Five Legs Page 19

  Lighting it from his and puffing, deeply dragging; caught in the window’s air, grey smoke between us gliding and his voice. We’re going to Paris, did you know? Well. We are and I’m going to, teach or something. Eagerly towards me, bouncing, pointing with his hand. There are schools you know, high-schools and English teachers, teachers of English are . . . Oh! Oh! Felix I want, I want. Rising to sit and reaching, stretching his arms with fingers splayed and strong; grinning, yellow teeth and grinning to the ceiling; funny bugger for I can’t believe he’ll do it, really go. We’re going to do so much, Felix, we’re going to break out, free ourselves and. Go, yes! Cracking his hands together, crack! Yes we are. Boy . . .

  Down there at the end of the hall, yes she is. Through the sounds of them and their silence in the bedrooms and into the living room where she’s stretched out on my mattress, lying there on the floor all ready I guess, and open for me while. Drinking away at this, clinking ice alone because . . . Shouting out, she certainly shouted bloodywell out, Felix and I will sleep! Amber acid to my stomach now, my throat from drinking, how does she expect? A man’s got some pride, you know, I. Jesus Christ what am I gonna do? Bottles, some half-empty, all around me on the table; bursting, air about the window frame behind me and they’ve all, either they’ve gone home or. Laughter rustling in the bedroom darkness (what are they doing are they doing it?) Zippo lighters snicking into flame and shut. On her back maybe, she’s lying in there, how’s she waiting? With slightly parted, her legs and smoking too I’ll bet, her breasts. She has nice breasts . . . I am not, afraid, that is not the. Pouring another, this drink and sipping. A bit, strong yes for this time of night and it’ll be better for a splash of water, that’s. Sitting again, and there’s definitely at my back, a draught, a definite draught. Scared for fuck’s sake? Crap. Absolute crap. But ha, I can’t, how can I go in there to be swallowed, that terrible assurance? I can’t, that’s all. Felix. There is to it. Felix, she’s calling, shsh, Fee-lix I hear her whisper, hoarsely down the hall, are you coming Feelix, shsh-shsh for goodness sakes! Bedroom door, awh the hall, you’ve done it now! Gulping at my drink and bored, look. Martin, I’ll bet it’s. How do I appear? Above it all, that’s it, as padding he comes, ruffled and I’m simply not interested that’s all.

  Felix oh. I thought. Squinting from the light at Felix, me among the bottles, cartons and my elbow suddenly in this creeping puddle, shit! His head inclined towards the front of the house, I thought. Impatiently brushing, angry at my sleeve for it’s uncomfortable, bloody. Secure now comes his ordinary voice. Pat’s calling you, she’s . . .

  I know, I know for chrissakes. From my hands, kaleidoscopic lights: hands pressing briefly on my burning eyes. How must I look, dejected. So back leaning now, I’ll bravely: Uggh, I wish she’d (and I mean it too, he cannot know how much), I wish she’d go away or . . . I’m not . . .

  What’s the matter, are you sick or something?

  I don’t. And this sounds pretty silly. I don’t like her very much.

  Christ Felix, boy oh. You mean you’re not. Boy! What are you going to, tell her? Jee-sus, hissing through his yellow teeth, he turns for the bottle by the sink with eyes. You ah, better have another, eh? Returning to take my glass, his face as he pours, watching. Staring to the door. And you’d better think of something pretty good, because . . .

  Felix, yoo-hoo, where are you? Fee-lix.

  Listen to her, wow listen!

  Ready or not, here I . . . Louder and louder she’s coming, her voice in the hall and where. Here I come! Desperate face, my searching about, where to hide? Under the, Christ no she’d. See for heaven’s sake, grotesquely underneath the table while the window behind, I can hear, it’s far too cold. To rush outside and where would I go, at this hour? Footsteps, hers at the door and God! They’re, yes they’re. Bare, that’s it, alright, that’s enough! She has! She’s taken off her shoes, her stocking and her . . . There you are! Felix, I thought you were hiding on me.

  Embarrassment and flushing, even now because she’s, I guess she’s become. Back there and grieving but I won’t, won’t look no sir because. Since that night, some kind of symbol for us, you and I; pervasive sickness as my voice returns from then, and I do not like to think about it, I cannot . . .

  Nan’s perfume on my mouth, my limbs caressed, caressing limbs and by my face her sleep-filled hair with growing tension, gentler still; all tremulous (the accordion much later) Nan, uncertainly muttering Nan, oh Felix and drawn to her, waking, warm, even with the sound of my blood from the hitchhiking cold, I welcomed her secret protests because . . .

  Act, I can not, never get out. Of myself, I am. Afraid! No, I know this argument and shifting uncomfortably, for it’s automatic, still I’m sure. It isn’t simply fear, it isn’t for I can’t presume, that’s all, to let them force me, prove she has to, Nan, I know you are, believe you, yes.

  And I wish I wasn’t, I shouldn’t be. Is that wrong, is it wrong of me Felix?

  No, oh no Nan, no!

  I want it to be you, so much I want you to, sometimes. This hand, our hands belong, it fits so well in. Sometimes I can hardly stand it, wanting you to . . .

  I know, soothing into her luminous eyes and myself so close to tears. I know. Subdued voices, body strong along the body’s length and her breath in my ear.

  But I can’t, I have to think, I. Pressed now into my throat, her face so soft the mouth. I don’t know what to do!

  Alright, it’s. Calm dulls at the edges of desire; after all-night waiting in the lights that passed beside the road, after the cold, after the damp outside, this image of rest on the mind. Repeating, it’s alright; I pat her shoulder, residual aching as I turn away and drowsy, so. Tired, who wouldn’t after thirteen hours on the road, so. Sleepy, yes although her body’s warmth, so, her thighs because there’s nothing I can, really to say, there’s. So. Can’t find it in myself to force the change, that’s all. But desire, how many many times, how many times?

  Bare, absolutely and utterly naked but with, dirt, is that in the folds, the creases in between her toes for. Who paints their toenails anymore? White her reaching legs beneath the pleated skirt and busying, Martin’s back at the sink; soft around her hips and clinging as she poses, muscles stretching in her calves. You’re not hiding on me, are you Felix?

  What me? Hiding ha. In the kitchen?

  Grotesquely pouting, come along then: her voice and leer, she turns, I. What can I, don’t want a scene with Martin motionless now, his fingers waiting on the counter by that drink. C’mon. With me and dutifully, following but what, Jeez what can I say? Flatly her walking feet away, and from bedrooms here and there on every side, they’re listening; hey I could fire out the door! Down the stairs like a shot and out to the street, but. But. It’s not that I. You understand, don’t like you Pat, you. It’s just that tonight I don’t. Want you physically. You know, I. Won’t do, it, no, no won’t do. She wouldn’t like that. I’m drunk, that’s it! Impotent, look I’m staggering that’s the thing and I have this terrible social disease, can hardly stand to touch it myself let alone . . .

  Life’s electronic breath as bumping, I ran with her growing sound in my chest, she’ll never get . . . their faces after me, their eyes as I ran from that wheel and I must. If I’m ever going to write or. Anything, I must get out, I . . .

  You’ve made me look like such a . . .

  Strong feet, pale on the bottom as stretched she lies, dark sliced by this angle of light from the hall and expectant, she beckons for my drink and pats; intimate, hand imperious she draws me down. Come; lie here. You’re such a funny boy, oh! Grimace tasting; dark mouth at my glass and reaching her body out to the table, forbidding she . . .

  What are you doing with my drink?

  Felix, it’s too strong darling, you’ve had enough. Black rope her hanging hair as she shifts, her folded legs so white, soft-eyed above me with the gash of her mouth. Silly boy, hiding out there i
n the kitchen.

  I wasn’t, honest I . . . So lightly. Cross my heart I wasn’t, honest. Drink’s confusion. Resignation. Briefly her hair across my eyes, she lifts my face to the crook of her arm.

  Silly baby drinking, hiding when Pat’s got something better, so much better for you. Electric softness of her breast beside my mouth, so easyeasy, oh so aaawh! Gahgah, gurgling pleasure, blinking, filling the world with her body’s must, her. Nipple, where’s the, aaawh in my busy mouth and hardly aware of there, her crooning voice, that’s the babybaby, so much better for you. Aaaawh! Confident reaching through my body, hers, a moistening suction cup as moaning, back, she throws her head with tendons stretching white along the throat; strained and gasping and her loosening thighs, moaning Felix baby oh my . . . Felix! Pushing, scrabbling in panic to my knees and crawling towards the door, scuttling, this maw and now her shrewish voice: Felix where are you, what’s the matter baby, are you? Felix! Stumbling up from the dark and onto my feet, run run, that’s the, no! Walk, elaborate casual walk, tucking my shirt and away from her voice. Felix, where are you going baby, don’t leave me Feeeeelicks! Feeeee-licks! Reversing, back down the hall, and into her cavernous eyes.

  Shush-shshsh for. I’m sorry Pat I’ve changed. I mean I. Can’t. I’m most terribly sorry but. Well . . . Bright kitchen’s light again, alone thank God he’s gone. Pouring with these remarkably steady hands, gurgling, whoops! That’s a pretty big. Water’s cloudy bubbles in the glass as drinking, swallowswallow for she’s making, that’s a godawful noise she’s making. SHUT UP! Oh dear oh dear, running as best I can with this drink (ice, should have some. Make it smoother, some ice), running and back here before her angular, her figure in the sofa and she’s rising, she’s reaching, so quickly — quickly, I’ll say! Do you have to be so goddamn unreasonable? Towering, my height impressive, do you? And Jesus, Jesus God she’s, shuddering she subsides and cries.

  You’ve made me look like, wet-injured her voice as she slumps. You’ve made me look like such a fool.

  Pat shshsh, I . . . no I haven’t, not so loud they’ll.

  Yes you have, youhaveyouhave!

  Don’t be silly Pat, I. Jesus what an unpredict! Shshsh, for heaven’s . . .

  What did I do. Rising and common, that’s the. Boy this common voice of hers and I think I’ve. What did I ever do to you eh, what?

  Nothing aah, nothing why, I mean. Drunk too much, I think I’d better leave her, go. I mean, that isn’t. Surely that doesn’t, it isn’t the point!

  It is, it is! You’ve got no respect for a girl at all. Figure accusing, bent shouldered she turns away to cry some more while I with the sound of Jesus! Her bawling, clutching shadows from the corners, I. With liquor acrid in the throat and to my stomach burning what. Can I ever . . .

  Crunching, sound of my feet in the tire’s ruts, leaping the wind, it glistens in the air with snow from the banks on either side, the light from street lamps; settling, it falls in circles to the frozen ground, while from here (how strange) I see his empty stumbling, arms deep thrust in pockets and that body, night alone and the crystal wind. Lost, my mind is from its poor machine, Pat wanted: I drift back farther, to empty winds on his face.

  Gas lamps on the glistening stone as carefully in the rain and turning right to wander, slowly with music stirring in the air; past and lost in the empty street and right again to Picardy Square. Fingers in the steaming grease, a sixpence worth and rolling, this melancholy in my throat; twisted in doorways, figures passive after closing time. A legless veteran’s eyes, his medals tinkling as he clatters by on little wheels; a peg in each hand, among the legs he pushes to the ankles of a blowsy leaning solitary woman at the wall. The rain. Crouching there below her bulk. Shouting a name to her head, he calls her crumpling, folding helpless to her knees and toppling with her hair, yellow in strands of water to the street. Rapidly now, awkward to her side with swivelling glances, bony as he thrusts inside her coat and bending. Opening his thin lips, bending with eager, hungrily he attacks, kisses attacking the flesh of her mouth, her throat, and as the encircling legs obscure, she stirs: I see the automatic arms reach up and fold about him, drawing down . . .

  “And why stand we in jeopardy every hour?” Tried so hard, I. “Protest by your . . .” Phoned the Red Cross, offer-ing myself, I. “Die daily. And after the manner of men I have fought with beasts.” Will go right now to Budapest, ­immediately to help. I must you see, surely please there’s something more than folding faces to my voice, impatient with teacups on their desks. As a stretcher-bearer, anything. “If the dead are not raised, let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die.” Eat, drink and be. “Not deceived, evil communications corrupt . . .” My hope, to Glasgow even, hitch-hiking I went but politely. Always no, thank you I’m sure, we have so many. But I have to! Don’t you see, I. Closing faces thank you, I’m sure; returning stares from beside gas fires, it’s doctors we need and nurses. Qualified people, you understand. “I speak this to your shame,” as back to the street from their damp cardigan smell, with you don’t have. You haven’t the qualifications to do anything over there. Cups on saucers firmly as they turn away. Do you, what can you do?

  Descending police and struggling through their laughter, leave ’em alone, poor bugger he’s never . . . Taunting retreat from their clearing space. Leave ’em, c’mon for chrissakes! Coppers, aawh coppers. Leave him be! United now, faces turning to wait in the rain as more converging uniforms in pairs; they join their boots to shifting, one to the other foot ring and, a-hem! A-hem! Clearing his official voice, you two. Come along now can’t, you can’t be doing that down there. In a public place, come along now. Haven’t you got a home?

  Around the corner once I sat and watched one violent enter the room and shouting. SO YOU’RE AT YOUR MOTHER’S ARE YOU! Breaking sound of his fist, crushing the face with her lover staring up, at that brutal. Obedient, she gathers on her feet with streaming red blood to her dress and silent, we watch them to the street.

  Hands at his back, her white hair clinging to the pavement as reaching now and bending the figures pull, trying to lift him, suddenly — clattering on rollerskate wheels, his little wagon skitters out to the gutter and from his struggling, half-a-body in their hands, this terrible howl. About my ears, from back around the corner in the rain muffled as off I walk, my hands deep-thrust and heavy, rising Arthur’s Seat above me; heavy light, the rain about my eyes as I walk. “All flesh is not the same flesh; but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial . . .”

  NO LADIES ALLOWED

  Preoccupied from my tea and bun, to the blowing street. I’m sleepy. Tired and can hardly hear his howl as I pause, drop my face to this hand-protected flame and. Want a short time for a quid johnny?

  What? Oh. No! To this weedy, wow this creature, thin-lipped smile and desperate to my eyes. No. Thank you, I’m . . .

  Awh c’mon Yank.

  No, nono, I’m. Anyway I’m a Canadian.

  Well you’ll give the lass a fag, anyway? So thin inside her belted trenchcoat. And she’s cold, poor. Sharply belted to her hips and knowing eyes . . . Fumbling, offering take one, take them. Bony hand, pathetic reaching hand and in the lamplight, knuckles chafed and red she knows, her body oh! Take them all take, but feet away, she’s going; walking and her tiny waist. Couldn’t, no I couldn’t ugly thing disease I might. A terrible . . . Disorderly turning, my back where she pauses there and I’ve never had, that’s the sad. Vicious inhaling deeply to my lungs I’ve never had. A woman. This way johnny, here to my room, you have such beautiful eyes and I’m sorry I called you a Yank. There are so many. Here, that’s tight, I’m really a princess in disguise, I’m not. Shshsh, there that’s the. Such beautiful eyes. Gently to me, her breasts, the room’s so warm; together to her bed with shallow her breath, expectant while my hands in sureness grow about her thighs, her belly
and I rise, I grow in strength in passion fuck I fuck I . . . Don’t, don’t look for chrissakes, look or turn! Jeez, a terrible . . . I’m, look I’m a fucking twenty-fucking-one-year-old, a virgin! Write or anything, how can I? Can’t, go on like this and on and . . .

  “. . . sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. And so it is written, the first man Adam was made a living . . .” Beautifully balanced and painted, red and green, I had a canoe then, yes I. Carrying it, his body younger every summer, to some desolate pier. “. . . but that which is natural; and afterward that which is spiritual.” Oh the looking back young sir, the looking back!

  Bright air across the Saint John as I climbed among great girders pocked with rivets, up I’d leave the pebbled beach and rattling waters down below and further, twisting weedgrass, rolling in eddies there behind me by the shore as up, with up the bank beneath and steel to the crest I climb to see dark forests ragged into fields on the other side. Dizzying outward on the ties suspended, high in the wind above the water’s distant sound until I can hear the sky thud down with echoes from the past and country. Running suddenly with warning rails in terror by my feet, running for the first time and scrambling beneath the shaking tracks, over the water swinging a moment by my arms and crouching here as screaming, tremendous the engine and it moves above my head with steam in clouds, vibration and the steam . . . Below me, waters move against the prow and cold perhaps, a skimming motorboat with someone who waves to that small figure tightly pressed in the V of two red girders high above.

  Young and solemn, very solemn public voice, reading the sound of words carefully, not to raise his face and see the coffin with stuck eyes tight, hooks and the chemistry of decay: but solemn emphasis repeats, thin hand balancing his voice from one. To the other. Corruption, putting on. Incorruption, mortal. Jesus, ritual this talk and hollow teetering! Tongue ahead as she turns her face, wet tongue along her lips and she searched into my eyes, yes for the sadly lurking animal there, she squeezed my arm and coaxed . . .