites), a mess of opposing images comes
crowding in, images such as that of Richard the Pershing II. We named him
after that missal which often came crashing back into the pad soon after
it took off. In more familiar terms, leaving his house with him was a bit
like trying to accompany a yo-yo. Before we got out the door he’d check
several times to make sure that the lights, stove, etc., were turned off.
Once we were out the door, he’d lock it, turn the handle to make sure it
was locked, turn around to leave, turn back around to make sure it was
locked, turn around and walk toward the car, turn around and walk back to
make sure the door was locked, turn around, walk to the car, get in, get
back out, walk back to the door, make sure it was locked, turn around,
walk to the car, get in, etc. Sometimes we’d even get a few hundred yards
down the road and he’d still want to return to check the BACK door.
Richard’s suicide seemed about as random and contradictory as his other
behavior. He had always insisted that he would never take his own life. He
even told little stories about people whose suicide attempts had been
foiled. In one of these episodes, a man had walked in to find a woman
friend with her head in her oven and the gas on. In the Captain’s
rendition, the man quietly left, went around behind the house, and turned
off the main gas supply.
So when, one gloomy afternoon in the early fall, Brad Donovan summoned me
to the Owl Bar in Livingston to talk about Richard, I saw it as a welcome
break in my routine. Though I’d just visited him in Bolinas the month
before, he hadn’t been to Montana in over a year, so I was hoping that
Brad had news of his immanent return. Besides, I’d always enjoyed the Owl.
Richard once had a pipe dream of buying the place, setting up a cot in the
back and subsisting on intravenous whisky.
Once I got settled behind my standard Owl fare, tomato juice and draft
beer, Brad broke the news that Richard had “bought the farm.” I thought,
oh great, that’s all he needs, a farm. When will the big oaf learn. Hell,
he already has a little ranch, and he’s piled up some whopping debts in
Tokyo staying at the ritziest hotel.
“What farm?” I said.
“You know,” said Brad. “He’s BOUGHT THE FARM.”
I was still trying to figure out which farm he’d bought and why he’d buy
it. Maybe he’d bought a farm above his property to avoid disputes over
water, maybe....
“He shot himself.” said Brad. “He killed himself.”
Gorgo's Brautigan Stories Index
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