A Matter of Love in da Bronx

by Paul Argentini

  --Shhh! Shhhh! Don't be angry. They have a name for his problem...

  --Psychosomatic?

  --Yes. The doctor at the hospital told me after we brought him home from the accident. The doctor was very strong about him wanting to be that way.

  --Why? Did he say why?

  --No. Because the doctor didn't know what I knew. In the wheelchair your father has complete control, over me, over you, over everyone. That's the way he wants it, willing to give up anything and everything to have his vengeance. Without it he was a tyrant. With it...

  --...yes, supremely tyrannical, insufferably overbearing, nauseatingly dominating...

  --That doesn't help. Poor man. What he has caused to our lives must be forgiven. Whatever else he has made your heart to be bigger; he is sicker than the wheelchair expresses. I'm afraid the fault is mine. All mine. But...it's not as if I had a choice. There was no choice for me. That was just the way things worked out. The way they happened. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't do anything about it, nothing. Not a thing. Just know. And watch. And he couldn't even stop himself from doing that. So the accident was really a very lucky thing...

  --What are you talking about?

  --Oh!...It wouldn't help if I talked about it now with your eye all black like that, and it doesn't help me not to tell you. I will. One of these days. I will. There is enough sadness filling this house.

  What a collossal opposite feeling from the one inside me! And what a trip she lays on me! Talk about cryptic! What can cause a man, a human being, to deliberately cut off his own legs just to have control? And why does Ma take the blame? Oh! Sam? Would some terrible thing like that happen to us? I know! What's happening now is terrible enough. We must be together for always and always. I won't be satisfied for just two minutes any more. I must see you. Where? How?

  --Mary, Vito just left. I told him you would not come out to see him. He left a present, a box of chocolates. He felt very awful about last night. He said he wanted to apologize. You could have let him say what he wanted to say. It would cost you nothing.

  --I never want to see him again as long as I live.

  --Mary...

  --No, Ma!

  --Wait! Mary! While your father's asleep in front of the television, come take a walk with me up to the pharmacy.

  --I thought I wasn't to go out...

  --Shhh! Come!

  For Mary, it was a strange sensation to walk out of their house together. Not that they had never done that before, but there was something electric in the air. For all the years she had to answer to her mother as the authority figure, to be praised or punished, it was a reversal now to feel without basis to be a co-conspirator. There just happened to be that sensation between them. Darkness had just taken hold, spring warmth in the air, a subtle smell of beginning things, the sound of baseball talk and ghetto blasters flapping rap music. It was the kind of evening a boy and a girl would savor with a walk in Bronx Park until they found a solitudinous bench, and he would put his legs through to sit facing her so they could hold each other tightly while giving long, wet, warm kisses for hours despite the discomfit he would feel later for his overswollen, laden testicles which would remain pleasureably unrelieved until it became less painful to masturbate. Mary's suspicions about her mother's actions were confirmed when they turned the corner of their street, and her mother weakly suggested that perhaps Mary should wait for her there...in case they ran into Vito.

  I can't believe my mother is asking me to do this! She's sneaking out of the house to keep a rendezvous! The roles are reversed here! I should be out meeting my Sam! I don't care what she says; I'm going to follow her. I've got to know who she's going to see.

  --Mary...Please...Yes?

  Yes. Sure. But could you ever give me the same bit of room?

  Sam. My love. My dearest. Where are you this night? Where are you this moment? Doing what? Speak to me, or I'll die.

  CHAPTER 22

  A PRECIPITOUS BOMBILATION would've been completely ignored by Sam some ninety seconds later when he turned after gazing down the length of Morris Park Avenue in the thickening blackness at some small activity where firemen were cautiously working on a fire that had engulfed an automobile angled sharply into the curb. The excitement offered no magnetism to draw him closer, the thought of a tank of gasoline exploding notwithstanding. He recognized it simply: the same compulsion that drew him to the spot also would not let him leave. He had no idea earlier in the day of his itinerary. From the moment he left Mary at the telephone booth he struck a winged line directly to the park for several reasons: It provided a circumambiance in which he could relax; it was close to the shop; and it was the ideal place to read the letter Mary had just given him. Almost the entire walk to the park he chortled jubilantly causing a catch in his throat making it difficult to release the air in his chest. He smiled broadly to himself. Wow! What a kiss! Now that's okay, but can you believe it? Can you fucking believe it? It's so damn close in that phone booth, and Mary barely pushes up against me, and I get a rip-roaring hard-on! It felt as big as a zucchini! I tried to pull away, I know I was more than a bit embarrassed, until my ass was right up against the side of the booth, and what does Mary do? Mary comes right after it! She hunts it out! It feels like she's trying to push it through my pants, her jeans, and into her! God! Was she soft! Oh! Those lips! What I remember most is they were so...soft, so squishy; and warm, almost hot; then, the sweet, wet taste of her. Lord! If we could only find a place where we could just be alone. No one to bother us, or tell us what to do, or needing something from either one of us. Just Mary and Sam. Sam and Mary. Yeah! Yeah! Then what? As if you don't know. As if she doesn't know. Hey! You stupid shit, if that's all you wanted, you could've had it last night in the room at the bar. Look! If you really love Mary, you can count the hairs around her pussy and not get a hard-on. Yeah, but if we were alone, God! We could just go crazy enjoying each other--just like that couple they found in Brooklyn who locked themselves in their apartment for a month and did a macro-something diet, yoga and fucked all the time. When they got to them they were skinny dead. What a way to chase the blues. Ah! We wouldn't have to go that far, just a lot of nice holding, and hugging and kissing. Yeah. And a lot of excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. To jerk off. What if she asked you to watch you do that? Would you let her? Jerk! How do you think of such stupid things! Suppose you asked to watch her? Now you really are gone, she doesn't do that! Girls don't jerk off. Ask Phyllis, right? And what about that fuck movie with that Jones girl who pumps her pussy like crazy but the bad guy fixes it so she can't come. Look! All of this horny business has got nothing to do with Mary and me. Yeah, a pure, platonic affair like everyone had in grade school, right? Know something? Mr. Smartass, like platonic shits. I tell you something, though, Mary and I end up back at that bar on our next date, and I don't think we're going to stop downstairs for a drink! You dreamer, you. You fucking, wide-eyed, stupid dreamer. You may never see her again, so just sit down and read the letter. That decided, he concentrated on finding the perfect spot, some secluded pastoral setting to use as an altar to worship her every word. What did she say? Mmmmm! Smell that! Perfume. Oh! No! It's powder! What an odor! Makes me think of a warm body, just out of a tub, waterdrops everywhere I want to be.

  Sam, my dearest: You are lost to me forever.

  The words descended like walls of redbricks. As joyous as he was at the salutation, he was inversely flayed with dejection with her next words. They were still a pall when he finished, and so with the second reading. He interrupted the letter to wonder if she had read his, and did she receive his feelings better than he did hers? It was at that moment that the thought came that Mary was reading his letter at that very moment. That changed his aura. He focused on the writing, the hand equal to addressing invitations from the President. He was going through the letter for the fifth, or fifteenth, or fiftieth time when he was interrupted by voices just over the knoll toward the riverbank. Two boys, fourteen perhaps, checking t
heir backtrack, looking about at their place obscure, taking possession of a little clearing just out of the fading sunlight. One unzips his pants, reaches in, pulls out his penis.

  The overwhelming curiosity causes Sam to momentarily forget the letter. He has a clear view, almost a tunnel through the trees and branches, quite camouflaged himself.

  The shorter boy holds back, but he's coaxed to participate when his fly is also unzipped, and the other boy reaches in to pull out his penis, too. But, he doesn't stop there. He begins to pull it back and forth, making it swell to hardness the size of a man's thumb. Now, committed, the younger boy reaches over to play with the other boy's penis, already erect.

  Morally bankrupt eavesdropper, Sam thinks of himself. His instrict is to turn and walk away to let the scenario play out without his burning eyes. But, he is captivated. He is mesmerized by the action he has never witnessed before. Are these normal human actions being done by compulsion just as it is with he watching. He could not unglue himself understanding in his cold assessment that he was not a voyeur. For them there came a pleasure not as it was for him purely and strictly curiosity. How crude and cruel could these two be to and with each other? He would make it one of his life’s recordings.

  There is not enough freedom, the older boy unbuckling his belt, and pulling off his trousers and shorts. He's soon copied by the other. Every now and then, one of them looks about nervously. For some moments, each jerks the other, but they are not content with this for long. The older boy pushes the other to his knees, and like a host, lays his penis on his lips, and then guides it into his mouth. Reluctance indicates it is a brand new experience for the other youngster, but in moments he masters the technique as his head, held between the other boys hands, is yanked back and forth to have the penis ride smoothly in and out, in and out; then, within moments, the older boy thrusts violently deep into the boy who responds with a quick choking sound as spit and sperm spew from his mouth, the thrusts continuing but calmer and slower to diminishing gasps and moans. When he's through, he releases the boy, and milks his organ for the last drop of pearl white. He's smiling at the boy who's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the experience much unlike anything he might've imagined. But, the initiation is not over. The older boy moves on him like a shadow, and has pushed him down onto the moist bed of leaves. Before the younger boy could think of objecting, his limp penis is pulled into his mouth, making long, slow sucking movements, then, taking in sack, testicles and all. He works the now red and swollen organ rapidly, his head bobbing excitedly, sucking it in and coming up on it. The boy's body arced off the ground as the head moved up and down in quicker, shorter strokes. Then, his fingers dug into the ground, and slowly he eased back to the earth, as he was sucked in longer and slower runs as if the older boy was loathe letting him go. Finally, the younger boy half sat up, resting on his elbows, to watch his genetalia get licked, nibbled, and drawn back into the mouth. When the older boy stopped, he looked into the younger boys face with a smirk, then sat back against his heels. His penis was somewhat erect. He reached over for the other boy’s hand, and brought it to his organ. Immediately, the young boy began to jerk it back and forth, back and forth. With the growing sexual excitement, he got to his knees, the younger boy now also playing with the sack. The older boy strained his body, shoving his penis forward hard, as the jerking got faster and faster. Suddenly, he grabbed the hand to stop it. Without letting go of it, he pulled it far to one side, smiling, as he rolled the young boy onto his belly. The young boy looked up and back, not understanding what was expected of him. He found out in a moment. The older boy put spit on his fingers then spread it on his penis. He moved the boy’s legs apart, and got in between. He held himself up on one elbow, the other hand guiding his inflamed penis to the anal opening. His buttocks gyrated slowly urging his partner to relax and accept him; but the urgency overwhelmed him charging hard and deep. The young boy's cry was muffled by a hand clapped over his mouth at the same time a driving determination to achieve orgasm made the boy on top pump wildly. In seconds his body stiffened, arcing rigidly, jamming himself deep with the first spasm. Then, thrusting slower and slower before withdrawing and leaping to his feet. He turned away from his companion to milk his penis of the last drop, turning to look back at him, as he remained face to earth sniffling. He walked back to him, and began urinating on his buttocks and legs, laughing. The younger boy rolled away; jumping to his feet, anger flashing, charging the other boy. He wasn't fast enough. The older boy ducked away, caught him with an arm around his chest pulling his back tight to his chest, then reaching down to grab his penis. The younger boy struggled to get away, but within moments he relaxed as his penis became erect and the pleasurable sensations overtook him. The older boy released him, his hand sliding between his legs to play with his testicles as his continued to jerk him slowly, teasingly for long moments before suddenly beating the stiff, red penis as hard and fast as he could. With the first spurt from the organ it seemed he closed his fist hard around the boy’s sack. As he cried out, the older boy swung him around, and cracked him on the face, knocking him to the ground, the penis still spitting sperm. The older boy put on his shorts and pants, kicked the young boy who was still on the ground sobbing, and walked away. He made it to the top of the knoll, in sight of an empty bench and the path.

  Now the viewer sought absolution and forgiveness and an excuse to rid the acrid, copper taste from his throat. The perpetrator was a rotten shit and needed an evening of the score, one to remember. The short, heavy branch flew through the air striking him just above and behind his ear to send him tumbling crashing back down the knoll.

  No matter what, citizens had a civic responsibility, a moral obligation to keep the world in order, and a price to pay for their pleasures. Besides, no true boy of the Bronx ever called on a bull in blue to take care of a matter best expedited without red tape.

  Sam felt his stomach rumble and heave. The vision transmitted to his eyes was of Luce. He related to what he had just witnessed to the fragility of the aberrant mind. It had to do with the most fragile element of mankind—Man’s mind. It rode a gossamer bridge to insanity, to savagery, to raw animalism. Civilization’s only promise was Man’s eligibility to be a victim, as Luce was, as this boy was, as anyone could be. Even Sam. Even Mary. Never too early to make funeral arrangements.

  That was an excellent rationalization, thought Sam, as he headed out of the park toward the shop gripping Mary's letter tight to his chest over his heart as proudly a color guard the legion's banner. Insignificant it was that no one else understood the meaning. Then, just before he was to leave the park, he concentrated on the minute vibrations coming to his fingertips on the envelope. He read the letter two more times. He knew what he had to do. At first, his thoughts had been dominated with the idea of getting to the shop to be by the phone in case she called. Now, he knew she would not. That message was very clear. --I don't know how I know that, but I do! And, I'm not going to analyze how the feeling comes to me, but I will see Mary before the day is over; I just have to be in the right place at the right time. Does she know it? I don't know. I don't think so. It does give me the afternoon, and I'm not going to the shop. Before, there was never a question because I had to immerse myself in staying busy. Now I have a nicer busyness, I want to get something for Mary. I don't know what. Something. Let's go looking. Where? Eden Farms, that's closest.

  With eager, purposeful strides, he was there in short order, slowing down, ambling along as he checked out the windows. "What to get? What to get? What to get?" ran and re-ran the rhythmic phrase. On his first trip around, he considered then discarded every thing he saw and thought would be appropriate. He would start around again.

  Then! He saw it! In the cheapy discount store! Skewered to the center of dust-laden robin's-egg blue velvet square was a heavy gold heart, the size of a silver dollar. The edge carried a braided design; the chain was long, heavy. --Far this price you want engraving? So! Engraving I'll give you! Th
e owly, bald, bespectacled gnome invoked. Three days absolute! All right! You can't vait so long, far you I have in couple hours! Far two sides you want, too! All right! So look around! Far sure you don't find better! You like? So why don't you take? Pay kesh you don't pay tex. Yah? You good judgment she will appreciate. Do me favor! Don't take now! You come back when you see what is a good price dot. Anyplace else is minimum $25. More, I guarantee. So take it! Take it! ...Fine! Fine! I hold far you far an hour! You be beck!

  Walking out of the store, Sam knew he could've taken it right then and there, but, there was that feeling that made him hesitate, and he did promise himself to go around Eden Farms one more time. If he didn't come up with anything more perfect, he'd get it, unlikely it would be sold in the meantime.

  Then! There it was!...again! The verysame heart! In the classy jewelry store right next to the photographer! In a square velvet box sparkling from the blazing spotlights right in the middle of the window. It was the same--exactly; the same size and heaviness; the same braided design on the edge; the same heavy chain although he couldn't determine its length. The clerk pulled it from the window. It was their last one. Yes, they could engrave. It would take an hour, at extra cost.

  Sam felt the weight of it in his hand. He looked hard at it. Then, up at the clerk; back across the expanse of Eden Farms at the discount store. The price was $25. More than its matching counterpart across the street. So, the old man was right. In Sam's mind there was no question about which of the two hearts he would buy for Mary. He held it up by the chain before him sighting through it to the snobby, thin, balding clerk. A slight smile crossed Sam's face when the clerk put it back in its box, and started to return it to the window.

  Next, he had a chore to do just up the street. Carefully, at the florist's, he printed the name and address: Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln Jackson...