Five Legs Read online

  Just no use, gas that’s all, I might as well go back out there. I might as well. Jeez! There’s nothing here. Resigned, but Lucan Crackell doesn’t know how I’m supposed to function, generate composure for chrissakes. With this frigging gut. No help, no help at all because she doesn’t understand; it’s not the distance, no, not at all it’s her complete inability to understand. That’s it. My own wife, a man’s own wife. It’s sad, isn’t it? Boy it’s terribly sad.

  Pushing out to the stained mirrors; distorted face. Lucan ducking his head, bobbing as a growth deforms, his eye and cheekbone swelling like a disease for chrissakes, and that’s pretty disturbing. See if I can get the nose up. Turning on tiptoe and there! Look at it swell, grotesque and wow! a nose with yellow life, spreading, growing as I sway. Look sort of funny if. Grimacing Lucan Crackell, straining ugliness with fangs, popping eyes among the lines. Hah. A horror, a real horror, Hell’s child. Eeek! it’s me! Hah-hah. Well that’s enough of that. Find a clear space, comb the hair and that little piece should swoop over here. Good. Wash my hands again. Another section of this hygenic towel, clunk clunk, and it’s certainly clean alright. A real blessing. Maybe if I could get my foot up here on this basin. Errgh my side! And the stomach’s in the way. But there, that’s alright. Now some of this muck off my shoes. Twenty-nine sixty-five or something shocking. And look what the salt does! Enough to make you weep. Lucan, awkwardly for the towel’s too short, rubbing at the whitish stain. Careful! Don’t want to slip, hah, this pinion leg go shooting out from under me or something. Don’t want to, unceremoniously dumped again today. Safer to get them both back on the floor, solid. You’ve got to move from one firm base to another, solid motivation and you gain respect. It’s true. Brushing hands at bits of lint and they should really have clothes brushes in lavatories. Yes. Thought-out moves and surely they’ve seen the change. Surely. Listening at the door and then into the hall, looking about, peering into the shadows. What in hell am I going to say? Just. Stop singing! Authority, that’s the thing, fall back on the natural superiority of my position. Demand respect. Straightening the lapels before entering, check the old zipper and. Hey he’s gone! Feeling of wellbeing, yes, of relief for it’s one less pressure. And Oswald, he’s gone too. Good! Up to the table with my good smile as if I haven’t just, unsuccessfully too, been to the bathroom. “Well.” Briskly rubbing my hands. “Where’s your white hunter gone?” Jocularity to ease the. They glance, no sense of humour, obviously. In the young and that Benfield person. Just goes on talking.

  “Take the cow, I said, as a case in point. She wanders as provocatively as possible and it’s the actual sight of her, you understand? The image cast upon the mind that arouses the bull.” Serious they sit and listen; what on earth? “The male only has to look at the female to get sexually aroused. It’s biology. And then, do you know what he said?” Primly with shining fingernails and hair he smiling looks from face to face. “He said, are you by any chance calling my wife a cow?” And huh-huh, they chuckle, oh no! Too much, too much! Susan’s glance to me, raising my eyebrows and her shrug resigned. “That’s right, so help me. Huh! Just like a cop, eh? Huh-huh. So I said of course not, I’m talking about some basic facts of sex, about the biological source of our behaviour, your wife’s and mine.”

  “Man that’s pretty cool. Did he really have his gun?” His gun! Lucan staring and are they serious?

  “He did, he did indeed and it was most upsetting, I can assure you.” Your wife and mine, boy this sounds. Unpleasant. “I could see it glinting in the moonlight as he moved his arm. I was frightened, terrified actually for it’s always difficult to predict human behaviour under emotional stress. Even for psychologists. You need a whole series of in-depth interviews; I thought the best thing to do was keep on talking, appeal to his respect for education, and perhaps that way determine the nature of his syndrome.”

  “Ah Jerry, Jerry, you’re a shrewd one and no doubt.” Expansive waving his empty cigarette holder. “Mind like a steel trap. The kingdom is indeed fortunate to possess a . . .”

  “Your wife’s a beautiful woman, I said, an incredibly sensuous person and it’s not her fault, I said. I assured him of that. I pointed out that she was only functioning according to her biological nature. The female, and I really emphasized this, I really tried to make it as clear as possible. The female instinctively invites possession. It’s a biological fact. Look at the roles of male and female in nature, I said.” Reaching for the package, he nods and lighting a cigarette, exhales. “He looked pretty interested in all this, I must say, although it was evident he didn’t understand everything. He’s only a simple policeman, you understand.” Smothering a smoker’s cough. “Anyway. In the state of nature the strong male, aroused you remember, through his faculty of sight, goes about impregnating as many healthy women as possible. Whereas the male is aroused from a distance, the female is aroused through her tactile senses. That’s why we have such strict laws about guys who feel up women on the street, but that’s another thing. Well we have these males naturally attracted, and in their turn, the females instinctively, I stressed the instinctive basis for all this, the female naturally receives all desirable males until she’s impregnated. And, I said, that’s how evolution works. You know. Huh-huh! It’s pretty funny when you look back on it. I had to explain impregnation; pregnant I said, you know, a bun in the oven. And then he thought I’d made her pregnant and he started shouting again and I kept saying I was speaking figuratively you know, symbolically but he was really angry and after all my persuasive talk the bastard.” Pausing ruefully, rubbing his head and this is absurd. Lifting his face, turning again. “He pistol whipped me. That’s right, just like in the movies, remember? When I had all those bandages? Well. That’s how I got them.” Shaking his head and I don’t think I believe all this. “Stupid cop.” Sudden chattering, their laughter’s admiration one to another but she and I are different, we see, that’s it we see. Destructiveness. Their gross faces and their noise. “No, no I couldn’t report him. My mother. You know. If ever she found out she’d die of shame.” As from above, Lucan and Susan, unmoving. Boy. It serves him right. “She said you are in some trouble Jerry, I can tell when my boy’s in trouble. Bandages! Look at that face will you, you don’t get a face like that for nothing. Do you want to tell your momma? You tell your momma. So it’s nothing, I said. He was only insulting the race. Ah she said, I knew it, I knew it. What is he an Arab or something that he dares?” Certainly disapproving, her small mouth: why not? Disrespect for he is dead, after all, their friend her lover’s dead. And like him or not. There are demands, certain responsibilities. Who would not weep? You’d certainly think that for a friend, some pain, some. But faces gross and open, this appalling selfishness. Smirking friends for chrissakes. They don’t realize, that’s all. How important as joking here with brutal self-concern. Susan we’re alone. Lucan wondering if there’s anything I can do. As an older friend perhaps. Yes. Nice to take her somewhere, Toronto maybe. A complete change of scene, that’s the thing; a chance to talk it out for hurt those eyes, her face and my unhappiness. Time like this you certainly need your friends, oh don’t I know it! Lucan Crackell knows difficulties and pain, yes the real thing. Boy. A companion, for I knew you’d. You have such, well not really sad but I do understand. Reassurance, that’s what she needs, a little comfort from me. Hmmmn. In rattling talk Lucan trying to catch her eye, staring hard and perhaps if I concentrate. Intense eyes, that’s it. Susan. Sooo-saahn! Can you hear me? Dully she sits and what’s that a birthmark or something, a wen where her temple beats?

  Warm bodies, deep inside us hear the easing limbs. Receptive. Sweat’s invitation for there was a time when the earth was full and bones didn’t sing between us and the heart.

  No certainly not make love to her! Good Lord. Ha! Lucan’s protestations for she’s not Vera after all and a good girl. She’s recently bereaved, anyway I’m married, Jesus Christ I’m. The Plaza’s roof with drinks and talk: that b
ig city and lights define the world below us. A little therapeutic talk between two old friends, that’s the ticket; and maybe see a good movie or something. Eat a smorgasbord.

  Susan. My child’s in England or somewhere, isn’t that curious? We’ve never seen the child, my wife and I, because it went away before we met. Rose doesn’t know anything about it, I’ve never told anyone you see. You’re the first person I’ve mentioned it to. But it’s there. Somewhere. And the thing is, I don’t believe I’ll have another, I don’t believe she wants one. Isn’t that sad?

  No words left: crass and spoken. Boxes piled in early morning light. Can’t go, I can’t desert this life and order, patterns that I am. Oh Vera! in that heavy silence, but you’ll never know. What could I do there for chrissakes, what would my frigging mother say? Wanted so much, I wanted to but young, I didn’t know what to do, that’s the thing: I didn’t know what to do. And anyway, I didn’t think. You’d really go.

  Hairdresser’s up to the john so I’ll just slide over and take his chair. Smiling at me, nodding yes to my glance and I will. Lucan rising and what can I, in sudden silence, say first? Controlled walk, that’s right; the shoes are better and I wish to hell they’d keep on talking. Here we are, sitting, adjusting my trousers. My small smile and quietly. That’s the thing. “Where did, ah. Felix go this time?” They’re listening, jeez. But at least she looks relieved to see me here.

  “I beg your pardon?” A little louder I guess, and Lucan raising his voice, leaning.

  “I was just wondering where Oswald had got to. This time. Hah. I mean, he always seems to be.”

  “Oh. Oh. He’s taken that drunken person to, to the police.” Eyes rolling and is that? Yes good Lord it’s sweat, light there in the hairs of her upper lip. “And not a moment too soon, I might say.” Poor girl, oh you poor. I didn’t realize, I couldn’t see from over there. Terrible ordeal, just. Just frightful and what can I do, what on earth can I possibly do except. Smiling with compassion, and perhaps I can. Reaching out to touch. Pat-pat. For reassurance. Oh she’s a fine looking young woman, hmmn, and sensitive. Pat-pat. Sad. It wrenches the heart to hear how sad, vulnerable her voice. Under her breath almost, softly and her eyes. Doctor Crackell. I just don’t know what to do. Therethere child and did she say it? Oblivious, chattering, they’re really selfish devils! Selfish bastards. Therethere and smiling. Young sorrow, dark in this room. Pat. Strokestroke and a little squeeze because I understand. We’re different aren’t we? This day is painful God knows and all I ask. I only hope that I’m as good for you, as helpful as she is for me. Yes. How could I have come without her? Jesus! Tears behind my eyes, that’s right, I’m grateful, so strengthened by this girl. Really an emotional experience to discover how much she means to me, how much easier she makes it. Different, yes it’s different, I’ve position. Representative of the university, just the man. But years ago, driven by loss I drank, I drank too much; that youthful shame. Oh boy. Couldn’t live without them. How can a man let his woman and child just go away? And drunk in this restaurant, slippered feet, time after time with despair as if I’d let them die, as if I’d killed them and then. Oh shit! That terrible frigging incident, that. She knows, certainly she knows in a town like this, but even if she doesn’t. She understands. That’s it. We’re the same kind of people. Not like these others, no sir. Two, six, nine of us here and that, another table. A real gathering. A writer, what’s that they’re saying? Susan, her fingers briefly on my hand and that’s nice. But where’s she. DON’T GO! “Excuse me.” Softly eyes to mine and then, for the others, louder. “Excuse me. I must talk to.” Nodding at that group. Brushing her wrinkled dress at the thighs, her tummy. Who’s a writer? Stay, please, after I’ve moved like this. Makes me look sort of, silly . . . Stockings together, thighs as she walks.

  “I’m shattered.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  “Why?”

  “Well Max, I never knew, that’s why.” Turning at his wolfish return; standing, sneering at me in his chair. “Did you Willy?”

  “What, did I what?” Eyes from me to her. Running his fingers through his lank hair and I, I don’t think he’ll say anything or, I hope he won’t.

  “Did you know he wanted to be a writer?”

  “Felix or who, what are you talking about, c’mon eh?”

  “Felix, for heaven’s sake. Felix.” Black-sweatered, an artista for Christ’s sake! Nothing but scorn and imperceptibly, curling my lip. Certainly she’s got a fine body though. But Susan’s more. Animated with them there, she’s more, more. Refined. “Did you know he wants to write, I didn’t ever know that.”

  “So what’s to know? Everybody wants to write.” Rolling forward, he leans on the table and what does he put in his hair?

  “Ah Jerry, Jerry you’re virtuably that famous old Greek philosophizer.” Blowing through the cigarette holder, and a look inside. “What’s his name, Eureka with a lantern searching for the honest man.” Staccato old man’s laugh; snapping his wrist, shaking saliva tobacco juice from that dirty thing. “You persist in seeing the real person.” Grandiloquent wavings, thin his stupid arm. “The bald truth, the testament within this envelope of flesh.”

  “Well it’s true isn’t it?” Purring voice and this old fraud eats by feeding them. “Everyone wants to write, but we’ll all teach. That’s the way things are.” Fatfaced smiling and piggy, his eyes are too close together; watching me, plump-fingered he twists the elaborate. Vulgar ring. Perspires, I’ll bet he sweats all the time and eats peanut-butter sandwiches. I certainly won’t rise, don’t, for he’s waiting; don’t rise to this innuendo! For there’s nothing to say. Bloodystupid, that’s all. Jesus! They’re well past, too old for foolishness. It’s no longer. Appropriate. Just look away, you sly young fox, pretend you didn’t hear. Unwilling sadness? Easier, she looks much happier, natural there. Light still her finger’s touch. With pain the things I’m here to feel: death’s youth, my own, and breaking words on faded bones.

  “Ah Mister Jerry Eureka, or whoever you are.” What’s the word? Bizarre, really a bizarre and embarrassing. “You’re too cynical.” Not me, no wonder she left, not Lucan Crackell but this foolish bloody old twit. Explosive nasty, laughter rising in the scale. “You decount the individual.”

  “But man, he knows it! Cause he’s a shrink and you better believe it.” Aggressive selfish all, bursting with anarchy, their talk; and arrogance, jeez! This goddamn undergraduate mentality, their literacy misused. Maybe I could just get up and join her in that waiting chair; wash my hands of this lot. “Anyway, if Felix was writing, we’d know about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Like Logan.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Logan’s really involved, you know, he really believes. And Oz, well he’s too . . .”

  “He’s never been up to my studio or anything, he never asks about my painting.”

  “Sure. Like why isn’t he writing, it’s crazy, if he wants to write. Man you can’t just . . .”

  “How do you, Willy, how do you know he isn’t?”

  “What? Pardon Ann?” Good legs, black stockings and the curious wind: to my car easy, they came on the frozen walk.

  “You’re all talking away as if everybody’s got to be a, well a fink because he is, Logan’s a real fink. And just because Felix . . .” C’mon jeez Ann! Laughter as impatiently they shift. Good for her, hmmmn. Leaps to his defence against us all and I’ll bet they do. “But he is, you can’t deny.” Lucan sees her leaning, sees them nuzzling on her arms cool-nosed like puppies and hah for heaven’s sake he knows them well I’ll bet his eyes his hungry mouth.

  “For chrissake!” Bastard’s voice, cheap condescension and I’ll just slip my hand into the old pocket, poke at this wayward. Get down, get down! “We’re not talking about personalities you know.”

  “That’s right, who cares what a person’s like so long as he’s an artist, who .
. .”

  “Cause personalities aren’t important, Pat’s right. It’s passion. Passion! There’s your answer.” Cross my legs with elegance, stuff it, get in there! Aaah. “Commitment to a world.” Lucan passive, leaning back with sensitive, my mocking smile. Although. It’s still a bit.

  “After all, who really cares? Look at Genet, look at, at. Why I’ve had artists up to my studio . . .”

  “Shit Pat, you’ve never had a, a real artist within a. Mile of . . .”

  “I have Willy, I have too.” Defiant voice and selfconscious, really selfconscious twits. “From Toronto, and Montreal, from everywhere.” They are. Lucan shifting because it’s still awkward, but. There. That should do the trick. “And just because they’re Canadians you know, it doesn’t mean they aren’t any good.” It seems. Shifting, look unconcerned! It is so long and it isn’t fair. My body unruly on Rose, I. I wasn’t drunk you know, I’m not. After the coffee, the bits of food, then your coldness, my clumsiness and frozen shapes, dark birds unmoving on the sky. Retreating, my following hand and I don’t know, I just don’t know what’s happened, what to do. Go on like this, it. Breasts, translucent gowned and bluntly hanging, bending she bends (straightens dear god, she tidies) her buttocks’ shadow under blue night cloth. White. It can’t go on, this angularity how can I? Stronger, rudely overcoming, smothering her cries, yes that’s the way: ignore the protests, desperation yes, a little firmness I should have screwed her down into the bed overwhelming for underneath she must enjoy it need it like I do oh Christ at this time particularly now: “Some of them draw like Picassos, if only people would recognize it. Like I know one guy from Montreal . . .” It would be much better, you know Lucan, if you could wait, why don’t you wait until you see that I feel like it?