Self-Esteem (26 page)

“Strange decree.”
It’s like your parents telling you not to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes when you’re a teenager. It’s the challenge that makes you want to do it. I wonder why God did this. Then there’s Job. God testing people and things like that. My Grandmother said never ask why God does something. Huh, I wonder why she said that.

4 And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die:

The Devil was right about that. They didn’t die. But God said they would. Oh, maybe it’s that they’ll die eventually.

5 For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.

You can be like God, autonomous like God. This was the first lie ever told.

6 And when the woman saw that the tree
was
good for food,

They had all the food they wanted, but that wasn’t enough. Damn women.

and that it
was
pleasant to the eyes,

She could still look at it. She just couldn’t touch. Gotta have everything.

and a tree to be desired to make
one
wise,

Like she cared about being wise. Probably just wanted to look like she cared about being wise.

she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.

Now wait, did Adam know it was from the tree?
The
tree? Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe she just said, “Hey, Honey, have some of this with your mutton.” Poor sap. Probably didn’t even like it. Probably was just being nice. Probably just wanted to get laid. Or maybe she just nagged him until he gave in.

7 And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they
were
naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.

God wanted a bunch of naked people who didn’t know they were naked, didn’t know good and evil? Huh, being naked is evil? Unless you don’t know it, I guess. I really need to read this book again.

“All you need is the Bible,” Crawford said contracting his stomach again.

8 And they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day:

They heard
his voice walking in the garden
? Oh yeah, they couldn’t see him, I guess. Or else they were crazy. Which means the whole human race is crazy. This book actually makes sense. No wonder Freud
…

and Ad’am

“Ad’am?” Oh, it’s a “Pronouncing” Bible.

and Ad’am and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the LORD God amongst the trees of the garden.

9 And the LORD God called unto Ad’am, and said unto him, Where
art
thou?

10 And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I
was
naked; and I hid myself.

I guess King James added the “was” emphasis later. “Because I
was
naked.” He still is, really. He’s wearing a damn fig leaf. See if that holds up in court.

11 And he said, Who told thee that thou
wast
naked?

Come on, that’s a loaded question. I guess all God’s questions are loaded, now that I think about it.

Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?

He’s God. He knows the answer. The question is rhetorical.

12 And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest
to be
with me,

That’s a strange emphasis, “to be.” He sounds bitter already.

she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.

Boy, he sells her out fast, doesn’t he? Eh, she deserves it.

13 And the LORD God said unto the woman, What is this
that
thou hast done? And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.

Excuses, excuses. She used the word “beguiled.” What a phony. Or maybe it’s just a bad translation.

14 And the LORD God said unto the serpent,

The serpent was still around, huh? He was watching the whole thing?

Because thou hast done this, thou
art
cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field; upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life:

“Eat dust,” snake. Snakes were walking upright before? Creepy.

15 And I will put enmity between thee and the woman,

“Enmity.” So that’s where the battle of the sexes comes from.
Or he is talking about between the woman and the snake? Maybe Adam’s snake.

and between thy seed and her seed;

Ah.

it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel.

Uh huh, lots of fighting. It’s God-intended, all this fighting.

16 Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire
shall be
to thy husband,

“Thy desire
shall be
to thy husband.” Does that mean her desire was elsewhere before? Or does that mean the husband will be hornier than the woman? I’m confused.

and he shall rule over thee.

Damn right.

17 And unto Ad’am he said, Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife,

Uh huh, because he listened to his bitchy-ass wife’s bad ideas…

and hast eaten of the tree, of which I commanded thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat of it: cursed
is
the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat
of
it all the days of thy life;

18 Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;

“The herb”? Hmm. What herb?

19 In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

“Dust thou art.” God despises us by the Third Chapter. No wonder we have no self-esteem.

20 And Ad’am called his wife’s name Eve; because she was the mother of all living.

He’s a semanticist. The first.

21 Unto Ad’am also and to his wife did the LORD God make coats of skins, and clothed them.

I feel sick.

22 ¶ And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us,

Us? Us who? Who is he talking to here?

to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever:

I don’t understand.

23 Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Ad’am, to till the ground from whence he was taken.

Just do your business so you can get another drink.

24 So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Ad’am Cher’u-bims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.

“To keep the way of the tree of life”? What does that mean? Wait a minute.

Crawford leaned over and farted loudly then felt a sudden rush of fear as though he’d just committed blasphemy. His grandmother would have said so, but she wouldn’t have explained why. Farting is natural, Crawford assured himself. It’s okay, nothing to be ashamed of. Farting and crapping — it was a subject Crawford thought about in his early twenties to help rid himself of social phobias.

People are all a bunch of shitters and pissers and farters, he often thought, especially around unapproachably beautiful women. And it worked for a while, but it soon proved a catch-22. He thought about them shitting, pissing and farting then he no longer desired them.

Crawford expelled more flatus.
Isn’t it strange how we all fear the fart? Something everyone has to do on a daily basis. Something God — if there is One — created. Something, ironically, that creates a pleasant release. It’s a philosophical question I should bring up sometime — perhaps in a book or at a dinner party. I could be a revolutionary. If I were to write of this private moment in a book, people would call me depraved and dirty-minded. Someone
brave
would do it. Jonathan Swift would do it, and he was a priest. In Lilliput they dealt with some nasty shit, literally — Gulliver’s nasty shit. And what about Redd Foxx, he could talk about farting and shitting. No priest, but what a genius he was. Serious writers and thinkers cannot talk about such things. They don’t want to be laughed at. Redd
did
want to be laughed at. He was free. What if I only used the word “flatulence”? Or perhaps the more conversational “to break wind”? When my mother used to say “break wind” it always sounded dirtier than “fart.” Oh, screw it, who cares?

As Crawford was evacuating his bowels he thought he might write a book called
A Release Filled with Shame
,
with the subtext
: Why God bestowed upon us the shame of
…

Crawford froze a moment then twisted around and put the Bible back where he found it. “You think too much, Crawford. Wipe your ass.”
And don’t feel ashamed.
He could almost hear his Grandmother say
You’re going to hell
.

“If you’re not out here in two minutes,” Crawford heard Lee yell. “I’m leaving with your car.”

Crawford wept.

And that was the last thing he remembered.

CHAPTER 13

Ceiling
. It was a ceiling — a plain old white ceiling. That’s what it looked like in the dark. Didn’t look familiar, but then again most ceilings don’t. One reason the Sistine Chapel is such a marvel.

The sound was silence — not the kind Simon and Garfunkel sang about, but bad silence. For Crawford there was nothing worse than waking up from a real bender and hearing it lingering, waiting like a stalker to remind him of the horrible incidents that hadn’t been blacked out by alcohol.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents
.

He lifted the sheets to find he was in his boxer shorts, not in his usual bedroom dress. The comforter on the bed was unfamiliar to him, so was the room. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and saw a large glass of water on the night table next to a small bottle of aspirin and a bottle of B vitamins. Crawford, dehydrated so badly his upper lip was sticking to the top of his gums, grabbed the glass of water and drank half of it. Next to the aspirin was a small note pad with something scribbled on it. “I called your wife. There’s no need to worry. Get some rest. Take a vitamin. You’ve got a show to do. Regards, Lee.”

Regards? Did he dictate that to his damn secretary?

As Crawford’s body absorbed the cold water, his limbs chilled. He slid back under the covers noticing a small digital clock beside the lamp on the night table. It read
3:20
. It was dark outside. Three in the morning, not three in the afternoon.

How could I have slept that long? Have I been sleeping that long? Maybe I just got in bed a little while ago. Maybe I was
placed here
.

He tried to recall the last thing he could remember. Those black kids in the bar, he remembered them rapping. He remembered…

Lee came and got me. I called him. But that had to be twelve hours ago.

Crawford thought of one time he had been on a hardcore binge — right after the publication of
Self-Assurance
— and he slept almost twenty-four hours. Twelve was nothing by comparison. And as his mother used to tell him when he was a kid, “When you sleep for long periods, it means your body needs it, so go ahead.”

What Crawford felt like now was crap, and what he needed now was a drink. He could already tell he was in store for some comedown “willies” — the kind that brings the terror of losing one’s mind. He felt like there was a strange flow of electricity running from the base of his spine into the core of his brain, overloading it with deadly current. He didn’t have a headache in the usual sense, but his entire forehead throbbed with voltage that felt like a cerebral earthquake.

Drink. No. Drink. That’s what I need. No, you don’t. Don’t. Yes, you do. No, I don’t. Drink.

It’s dangerous if you don’t drink. You need to come down slowly, he thought.

Okay, I’ll drink.

Crawford went into the bathroom and turned on the light. The bathroom was so immaculate, more so than his own, with every little item (towels, soap, etc.) so carefully placed, he wished he could vomit all over it. He probably would have, but he didn’t feel like it just then. Lee’s wife was notorious for her interior decorating (even worse than Dorothy), and the guest bathroom was probably a top priority. Crawford lifted the toilet seat and tried to take a piss, but couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything except think of getting that “comedown” cocktail.

Downstairs, Lee had a fully stocked bar with some of the best Scotch you can buy and a wine collection that would shame a Frenchman. But Crawford knew that if he was going to have a drink, it had better be just one or two. It wouldn’t be long before Lee would be waking him up to help him get to the Jan Hershey show, perhaps pointing a gun to his head to accomplish his goal.

Who the hell are you kidding? You’ve never stopped at one or two, ever.

Crawford washed his face then inspected himself in the mirror. He thought about how terrible he looked, how old. He hadn’t thought that in a long time.

We all pay the price of old age; it’s just that some of us pay the premium.

When Crawford thought of himself as old it wasn’t the age itself that depressed him, it was what he felt like he’d accomplished at his age — or rather what he hadn’t accomplished. He’d achieved a failing marriage and a bad liver, and little else. At his most candid, Crawford knew the
Self
Series
was nothing but a sham, a hack job, nothing close to what he had set out to accomplish when he first wrote
Self-Confidence
.