Five Legs

by Graeme Gibson

  Freedom Lucan, yes. Beer from his moustache, licking foam. Anyway freer than most of them. He’s really not part of the Queen Street clique, nor the old man’s, Max. He’s not. Sucking pipe, his swarthy face is indistinct as Lucan stares. Awful death and wound I concentrate, I . . .

  But. But that’s. Hugh, youth’s freedom is ephemeral and that’s why they all die young. My heart with voices: Lycidas and tragic, Romeo.

  God Lucan, what’re you? You’re saying there’s freedom in youth and on the other hand, only a, bondage when it’s gone!

  Yup. A respectable bondage is the best that we can hope.

  Christ that’s . . . Don’t, for you’ve got him, don’t give an inch. Quickly!

  Pain’s the average man’s alternative and chaos. Hammer it home, and remember to use them again some time. Ha!

  I don’t believe it for a minute, Jesus Lucan! But he can’t, Lucan Crackell drinking strongly, for incredulity’s no answer here, he can’t, assail. Brushing ice to my mouth, the shape of her thigh when I left, skirt-tucked and her belly’s tension. Chaos, shame and chaos. Why does she, God oh my, throat’s so dry! Impulsive swallowing. Come wet, wetly from them to retreat, refuse me hopeless, hoping Rose.

  Down walking away; the snow and wind, I walked and walk. USED CARS USED CARS Merry-go-round, this shabby pole bedecked and SAVE SAVE. My figure, young and lost, with icy circles on my flesh: from the streetlights, my shadow dark on the snow: exhaust and distant tail-lights, cold my hands deep-thrust, and clenched. Drink’s fool. REPENT. This thirst, the ease, oh God what ease I crave! Escape, if I could only. NOBODY EVER WALKS AWAY FROM HERE. Standing, somehow with chair pushed back, impulsive going for a. Smiling Lucan Crackell as they stare, curious at this clumsiness and I’ll say. “Excuse me I must.” Must what, will I. Say? “Ah.” Sudden coughing in my hand. “I’ve just remembered something, have to buy.” Shut up, they. No need to explain, no need at all! But swirling head as I turn, begin to turn, “Some stockings, my wife asked me to buy.” Oh God don’t. “Some stockings for her, she.” Bastard, silly fucking bastard smiling, bowing, their eyes, their. To Susan’s face. They’ll know, they know where I’m going; stockings for chrissakes, stockings shit! and he grabs his coat. My fumbling hands. Terrible frigging cruds every goddamn one of them, they’re. Irresponsible Jesus and their nerve, stupid goddamn arrogance! Accusing for Christ’s sake. Me! Rough shrugging at my coat, my scarf, don’t forget as to the door, I hear:

  “Doctor Crackell, Doctor.” Her soft voice calling, reaching me in this heavy coat. “Just a. May I, before you go?” Turning with her words, her voice; and other figures fade. “You are coming. I mean.” So vulnerable, she’s: lovely girl. Warmly Lucan pauses, for it’s touching, really, how much she. So uncertain, she’s uncertain. “You’ll be at the church?”

  “Yes, why yes. Of course.” How could she think, does she suspect, do all of them behind her know? “I just have. I only have to do some shopping, that’s all. Rose wants.” Blurting my bad excuse, they. “She’s very sorry, Rose asked me to say this. Because she couldn’t come. The show, she said you’d understand. It only opened last night and apparently. There’s nobody else to do makeup, she has to. You know how that place is, she has to work.” Her hand on my lapel, her voice.

  “I’m so glad you came.” Is close to tears, she’s, oh! An old friend to rely on, just to get away from. Perhaps she’d, would you. Join me on this thirsty day as you have done ha. Before? “We’ve always talked so much about Martin.” Hmmn. Unblinking, my eyes while in my hand, her forearm trembling rests. “And that’s why I’m so glad you’re here.” Then I spilled my drink, our awkwardness, the closeness of two friends. Real friends. “Do you know something?” Urgent her hand at my breast is tugging now.

  “No, what?”

  “Wednesday night.” Vulnerable, she’s mine, my best friend. Here. “Before he left, before he was. He’d come to insist, he’d come all the way from London in the middle of the week and he was. I could tell he was upset, that he’d.” Reaching for you Susan, reaching in spite of their curiosity, I reach with all my heart. “He’d decided to see Miss Schwarz, to take a job here. Isn’t that wonderful?” Surprises me so don’t let on, surprises me for I’d have thought. More and more that it wouldn’t work. Out, I was. “Of his own free will and on his own, he just arrived and. Told me. He promised he’d see her in the morning. Thursday and that we’d be married in the summer and everything, but then. While walking home, you know . . .” Parted lips, her tears, my helplessness and how could I have misjudged him so? “Isn’t that a terrible, he was killed just as he was taking control of his life.” But never mind, therethere, he’s gone and Lucan’s need, he takes her shoulders, gently as she, looking up. And brave, so brave she smiles. “Do you remember Lucan.” Pausing cautious, blinking and her smile. “Can I, you once said to, can I call you Lucan. Now?” Subdual tears abrupt, harsh sorrow and the need in my throat. Oh!

  “Yes, oh my dear. Yes. Yes, of course.” Shaking my head, my welling eyes averted for . . . Relax, tense hands, groping affection clumsy at her arms.

  “Do you remember that night when we drove and drove? We’d been swimming, a bunch of us, at the quarry and Rose, poor Rose had one of her headaches, from the sun or something, do you remember?” One of her, sighing Lucan for even she’s seen, you’ve noticed. Driving at night from the town, in the radio’s noise, how many times? The glowing dashboard’s light; driving with trees, flashing fenceposts and the road, your legs. Singasong of nylons, tucking as you stir. “And you said, you were joking I know. But you said you could imagine Martin living somewhere in the bush, in the woods all alone and then. Once a year maybe, coming out for a terrific, a real bender.” Her talking face, and did I say, I actually say that, she remembers? Sad and are they mocking eyes? Her moist pink mouth, no. Pale. “Well you were wrong, don’t you see? You were terribly wrong.” Squeezing my arm, smiling with Lucan feeling something, there’s something curious; she likes me alright, there’s no doubt about that, but. “And I knew it all the time, I’ve known. That people, he could change.” Suddenly clear, clearly she knows about me, sure, for everyone, they all must. How could they not? She sees that I’ve changed yes, and. That’s it! Ha. Lucan flattered, yes I certainly am, I’m. Whirling for she understands. Ha!

  Greengrass the somewhere, above us branches clutching brightleaved the wind: bruised green beneath our bodies and the heat, with branches searching, watch . . . and this time Vera I’m the one, my knowledge caresses, eases forbidden doors. I’m sure you’ve not, no not with him! Light air, your innocence, my tenderness explores: hands, your thighs, my hands in circles on the calling flesh. My sweet return . . .

  Finding himself bundled and walking, chilled in unpleasant slush and the gusting street. Clinging brown, soaking the shoes and eeeh! Oh, that’s . . . Lucan frozen, precariously balancing on one leg and I should have, quick to this lamp-post. There’s a nasty patch of wet in my sock. Again balancing, it’s safer, and running my finger inside there and scooping, finger-hooked and lifting out what’s left. Curling exhaust from the cars: I’m the only, there’s only one other form, it’s sheltering there in the doorway and. Waiting for a bus, waiting for a friend? More carefully, pick your way with greater care, and thrusting hand inside his coat, drying the finger in his armpit’s warmth. Pulling on my glove; walking away, alone in a mainstreet town, and . . .

  Done this before, a déjà- . . . Behind me Susan, among them, me yearning and guilty, shoes between the ridges, walls and towers of that dark world at my feet. Uncanny, Lucan’s feeling — I’ve done it all before. Walking in shadows on the other side but were you Vera then? Or Rose. The door with yellow opaque glass. Will I or won’t I, I’m not, it’s not as though I couldn’t stay out. Ha! If I wanted to, if there was a reason. No. Man of decision, Lucan Crackell’s not your man to be driven by whims. After all, I’ve. Settled Lucan, you’ve changed and youth has died. Hmmmn. Behind as he saunt
ers and she certainly couldn’t, over there in her doorway know that I was going in, a bit of refreshment. No sir! Perhaps I’ll still, of course there’s that. Possibility, yes. I mean, I’m out here now aren’t I? Jerking straight his arm, baring his wrist and it’s cold; another, another forty minutes or so . . . WARNING TO MINORS. Rippled panes to his left this time and she must wonder what I’m up to. The law, it is an offence. Dark figure retracing steps; slowly the cars and their noise. Oblivious. Caught newspaper, awkward moth, it beats as I pass, the futile wings. Suspicious, she leans, she watches. Really a clumsy silhouette I guess, against the light: staring, if the truth be known, unseeing with water on his shoulders, in his hair. Reluctant feet in mud, muddy imbedded, the bones for me, there is no. For I’m, that image on the glass before me’s just the same and he’s an angry . . . Relaxing back, quickly to the door and is that a smile, does she smile knowingly and who’s she waiting for?

  Voice calling my name: crouching cars like animals behind me in the glass and my face was there on the wall. Nervously dark, and drawn.

  Christ don’t be ridiculous! Warm air in this familiar room: what’s the matter with a beer or two, we used to. Not long ago beer was a morning drink. Food for the day, yes. In this harsh land, a bit of strength. There. There by the wall’s a table. For two. Lucan in their eyes, on tiptoe between these chairs and loosening his coat; as I have done. He sits and I don’t think a single head has turned. I pass. Rheumy eyes and underworld: unmoving figures alone, impassive. Shaded life: world without sun, a man. With swollen hands, unemployed, the drunk condemned. I did not know death. Had undone. He sits. Green, pale walls with chocolate trim and, I’d forgotten:

  NO SINGING, DANCING

  OR

  SPITTING

  Gambling is Forbidden

  Here then is Lucan Crackell once again, careful. Careful not to drag your sleeves in the table-top beer, these puddles. Jeez! Do I ever know this place and there’s not much. Change. Wow! Desolate figures, the heavy smell. And we sit, so curiously bleak, we sit as far from each other as they can. Turning to look, for I’m not. Turning easily, with confidence: whoops! Sudden man, the waiter and his tray. “What, what’s on tap?” Politely, for you never know. He’s a different one, I don’t seem to remember and you never know with these fellows.

  “I don’t know.” Clunk the glass before me.

  “Ah. Is that.” Smiling to question this stolid rudeness. “Is that ale?” To point out clearly, that I know, that. I’m not like. Not one of them.

  “It’s all the same buddy.” Jaw firm and waiting. Rough accusing voice. Bored. “You wanna drink or not?”

  “Yesyes. Hmmn.” Lucan gulping, pausing. “Yes and I’ll.” Swallowswallow, burning in the chest. “I’ll take another, better leave another while you’re here.” Foam that slithers in the glass, his exchange, I’m alone. With this new. And boy, his. Lack of manners, this. You’d think, certainly they’d get a nicer, better class of. Waiter. Or something, it makes me feel quite sick. It does. The squalid, but anyway. Another mouthful, clean and it does much to. Alleviate, freshen the mind and stir the blood. Yeah, and stretching, Lucan back into the seat, for there’s lots of . . . Shit! Oh goddamn I’ve forgotten her goddamn. Newspaper, she’ll . . . To hell with her! Wait she says, waitwait for fuck’s sake Jesus wow! Empty glass. Until. You see I’m in. The mood. Jees-us Christ what does, how can she? That’s it. Fuck her! Boy I wouldn’t be surprised, if tweedy Blair, that. Bastard. Not in the least. Waving at the waiter for there’s not much, weakfingered snapping, it’s important hurry please for what if he does, they do? Oh Jesus!

  White flesh lazy, his arrogant hands that clutch, his pornographic body fat it makes me feel beneath my heart a swelling sickness slim, so slim she. Pale, oh pale spreadeagled, Rose possessed and willing, where?

  Gagging at the new glass, no, coughing. Rubbing hand across my mouth that’s stupid, that’s. And a, perhaps a cigarette. Left quickly and into my car, quickly back, what? Nothing, no! In at the door to hear their voices? Small sips rapidly, Lucan’s drinking: cold and clean, it eases. Just a mumbling at first as lightly up the stairs and shallow breathing, her laughter leads him on. Head’s so light, my head: behind that door, yes, that door and in my bed. Drinking to still, explain this rare excitement, quivering; straining to hear each slightest sound. My head. Until it hurts, inhaling and hold it, why do I. Prolong? Smoking and injured Lucan Crackell, lust’s imagination in slow motion, bodies wrestle, bedsheet entwined they’re flowing into one.

  Tied up or something, in their power, jeez there’s too many. Cruel ropes that sear my wrists, my eyes averted longingly. You make a sound and we’ll, yes we’ll kill him sweetie, little lady if you don’t. Cooperate. At her blouse rapacious hands, tearing buttons and her skirt, her eyes with tears, her stifled cry oh no no and the vicious swipe across my face we’ll kill him baby and it’s nothing nothing new for us . . . moist mouths her nakedness and eager eyes as one by one they screw her on our bed and stirring yes spasmodically she wanton twists, she turns beneath them, eager now, eager her arms around them desperate hold, she. “You wannanother?” Shaken Lucan struggling for change, nodding dumbly and that’s. Clunk. You simply must. Shifting carefully to ease the pressure, ha, that’s a shameful, really. I mean, to think of your wife. I simply mustn’t allow myself. More slowly, just a taste, not too much. Rolling bitterly on my tongue.

  God imagine the feeling! Felix is right, oh boy back there, her body’s gift: dark in the jail and alone; their laughter, his hands, her . . . twisted, oh! Dark at the water’s edge, this landscape, roots between us and the sun . . .

  Softbody bursting from my hand to rise: rising from me at the edge, lost in that forest, lost. Crouching past and their chattering arms reached out like bees and there’s the terror, for I knew. It doesn’t matter. Dark birds accuse about my head, they cry: it doesn’t, for I’ve always known.

  But I’ve danced in shadows and my songs, me laughing . . .

  Rude, most certainly, but here he is again. Keeps his eyes open. Efficiency’s a virtue I admire. Cold glass, and I’ve really been quite harsh, too harsh with Oswald. After all. Lucan sipping, savouring, for after last night, oh boy! It tastes surprisingly good, it does. Hmmmn. He’s young after all, serious and . . . God! Sad yes, worse for me in a way. Jeez. But if he did, if someone. Perhaps I didn’t, he might. Get away, yes FUCK THEM ALL! Be the one that. Be good to see . . . the one. Inhaling so it hurts and tight lips blow the smoke. Large hands, what? Reaching they toy, arrange the, what on earth is it? Longer engine life and no internal knocks, I’ll bet! Mechanical images, electric blue, and there’s no sound: sincerity, teeth glittering as Lucan stares. Mouthings, animated eyebrows; empty face for me. Impersonal down from the wall.

  Heavy shadow, brutal impact hurls his body, sharp and awkward for a moment in the air; red blood a rose beneath his head, and eyes, the youthful eyes . . . An animal pause, uncertain drifting in that night and wind.

  The force of impact would have crumpled any normal fender. Shit a most unpleasant, terrible, I can almost feel the. Blow, the jagged wound, it’s sad. Cut off, as it were, just as he’d. Abrupt I must. It’s almost time. The watch, there’s only time for a. Quickie, yes. Raising my head, and he is really on the ball. Yes. “Thanks,” nodding, “thank you,” and this better, this’ll be the last. For sure. Turning glass in its ring of foam, Lucan sees her smiling. And she’s holding my arm, she’s. Oh!

  Lucan Crackell drinks and stretches, rapidly blinking, staring. Got to assert the mind’s control! It’s a most, sip and swallow as he lights a cigarette, a most curious and a vulnerable situation. Yes indeed, oh yes. Ha! Calmly smoke in wreaths about his head. A superficial, but essential order. Yes, that’s the thing. I know she. Likes me. Yes she does! Perhaps she’d . . .

  Once, dear God, there was a ship! Vegetation from the sand as growing from her. Pirates, they seemed like pirates, ragged for my youth they came al
l foam bedecked and sweating to Mexique Bay. Come with us, they said, we need another. Tanned and bearded, eyes stripped by distance and their strength, their laughter’s . . .

  Work with us, why don’t you. Come along?

  Six weeks in San Francisco to refit, they said, and then. At night, their laughter easy, oh so easy . . . The Hyacinth. Something over a hundred and ten feet long, was built in Scotland and freely there, she’s riding, rising from the sea. And then to the islands. We go, to the islands. (How shall we set sail for happiness?) So come with us. Come . . . Un buho, the prisoner owl, the feathers, sweat commingled, his and mine. And was that just two weeks, two weeks ago? Crescent night and swooping arm, alone; lifting clumsy at first, the unexpected flight, clawing. The climbing hope to this forest and the sun. Then springing, magic they came for my dreams; but here I am, still in an empty bay I’m standing Vera, for I couldn’t go, I couldn’t simply throw everything, my thesis up and all my life, to follow that ship. No, no I couldn’t, you must. See! No not after his rebuff not with! Embraced by fear, my shame against their strength! Oh God, if I could only . . .