I would like to let go of your arm.
33
JUST AS A JOKE
I put my lemonade on a table.
I try to run past you, just as a joke, but you catch me up in your arms.
After a while, you say hoarsely, “I wish I lived here.”
“But you do!” I tell you. “We have a lot to be thankful for.”
I haven’t been complaining. After all, something seems to have happened.
Did you think you would not be invited back?
34
I AM IN LOVE
You should know, if you want to come with, that what I am going to do now is go to the bathroom down the hall.
My feet on this floor should be in my own shoes.
I have not gotten to the bathroom yet. I will—because I want to finish this up so I can get on with your life.
I do not want to have anything more to do with most of the other people.
You could be the one who is all so certain about what somebody wants to do next, about what we should do next, if we should appear to be going to the bathroom next—at the same time, of course.
We should be certain. We should have no doubt.
Everything should feel natural, normal, and as if we were being swept off our feet.
Or at least mine.
Isn’t this what you want?
35
IF WE ARE NOT CAREFUL
Why do you think this is?
Say something!
If we are not careful, this could go on and on. We could stay in the bathroom whenever we get there—for a while.
This is not a good time to take a shit.
Now I am beginning to get worried.
I am worried.
I want your assurance.
I want your reassurance.
Perhaps I do not know what to do next, but everyone else does.
But do you know how to do anything under these circumstances? You don’t speak to me.
I close the bathroom door behind us. I appreciate the greatness of most of the articles in this room, whether we like it or not. Some of them were your idea.
The seventeenth-century pikeman is on loan from a relation.
I could tell you what I know about your possessions, because sometimes this ignites a tender feeling in both of us, I think.
Yes, there is tenderness here, and occasionally I forget why this is. Sorry.
36
ONCE I HAD TO DO WHAT I HAD TO DO
Of all of your favorites, I used to be the prettiest one. That’s the kind of person I am. I have had some difficulty conning everybody, you first of all.
You are sauntering toward me.
Are you going to express an opinion?
I am the witness when you are silent or tedious.
I am a little worried. I am getting tired. I am getting sleepy. Hurry, hurry. You have to hurry. Can you hurry?
“Here, take these, too,” I say, removing a few items from the hiding place.
You ask me, “Are you quite certain?”
Would you know how to find out?
“You are inspiring,” you say, politely, I suppose.
Those are my instructions.
Pretty soon, one of us will leave the bathroom.
I think you will disapprove. You will think less of me. You will not like me. You won’t like me anymore. You will stop liking me, which might impair the summer.
37
PLEASE
Don’t hate me when this is really all over. Do not go around saying crappy things about me.
Walking around outside, when the sunlight is bright, we might enjoy this, don’t you think?
Suddenly, a breeze will arrive, a lively breeze.
Please, this is not such a hardship to be such winsome people, because we are not in any trouble.
Returning now, to your inquiries, to your concerns, returning to anything that concerns you, you can take care of it, or just briefly consider how you could take care of it.
But briefly, it’s always, I expect, too long.
38
THE EVENTS OF THE MORNING WERE FAIRLY INTERESTING
We could talk about it. Yes, your situation is certainly more of a monstrosity than mine is. Don’t you have many more reasons to die than I do?
I admit everything gets easier and easier for me—as time goes by.
I get what I want when I want it. I have been, am, will be, well served.
We did get the celery soup. It’s what I’d like, you know.
The events of the morning were fairly interesting. This is my news. We were on the toilet, you realize.
39
EVERYTHING OCCURS AS PLANNED
Everything occurs as planned. I am thrilled. I do not consider it poor taste to be this proud of a pair of shoes.
The shoes I am wearing are a recollection from your childhood.
“Don’t you like them?” I say.
“They’re so strange,” you say.
40
ANYTIME OF THE DAY OR EVENING
You have been taking advantage of some enjoyable moments. But you might be mistaken. Finally, you have come to believe that you should savor life. All of this adventure of ours has used up only about thirty-five minutes.
Time for our copulation.
I feel so sentimental, but only a colossal effort has entitled me to feel this way.
“Please don’t. Please,” you beg me.
You have more than one deep, oozing starting point, it looks like. How did this happen?
You give me a playful kick. My foot is on you.
Why don’t you let me stand on you even fleetingly?
Should I remember this?
Is there any reason to remember this?
To remember you? Oh—
41
HASN’T SOMEONE DONE THIS THINKING FOR US?
Hasn’t someone done this thinking for us?
Look out!
“Sorry.”
Will you get away from these discomforts? The smell of mice? The plain ordinary dirtiness of my wanting to push yours or my filthy hair around, without my having to have one tremor of sensation?
I am ardent in the afternoon.
Perhaps I am a smaller, darker person than what you had in mind.
So sorry if you are not completely happy.
Be assured this repulsive moment is coming.
It is not safely past.
Nor passed.
42
THIS TIME YOU SAY NO
You just want to be here with me.
The temperature of the room is cool. I want to pet you, but not your private part. I would not touch it with a fork.
You would think if I could tolerate the bedside clock that I could bind up your parcel with the cord!
They did not know why I felt this way.
You saw my nakedness. You had a great deal to worry about, even if I had made much of bathing daily. Yet you treated me courteously. You told me that you wanted me to remain in good cheer.
I was given a washing, which nearly fortified me. I was fed the right food. Let me tell you it will take much more strength to stop my pleasure in the nick of time than what I now have.
I forget—where did you say came from?
No, come.
Why don’t you answer me?
Here is my solution that could help you anytime anywhere. Here is my advice, even though many of you consider me to be unclean.
Sweetness! Something wonderful will happen to you, which will make me happy!
They can keep remembering this—even if we do not.
43
WE COULD FIX AN EGG
I
could do something so that you and I would not be invited back.
You are better-looking than I am, better prepared, better behaved.
I do not like these men as much as I know I am supposed to.
I am so glad there are no little girls here. I would loathe it if there were little girls here. Older women give me that sense that I have value, but little girls make me feel like shit.
We could fix an egg.
Don’t keep saying that! I don’t agree. Don’t tell me what to do!
44
A NECESSITY ARISES
I am the one who tells you what to think.
We are very similar to people who stay together who do not really love each other but who want to love each other so much.
A necessity arises which has caused both of us to tremble all over. We—nobody could say why this is.
We could give this necessity the wretched synopsis it deserves: The Story of Our Lives.
One never knows, not for a thousand years, the way to speak to a woman such as I am, one who wears such footwear, who goes into the courtyard, who reposes at the fire, who undertakes the tasks—the tufts, the hollows—it is indescribable.
What if she even knew what she was doing when she cooked almost every vegetable available? Fruit is what she claims she likes. The liar.
The sounds on the roof could be scuffling, if it is a good night. We hear its goodness.
Some human beings do not hurt people or damage property. They do not intensely glow, or become indivisible by merely looking at you.
To learn more about them, people should use you.
ROMANCER ERECTOR
(2001)
I must eat my dinner.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Nancy Weak
1
She stepped over a stone, a stone, not exactly. And, at the very least, what began as loitering in the green yard, was not calming for her.
She wore the sundress which was not dull enough and with every stride she took, her hair was bumped by her hat.
2
She entered an old-fashioned shop on a famous street where more than several damaged objects are kept.
“Can I help you?” an old-fashioned woman said.
“Oh, you have this!” Nancy said. “It isn’t comfortable. It hurts. It’s heavy.”
“Yes. It picks up all of the lights in the evening.”
And then as a household fly might do rudely, Nancy left the shop in a rush.
3
In this same year Aborn stumped toward Nancy.
He was intending to be useful to her, not to appear to be ill-timed or unreasonable. If he gave her hand a friendly shake, he might startle her.
Even so, she was roughly grasped from behind.
Unaware who held her, she tried to pull free.
She thought, I may be in distress!
She worked to free herself, did not turn, did not speak, but presently, she was let go.
“Mr. Aborn!” Nancy said.
“Nancy!” he said, “I wish I could think of your last name.”
4
“My name is Nancy! You saw me.”
No, no, no doubt, Aborn saw all of her displeasure, and how unsafe she was.
“My dear!” he said, “I like your hat!”
“Thanks,” she said. “I got right into bed and went to sleep after you left.”
“Then you must have felt fine.”
Past the terrified shrubs, they bothered to go, and then they went along toward an old-fashioned shop where Nancy pressed the bell. When the bell signalled its habitual reaction, they went on in.
5
“That’s what I want,” said Nancy.
“Did you look at everything they have?” Aborn said. “Let us look at everything.”
“This is eighteen years old,” she said. “That’s old-fashioned. Is it old-fashioned enough for you?”
“Which one do you want?” Aborn said.
“Is that old enough? This one,” Nancy said.
6
Well, well, next they sat side by side in a taxicab sedan and the world was crammed high, large, and long.
At the restaurant things are not too bad.
There’s a pancake for dessert.
The server’s face—her hopeful fur-lined eyes—please Nancy and Nancy wants to charm this girl. She is unable to resist that, so the server says slyly, “I will never forget you,” when the moment for parting is clear.
7
It was a breezy lightness they ambled into and many things were being put upon. A huge flowery bush had no self-command and Nancy’s petals bulged a bit. She had bought herself some roses and the dream flowers, the unpretentious hovels, and the places all about were particularly dreamy, she thought.
8
Aborn, quite brightly, went on ahead, all by himself, in search of some dandy souls he’d never known before.
But where are you now? Nancy had to think inside of her house, as she unwrapped her buds and trimmed their stems with the boning knife.
The roses were just too weary and they fell all over themselves.
Still, she did encourage them so that they did not lose heart inside of their tankard, nor did they ever much resemble the living things.
9
Her immature new brooch she skewered onto herself, and she hung her hat on the genitalia of a chair.
The roses were okay. They were scented with Beconase.
10
Those Floradora roses.
“Hi,” said the girl to her old mother who was dressed in quilted slippers and bunchy clothes.
“Good afternoon,” the woman said, “dear.”
11
Nancy’s father would need to have his coitus with the old woman when he got home, so the old guy did.
Hush!—they went up the stairs to do this in a room pale as this is where among other things the tables are surmounted by lamps and the decorations are bronze-tinted.
Welcome to the afternoon.
With slight astonishment, the old man said, “I will, of course, I will, if you want me to, do it again.”
“Now you rest,” his old wife said.
12
Nancy’s old mother is so old—such an outmoded thing, even the finger ring she wears is a mess.
It should be kept on her body for the best results.
13
Nancy’s father is ordinarily weak.
“Can you remember?” his wife says to him, “something good about me? Would you remind me?”
“Sit by me,” this mother of a few incongruous people says.
One of her feet is curled on its side, all floaty on the floor.
Her mouth aches. Her irradiated eyes are fine.
She is regarded in certain circles as a slacker.
14
“The floors look bad,” the old man says. “Next time bleach them or use a more powerful cleaner.”
15
“I’ll bleach them.”
16
Then the mother says, “Tell me again how did Len die?”
17
“He was an independent boy,” his father said.
“How did he die?” the mother asked.
“He was killed,” said Nancy.
“He was not killed,” the old woman said.
The father said, “As I said before, his head, his head was lopped off with a clasp-knife.” Whatever that is.
18
Father, oh father of people!
“I hurt my head,” he said, rubbing a knob on his face near his ear.
And his old wife is not as well-liked any more.
19
For an instant the old man appears highly intellectu
al.
20
He could see the sharp small hairs above his old wife’s mouth and on her arm.
21
During the intermission, Aborn arrives.
“Just point the way,” said Nancy. “Thank you.”
22
And the old woman butchers bread to a fare-thee-well.
Upstairs the topsheets won’t overstrain themselves when Nancy does not wear her loose outer garment or her overshoes.
She is lying down on those linens with Aborn and the original extent of her relief points upward undoubtably.
Very, Very Red
1
I have too much of a sense of myself as a man to be reckless. I tell myself, “Get it done!” Robert and Buster have volunteered to help me, but I am not an invalid, Mary.
I have asked myself this question: “What does she need?”
Mary, I am not ashamed she is naked in the bed, waiting for me. I told her I knew how to behave. This time, however, when I became bored, I had a very, very, very, very long conversation with Diane, Mary.
She says, “Remember who you are. Remember what you do.” She promises me that I will be pleasantly surprised. She promises. Sometimes, afterward, I hate her. She pities me.
2
You poor thing is what she says.
I will yawn significantly after dinner. “Diane,” I will say, “isn’t it time that we went up to bed?” Mary, you say to ask Diane to give me one of her fancy handjobs. Will you be home on Saturday?
I thanked Diane for petting me.
These days Diane’s skin is waxy, cold. She fell off of the chesterfield. She was weary from swimming. I did not try to help her. I was afraid, so this is sad. I unfastened her belt. My hand was strong enough, capable enough. I remember. I remember my enjoyment of our happy home.
We went into the dining room, and Gretch came over to us and Gretch said, “You can have whatever you want!”
The Collected Stories of Diane Williams Page 15