The Royal Family

by William T. Vollmann

  Justin felt grand.

  But then they were hauling the unconscious drunk into a stretcher beside him, at which he became indignant and cried: This is my ambulance!

  The crowd laughed: Heh, heh, heh!

  | 361 |

  Tyler was in the Uptown Bar on that same rainy Friday night when a wordless girl laid a white rose on his table and swung out through the doorway, gone now in the yellow dripping light, so after a long time he finished his beer and walked the block to Sixteenth where another girl stood; as wordlessly as the first, he offered her the flower, and she said in tones of almost scalding ferocity: Get away from me, bitch! —He said: I’m not a bitch and neither are you. —Fuck you, said the girl. Stop following me. —I’m not following you. I’m walking back to the Uptown, which means you’re following me. —You fuckin’ longhair! Who do you think I am? —I think you’re beautiful, darling. —Fuck you, the girl said. —His toes were wet in his shoes.

  Feeling depressed and humiliated, and defiantly revelling in these sensations because they signified the Mark by which he now knew himself, he drove slowly up Van Ness, engaged his clicking right turn signal, then swung into the Tenderloin’s darkness where on the groundlevel storeys of squat brickwork skyscrapers the delis, corner markets, bars and pornographic bookstores smoldered in waves of unsettled light, and he glimpsed Strawberry running between cars, bent forward with her arms folded at her breasts; she had just heard about the tall man’s accident, about which Tyler did not yet know, and then he saw a parking spot in front of the glaring portico tricked out with plastic letters spelling VIDEO and 3 FILMS 3 HOURS XXX at which moment Domino’s ex-pimp threw a rock against his right headlight and ran away crazily screeching and redeyed, but Tyler was wearing his gun that night, so he only grimaced nervously and got out of the car, checking that all four doors were safely locked before he slouched among the slouching silhouettes on the littered, greasy, grimy sidewalk of Turk Street whose main luminescence came, it seemed, from the dark-parka’d pimps’ white trousers and the whitish-yellow line in the middle of the street and then the sad streetlight spewing downs showers of already infected photons, so he didn’t look back and he didn’t look into anyone’s face on his entire way to the Wonderbar, where the man on the next barstool said to him: Hey.

  Hey what? said Tyler.

  Bet you can’t tell me what snowmen got that snowwomen don’t got.

  Tyler thought for a moment. —Snowballs, he said, slightly pleased with himself.

  Shit, you’re a comedian! My hat’s off to you! But you’ll never get this one: What makes a snowman smile?

  I give up, said Tyler.

  When them snowblowers come round! Hoo! Heh-heh-heh-heh . . .

  Tyler laughed and shook his head.

  You’re pathetic, said Domino, who’d materialized behind him. You hang around in sleazy bars and think that stupid misoyginistic jokes about snowmen are funny. You need to get a life.

  You and me both, said Tyler. Speaking of sleazy bars, what’s it like looking out through the sleazy bars of your prison cell?

  Asshole! shouted the blonde, and Tyler chuckled and narrowed the eyes in his grey, grey face . . .

  | 362 |

  He felt weak with dread when he considered his future, so he did not consider it. What might and probably would happen imminently seeped into the present, poisoning it, but he denied the poison. His relationship with the Queen, as his connection to John and to Irene had been, was doomed. But hadn’t John and Irene’s marriage been literally doomed? Where was the sense of everything? And suddenly he felt such anguish that ideas vanished and to save himself he thrust his tongue up the Queen’s anus. But that didn’t save him, because now he believed; he had faith—not merely in her herself; he’d long since gained, lost and regained that; but also in her onrushing end. She would go away, like one of the tired old secretaries high-clicking down the granite steps of the Hall of Justice on Friday night, gone like the man in the skullcap who drank and drank until the eyes rolled back inside his head. And in terror Tyler held his Queen tightly enough to bruise her ribs, and he cried: What am I going to do?

  Ah, said the Queen. You mean afterward, don’t you, baby?

  Yeah.

  They were inside a shed on Bryant Street whose outside read AUTO GLASS. Everybody else was out working that night, except for Sapphire, who made many strange faces each as white as the divider lines on pavement, her mincing movements striving to please the world, her long hair combed back by her Queen, plaited into a horse’s tail. Whenever Tyler gazed at her, he believed her to be expressing something terribly important which happened to be in an alien language. Buddha says that greed, anger and ignorance cause all human suffering. Sapphire possessed neither greed nor anger. As for her ignorance, that was either almost absolute or else entirely nonexistent. Perhaps she was Buddha. And upon Canaanites, as upon all others, Buddha has compassion. Was this what the retarded girl was expressing when, appearing between him and the Queen with the silent rapidity of one of those chrysanthemum spirits in snow-blue robes who rise from the central trapdoor of a Kabuki stage, she smiled on him, simultaneously shedding tears?

  Allrightie, now, Sapphie, said the Queen. You’re a good girl. You’re our good girl. Now go over there an’ lie down. You got to dream now. You got to dream the dreams like I told you.

  But Tyler could not cease gripping the Queen’s knees as he groaned over and over: What am I gonna do?

  Well, I guess you just gonna have to deal, she replied a little drily.

  Africa?

  What? What is it now, child?

  Can I go with you?

  Where?

  Wherever they’re going to put you, he stammered.

  No.

  You don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry if I . . .

  C’mere, baby. You not ready for this. You got some travelling ahead of you. Lots and lots. You really wanna know?

  I guess not, he sobbed. Not yet—

  | 363 |

  Hi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-! the ladies screamed at his mother when he opened the door.

  Well, well, said Mrs. Tyler. What a surprise. How dear of you all.

  And John’s even put birthday flowers on your wheelchair, said Mrs. Simms. How darling.

  I’m Henry, not John, said Tyler.

  Oh, I’m sorry, Henry. Where can we put our coats?

  I’ll take them.

  Where’s John?

  He’ll be here directly, said Tyler. He wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a water glass full of whiskey, thinking that no matter what he did he would be considered corrupted and attainted like a homeless man or an unwashed prostitute and he therefore longed with all his soul to be away from here forever and in the arms of the Queen for as long as she lasted. His fantasies were as green and white as the bok choy for sale right around the corner from City Lights.

  Henry? came his mother’s weak voice. Where’s Henry?

  Tyler sipped at his drink.

  Somebody go see where Henry is.

  Scowling, Tyler upended his part-drunk glass into the sink. Then he took the birthday cake out of the refrigerator. It was one-thirty. John had promised to arrive promptly at two, so Tyler needed to be out of the house by then.

  Henry?

  Oh, hello, Mrs. Myers. I’m just lighting the candles for Mom. Would you mind getting everybody ready to sing “Happy Birthday”?

  You’re such a good son, Henry. You and John both. John especially. It seems as if I’m always seeing John running up here with something for your mother . . .

  I wish I could just help her a little more, Tyler whispered.

  | 364 |

  Why, June, you look ravishing tonight, said Mrs. Myers.

  Thank you, my dear, Mrs. Tyler said.

  She looks awful, said Mrs. Myers out of the side of her mouth.

  Why, what’s wrong? said Tyler.

  Can’t you see? Just look at her face!

  On the television, Brady was sayin
g to an interviewer: In every province of our Invisible Empire there’s one Great Titan and seven Furies, and if you don’t even know that much . . .

  Where’s Mrs. King today? said Tyler.

  You mean you didn’t hear? said Mrs. Myers delightedly.

  I just swear by that Miramar cream, Mrs. Simms was saying. It’s the newest thing. When you put it on your face, you can feel it burn. I guess it actually dissolves that top layer of skin.

  No, I didn’t, said Tyler.

  You didn’t what, dear?

  I didn’t hear how Mrs. King met her doom.

  Well, Henry, she—

  It was a double mastectomy, Henry, so could you please be more sensitive?

  I guess I could try.

  Getting back to that Miramar cream . . .

  So it’s good for wrinkles? inquired Mrs. Myers with intense interest.

  It’s the best. It’s an anti-ageing cream, really. It actually dissolves all your wrinkles.

  She should talk! whispered Mrs. Myers. Just look at the old bag!

  Sighing, Tyler stepped in between them. —How much does it cost, Mrs. Simms?

  Well, it’s three hundred dollars for two months’ worth. It’s three bottles, one red, one silver and one black.

  And you have to use them all? Mrs. Myers put in. I really don’t see why you should have to use them all.

  First you’re supposed to apply the black. If you don’t, there’s no guarantee. That one burns the most. Then you scrub, rinse and dollop on the silver. You really have to use a lot of silver. I always run out of that one first. Then you wait one minute and go for the red. You know how I remember all that? Because black, silver and red were my high school football team’s colors.

  Well, isn’t that an interesting coincidence? sighed Mrs. Tyler.

  Yes it is. It truly is. And the supply lasts me about two months. As I said, it’s three hundred dollars. But that’s only if you have a coupon . . .

  Almost beside himself with boredom, anxiety and distress, Tyler took Mrs. Myers back into the kitchen and seized her hand.

  You creature! laughed Mrs. Myers roughly. You just like the holding hands!

  And the kissing.

  And the rubbing.

  And everything after that, he sunnily replied, thinking: Why, Stella Myers, you don’t know what to do with your life, either. (What do I want to do with the rest of my life? Get to a point where I can stop asking that question. But I actually know. I want to be with my Queen.)

  You creature, she laughed. I already called you a creature. Stop that!

  From the living room, Mrs. Simms peered in at them.

  Tyler smiled blandly.

  Stop putting your hand on women’s butts! Mrs. Myers said loudly.

  Where’s Henry? called Mrs. Tyler.

  Mrs. Simms glared at Tyler.

  I know I shouldn’t, said Tyler thoughtfully, but it just feels so good.

  Suddenly, Mrs. Myers laughed and squeezed his hand.

  | 365 |

  Henry, his mother whispered as he was leaving, it would be such a waste to me if you just holed up and—

  That’s nice of you to say, Mom.

  How’s business?

  Oh, not so good. But I—

  There’s just so much more to you than that.

  Than what? I’ve got to go, Mom. Say hello to John for me . . .

  | 366 |

  What size is she? said the saleslady.

  Eighty-five slash S, said Tyler, believing the Queen to be the same size as Irene.

  That’s not an American size. That’s a foreign size. Oh, okay. I know. And would you like a panty with that?

  Oh, I suppose.

  With the garter? I recommend the garter.

  That’s extra, I take it.

  Yes it is, sir.

  You know what a Marxist would say about that?

  Excuse me, sir?

  He’d say, that’s no accident.

  Sir, do you want the garter or don’t you?

  She’s just like Domino, he told himself. Finally he nodded, anxious that he might not have enough cash.

  And you’ll want a robe with that, too, won’t you?

  No, I don’t believe I do.

  She might be disappointed, the woman insinuated in a faraway childlike voice. It’s really not much of a gift, what’s in this cute little bag so far.

  Yeah, he said, paying in five dollar bills. I’m so sorry you’re disappointed.

  | 367 |

  A lady from a personnel office called and wanted him to screen somebody before she fired him. She was hoping to find evidence of illegal drug use. She wanted Tyler to obtain his medical record.

  And we need a hard copy for verification purposes, the lady said.

  Tyler rubbed his eyes, gazing out at the fog, cleared his throat, and said: My assumption would be, if I’m looking up medical information, I’m picking it up off insurance company databases. So I won’t be able to get original hard copy, ma’am. But I can print out whatever I catch, if that makes you feel better.

  It just has to be hard copy. That’s all. That’s our policy.

  Sure. Do you have his social?

  His what?

  His social disease, ma’am.

  Excuse me?

  His social security number.

  I thought you could obtain all that information, the lady said.

  Oh, I can, but I’m trying to save you money. It’ll be one less computer search for you, you see.

  Well, isn’t it illegal for me to give out a social security number?

  Ma’am, it’s just as illegal for me to snoop in somebody’s medical records. And it’s never a good idea to talk about illegal things on the telephone, get it? Are you tape recording this call?

  That’s irrelevant.

  Oh, it is, huh? I get it.

  Mr. Tyler, I’m not sure I like the direction this conversation is taking.

  Aren’t you ashamed? he said. Don’t you feel just the littlest bit hypocritical?

  I beg your pardon! the lady said coldly.

  You want me to do your dirty work and incur the risk and you won’t even tell me whether you tape record your phone calls. You’re like some john in the Tenderloin wanting to fuck a desperate whore up her bleeding ass and not even use a rubber . . .

  I was referred to you, Mr. Tyler. I can see now that the referral was a mistake. Goodbye.

  We aim to please, he said, but she’d already hung up.

  | 368 |

  Danny Smooth got a collect call from Strawberry, said the Queen. Domino, Henry, go an’ get Justin from the hospital They won’t let him out unless he gets a ride home. Strawberry she stayin’ down there with him an’ she wanna come home now, too . . .

  Aw, come on, Maj, whined the blonde. Tomorrow’s my thirty-second birthday and I was already celebrating. That’s not a party kind of thing to do.

  Justin he ain’t been havin’ no party either, girl, said the Queen sharply. Now go get him.

  Maj, I—

  Oh, quit pissin’ in my ear and tellin’ me it’s rainin’, said the Queen.

  And so they drove to San Francisco General Hospital where the tall man shared a room with an O.G.* who’d been shot in the stomach. The O.G. was saying: So anytime you wanna split on that bitch an’ come join my nation, I’ll bring you right in, know what I’m sayin’?

  Hey, I appreciate that, the tall man said.

  I mean, what you got right now? You got this scuzzy white bitch over there, an’ I bet you don’t even got no car. Don’t you want a real lady an’ a car? Hey, listen up, Justin. Send the white bitch outside. Send her out. Go on, bitch, get the fuck out of this black man’s room.

  Outside, Strawberry, said the tall man

  Justin, I—

  I said outside, you stinkin’ bitch.

  That’s right, Justin, that’s right. You tell ’em! Now get on them crutches an’ come over here. Yeah. That’s right. Bend over my bed. And kinda pull the curtain around us so . .
. Yeah. Now listen, I’m not playin’ you when I say this. You wanna ex that bitch who been keepin’ you down?

  The tall man swallowed hard. —No, he said.

  I’m not talkin’ about that silly piece of white trash. She’s not oppressin’ you; she’s just encumberin’ you. I know you can bump her off. I wouldn’t never insult you, Justin, by offerin’ my help there. No, I’m talkin’ about that Queen bitch. I don’t mind a little head to head with that bitch.