I told him the whole story from the start. I told him about the day Uncle Mickey spilled the beans, and everything that had happened here in New York and that day on Staten Island. I brought him completely up to date. It was a tremendous relief to be telling someone. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to do that.
At the end of the story, Peter said, “One more question, Witch. Why didn’t you think to mention this little detail?”
“I guess I didn’t realize, you know, fully, just how important it was. I know that sounds awfully strange, doesn’t it?”
“Well, it might be worth thinking about a little. Don’t you suppose?”
“Oh, I see! You think I was repressing it, or something like that?”
“It’s just vaguely possible.”
“But why would I do that? I’m not afraid of incest, am I?”
“You might be, mightn’t you?”
“Wow, that just seems so tiresome and old-fashioned. After all, what is incest? It’s just a word! I mean, the important thing is that he’s a man and I’m a woman, and we want each other.”
“Is it really that simple?”
“I guess you don’t think so, do you?”
“No. And neither do you. Don’t forget, you’re the girl who was screaming in her sleep just now.”
“Yes, that’s true. But I can’t remember screaming.”
“Nevertheless you did. And when I asked you what it was all about, you knew. You said, ‘It’s about Hank.’ Isn’t that what you said?”
“Well, I knew the dream was about him. He was making love to me.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was beautiful. Fantastically spiritual. I could feel his soul coming into me. The only bummer about it was after. It was like I didn’t exist any more, and I knew that was why —because we’d made love.”
“How did you feel about not existing any more?”
“I didn’t like it at all. I knew I’d been terribly foolish, and it made me sort of panic.”
“That must be where the scream came from.”
“I guess.”
The tea was wonderful. I drained the mug and felt the heat go through me like some soothing medicine. And while I was pouring more, I suddenly knew what he’d been driving at. “Oh! I know what you’re telling me! You think my dream is warning me not to have an affair with Hank. Is that it?”
“It’s your dream. Your soul produced it. What do you think it’s telling you?”
“I can see it’s some kind of warning. But does it have to be connected with the fact that he happens to be my father? Couldn’t it be something else?”
“Maybe it’s something else, and maybe it isn’t. Let’s leave the dream for a while.”
Peter started fooling with the incense. He drew me into a discussion of the relative merits of sandalwood and frankincense, and when he had me really sucked in, he sprang a trap on me. Out of the clear, utter blue he said, “Why didn’t you tell Hank you’re his daughter?”
I felt caught! And it was an awful feeling. But at least I didn’t start babbling and lying. I tried to be really truthful.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “At first it was because I wanted to observe him like a stranger. I thought, If he knows he’ll start acting some part instead of being himself. Then when I got to know him better, I just—didn’t tell him. I don’t know why. I’ve wondered about it though.”
“I’ll bet you’ve wondered about it. And what did you come up with?”
“I didn’t come up with anything. I just went around depressed for about three weeks, and I couldn’t think straight. At that point I still thought I was hung up on him because he was my father—but it wasn’t romantic. I didn’t know there was anything romantic about it until last night.”
“And he told you last night. Right? And how did it make you feel?”
“I guess I was sort of shocked. For a second. But no more than that, because it was, well, it was really very groovy. I felt—like a woman in love. That’s all. I was sorry I didn’t dig his character more, but that seemed like a pretty minor consideration. And Peter, honestly, I didn’t have any big reaction about the incest thing at all. I really didn’t.”
“Maybe you didn’t. And maybe that’s just fine, too. But I can tell you this, it’s awfully goddamned unusual to be that liberated from a taboo as strong as the one against incest. I don’t think there’s a deeper one in the whole human lexicon. You kids! You never cease to make my eyeballs pop.”
“Do you think we should feel all those taboos?”
“No, I don’t. Not at all. But if you do feel them, then they still have some value for you. And I don’t think taboos should be broken just for the sake of breaking them! They should only be broken when they have no value for you any more.”
“What value could a taboo possibly have?”
“What value? They’re part of your soul, that’s what value!”
“The soul has taboos?”
“Of course! Where else would they reside? Did you think a taboo was just something society imposed on us because it wanted us to have hangups? We are society. We make the taboos. And when they get broken, we’re the ones who break them. And if enough of them get broken by enough individuals just like you, well then, what you’ve got is a new society, a new ethos. And for all I know that’s precisely what you kids are busy carving for us. That’s why I’m stymied. I’ve still got taboos coming out of my ears, and I’ve got to be awfully sure I’m not pushing them off onto others, especially you young people.”
“What taboos have you got? I thought you were just fabulously free!”
“Obviously I’m not. When you told me who Hank was, I just about went through the ceiling.”
“Right. But I understand that. After all, you’re older! I don’t mean you’re old. But you were born in the dark ages. And it is all different now. Isn’t it?”
“It’s getting different awfully goddam fast, I’d say.”
“Then you don’t actually know of any reason, do you, why a woman shouldn’t have an affair with her father? Provided she’s on the pill—because naturally you wouldn’t want children to be born.”
“No, you would not want to conceive your father’s child. Jesus, I’m glad that taboo’s still operating.”
“Right, but there aren’t any other reasons, are there?”
“I can think of one offhand, can’t you?”
I thought hard for a minute, but nothing ever happens when I think hard, so I said, “No, what?”
“You don’t seem to be at all happy about it. Hadn’t you noticed that?”
At about 8:30 the next morning, while I was in the kitchen finishing my coffee, Roy came in wearing his World War I Army coat. His face was all splotchy and his nose was running. He looked as if he’d been out walking in the cold. I asked him what he was doing up so early. He came over to the sink where I was rinsing out my cup and put his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head.
“I haven’t been to bed,” he said.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, but we’ve got to talk. Have you got time now?”
“Not really, but what is it?”
“I’ll walk you to the subway.”
Then, instead of letting go, he hugged me. “Witch, I’ve got a heavy decision to make.”
“Join the club.”
“You, too?”
“Me, too. But what’s yours.”
“You first.”
I told him mine was too heavy to just blurt out like that.
“Really? What is it?”
I dried my hands and put them on his arms. Then I took a deep breath and said, “I’m thinking of having an affair with my father.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Very heavy. Very heavy.”
“Do you have any spontaneous reaction to the idea?”
“It just seems really radical is all.”
“You don’t think I should?�
��
“I didn’t say that.”
“Let’s talk on the way to the subway. I feel this absolutely urgent need to go to work today. Stability or something.”
“What about Sally? Is she ready?”
“She’s not working today. The moon’s in Virgo.”
“Let’s go then.”
We talked all the way down the stairs.
“What’s your thing about?” I said.
“Splitting.”
“What do you mean? To where?”
“Toronto.”
“My God, that’s Canada!”
“That’s the point. Joshua’s on the run, just like me. The whole Boulder family is going with him. They think I ought to come, too. Joshua says being underground really sucks. He’s had a year of it. He split from the Marines in ‘68.”
“You mean that beautiful man was actually in the Marines?”
“Yeah, and started out really gung-ho, too. Then one day he found himself running up and down a California mountain swinging a bayonet in 110-degree heat, hollering kill kill, and it freaked him out. He suddenly saw, you know? Anyway, he split.”
“And now he’s going to Canada?”
“He has to. They’re on his ass. And you know why? His brother told them where he was. His own blood brother. Are you ready?”
“Fantastic.”
“Weird. So anyway, they’ve been running all over the country in their bus saying good-bye. And when they’re done, they head for the border.”
“How soon will that be?”
“Maybe this weekend. They’ve got one more good-bye number to do in Baltimore. Lu’s family. They figure it’ll take a few days.”
We were halfway to Broadway and I hadn’t even realized we were outdoors yet.
“And you’re going with them?”
“No, I’m just trying to decide. Would you come with us, Witch?”
“Oh, wow!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want the world to stop,” I said. “But it could slow down a little. My brains are withering.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t go to work today.”
“I’ve got to.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m trying to prove to the world that we take baths and are disciplined. Is that silly?”
“Only if it gets tense.”
“It’s getting tense. Oh, Roy, what’ll I do?”
“Come to Canada.”
“No, I mean about work.”
“Fuck work.”
“You’re right.” There was a coffee place across from the subway station. I said, “Let’s go over there, I’ll phone.”
“Tell them it’s your monthly.”
“That’s too gross. I’ll tell the truth.”
“Which truth? Canada, or your father?”
“Cool it, will you? You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. Laugh instead.”
“It is funny, isn’t it? Look at us! Little John McFadden, and little Gloria Random. Remember when we were small, how we used to dream about being in the thick of it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it thick enough yet?”
“It can get thicker.”
“You’re right.”
“I know.”
Then I said, “John, I’m going to say something really awful.”
“You called me John.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.”
“All right, Roy. Roy, I’m going to say something pukingly female, only you’ve got to promise not to listen or I won’t say it.”
“I promise.”
“If you go to Canada without me, I’ll die.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I knew I could count on you. What are we standing here for?”
We went across the street to this big brown Formica Fluorescent Kwik-Lunch horror. Roy ordered coffee while I telephoned Mrs. Oggins at Capricorn Capers. She said it didn’t matter whether I worked or not, there was nothing to do anyway. When I got back to the booth, Roy was halfway through a French cruller. That ought to be good for about six good fat pimples, I thought. But instead of saying anything about it, I ordered one myself. Thoroughly dunked, they’re so terrific you tend to forget little details like the world’s coming to an end.
Roy said, “You know, I just now got the full unadulterated blast of what you said before.”
“What did I say?”
“About your father.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. My head’s still going twaaannng! You really dig him, huh?”
I nodded.
“I can see why.”
“You can?”
“Sure. I dug him, too.”
“Truly?”
“He could make me forget all about Steve McQueen.”
“You really think he’s that attractive?”
“I’m not sure how much I dig his head though.”
“He’s far from hopeless,” I said. “Last night on the roof he talked about getting into some hash with Peter.”
“Really? That’s far out.”
“His head is capable of change. Don’t you think his head is capable of change?”
“Why not?”
“Okay, so what shall I do, Roy? Tell me.”
“How can I?”
“Think about it. Say he was your father. Would you?”
“My head’s going twaaaaanng all over again.”
“Twaanng yes or twaanng no?”
“It means twaanng my mind is blown. I’m thinking about being in bed with Hank. And I dig it.”
“Then you would!”
“Um, we’re assuming no hangups, right? On either side? I mean, we both want to?”
“No hangups. Except for the bare fact that he’s your father. Which in itself can’t be a hangup, can it?”
“Not unless it bugs you.”
“Say it didn’t.”
“Well then, I don’t see what the problem is. Except that if you get into a big thing with him, you probably won’t come to Canada with us. And that’s a drag.”
Later in the morning I went with Doris to the launderette and told her the whole story.
“I wouldn’t go through with it,” she said, “but then, I’m not you.”
“Why wouldn’t you though? Can you tell me why?”
“Easily. I couldn’t handle it. I’m not that free and I know it.”
“But if you were that free?”
“I’m not, sweetheart, so how can I know? I was born in 1923. Do you know what the world was like when I was growing up?”
“I sort of know. But tell me.”
“Looking back on it now, it seems like a fairytale. Everything was so simple. Not easy, mind you, far from it. But simple it was. You knew what was right and what was wrong. Or you thought you did. And that’s why it wasn’t easy. You were always wanting to do the wrong things, and whether you did them or not you felt guilty just the same. Frankly, I don’t know how any of us got through it.”
“What were some of the wrong things you wanted to do?”
“Sleep with boys.”
“Did you do it?”
“At your age? Once. And I put us both through such hell as you wouldn’t believe! He was sweet, too, and I’m sure he loved me, absolutely certain of it. But that didn’t cut any ice. He still wanted something bad. And when I gave in—get that phrase?—that’s what we called it, we called it giving in! Oh, God, let’s not talk about it any more. No, I don’t mean that, of course we’ll talk about it. But I don’t see how I can be much help to you.”
The last rinse cycle was over, so we dumped everything into the dryer and sat down again.
“Witch,” Doris said, “I just thought up some wisdom for you. Are you ready?”
“Let me guess. May I?”
“Sure.”
“Whatever I do, it should make me feel good about being me. Is tha
t it?”
She nodded. “Because there aren’t any authorities any more, darling. Just the one, the one we carry inside.”
“What if it gives us the wrong advice?”
“It won’t.”
I took a bath and washed my hair, and while I was drying it and thinking about what dress to wear—I felt it should definitely be a dress, not slacks—Sally came in to go to the john. When I offered to leave, she said, “You don’t have to, it’s only sugar water.”
I said, “I knocked on your door a while ago because I wanted to discuss something urgent with you. But it’s not urgent any more.”
“Well, if it’s not urgent, we won’t have to meditate first. What is it?”
“I want to have an affair with my father, and I wondered what your opinion would be.”
“I thought so!”
“You knew?”
“No, just a hunch. Witch, you’ve got the prettiest toes.”
“Do I? Thank you.”
“Absolutely. Your entire foot, in fact. Um, why are you asking me?”
“About my father? Because I respect your head. You’re the highest chick I ever met.”
“Oh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“You see what happened? Tears squirted out of my eyes the second you said that. Thank you, my adorable Witch, what a lovely thing to hear about oneself. But if I’m beautiful, it’s just a reflection of you—because you’re doing the seeing. Now I’m going to give you a present.”
She ran down the hall and came back a few seconds later carrying a leather thong strung with turquoise donkey beads, and placed them around my neck. I looked in the mirror and praised the beads and thanked her.
“You really like them, don’t you?” she said.
“Just look. They make my eyes go zow!”
She looked at me in the mirror. “Yes! They do!” Then I looked at her image and she was smiling at me. “Oh, Witch,” she said, “I can’t imagine you ever doing anything that wasn’t beautiful. That’s just an impossibility. You know that, don’t you?”
“I think I know it now,” I said. “Because I’ve made up my mind, and I’m very happy.”
“You’ve made up your mind?”
“Mm-hm. But now I’ve got to decide what to wear, because I’m getting on the two-o’clock ferry.”
Season of the Witch Page 27