Five Legs Read online

  GOT YOU RED BASTARD! Quailing from, this roar I shrivel in monstrous shock and quivering, Felix Oswald dies, his heart with agony explodes HAH! Crunching blow to my shoulder, lifted now and hurtled (done for, that’s it! they’ll be sorry) my husk is pinned against the cage. I despise, YEAH! Rolling eyes and, roar, his spit on my face. I DETEST all PINKO PRICKS and BOLSHEVIKS. Teeth grinding, threatening grind with his meaty hand at my throat (goodbye) and COMMIES and so-called liberals or RED by ANY OTHER NAME YOU!

  Butbut, gargling words he’s choking but . . . Pale hand I’m brushing, I can barely see, at his gnarled arm butbut . . .

  You shaddap you!

  Stranglegloop, I’m flailing hand and mother will cry, inconsolable and where. When you son was? Strangle strangle beneath bright stars . . .

  RED COMMIE FINK YOU! Teeth grinding to the gums then leaning HEY! And loosening, air! Thank Christ, with closer face. Hey, I seen you somewheres eh?

  Arrgh I, don’t . . .

  Where eh? HAH I know. Rough laugh and trailing giggle as he slaps his thigh. At the Legion, you drink at the Legion?

  Unngh swallowing nod for air and still my eyes for flight; this goddamn, this crazy man he almost . . .

  Well okay then, I’m sorry eh? Chuckle; you’re alright. I thought you was. Fading conspiratorial voice, this looming nut to me. I thought you, maybe was a red, you know. Here. Friendly crushing hand round my arm, while sensitive, my own to my tender throat. I useta work in the packing house you know? In Torawna. Stopping to listen, he’s reckless, stupid bastard’s got no neck at all! That’s where these ones are going, I useta. Flicking his red-rimmed eyes, his teeth in a sudden grin. I useta bash ’em onna skull thunk, with a club you know, or give’m a fucken big shock with a prod ZAAP! Really laid ’em out, the other guys . . . Accusing pressure on my arm. Was a really good job, it was, until the fucken goddamn RED BASTARDS! Smashing his thigh and white electric, his eyes and smashing his hand, smashing and . . . You know what they did? Sudden fearful fucking crash on the wood beside my head and how can I, what can I say to a? Tell you what, they let the goddamn cows, YOU KNOW THAT? Smash CRASH thump that’s what they! Gangs of commie finks, creeping around an lettin all the cows go before they’d get to Torawna and then there weren’t any goddamn cows anymore or anything so they hadda fire me. Jeez I wish I could get my hands on one of them. Grinding teeth and half this way and lurching away, a shadow and maybe I could, my legs. Are stronger now and maybe I’ll dash off home like a shot down the tracks and over the fence before he. Love to strangle, kill somebody grind them with jaws as stumbling, crazy bastard further, here’s my chance, I’ll whoops! Back abrupt and his voice: it was a fucken good job. Close, that time. A good healthy job, here. Feel.

  Ha, I think I, backing off, I . . .

  No, feel!

  I’ll. Believe you ha, I really I . . .

  LISTEN! A healthy job! Have to jeez, in this terrible staring face and reaching, biceps clenched and how can I. Christ he is; strong, as harsh, clubswinging he shouts at the dumb and waiting, grins and clubs and clubs and that’s, my God not very I’d better.

  Yeah hah, I’m sorry, about. About your job. It’s. Smiling, annoying, I. Handrubbing, waving on down the tracks. But I better get home, it’s been they’re waiting, expecting me, Mother’s. I better.

  Into a staggering lope and his voice has stopped. Milling about me, people to the door. So long ago the killer’s hand at my throat and underneath my feet, in the dark, as I ran, the creosote ties . . .

  Moving aimless past me from that idiot grass, bumping as they go, voices rising at the door. How curious, still; by straps suspended still, unmoving still beneath the floor with laughter in the mist outside. Where do we take him now? Turning to avoid, avoiding possible nods and her head bent by his shoulder Max. He’s gone, descended from your need and this strangeness I feel, so strange. This strangeness as you go, I go and you’ll remain. I have to, can’t go on like this for I don’t believe and I am. So desperately said and straightening for their eyes: I am not like him oh! Why did he come back for chrissakes, marriage? Jesus to her and he loathed it at O.C.E.! All withdrawing, all: space about me, cold air from them bunching at the door, while formal. Crackell installed, family the waiting group for. What? Shall I do now and. “Surely you . . .” Shit I forgot! “I’m sure you’ll explain, Martin said. You were his room mate? So you’ll know.” Her goddamn hand and panic, startled away from her eyes and voice can I run, can I . . . Squeezing fingers as she leans, she. “Did he really propose the way she says, do you really think he did?” Flustered how, how should I and this is no time! Hand and moist her lips, softly along the teeth; insisting she presses my arm. “Do you think he did?”

  “I really couldn’t.” This woman is unbelievable, what does she? “Miss Smith, I’m not sure.” This woman I won’t be drawn, she cannot. “Really.”

  “Oh but you must.” Knowing smile the gentle, smoothest flesh in folds: “You must be.” Her bloating pause, she knows with steady eyes; she waits I flinch. And turn. “What.” From knowingly, so calmly said, “what about his girl in London?” Darting my eyes away, and frightened Jesus by her touch. With the family there and. Bursting, Christ resentment for what right, she’s. Goddamn animals, she’s forcing me. She’s waiting. So assert, that’s it, you. How does she know and what. For chrissakes else? “I know, oh I know all about her. Yes.” So empty me inside, the stillness for I won’t most assuredly. Don’t have to answer you. “Know I used to see them in the park, when . . .” Bitch, she’s a bitch insisting. “Always the same girl, that’s how I know, it was always the same girl.” What, what is she saying so loud, can they hear. “A real girl too, she was . . .” Felix shrinking, disassociate myself and edging. “Prettier than Susan don’t you.” What, oh is she? Edging from her, desperate for someone, an excuse. “And more ­exciting looking, you know what I mean?” Nodding, I shouldn’t nodding and bobbing here; the family’s shape in the corner of my eye, engulfed by her breathing and her steady eyes. “What’s her name?”

  “Oh!” shit . . .

  “She used to speak to Queenie.” Eyes, she reaches . . . “Oh,” squeezing and.

  “What’s her name, I’d like to know.” She’s caught her breath expectant tongue in the corner of her mouth.

  “She likes animals. I guess.”

  “Oh I could tell, an interesting girl.”

  ‘Ha,” and swallowing. “Hum.”

  “I remember . . .” Standing so close, her body and they’re nearly all gone her breath, she’s. Standing too close, these fingers. Tell me, clutching now more forceful, hardening into tears. Tell me her name but I won’t; I try to turn, break to the door and outside, to the calm and the air but her hand’s on my arm, I strain in this terrible cry: TELL ME HER NAME! Clustering mutter like bees.

  Is he botherinya lady, you just . . .

  Step right up, rightup.

  You’d think he’d be ashamed.

  After all these years.

  Tell me and I’ll . . .

  Look, Look!

  HER NAME HER NAME

  I? For one I admire his beard and I’d certainly.

  You shaddup you!

  OH HAWHAWHAW! HA–HEE–HAW!

  Maybe things will be good like that again some day. Hee-hee-hee-hee-­hee heeeeee you’ve made me look like such a fool, such a fool. “Val.”

  “What?”

  “Her name’s Valerie.” Dead he’s. “Valerie.”

  “Oh. Valerie. But why did he come back?” Because, was he. Afraid, was he afraid, “That’s what I’d like to know.” Was he afraid. Swallowing fear because I’m not the same and I will break free from this. Hung up between the two and he chose, he. What can I do I can teach, he chickened out, he . . . “I mean I always felt.” Intently, “I still feel” and knowing hand at my arm. “She’s a very, well you know, a more. Interesting yes, that’s the.�
�� And with pressure. “Wouldn’t you say?” Nodding, blankly nodding into her I fiddle with my tie, I nod and see me nodding, nod-nod, nod. “A more interesting type, wouldn’t you say?” He was afraid and turned his back in the kitchen. “So why do you think he did it then?”

  “He was afraid.”

  “Oh now!”

  “And turned his back.”

  You’d think he’d be ashamed.

  “Oh,” Felix and I will sleep! He was afraid that’s all. Afraida. Fraid, we’ll sleep in here. I was afraid. They had a fight a terrible. And drawing myself up, a fight and final separation. Come to somewhere she said, or Europe but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t settle down, she said, so there you are, and I agree. I. Words and earnestly agree, I hate my . . . “What of, for heaven’s sake” with her smile. “What do you mean, afraid?” They’ve all, this emptiness around, with Crackell. Turn abruptly, turn, why did he. Did I’m sure he signalled. Here he comes and I have to. Settle down the bastard, flunked me will he let me write perhaps an exam or something surely, oh my gut there isn’t time.

  “There’s beena-hem, a change in plans.” To turn, to trample out the door like a hungry elephant MAKE WAY MAKE WAY and watch me diminish along the road. “Oswald.” Yes oh. “Yes?”

  “Yes?”

  “I said there’s been a change.”

  “A change?”

  “Felix aren’t you going to introduce him Felix to me Felix?”

  “Yes we’ve decided.” Pursing his lips. “We’ve decided to . . .”

  “I’m Frieda . . .”

  “Go out to the graveside, the plot. Oh.” Swelling with cheeks (dear Jesus the grave, there’s more . . .), bloating before her eyes he drifts, a balloon on his toes, drifting he bounces and Christ inflated, he’s soaring and blimping. “How do you do? I’m Doctor Crackell.”

  “Oh doctor!” Oh for chrissakes doctor.

  “Yes,” expectant: “Yes?” Get out, that’s the thing, I must. Get out and away, poor Val he was afraid . . . Such a prick, such a prick but I’ll change I can change and go for the voice; you must live it, says and escape, you must. Have memories of many nights. Of love no two alike to write one line, you must. Change and you can, this despair. Felix too, why did I tell her? Hearing Martin’s voice: hung up between hope and the world. I’ve seen too much and too deep and I can’t go down to Stratford leaving Val because I’ll never be, because . . . Oh Val he did, settle down settle down. What will I do over there I know I can teach . . . I’m not the same but why, do I talk like that? Flushing, I revealed, her control so I told her. Why do I do it? Her mouth, complacent, death.

  Sudden the voice, hah-hah, with biting knot behind my ear: I see nothing I see a frightened boy with skinny arms (the gloves, so big the gloves) and a scarf across his eyes and the whack, the sudden whack and laughter, inciting pressure upon the thuds and panting shrieks I don’t want to play I don’t like this game I waiting in animal breath, a cough. Cavernous tearing sound from the boxcars as I rise, damp from the search to see; they wait to pay, vacant with animal jaws, their mouths attack and grinding chew at meat and candy floss while laughter, the air is full of spittle and damp wads of bread. Impatient they shift (with mustard glistening on the chin) they jostle never get out she will NEVER GET OUT! Spitting laughter, busy-mouthed around me there, they mount and stagger three steps to push inside . . .

  “Yes. His mother wants it that way and so we thought . . .” Conspiratorial leaning hand to my arm and naked. If you play their game, I have to get. “Actually I think she wants to.” Turning for I’ve missed and drawing back, I don’t know. What’s he saying? “To get it over with, you know. Poor thing.” Muttermutter. “So we’re, just the family you understand and. Pallbearers, you. Of course. Final ceremony. Into the ground, it’s frozen. But just the immediate, we’re. Leaving in a few minutes.” Get out, oh boy screw off for Jesus Christ, what’s he talking about for! Yes this panic, mood. I have to. He thought he could stay. “. . . very pleasant, it was and I’m sorry about your dog.”

  “Don’t be, oh doctor, don’t be!”

  Never you will never, never get out; a fucking underworld and you’re dead if you play their rules so why do I? Swaying about the mother there, to the door: teetertottering step by step and he does not see; smiling he smiles and bowing, smiles with Susan’s anxious face, she’s stopping but it’s not for me; turning curiously as still he’s swelling, bouncing lightly on the floor, blimping his. Mother ahead with Susan, vulnerable and dark the queen’s procession. To drifting snow. She beckons and her silent mouth; Lucan, mouthing Lucan. “. . . alive with it, absolutely alive so they sewed her back up.”

  “Doctor Crackell.”

  “There was simply nothing they could do.”

  “Poor soul. Oh dear, the . . .”

  “Doctor Crackell, Susan wants . . .”

  “What’s that,” condescension. “What’s that you say?”

  “Susan wants, she’s . . .” God his soft face, why do I bother? “They’re going.” Vaguely waving, my hand with startled his . . .

  “Goodness, yes, thank.” Sudden shaking. “Thank you it’s been very nice.” Grabbing her hand and flustered, rolling eyes, he’s shaking saying: “You’ll be out, Miss Smith, at the grave then, very nice. To meet you.” Turning muttering as he goes: “Oswald, yes. We’ll see you. There.” Trotting off on absurdly small, his pointed feet and back to her; they’re leaving me this. Helpless but. I’ll, this time. I’ll if she, one word from her I’ll. Felix firm-jawed, cool and killer’s eyes, her prying bloody. Five-legged whatever-the-hell for chrissakes! HE WAS A GOOD BOY towards this light-reflected eye and winking bird HE WAS. Afraid, he was and peeking from his . . . Jesus! Without a nod and bustling after them, her too. They’ve all . . .

  Now climbing alone among the steel (so rough, those girders under my hands and feet) and high in the wind with over there the country, forest: too far for listening and so dark as, tightly pressing, higher from the water’s edge and snaking grass I climb from the noise and higher to the rails, the ties are sweating oil and tar in the sun. I lay in blustering air beyond the trees, in the wind. Screaming primeval wind with chunks of stinging rain and clouds; through crevices, howling the channelled rock as we’re driven back, scrambling back to the leeside calm, with laughter in my lungs and sheltered now. Exhilarated smoking, violence of air while the steep slope falls to the palace calm in the park below. Felix Oswald, rushing slow-motion to the edge in driving rain; so awkward. Stumbling earthbound and clawing to this plateau in the open sky, crawling. Beyond and fierce (oh Martin that’s once!) Felix alone on Arthur’s Seat with shadowy blue, Edinburgh around him and grey below, he’s stretching awkward, imprisoned in mist and thrown by the wind GOT YOU . . . And weaker, he’s weaker and blown and the warning voice and mindburst as wilder he higher in each explosion GOT YOU sudden the hand out of silence! GOT YOU RED my heart oh FUCKEN BASTARD dying, I. Lifted and crashed, pinned my husk against that terrible cough dear God I’m afraid . . .

  Tentatively Oswald and gently again, “Oswald?” Jarring soft voice and the smell of snow on his coat: wet wool’s voices, subdued laughter, what. Have you got, it’s war you know. “Are you coming?” What qualifications we want doctors, his tentative face and. Waiting Crackell’s eyes, for an answer watching . . .

  “Oh.”

  “They’re waiting.” Oh, patpat his solemn voice, his hands. Christ he thinks, that sad. “It’s hard, I know,” his fucking voice and: pause, he thinks . . .

  “No I!” It isn’t him. “Not that, I . . .”

  “Lost a friend, she. Left . . .” Unfamiliar, squeezing fingers, then bravely: “I know how you feel.”

  “No!”

  “What?”

  “I’m not,” to his eyes, more. Naturally and possessed. “I was just thinking I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “Surprised?” He starts away, then sta
nding. “At what, what are you trying to say?” Hardening stance and shifting eyes, watch out . . .

  “That he came back to marry her. You know.” Shrugging, his body. “He left. Edinburgh at Christmas, he came back then you see!” Stop babbling stop! Reaching to him with this private, that life . . . “We climbed Arthur’s Seat in the wind, really a terrific wind.” Demeaning, my voice is strange, reverberating but he doesn’t turn, he keeps on going. “Eighty miles an hour easy,” as trotting after him please don’t, another word . . . Leaping cat-footed upon him, they do not know and grabbing, iron fingers to his throat, you son of a bitch you listen, to me! Steely glare into collapsing his face. You listen to me or I’ll kill you, twisting hands till he gags. I don’t give a good goddamn about you or your lousy course, don’t get me wrong! You can stuff it up your rosy red ass; but you’ll listen to me now!

  Stranglegloop; his folding knees and opaque eyes.

  Somebody’s got to listen!

  He had a choice you see, just like I’ve, maybe even you had once. Quickly quickly for they’re waiting and you’re in for it now, boy you’re sure. He might have made it, but he couldn’t he went back down before the top. Chicken . . . Frantic signs from his face and Felix snarling, really a dangerous man. He came back, that’s what happened. Loose weight on my arms and falling, he’s. Better off dead than here. Pausing, but I’m right; and they’ll put me in jail, I know. Sweat and panic, the tears of death down his nose but I don’t care I’m. Different I don’t care if you fail me, I’m not like him so SCREW YOU FINK BUDDY boy, I’m . . .