第10章 Can We Talk

I WENT TO THE BANK to get my money for the day. And they had painted it yellow. Under cover of night, I shrewdly supposed. With white plaster letters saying CREDIT DEPARTMENT. And a row of new vice-presidents. But I have resources of my own, I said. Sulphur deposits in Texas and a great humming factory off the coast of Kansas. Where we make little things.

Thinking what about artichokes for lunch? Pleased to be in this yellow bank at 11:30 in the morning. A black man cashing his check in a Vassar College sweatshirt. A blue policeman with a St. Christopher pinned to his gunbelt. Thinking I need a little leaf to rest my artichokes upon. The lady stretching my money to make sure none of hers stuck to it.

Fourteenth Street gay with Judy Bond Dresses Are On Strike. When I leaned out of your high window in my shorts, did you really think I had hurtling to destruction in mind? I was imagining a loudspeaker-and-leaflet unit that would give me your undivided attention. When I leaned out of your high window in my shorts, did you think why me?

Into his bank I thought I saw my friend Ken?neth go. To get his money for the day. Loitering outside in my painted shoes. Considering my pros?pects. A question of buying new underwear or going to the laundromat. And when I put a nickel in the soap machine it barks. When I leaned out of your high window in my shorts, were you nervous because you had just met me? I said: Your eyes have not been surpassed.

The artichokes in their glass jar from the arti?choke heart of the world, Castroville, Calif. I asked the man for a leaf. Just one, I said. We dont sell them in ones, he said. Can we negotiate, I asked. Breathing his disgust he tucked a green leaf into my yellow vest with his brown hands. When I asked you why you didnt marry Harry you said it was because he didnt like you. Then I told you how I cheated the Thai lieutenant who was my best friend then.

Posing with my leaf against a plastic paper plate. Hoping cordially that my friend Victors making money in his building. Then the artichokes one by one. Yes, you said, this is the part they call Turtle Bay. Coffee wondering what my end would be. Think?ing of my friend Roger killed in the crash of a Link Trainer at Randolph Field in 43. Or was it breakbone fever at Walter Reed.

Then out into the street again and uptown for my fencing lesson. Stopping on the way to give the underwear man a ten. Because he looked about to bark. When I reached to touch your breast you said you had a cold. I believed you. I made more pop?corn. Thinking of my friend Max who looks like white bread. A brisk bout with my head in a wire cage. The Slash Waltz from "The Mark of Zorro." And in the shower a ten for Max, because his were the best two out of three. He put it in his lacy shoe. With his watch and his application to the Colorado School of Mines.

In the shower I refrained from speaking of you to anyone. The store where I buy news buttoned up tight. Because the owners are in the mountains. Where I would surely be had I not decided to make us miserable. I said: I seem to have lost all my manuscripts, in which my theory is proved not once but again and again and again, and now when people who dont believe a vertical monorail to Venus is possible shout at me, I have nothing to say. You peered into my gloom.

My friend Hermans house. Where I tickle the bell. It is me. Invited to put a vacuum cleaner to?gether. The parts on the floor in alphabetical order. Herman away, making money. I hug his wife Agnes. A beautiful girl. And when one hugs her tightly, her eyes fill. When I asked you if you had a private income, you said something intelligent but I forget what. The skin scaling off my back from the week at the beach. Where I lay without knowing you.

Discussing the real estate game, Agnes and I. Into this game I may someday go, I said. Building cheap and renting dear. With a doorman to front for me. Tons of money in it, I said. When my falling event was postponed, were you disappointed? Did you experience a disillusion?ment event? Hunted for a Post. To lean upon in the black hours ahead. And composed a brochure to lure folk into my new building. Titled "The Human Heart In Conflict With Itself." Promising 24-hour incineration. And other features.

Dancing on my parquet floor in my parquet shorts. To Mahler. After you sent me home you came down in your elevator to be kissed. You knew I would be sitting on the steps.