by Ann Quin
Yes in the dark. A banshee wailing. Flies on your face. Flies’ blood on yellow paper. Strips of yellow they stuck to in the kitchen. Curtains of them. Of white hair a mad old lady in her room brushed the days out. Perhaps I’ll end up like her. Well at least that would be a quiet madness. She threw a log on to the fire. It fell to the side. See. Listen. Branches against windows, walls, faces, eyes peering in. Out out. Out all of you. She swept the air around. Wood caught fire in a tunnel. A cave. Sound of a gun going off. She saw apricots falling. No sound. Noise of shells rotating. Seasons of landscapes moved round in frames. England. America. Mexico.
Where are you now? A stretch of beach under white cliffs. Green smoothed edges. A river holding, letting go branches. You were plumper then. Yes. Young, young, intense. And you were… Ah. Full of revolutions, ideals. Freaking out in a more dispersed way. Here’s a photo of you. Get rid of that. College kid, quick tyre changer that’s all nothing else all in the mind, stars didn’t change their course, cars didn’t levitate, you can’t kid me, not now. She scratched a mosquito bite. Drew blood. She wanted not to see that. The blood. In the palm of her hand. But there was no blood. Not a stain on the track. Only flattened weeds. Sound of crickets. A drum in the distance that went on all day. Firecrackers, a Ferris wheel. And bodies moved round a body stretched out. Was there a bottle in the hand, Tequila, Whisky? Something. A slight mark on the right side of the mouth. No the left side. Coffee. A bruise. Jesus I don’t know. A shadow dropping into the others. Let it fall quietly. But there’s always something stirring under leaves. Foxes moving with the light. Edge of afternoon. Evening. Yes with
No. Not that. She moved over the side of the bed. On her belly, legs together. Spread. Over his shoulders. His tongue rotated fast in her. Make me big again. In the saying of it he was there. Demon-riding his body attached to hers. Demons rushed into her. Filling the hours spent waiting. Watching. Nourishing herself. On what? Interpretation misinterpreted. No time. No space for recapitulation. The days. Events. A wheel that never stopped rolling down from the edge. The sides. Front. The back. All parts taken into account. Dismissed. Go on. Unnecessary. Everything is necessary. In the description. It happened. What is happening now? Nothing.
Throw away those dead flowers. Light a candle, some incense. Move about. Move on. Move inward. Let me feel you move inside me. Standing up. Suspended. No sense of gravity. Move move move. I can’t. She clutched her knees, throat, his back, his dreams. Fantasies. Were there any left? Yes undressing her while she climbed the stairs, a style. Tied to a bed and raped. You never would. Wanted to, often thought of it at times you know when I thought that. Do you have fantasies now—are you there?
Some creature bumped against the outside wall. Moist fur in a crack. Let me rest in you. Sleep while in you. Sleep. Ach sleep is for the birds. Listen. The bells. All the bells ringing. Ding dong and pussy’s… Must be Sunday. They’ll be thronging the plaza in their best. Stalls of sizzling meat crawling with flies and buzzards overhead. Waiting. And back home yes still ‘home’ they’ll be having a TV newspaper vegetated day. Walking after their dogs in parks; thin men with thin growls dreaming of muzzling their fat wives. ‘Timber,’ a purple woman shouts ‘come here,’ and there’s a crashing through the trees, behind the trees a strip of steel that is a lake, and beyond a tower of light, a rocket. You sound nostalgic. No—shit—the only thing to do there is to spend it in bed. An orgy. Yes yes. Yes. Orgy of roast beef and Yorkshire pud. Ah! Missed that cup of tea, just the words have a cup of nice tea dear the kettle’s boiling won’t take a minute you’ll feel better. Safe comfortable rituals, the monotony that keeps the fantasies moving. Do you still fantasise about killing your father? Chop him up into little pieces—yes why not I’m playing at sanity anyway. Ah you think you’re mad—never. Neither sane or insane—the thin edge I tread and I want to go over. And end up like me—yes perhaps it would be an experience for you that’s what you want EXPERIENCE in caps period. To live beyond myself. Such a craving. Ashes into ashes. Never marked on the middle of the forehead. Ash Wednesday. Envied those who could. You have the chance now. Sackcloth. The lot. Yes. Haven’t washed for days. When was the last time hands felt water. The sun in a wave. High waves tossed her under. He rode out. Sea at night an express train over rocks. Part of dreams. You weren’t fucking me then could have been anyone. That’s right I was fucking mermaids. Your wife. Wives. All the beautiful women I saw didn’t see. They saw what a bastard you were. All dying to save me save the image. So many. Images. The roles were a drag. What did you want what was wanted—what wanted of me now? Carry on, do what you have to do. Deliver the ashes and then? Make things happen you have the power. Without you? I’m with you. Is it your power, is it your face, eyes, voice without your body. Look those eyes between stems looking in. Always looking in. Seeing too much. Hearing too much. How can I go on? Words with double intentions. Objects with triple signs. Nothing is as simple as it was. Mind-blown. Ghostworm riddled. Listen. What do you hear? Mermaids, drums, soft bodies falling, a train carrying the night across the border.
Tomorrow or in two, three days I will cross that border, the papers are ready. She climbed out of curled back against wall. Groped under the bed. Yes they’re still there. Her fingers covered in dust crawled out. Guard them careful now they might jump out hit you in the face. Cover my body in your ashes. Yes I want you to hurt me so I might feel something. I want to feel my body again it’s a vehicle moving the weight I no longer feel. She threw off her clothes. She passed her hands over the mirror. Then pressed against it. Hair hung down over her face. Just a body moving. Sitting. Standing. Look though it dances yes it can still dance. She swayed back, arms out as if to gather in the room. Look. She puppet-gestured. Bent and snatched up the vase. Ashes scattered, rolled under the bed. Look you can dance too or are you laughing? Cool it. Not this time you can’t stop me now. She leaped on to chairs, table, bed. Ashes rolled at her feet. Suppose I never stop. Dance into death, dancing with it. For it. Listen to the blood humming backwards. Forwards. One, two, three. Are you one or two? Duality divided. I love you. She kissed her reflection. Lips pressed on ice. All over skin changing. Nipples erect, eyes bright. Take that grin off. There wipe it out. Soft smile pout. Oh yeah you were always a good actress. Balls. Turning everything into soap opera. I didn’t have to with you around. She finger signed her eyes. Slanted. Time for a change. You changed me. No—no one changes no one. Maybe I ought to be a kept woman don’t you think it’s about time someone looked after me. Me damn you. Let go. She threw up her arms and curled her feet away from the ashes. From you see. Witch. Motherfucking monster. A log thudded down from the centre of the fire. OK I’m sorry. Kiss my feet, then kneel down, lick my toes. She sank to the floor. Head buried between her knees. Do you remember the eclipse? The slow darkness moving over an orange moon. Nights after the eclipse. The first light passing across skin. Skin felt new then. Layers shed from English winters. Bedsitters, city boxes, subway ovens. Marching feet. Assassinations. A closed off room with all the bells… Those goddamn bells. She shall have rings on her fingers and bells on her…
Wherever she doesn’t go. At least I won’t end up like you no doubt staggering over the railway crossing, shouting out, cursing the world, cursing your mother, that endless dialogue marked by manic flights of fancy. You weren’t there. I heard I knew before it happened. Exercise other body areas as well. Exorcise did you say? ? What? Stop grinning your wife won’t be when I give her those ashes. How do you know they’re not all laughing their fucking heads off right now yeah it’ll be agreed we knew he’d come to a bad end he had to pay the price and so on in their utopian bliss of hygiene and economics. Let’s change the subject. Deep down he had a tender heart, however, and never killed women or children, or tourists out of season, he never scalped his victims; he was too civilised for that, he used to skin them gently and tan their hides. Oh you’re too much. I suppose as usual you think I’m on a Rip Van Winkle kick—you always thought I couldn’t keep up with you
well at first I couldn’t. Didn’t want to. I was dumb, a dumb broad being taken for a ride, a ride that took over. You weren’t dumb for long. Numb. Hypnotised I just wanted to watch, follow.
She followed him into parties. Out. Followed even when she remained behind. Now he will miss me. But he didn’t. Didn’t return. She found him rapping always rapping to someone and if no one then to himself. Or screwing someone’s wife. Even that I got used to after a while. Oh never it’s against your puritanical upbringing. I had to get used to it. Well I never got used to those women so ready so willing to be laid for the sacrifice. Some of them didn’t have anything better to do. Ah! Oh leave me let me sleep tonight I’m cold my feet are so cold. She stretched out in front of the fire. Let me rest. No time for that. Yes. You have a lot to learn. Haven’t I learned enough more than anyone living should know? Excuse me ma’am there’s much more to learn. I can’t go on. Listen—watch—watch now everything watches senses things just as they happen often before they happen. I knew you would die. That was without doubt. Die the way you did alone. I wouldn’t have chosen it otherwise. If only…
If she had gone by instinct that night. All those nights. Seen the signs. What use now? I want to recapitulate, gather in the threads. Leave it for them to do, the fuzz, jerks like that take the notes have them recorded, what do you want to imitate? A history. One man’s history aie. Find the clues. They’re around you, in you, with you. Yes you are. You want to be objective, see how things tie up, the cause and effect all so Freudian, memory psychological shit. Oh go to hell. I’ve been. Just leave me I want to reconstruct. She raised her hands to the fire. Raised her face to his. Facing the rain in an orange grove. The avoidance of it in England, the umbrella life. How can that country hold anything for me now? Squared off fields. Cabbage patches. Clipped hedges. Axe-happy gardeners. Clipped voices. Don’t forget the bluebells. Yes they can call. Cuckoo. Well allow me something out of that country. Safe little island that’s going to sink into the channel any minute with Her Majesty reading out Rule Britannia we shall never be slaves—how does it go? Ask me another. And this country with its rituals, death, the smell of death in earth, I can still smell your body, the sweat on your clothes and… If salt is put on a snail it is annihilated. Did you do that? Yes I can see you as a kid deliberately slowly pouring salt over the poor creature. Curiosity. That carried you through a lot. The plot thickens. I’m tired let me just think. Think you never stop—shoot first think afterwards. Your motto. My life. Your death. Where’s your Private Investigator badge of Solid Bronze for lifetime wear? I’m turning in. Turn over.
Yes I can begin again once I’ve… You’re on the outside looking in. You dragged me in. Yes by the hair and you loved it don’t tell me otherwise. Oh not that violence. He snarled as she lifted her hand. Hands held, head hit, body knocked. Head thrust against the wall. Goddammit I’ll kill you. He shouted. Go ahead kill me then anything anything but… She felt the wall several times as he banged her head against it. The violence at such times amazed her. Wanting that when they made love. Forcing it on him hurt me hurt me. And he tried. Afterward she wanted more. Wanted him to want but he slept. When he wanted she longed to talk. When she talked he insisted on something else. Some happening. Something always had to happen. Sensationalist. Speak for yourself. Learn when to say yes. No. Yes to life. Yes to death. Yes to love as it happens and yes when it doesn’t. I inhabit the hearts of old women, the kind with paper bags, crumbs for the pigeons, or with the froth of beer on over-red lips, crouched in a pub corner whispering to herself, or to a stiff-legged dog. Ah yes a witch with her familiar.
This witch then is getting out of town right away deliver the ashes—where are they? She crawled along, picked up the ashes one by one. There in you go. Best to put a lid on I might crawl out and roll into your dreams. Maybe they aren’t… Yes of course they are whose do you think they might be? Well like sometimes… Drop them and see careful one by one listen who would make that much noise. She held the vase to her head. What in heaven’s name are you chuckling about now? I’m not I’m dancing. Are you stoned again I mean… No just stones rolling them around good for divining you know. Divine my dreams tonight. It’s morning look. I don’t want to. She looked at the play of light in three frames reflected on the wall. Seascapes. Landscapes. Townscapes. Held in memory. Focused. A couple walking. Bending under apple trees. A woman stretched out naked between pillars. Is she dead—myself? No look she turns over and faces the pillars. Pillars of snow rising out of still water. A half open door on a stretch of sand. Fade out.
Move to the window. Look already the beggars are putting on their faces, their bodies for the tourists. You can be cruel you know. Not cruel enough. What is enough I shall never know. Enough is more than less. Enough then I’ll pack some things, leave right away. Don’t forget your shadow. Oh yes that goes first.
She collapsed on the bed. Blankets over her face. You’ll suffocate. I am already. For what? Sleep. The bed a boat she struggled from edge to edge. Light filled half the room, spaces between cracks, leaves, faces. Sound of feet, sandalled, naked feet passed by. The whine of a mosquito. She curled up, hardly able to breathe, bathed in sweat. She emerged from the sea, grass, rocks, rooms. Lovers she hardly knew. Hardly knew herself then. Anonymous. Picked up at a party. Some talked. Others preferred not to. But inevitably that silence in the morning. Exchange of ’phone numbers thrown away later. How many? What matter now we’ve gone over it all before countless times. Numberless. Of course—look damn you go away. No I want to hear more. More of what? Those who entered before me. Entries, exits and that was all. Must have been some who… What about yourself then? You… Look I want to sleep you realise I haven’t for three days. That’s nothing besides you’ll be able to hallucinate, have better trips, the mind gets clogged with sleep, obvious dreams. A need to dream I shall go mad otherwise, perhaps I am already—am I mad? Don’t you want to be? Don’t you ever get tired? No just exhausted by all this shit. If it’s such a drag go somewhere else haunt your wife or some other chick there must be someone who… No curiosity makes me stay. Ah yes I have the remains I suppose as long as I have these with me there’s no possibility… I shall still be with you. Why me why? It’s your choice. Am I choosing then to be mad, I don’t even know what day it is, how long I’ve been here, may as well be in an isolation ward, don’t need a strait jacket my body is that, those beggars will enter one day and I won’t say a word, they’ll pick my bones, yes I can hear them quarrelling over those, throwing my remains around. If you want that to happen… Tell me what can happen what can I make happen now? Go with from moment to moment. And this assignment? Which one? You know very well—you have promised yourself. Yes I suppose so. No time to lose. I’m losing my patience I’m going. Good. She turned over, face buried in the pillow. Foot against foot. Knee against knee. She turned over on her back and stared at the ceiling. The rug swayed slightly. Are you still there? She whispered, then laughed as the rug jerked. You said you were going. I decided to come back. Is it lonely out there wherever is it? Too crowded. Bring someone in then let’s have a party, turn on. Days being turned on, days into nights, no longer knowing the separation of dark from light. You have gone haven’t you? She shouted out. Who is it here who’s taken your place tell me who are you? Keep cool I’m here all right. Prove it. Always proof needed! Give me a sign, prove it here, prove it now. She looked round the room. Things picked up from other places. Areas reminded of. So many useless things. Countless shells. Numberless feathers. Beads, drawings, records, books. I shall leave them all behind and start a new life, without belongings, nothing familiar, collect only people’s thoughts. What an ambition! That’s what you wanted. Do you really think you can inhabit me? I am inhabited. Then I shall leave. She made a sign and laughed. Ah so you still want to inhabit me you wanted to while you lived—are you there—gone—good then I can dream. Dream back. Into. Forward. Scenes not comprehended at the time. Can they be comprehended now? How can I be sure what I conjure up won’t be m
isinterpreted? He’s really gone, no answer, no mocking retort. Peace. Oh God. No, steady, keep cool, yes that’s it loosen the back of the neck. Eyes closed. See further than what’s in front of your nose. Hear with the eyes, see with the ears. Listen
Time back. Above oceans. Out of reach. In touch with glass, clouds, islands of vapour. The thought of death occurred as usual when in the air, not fear, but a wallowing in the thought of plummeting like a bird through space. Body accelerating at 32 feet per second, falling at approximately 120 miles per hour. The plane landed safely between wing shadows.
City at noon, hot, crowded. Steel and concrete removed the light. Columns of darkness she stepped out of into a darker place. A corridor. A smaller corridor. A bed, washbasin, cold water, wardrobe. Clanging of hangers bent from many hands, many shapes. She locked the door. Could not open the window, thick with dust. Thick with the noise from traffic. She lay on the bed, in her coat, on wheels and roots of trees. She woke up hot, exhausted, hungry. She ordered something, anything, reminder of an English breakfast. Someone in uniform entered, and though they spoke the same language, she knew she was a foreigner, and so did he taking the dollars out of her shaking hand, leaving a smell of soap and burnt toast. Waves of traffic through the blinds. Opposite were gaps of light. Arrows. Disks revolving. Static. There was no sky.