DORIS: Tell me this, how do you feel about Communism? Do you really think that’d be a solution?
ROY: It’s hard to know, because there aren’t any countries that have it yet. Take Castro. Some people think he’s fabulous, but I don’t. He’s getting rid of money, which is just great, but he’s also putting all the gay guys in concentration camps.
DORIS: Don’t you suppose there might be a pretty interesting clue there? Couldn’t it be that Communism just isn’t that groovy?
(Doris looked at Hank.)
HANK: I don’t speak. The boy speaks.
ROY: I don’t know if it could be groovy or not. But I’ll tell you what drives me crazy. Nobody seems to be able to think up any alternatives to capitalism except Communism. It’s true, capitalism is falling on its ass all over the place, but if you say so out loud, right away you’re a Communist. It freaks me out.
DORIS: Well, aren’t there other alternatives? Does it have to be either/or?
ROY: I just don’t know. All I know is you can’t go on forever having a country where everybody’s robbing everybody else. And it’s getting worse all the time. I don’t mean just burglars and rip-off artists either. And it’s not just the utility companies and big corporations. It’s plumbers and doctors and lawyers and landlords and you name it. If you ask me, capitalism does that to people. It makes everybody freak out over property and money, like there wasn’t anything else worth having in your life. For instance, work isn’t groovy for hardly anybody, and not only that, it doesn’t even pay the rent. You got to be in on some kind of a hustle or you don’t make it. Guys know it, too. They look around and they see how it works, and if they can’t hack it, they go on smack and then they become burglars or dealers or something like that. What else is there? If they want to be a carpenter or an electrician, say, or something real, they can’t get in the goddam unions. I’ll bet some of them wouldn’t even mind running a fucking elevator, only they didn’t graduate from some stupid college. I mean the whole thing has gotten too weird, you know? And what it amounts to, it seems to me, is if you’ve got a country where everybody’s looking out for himself, then in the end everybody gets fucked. And that’s where it’s at.
(At this point, I got into it myself. I hadn’t expected to either. It just happened.)
WITCH: Didn’t you use to believe everybody’d end up getting turned on—and that would change the system?
ROY: That was before I came to New York. Now it just looks to me like everything’s too rotten. Being underground really stinks, Witch. The only thing good about it is Canal Street. But every second away from here is a hassle. I can’t get a job, I can’t get a driver’s license, I can’t get a library card. I can’t even tell people my real name. I don’t like it. And I’m not gonna live my whole life like this either, hiding out just because I’m not a killer. I won’t cooperate with this bullshit by running away from it forever. I’m nineteen now and I haven’t got my shit together yet, but when I do—and it won’t be long either—anyway, when I do get my head straight and the time is right, I’m putting in an appearance above ground. I am. I’m gonna say, Hey, this is John McFadden. Not Roy either, Witch. That’s a name for hiding behind, and I dig it, but I won’t always dig it, because I won’t always dig hiding. What I’ll really dig someday is standing up to all this shit.
WITCH: You know what you sound like?
ROY: What?
WITCH: You sound like a, well, a person that’s in favor of —violent revolution! Are you?
ROY: Like I said, I haven’t got it all together in my head. I’m reading Cleaver and Malcolm and Che and I’m talking to guys, and I don’t know where I’m at yet. But Cleaver says if somebody’s holding you down with their boot heels buried in your neck, there comes a time when you got to say, “Let up, motherfucker!” And you got to mean it. And you got to let them know you mean it. Otherwise the crap goes on forever.
There was silence for a while. Then all at once everyone seemed to realize it had turned cold. Roy put his hands into his pockets. Hank turned up the lapels on his corduroy jacket and pulled them close to his neck. Doris put her hands into her sleeves, using her sweater like a muff. Then she said, “I’m getting cold. Have you all noticed how cold it’s getting?”
Roy said, “Yeah, you can see your breath even.”
Peter opened his arms. “Let’s make a huddle.”
Doris moved into his right arm, and Roy moved into his left. Then Doris and Roy held out their arms for Hank and me. I moved in next to Doris, and that left Hank all alone and puzzled, looking at us as if we were Martians.
I said, “Come on, Hank?”
“What is this?” he said.
“It’s cold. We’re making a huddle.”
“A huddle?”
He shrugged, and then he joined us, standing between Roy and me. For a while, in silence, we all stood in a circle there on the roof, with our arms around each other’s shoulders.
Peter said, “I’ve got my eyes closed. Has everybody else?”
Doris said, “Mm-hm!” and Roy said, “Yeah,” and I said, “Me, too.”
Hank didn’t say anything, so I took a look. His eyes were closed, too—tightly closed. When I saw that, I started feeling good about everything. I wanted to say so out loud, because I always want to put everything in words, but I knew it wasn’t necessary. The current running through us was so strong you’d have to have been a corpse not to feel it. It was probably love. Whatever it was, it was good. And nothing else seemed to have any importance at all. Then gradually I felt the arms around me had begun gently to squeeze. Each of us took a little step forward and inclined our heads until they were touching. For a moment after we’d moved, I was aware of each of us again, Hank as Hank, Roy as Roy, Doris as Doris, Peter as Peter. I looked at our feet for a few seconds, the flower they made, each foot a petal, and I thought how extraordinary we all were to be together in such a perfect way, and when I closed my eyes again, I felt we were all one, just one eternal creature.
When the circle broke, everyone was smiling. Except Hank. I felt that he’d been moved, maybe even deeply, but his mind was still acting up. His face looked terribly puzzled and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his eyes.
Doris and Roy and I started toward the stairwell, but Peter and Hank seemed to be doing some kind of a waltz with their minds. They hung back a little as if there were still more to be said. Peter pointed out the lights on the Jersey shore, said they always reminded him of a necklace. But I don’t think that’s where his head was. He was just chattering.
Then Hank said, “You have a high view of mankind. I don’t share that. However, maybe if I take a little of your hashish . . . ” He laughed and spread his hands as if to say, Then maybe I go crazy, too.
“Well, actually,” said Peter, “a little hash might help. Would you like a toke?”
For a brief moment, Hank seemed to be tempted. Then he said, “I got to catch the ferry.”
“There’s always an extra bed here,” Peter said.
“No, thank you. Another time. It was very enjoyable. I like to come back.”
“I hope you will.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why you hope I come back? For what?”
“I don’t know. Talk some more. Who knows?”
Hank was in a peculiar mood. In a way he seemed to be elated. But he was confused and troubled, too.
Down below, on the sidewalk across the street, an old man appeared from around the corner. He was a scroungy-looking old thing, and he was having a hard time making progress. I couldn’t tell if he was lame or drunk. Maybe both. Hank and Peter watched him for a few seconds. Then Hank said, “You see? That’s man! That’s mankind. There he is! Look!”
Peter nodded. “Doesn’t look like much, does he?”
They kept studying the man’s form as it moved haltingly down the street. Then he stopped, leaned against a wall, and slid slowly down to the sidewalk, all done in.
“Rest in peace, old man,” Peter said. Then he said, “A man alone isn’t much. In twos, he may improve somewhat.”
“But not necessarily,” Hank said.
“No, not necessarily. And in groups? Well, it’s still touch and go, isn’t it? And cities and towns aren’t much either, are they?”
“One little earthquake,” Hank said. “One little bomb—and good-bye.”
“And nations, too. It’s the same thing,” Peter said. “They come and they go.”
“Right!”
“But mankind!” Peter grabbed Hank’s shoulder. “I swear to you, because I know this, I really do—you put all men together, Hank, and what you’ve got is God himself! And when we come to know that—really know it—we’ll begin to witness something on this planet. When we get ourselves together, we’ll bestow such blessings all around that every measly little motherfucker among us will become the great god, Man! Overnight!
“Talks a lot of foolishness,” Hank said to me later, in the doorway downstairs, “but he’s okay.”
Then he looked at me. “Well! I go,” he said. But he didn’t move. He just kept looking at me. I said good night, but he didn’t say anything. And he still didn’t leave.
It was windy in the street. He pulled his coat collar up around his neck, and kept on looking at me. Then he said, “You!”
“What about me?”
He shook his head. “Smart girl, huh? Know everything about life. That Hank Gliss, you know all about him, too, huh? Angry old sonofabitch square, that’s what you think.” I started to protest, but he said, “Shut up,” and took hold of my shoulders. “I know,” he said. “I know. I know what I am. And I know something else, too.” The tighter he held me the weaker I felt. I couldn’t have spoken if I’d wanted to. I was in a daze, frightened, hypnotized. “You want to sleep with me,” he said. “You want me to make love to you.” He nodded. “Yes, I feel it from you. It’s there. I know it is.” He pulled me closer to him, but still not quite against his body. All I could feel was his closeness, his hands on my arms, his breath in my face, stale and manly and exciting. “I don’t understand women,” he said, “but some things I understand. I understand some things about women very well.” Then for a moment, he seemed to be considering what might happen next. I could see the act of love taking place in his eyes. Suddenly his jaw muscles tightened and through clenched teeth he said, “But I can wait.”
And then he left.
I leaned back against the doorway, my heart pounding, feeling such a dizzy, weak looseness in the pit of my stomach my legs almost buckled under me. I wanted to step out onto the sidewalk and watch him moving up the street. But I couldn’t stir myself. My will wasn’t there. I wanted to run after him and say, Yes, yes, it’s true, everything you said is true. Take me with you. Take me home. Take me. But my body was locked. So I just leaned against the doorway, still aware of the pressure of his hands on my arms. I hadn’t gone with him, but I was his, and I knew it. The memory of him held me as firmly as his arms had. I’d never really wanted a man before, not really, not ever like this, not ever so completely. And it was such a relief to know at last, in my body and in my mind, what my soul had been trying to say to me for weeks. I stood there for a century or two, maybe five full minutes, smiling to myself, feeling warm and weak and sensationally happy. I kept saying to myself, Something’s happening to you, Gloria. Something’s happening to you. You have a lover, you have a lover, you have a lover . . .
Standing there in the doorway, dreaming myself into his arms over and over again, Hank began to seem like a dream to me. I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. My mind had worn out the memory of him. So I stepped out into the street and looked around. Of course he was gone now, probably on the subway, or on the platform, waiting, thinking of me. I was sure of that.
The fact that the man was my father didn’t seem too interesting to me. It was just a little side issue at that point, a minor inconvenience, no more of a problem, say, than if he’d been married or couldn’t speak English or something. It would take some thinking about, some handling perhaps, but it wasn’t going to stop anything beautiful from happening. Nothing would. I was sure of that.
So I went upstairs to my alcove and lay on my bed with my eyes closed. For the first night in weeks I wasn’t thinking of Will or Delano or Archie or Edward. And I wasn’t even thinking of Hank Gliss, not really. I was thinking of my lover, and I felt him there with me. He hovered over me, weightless, but with the most tremendous radiance. He said—but not with his voice, and I heard not with my ears—Gloria, I want you. And I said, I’m yours. And then he lowered himself over me until he was so close his radiance became electrical and shocking, and millions of tiny lights exploded all through me and through the entire house, and Gloria wasn’t there any more. She’d stopped existing. The union with her lover had caused her to dissolve entirely.
Doris and Peter were at my side, holding me, and I didn’t know why. It was the middle of the night and the house was quiet.
I didn’t realize I’d been screaming and crying out until Doris asked me to remember what had caused it. I said I’d been having a bad dream, but that was some sort of a childish lie. It hadn’t been a bad one at all. Had it? And so learning that I’d screamed confused me completely. Peter asked me if I’d like to talk about it and I said I would. So we went up to the attic and arranged ourselves on the Persian carpet. At some point, Doris brought a pot of tea and some mugs and then left us alone again.
Peter took a little chip of hash and put it in his pipe. I didn’t question whether or not I should have it, because he handed it to me like a doctor or a priest—the hash was clearly a part of his ministration.
“It’s all about Hank Gliss,” I said.
Peter nodded. “You’re in love with him, huh?”
“Yes.”
“It’s got you pretty upset, hasn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“You’re not sure?”
“No.”
“Are there problems?”
“I suppose there are.”
“You feel like getting into it?”
“I guess I’d better. But I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know what it is that’s bugging me about it. I know he’s the kind of person I could get really hung up with. He’s such a perfect Virgo man, virile and yet super-vulnerable. But, Peter, I’m just—well, I’m afraid!”
“Why shouldn’t you be? You say it’s your first really powerhouse attraction. That can be pretty scary.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I felt we were getting off the track or something. Then Peter said, “Just what is it you’re afraid of?”
“I think it’s a certain kind of involvement that scares me. I just don’t want to get that hung up over anyone. Even though part of me wants to terribly. I feel like such a fool. I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not babbling. You’re talking. Quit putting yourself down. You’re a splendid chick.”
“Am I really, Peter?”
“You sure are. If I could have my choice of any daughter in the world, there’s none I’d rather have.”
“Honest?”
“Honest.”
“Doesn’t it worry you that I fall in love with madmen? My God, Hank Gliss! Look at him! You saw him, Peter! Negative, bitter, uptight about everything. He’d probably make me miserable. And yet, I want him more than . . . ” I couldn’t think of anything or anyone I wanted even almost that much, so I had to leave the thought unfinished.
Peter said, “He wants you, too.”
“I know.”
“What makes you think it’d have to be a deep involvement?”
“Well, I guess it’s because he’s so—in need. I’ve got this mother thing going in me. I know I’d want to take care of him. He seems so sad and lonesome and helpless. I couldn’t just sleep with him and leave him. I know he’d never let go of me.”
Neither of us spoke for quite a while. Then I said, “Peter
, why do I have to go falling for someone like Hank?”
“Oh, I can’t guess about things like that, Witch. You’ll have to help me.”
“Okay, how do I help?”
“We’ll just keep talking and see what we find out. We might as well start with the obvious. I suppose you’ve considered the fact that Hank’s just about the age your father would be, haven’t you?”
I nodded.
“Well then, it might be fairly simple. You’ve probably had some romantic feelings about your own father—and you’ve transferred them to Hank.”
I shook my head. “No. No, it can’t be that.”
“Now don’t go rejecting the idea entirely. Give it some time. It might seem unlikely, and possibly even a little shocking to you, but I promise you it’s the most common thing in the world. Millions of women in fact end up marrying a carbon copy of the old man. They may kid themselves because the guy is young and they don’t notice the similarity. But it’s there. And they just live their lives, continuing the romance with Papa, and don’t even know what’s happening. But what they’ve married is a papa substitute.”
“I’m absolutely certain that doesn’t fit me, though.”
“If you’re sure, okay. But how can you be?”
“Because there’s something I didn’t tell you about Hank. And now I’m sort of ashamed of myself for not having mentioned it earlier. Actually, I guess it’s sort of important.”
My mouth was suddenly as dry as cotton. I took a sip of tea. Then I said, “Peter, he is my father.”
“What do you mean, he is?”
“I mean Hank is my father! He really is!”
“Now, Witch, don’t talk in metaphors. Give it to me straight. What are you saying?”
“Hank Gliss is my father. His real name is Glyczwycz. He was my mother’s lover. She got pregnant, and I’m it. I’m his daughter.”
Peter was flabbergasted. It took him at least a full minute to get the bare fact set in his head. He waved his hands, he paced the room, he hit the side of his head a number of times with the heel of his hand, all the while shooting questions at me.
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