Peru

by Gordon Lish

  Did you hear her say bust line?

  It.

  I knew what it meant.

  She knew I would know what it meant.

  And then she put her hands up under underneath the bottoms of them and then moved them around a little bit for her to make sure I did.

  It made me think of a place for everything and everything in its place.

  It made me think of muslin, of russet, of homespun.

  You know what I used to sometimes do?

  I used to sometimes think to myself that Mr. and Mrs. Lieblich were going to come outside and see me standing watching the colored man while he was washing or waxing the Buick. I’d stand there thinking to myself that any instant Mr. and Mrs. Lieblich were going to suddenly come out of their house and see me standing there, and that then they would say to themselves how nice of a boy I looked like and that there had been a big mistake which had been made way’back along the line somewhere and that I myself was actually the boy who belonged at the Lieblichs’ and that Andy Lieblich wasn’t.

  My God, there were times when I could feel myself being there with nothing on in gossamer.

  I was always waiting—for them or for somebody. I was always the one who was waiting. Especially when I was sitting on the toilet, who ever waited as hard as I did?

  I WONDER IF HE’S ALREADY STRONG ENOUGH to kill me. Theoretically-speaking, I think that he is already strong enough for him to kill me in theory.

  I want to know something.

  How come they singled me out to be the one who was always sitting around waiting?

  I never saw them. I never actually saw them that I actually know of. I just saw the Buick come out of the garage or go into the garage—I just saw the Buick when it was coming with them or was going with them.

  No one ever had to tell me which was better.

  As far as between a Buick and a De Soto.

  It’s really amazing to you when a person falls over from something which you yourself have just done to them, when they just stop doing what they were doing and instead fall right over right in front of you looking at them.

  And then lie there, looking at you looking at them.

  Like even like Sir did—waiting.

  I think the best description of his lip was to go do what she made me do and see it when it comes out of him.

  Does it sting for it to be out in the air like that? Is this how it was when the shoe was off of it, like the air itself could make it feel too chilly for it, or that just the dust in the air was going to get all over it and stick to it and not come off of it without it really hurting you?

  Nobody was saying they could still smell it the next day, but I could still do it. Even in school, I could. Even with the lilac, I could. I think it’s this thing which I have about me and cess, you know. Plus lilac or lily of the valley.

  I thought we had wounded him, that the thing that came out of him was what you saw when you had wounded him, and that this was how we would be caught by people when she took him by the collar and went home with him—that when she went home with him, they would go ahead and take a look at him and then make her tell them where she had been with him that he had got that way like that and who had done it to him, me or her or who? Whereas with Steven Adinoff, no one had to ask.

  I could not make up my mind which smell it was which I liked better, the one of cess or the one of lilac. Plus the ones of cocoa butter and of citronella.

  I wonder which one was Henry’s favorite when he himself was of an age like this. But you never know from asking. No child would ever tell.

  You were six.

  Weren’t you once six?

  Think about once being six.

  Remember how you always had such high hopes whenever you got your things on and went out of the house?

  That’s all I always did.

  Just had such high hopes.

  Just went with them just to be out.

  But all day long there was no one for me to play with, and all day long the colored man did not come, and all day long the Blue Coal truck did not come, and all day long there was not going to be any school to go to all day long that day, either—or that day any company coming over for them to play mah-jongg and for me to sit under the table and hear them say dot and say bam and say crack and get All Sorts when none of them were not looking.

  I didn’t have even any corduroys on.

  It was August.

  THE ROOF

  THERE WASN’T ANYONE.

  There wasn’t anything.

  There was just how hot it was and sitting on the curb and thinking to myself “It’s hot,” “It’s lot,” “It’s not,” “It’s top,” “It’s mop,” “It’s nop,” “Sip sop,” “Bip bop,” and so forth and so on—on and on and on—the idea of it being that you are going to be the first person to keep going and rhyme every word there is.

  You know.

  Everybody knows.

  There isn’t anybody in the world who doesn’t do it.

  Or who, when they were six, didn’t.

  It’s the closest you ever get to feel to the fact that you yourself are God—or that if there wasn’t any God, then that this would be the same thing which was, that it was God which could go ahead and keep making rhymes of all of the words, or at least which once did.

  So what was it, lily of the valley?

  It’s so complicated.

  Everything is so complicated.

  Wasn’t it then that my mother called out of the window for me to come in and get my lunch, that there was a sandwich of meat loaf for me to get in the kitchen and that there was a bottle of chocolate drink for me to get in the icebox and that then for me to go back outside again so that then the house would stay clean because maybe it was going to be another day today when the landlord might come over?

  I am trying to see in my brain if I can see the shoes and socks I had on, but I cannot see them.

  The next thing was the Buick coming!

  The next thing was looking up and seeing that there was the Buick coming!

  The next thing was not knowing what to do next because I was sitting there seeing the Buick coming!

  It came down past the Woodmere Academy and then came on into the block and then turned and went up along into their driveway and then went in through their garage door and then into the darkness.

  That darkness, that particular darkness which you could see when you looked in through the garage door of the Lieblichs’, it always looked to me like the special darkness of rich people to me, like nice darkness, like rich darkness, like with a kind of special nice wateriness to it that made it better than any of the darkness other people ever had.

  The nanny came out into the driveway.

  But I didn’t see any Andy Lieblich or any Iris Lieblich or any Mr. or Mrs. Lieblich come. I didn’t see anybody but the nanny come. It was just the nanny herself with her uniform and with her arms and with her wristwatch and with her wrists and her rubber bands which came.

  She said, “Look who’s here.” She said, “Is it hot enough for you?” She said, “You could fry an egg on the sidewalk.” She said, “That’s how hot it is, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.” She said, “What are you eating there, bologna and soda?” She said, “Isn’t your mother feeding you light?” She said, “Heat like this, you have to eat light.” She said, “Go tell your mother to feed you light.” She said, “Lettuce and leafy vegetables.” She said, “What is your mother feeding you?” She said, “You shouldn’t eat bologna and soda.” She said, “That’s poison in any weather.” She said, “Tell your mother I said so.” She said, “Go tell her.” She said, “Somebody should tell the woman not to put anything too heavy on your stomach.” She said, “Fruits, fresh fruits.” She said, “Go tell her to give you an apple at least.” She said, “Throw it away.” She said, “Take my advice and throw the rest of it away.” She said, “In heat like this, you are killing yourself, poison like this. Be smart,” she said. “Get rid of it, whatever it i
s.”

  I said, “Did Andy just come home?” I said, “Did Iris?” I said, “Who was in the Buick with you—was Andy, was Andy? Or Mr. and Mrs. Lieblich or Iris?”

  She said, “Andy, Andy, Andy.” She said, “It’s always Andy, Andy, Andy.” She said, “Morning, noon, and night, what is it but Andy, Andy, Andy!”

  I said, “Is Andy there? Is Andy inside?”

  She said, “You just finish your lunch like a good little fellow and we will see what we will see.” She said, “You get it all down and then go have your nap and then we will see what we will see when you are all rested and fresh as a daisy and not overheated in weather like this.” She said, “You go tell your mother to fix you a nice cool bath and then put you down for a nice refreshing nap and then we will see what we will see.” She said, “After Andrew has had his lunch, then we will see what we will see.” She said, “Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s not good for you to be out in the middle of the day when it’s a day like this all day?” She said, “Doesn’t your mother ever tell you anything when it’s a day like this all day?”

  I understood what she was saying.

  I heard the rubber bands.

  I said, “Is Iris inside?”

  I said, “Can Iris come out and play?”

  But the nanny just turned around and went back inside of the garage. Then there was a long time when I just sat on the curb again. Then the same thing happens again, looking up again and seeing something, seeing the colored man rolling the Buick back out, this time seeing the colored man rolling out the Buick back out, seeing the colored man there at the Lieblichs’ out of the blue rolling the Buick back out.

  I said, “I didn’t see you.”

  I said, “Did you just come over?”

  He kept rolling the Buick back out.

  I said, “I didn’t see you.”

  I said, “Did you just come over?”

  He went back in back into the garage and got things from the step in front of the screen door and from the hooks and from the shelves. He went and got everything—he got some rags and got the sponge and got the whisk broom and got the Simonize can and got the chamois cloth and got the scrub brush and got the Old Dutch Cleanser and then set them all out and then went back in and changed his shirt.

  Then she came out again and said to me, “What did I say to you? Didn’t I tell you to go home and take a nap?”

  I said, “Can Andy come out and play?”

  She said, “You are getting yourself overexcited and overheated.” She said, “You are going to have to learn how to cooperate with others.” She said, “There is a time and a place for everything.” She said, “Go home and take a bath.” She said, “Tell your mother I said that you look sallow from the heat.” She said, “All in due course.” She said, “We shall see what we shall see.” She said, “Slow and steady wins the race.” She said, “What did you do with the poison you were eating?” She said, “Did you eat that poison?” She said, “Get away from here and let the poor man work.”

  Then there was another long time again with me back sitting on the curb again. Maybe I was saying to myself, maybe I was thinking to myself, “It’s poison.” “It’s moi-son.” “It’s soison.” “It’s foison.” “It’s hoison.”

  I don’t know.

  Something like this.

  Probably something like that.

  I could tell, I always could tell—you could always tell it when what she was actually doing was just trying to make you wait. In all honesty and sincerity, you always knew when you could count on it for her to finally come back out when she had made up her mind that you had tried better than anybody could to be the boy who could really wait.

  This time this is what she said—she said, “Do you still want to play? Tell me if you still want to play.”

  She said, “Go tell your mother if you still want to play.”

  She said, “Go home and wash your hands and tell your mother I said it is acceptable to me for her to send you over to our house if you still want to play.”

  I was so excited.

  I was always so excited.

  I didn’t know that this was going to be the day when I was going to kill somebody with a hoe. All I could think of was of the sandbox, was of being in the sandbox, was of getting her permission for me to be in it and play.

  Then there was another long time again of me waiting at their back door again and then of her coming out and saying, “Patience is a virtue, Rome wasn’t built in a day, go away for a while and then come back later, Andrew and Iris and their guest are just starting to get started on their salads now, share and share alike, a watched pot never boils, there is all the time in the world,” and then of her going back inside and then of me just staying there waiting all day.

  I wonder if the glue smell was from what they made the shoe of, or from what they had to stick all of the leather together with. I wonder if it really was a pink-looking color and wet-looking, or if these were just the crazy things I thought because of how scared it made me. I wonder why he didn’t say “Reg! Is that you, Reg?” the way she herself said “Phil! Is that you, Phil?”

  I tried to keep from looking at the sandbox.

  I tried to keep from thinking about the colored man.

  Maybe I was thinking about the watched pot and the frankfurter, about me having to always be the one who had to watch it until you could see the split open up in it all of the way from one end to the other of it.

  Then she was there at the screen door again. She said, “All’s well that ends well,” and pushed it open and came out, and then right behind her there he was, there he was, and I wanted to jump up and down and up and down and go hug him and take him by the hand, take Andy Lieblich by the hand and hold his hand and say “Andy! Andy!”

  Which is when another boy came out!

  And when the nanny said to me, “Say hello to Steven Adinoff. This is Andrew’s guest, Steven Adinoff. Steven Adinoff has a deformity, but he is not going to let you make him ashamed of it. Steven Adinoff has a harelip, but don’t you dare try to make him ashamed of it. A harelip is the last thing in the world Steven Adinoff has to stand around and be ashamed of. If I had a harelip, do you think that I would stand around and be ashamed of it? A harelip is nothing for anyone to be ashamed of. I promise you, when you have a harelip on your face, no one even notices it.”

  I FELT SO WONDERFUL from the feeling which I was feeling. It was like I was going from the worst day in the world to the best day in the world. I just could not wait for it to get started. I just could not wait for us to get everything else over and done with. It gave me the worst feeling which you could imagine, just me having to stop to realize all of the different things which we were going to have to get out of the way first before we could get started and get really going. It gave me the feeling of someone sitting on me, of someone the size of the colored man just sitting on me and telling me he wasn’t going to get off of me until he got good and ready to. For instance, did I even have her permission yet? I did not even have her permission yet. And what about the rule about you could never have more than two boys at a time in the sandbox, what about it just in general—and then wThat about what was going to happen if she said it could only be two boys in particular, then what about which two boys it was going to be, Andy Lieblich and which other boy?

  Plus picking the game, plus which game was going to be the game—was it going to be Farmer or be Gardener or be Builder—and the new boy, was he going to get to be the boy to choose? Whereas if he did, if the new boy actually did, then was this going to mean that after Andy Lieblich picked the shovel, then that the new boy was just going to automatically go next and then get to have the hoe and then that I, I, I would have to have the rake?

  I tell you, it was like someone sitting down on me. It was like me sitting on the toilet and knowing that I am going to have to sit on it forever and never finally get up.

  I just wanted to get things started and get going. It was so slow. It all felt to
me like as if it was so slow—it felt to me like as if it all was starting to go even slower. I kept waiting for her to get everything taken care of. But she just sat in the slatted chair and kept rolling the rubber bands up and down and saying that she had to think all these various different things over, that a watched pot never boils, that we were going to have to share and share alike, that the last shall be first and the first shall be last.

  There was the baseball card. He had a baseball card. He kept trying to tell me about it. I could tell that he wanted me to be friends with him and that he thought that getting me to look at his baseball card was the best way for him to make me be friends with him. He kept trying to get me to take the baseball card and look at it. He would not stop trying to get me to take the baseball card from him and take a look at it. But I was not going to touch anything which he had ever touched. Stop and think a minute—in all frankness, did I know what a harelip was? I did not know if you could catch a harelip. How could I tell if someone could catch a harelip? If a harelip was catching, then wouldn’t you catch it if you touched something which someone who had it had touched?

  “Nyonny Nyize,” he said.

  I said, “What?”

  “Nyonny Nyize,” he said.

  I said, “What?”

  He said, “Nyonny Nyize.” He said, “Nyee nyays nyirst nyase nyor nya Nyaint Nyouis Nyardnyals.”

  Hey, when it comes to baseball, I leave it all to Henry and Florence, I leave them all of the honors—those two, the pair of them, they just can’t get enough of it—whereas me, the only thing I know less about than I know about baseball is, say, football, for instance—or, in all actuality, any other sport as such—I myself just don’t care about sports as such, especially not the kinds of sports which Henry does, which are all of the ones which I happen to think are the ones which are on the expensive side—skiing, for instance—water-skiing in the summertime and regular skiing in the winter.