第3章 The Apology

-- Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my face in the window. Hell never come back. -- Of course he will. Hell return, open the gate with one hand, look up and see your face in the window. -- Hell never come back. Not now. -- Hell come back. New lines on his meager face. Yet with head held high.

-- I was unforgivable. -- I would not argue otherwise. -- The black iron gate, difficult to open. Takes two hands. I can see it. Its closed. -- Ive had hell with that gate. In winter, without gloves, yanking, late at night, turning my head to see who might be behind me -- -- That time that guy was after you --

-- The creep -- -- With the chain -- -- Naw he wasnt the one with the chain he was the other one. With the cudgel. -- Yes they do seem to be carrying cudgels now, Ive noticed that. Big knobby cudgels. -- Its a style, makes a statement, something to do with their pricks I imagine. -- Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my face in the window, the upper part, face truncated under the eyes by the what do you call it, sill.

-- But bathed nevertheless by the heat of the fire, which spreads a pleasing warming tickle across your bare back -- -- I was unforgivable. -- I dont disagree. -- Hell never come back. -- Say youre sorry. -- Im not sorry. -- Genuine sorrow is gold. If you cant do it, fake it. -- Im not sorry.

-- Well screw it. Its six of one and half dozen of the other to me. I dont care. -- What? -- Forgive me I didnt mean that. -- What? -- I just meant you could throw him a bone is all I meant. A note written on pale-blue notepaper, in an unsteady hand. "Dear William, it is one of the greatest regrets of my poor life that --"

-- Never. -- He may. He might. Its possible. Your position, there in the window, strongly suggests that the affair has yet some energy unexpended. That the magnetic north of your brain may attract his wavering needle still. -- Thats kind of you. Kind. -- Your wan, white back. Your green, bifurcated French jeans. Red lines on your back. Cat hair on your jeans.

-- Wait. What is it that makes you spring up so, my heart? -- The gate. -- The sound of the gate. The gate opening. -- Is it he? -- It is not. It is someone. -- Let me look. -- Hes standing there. -- I know him. Andy deGroot. Looking up at our windows. -- Whos Andy deGroot? -- Guy I know. Melville Fisher Kirkland Leland & deGroot.

-- Whats he want? -- My devotion. Ive disabused him a hundred times, to little avail. If he rings, dont answer. Of course hes more into standing outside and gazing up. -- He looks all right. -- Yes he is all right. Thats Andy. -- Powerful forehead on him. -- Yes it is impressive. Stuffed with banana paste.

-- Good arms. -- Yes, quite good. -- Looks like he might fly into a rage if crossed. -- He rages constantly. -- We could go out in the street and hit on him, drive him away with blows and imprecations. -- Probably have little or no effect. -- Stick him with the spines of sea urchins.

-- Doubt you could penetrate. -- But hes a friend of yours so you say. -- I got no friends babe, no friends, no friends. When you get down to the nut-cutting. -- Go take a poke. -- I dont want to be the first you do it. -- Ah the hell with it. Sitting here with my head hanging in the window, what a way for a grown woman to spend her time.

-- Many ways a grown woman can spend her time. Many ways. Lace-making. Feeding the golden carp. Fibonacci numbers. -- Perhaps a new gown, in fawn or taupe. That might be a giggle. Meanwhile, I am planted on this floor. Sitting on the floor by the window with only my great dark eyes visible. My great dark eyes and, in moments of agitation, my great dark nose. Ogled by myriads of citizens bopping down these Chucks Pizza-plated streets. -- How pale the brow! How pallid the cheek! How chalk the neck! How floury the shoulders! And so on. Say youre sorry. -- I cannot. Whats next? Cant sit here all night. Im nervous. Look on the bright side, maybe hell go away. Hes got a gun stuck in his belt, a belly gun, I saw it. I scraped the oatmeal out of the pot youll be glad to know. Used the mitt, the black mitt. Throw something at him, a spear or a rock. Open the window first. Spears in the closet. I can lend you a rock if you dont have a rock. Hurt him. Make him go away. Make the other return. Stir up the fire. Put on some music. Have you no magic? Why do I know you? What are you good for? Why are you here? Fetch me some chocolate? Massage? -- Hell never come back. Until you say it. -- Be damned if I will. Damned a thousand times. -- Then you forfeit the sunshine of his poor blasted face forever. You are dumb, if I may say so, dumb, dumb. Its easy. Its like saying thank you. Myself, I shower thanks everywhere. Thank people for their kindness, thank them for their courtesy. Thank them for their thoughtfulness. Thank them for little things they do if they do little things that are kind, courteous, or thoughtful. Thank them for coming to my house and thank them for leaving. Thank them for what they are about to do as well as thank them for what they have already done, thank them in public and then take them aside privately and thank them again. Thank the thankless and thank the already adequately thanked. In fine, let no occasion pass to slip the chill blade of my thanks between the ribs of every human ear. -- Well. I see what you mean. -- Act. -- Andy has bestirred himself. -- Whats he doing? -- Sitting. On a garbage can. -- I knew him long ago, and far away. -- Cincinnati. -- Yes. Engaged then in the manufacture of gearshafts Had quite a nice wife at that period, name of CALEDONIA. She split. Then another wife, Cecile as I recall, ran away with a gibbon. Then another wife whose name tax my memory as I may cannot be brought to consciousness, think I spilled something on her once, something that stained. Shectoo evaporated. He came here and joined Melville Fisher etc. Fell in love with a secretary. Polly. She had a beaded curtain in front of her office door and burnt incense. Quite exotic, for Melville Fisher. She ended up in the harem of one of those mystics, a maharooni. Met the old boy once, he grasped my nose and pulled, I felt a great surge of something. Like I was having my nose pulled. -- So thats Andy. -- Yes. Whats that sucker doing now? -- Hes combing his head. Got him a steel comb, maybe aluminum. -- Whats to comb? Whats he doing now? -- Adjusting his pants. Hes zipping. -- You are aware dear colleague are you not that I cannot abide, cannot abide, even the least wrinkle of vulgarity in social discourse? And that this "zipping" as you call it -- -- You are censorious, madame. -- A mere scant shallow preludium, madame, to the remarks I shall bend in your direction should you persist. -- Shall we call the cops? -- And say what? -- Someones sitting on our garbage can? -- Maybe thats not illegal? -- Oh my God hes got it out in his hands. Oh my God hes pointing his gun at it. -- Oh my God. Shall we call the cops? -- Open the window. -- Open the window? -- Yes open the window. -- Okay the windows open. -- William! William, wherever you are! -- Youre going to say youre sorry! -- William! Im sorry! -- Andys put everything away! -- William Im sorry I let my brother hoist you up the mast in that crappy jury-rigged bosuns chair while everybody laughed! William Im sorry I could build better fires than you could! Im sorry my stack of Christmas cards was always bigger than yours! -- Andy quails. Thats good. -- William Im sorry you dont ski and Im sorry about your back and Im sorry I invented bop jogging which you couldnt do! Im sorry I loved Antigua! Im sorry my mind wandered when you talked about the army! Im sorry I was superior in argument! Im sorry you slit open my bicycle tires looking for incriminating letters that you didnt find! Youll never find them! -- Wow babe thats terrific babe. Very terrific. -- William! Im sorry I looked at Sam but he was so handsome, so handsome, who could not! Im sorry I slept with Sam! Im sorry about the library books! Im sorry about Pete! Im sorry I never played the guitar you gave me! William! Im sorry I married you and Ill never do it again! -- Wow. -- Was I sorry enough? -- Well Andys run away howling. -- Was I sorry enough? -- Terrific. Very terrific. -- Yes I feel much better. -- Didnt I tell you? -- You told me. -- Are you okay? -- Yes Im fine. Just a little out of breath. -- Well. Whats next? Do a little honky-tonking maybe, hit a few bars? -- We could. If you feel like it. Was I sorry enough? -- No.