The Recognitions (125 page)

—A light! A light! Sail on, sail on. The son of a bitch knew where he was going all the time. Stanley woke to cold hands opening his pants from behind, and lay there with his eyes wide open for a moment as the fingers became more intimate. From somewhere, there came music. It was the tango, Jealousy. Then he almost leaped out of the bed. —What are you . . . who are you? he cried, turning on the woman in white. She had a generous Scandinavian face. —Now wait, now wait,.now wait . . . —Now you lie down, she said. —You just lie down. I want to give you this suppository, sonny. —This what? He stared at the cone between her fingers. It was Nembutal sodium in a cocoa-butter base. Then he stared at her. She smiled, and got his shoulder in a bone-breaking grip. Then he looked round him. The place was rocking gently. —I'm in the ship hospital? he asked. Then he looked at his wrist and said, —Who stole my watch? —You'll be all right, now you just roll over and let me give you this suppository ... —Get me out of this bed, he burst out. —You have to stay in bed for a little while longer . . . —No but not this bed, not this bed . . . look all the other beds are empty, put me in another one, put me in that bed but not this bed ... With a pleasant smile and a turn of her wrist, she spun him round and his face went into the pillow. —But you . . . can't you . . . wait . . . —Just relax the buttocks now ... tha-at's it ... —But can't you . . . ummp! —That will help you rest, sonny. —But I don't want to rest. You can't just keep me here. Where's my watch? What day is it? And where . . . where is she? The woman looked concerned for the first time, and she said, —Now we mustn't start that again, must we. —Start . . . what again? A waiter entered and started to approach with some food on a tray. Then he saw Stanley was sitting up, with eyes wide open. He put the tray down a safe distance away, and said, —Coraggio . . . —Now what was that? Stanley demanded as the waiter got out the door. —He's the one who saved you from jumping over the side. Stanley lay back slowly. —The side of what? he murmured, but she did not hear him. She was busy unmaking a bed. Spots of sun danced brokenly off the ceiling and down one wall. Stanley's head came back to rest against a metal bar of the bed. —But no ... why would I ... he commenced, raising a hand to his face. He touched his cheek, then his chin, pulled his hand away and stared at it, then began to rub his chin again. It was rough with stubble. —But how long have I ... how long have I been here? —Lie back and don't try to remember everything now, sonny boy, said the woman in white. —Lie back and get some sleep. She emptied a pillowcase briskly. —But I do, I remember everything. I remember everything perfectly. Everything except . . . except that, if I did that, but I ... I wouldn't do that. No! . . . He came up on his elbows again, —No it wasn't me that tried it, it was her, don't you remember? But wait, listen, first put me into another bed, I can't stay in this bed. Any of the other beds, they're all empty and it doesn't matter but . . . Then he stopped. There was someone two beds away from him. A face, clean-shaven but weary looking, rested on a doubled-up hand, the elbow dug into the pillow, watching him with patient curiosity. The covers were pulled up over the head, so that only the face showed. —What do you think I am, a seagull? —Oh no, I'm . . . I'm sorry, I didn't see you, I hope I didn't disturb you but I ... I didn't see you. —That's all right, chum. I been listening to you for a long time now, I'm used to it. Have a swat at this? A bottle appeared, from under the pillow. —Oh no, no thank you, no but listen ... —Play cards? —No but listen, what do you mean you've been listening to me for a long time? —Right up until you were excommunicated, since then you been real quiet, you know? —Since I was what? —You got excommunicated, right up at the high altar with a bishop and twelve priests, don't you remember? It sounded pretty swell, all of them carrying lighted candles and talking Latin, you know? And then they all shouted Fiat! Fiat! Fiat! and threw their candles down. And then she gave you a shot. —Who? Stanley asked helplessly. —That squarehead. She's got a nice ass, hasn't she. The woman in white was approaching again from the far end, carrying some linen. She stopped to put the tray in front of the man two beds away, and smiled threateningly at Stanley, who sank back. —It sounds like you were in trouble with some dame, said his neighbor, trying the mashed potatoes with his finger. —Just tell me one thing, will you? Who the hell is Saint Mary of Egypt? —Why she . . . that's when I came down and found her in front of the mirror making up her face with make-up and lipstick and everything, and black around her eyes, and she had those streaks on her face, from the poison, I mean that's what she said, from the poison the black androgyne, I mean that's what she called Father Martin, the poison Father Martin put on him and it came off on her but only on her face. Because she said, See? and pulled up her dress to show me her ... to show there weren't any marks on her . . . anywhere else on her body. —You mean on her snatch? —I mean then she said, This was covered when she lay with him, for he was poisoned here and so he died, but she shall not. That's what she said and then she said we're going to the Holy Land and she's going to be Saint Mary of Egypt going to the Holy Land on the boat. His neighbor looked at him a moment longer, and then started to eat, saying —Thanks, through the first mouthful. —That clears up everything. —And talking . . . Stanley mumbled, looking down with a fixed stare, —about the beast with two backs, he mumbled to himself, —about . . . making the beast with two backs. It was quiet for a minute, except for the sounds of his neighbor's eating, and the distant radio playing something Italian. Then the blond woman loomed over him, and Stanley jumped as though she were going to strike him. —Now you just lie back and try to get some rest, sonny boy. Don't try and remember everything. —But I do, Stanley whispered desperately, —I remember, I ... because all that time I repeated the Angelic Salutation and then I repeated the Apostles' Creed, and those beads were rolling all over the floor and the . . . the crucifix was ... I couldn't hold it because . . . and then Father Martin came, you can ask him, he came in, that fat woman must have sent him because he came in and he put a hand on me and said something, and she was laughing. And I said thank God you've come Father she needs you and he just looked at me and she kept laughing. She called him a funny old hermaphro-ditic and asked him if he could relieve a possessed camel like Saint Hilarion did once. And then he held up his crucifix and she changed all of a sudden and said, Take him away he's hurting her, and she spat at him. But he kept looking at me, and he had his hand on me and I said, Do something for her, Father, I kept saying that, but he didn't pay any attention to her. He sprinkled some plain water around and nothing happened and then he sprinkled some holy water around and she started to cry then and she said her shoulder hurt her. Stanley shivered, and stopped speaking. The woman in white had turned away, and was walking with a firm silent tread toward the other end of the place, down the aisle of beds. The man two beds away spilled the last forkful of his lunch in his lap, and swore. —And then when I confessed, all the time I was kneeling, she kept . . . —You better have a swat at this, said the other man, getting the bottle out again. He took a long swat himself, and offered it. —No, because listen . . . Stanley commenced again. —How about a hand of casino? Stanley sat in the bed with his knees drawn up, and he let his head fall forward on them. He swallowed, and started to talk again, more rapidly, less loud and, with his head like that, less coherent, —Because when he said, "I exorcise thee, Stanley, being weak but reborn in Holy Baptism, by the living God, by the true God, by God Who redeemed thee with His Precious Blood, that thou mayest be exorcised, that all the illusions and wickedness of the devil's deceits may depart and Hee from thee together with every unclean spirit, adjured by Him Who will come to judge both the quick and the dead, and who will purge the earth with fire. Amen. Let us pray . . ." when he said that she just looked at him and I could see her there, and she looked . . . she looked . . . The blond woman had returned with a small tray full of bottles and syringes. She stopped at the other bed to clean the mashed potatoes off the counterpane, and the man slid a hand round her waist and ran it up and down her starched thigh. As she bent over him he blew into her ear. —"to bestow Thy grace upon Thy servant who suffereth from a weakness in the limbs of his body," Stanley mumbled on, —"that whatever is corrupt by earthly frailty, whatever is made violate by the deceit of the devil, may find redemption in the unity of the body of the Church. Have mercy, O Lord, on his groaning, have mercy upon his tears . . ." —In a minute, said the woman at the next bed, pulling away with a giggle and a snap of elastic. —You see? I remember all of it, even all the words, Stanley burst out, as the woman in white put the small tray down on his night table and pulled one of his arms out straight. —And then . . . because then the streaks, those red streaks she had on her, it seemed like they were leaving her face, like they just sort of disappeared and she was as white as ... as this, and then he said, "Therefore, accursed devil, hear thy doom, and give honor to the true and living God, give honor to the Lord Jesus Christ, that thou depart with thy works from this servant whom our Lord Jesus Christ hath redeemed with His Precious Blood. Let us pray . . ." and she . . . she'd started to talk too, and she was crying too, and she said, She will be a nun and sweat blood too, and sweat blood like Blessed Catherine Racconigi, and like Saint Veronica Giuliani and like Saint Lutgarde of Tongres, yes and like Blessed Stefana Quinzani on every Friday the sweat of blood, and conceal the Four Wounds, and hide the Crown of Thorns under her veil like that Poor Clare of Rovereto . . . Owwwoww! . . . Stanley screamed. —Jesus Christ, chum . . . —Now hold still, sonny boy, this doesn't hurt, just a little needle. —But you . . . but you . . . no, listen! No! No, because I'm . . . don't! He cowered back at the head of the bed, away from her. The sun no longer danced off the ceiling and down the wall, but it shone in a steady weakening light of its own, no longer reflected off the water, but shining in through a porthole upon a heavy glass ashtray on another table, where he stared. The corner of the ashtray caught the sunlight and broke it into colors which changed slowly before his eyes, red, to green, to violet, to green, as the ship rocked gently. —Listen! . . . Stanley whispered hoarsely, drawn up rigid against the bars of the bed, the tendons in his neck standing out, —Listen , . . There were distant voices, indistinct, broken by shouts from closer by, and sounds totally unfamiliar by this time, all sustained on the throbs of a dull pulsation, which went on, and had been going on all this time like the beat of another heart, but not his own. —Listen ... he repeated weakly. Then he appeared to fall off the end of the bed; but he was up, and with energy not his own, so far as he knew, for he knew his heart had stopped, he got to the door and pulled it open. What he saw stopped him. He staggered, and fell in two or three steps toward the rail where he caught himself. He stared at the static landscape. It would not move, and he could not accept it that way, not moving, and so crowded. Here and there fragments moved sharply and separate, small boats offside, and people on the dock, cars moving slowly but steady against the hard land, and everything separate; even the noises rose with the discordance of differences, whistles and sharp cries, bells and motorcars breaking their edges against one another. —Where are we? he said, as the woman in white caught him there at the rail. —Naples, but you ... —But Naples, I have to get off, I have to get off here, I have to get off at Naples, tell them . . . wait ... —All right, sonny boy, you come back in to bed, we'll stop at Livorno and Genoa, and you can ... —Wait wait wait look look there she is, there she is, don't you see her? Look don't you see her? He twisted out of the grip on his shoulder and almost went over the rail, pointing to the figures on the dock below. -Look don't you see her? . . . there she is, don't you see her? ... with that man, don't you see her with that man, with that man in the black hat and the black coat and the . . . with the sling, don't you see them? Don't you see her? Wait! Wait! Wait! he cried, over the rail. —Wait . . . wait for me! ... The woman caught him by both shoulders, and dragged him back on his heels, back from that sudden landscape so crowded with detail. The ship's whistle shivered every fixture aboard. Stanley was heaving helplessly when she got him back inside. His eyes were closed, but he kept mumbling, —Now wait . . . now wait . . . now wait ... as she filled the syringe again and thrust the point of the needle into his arm. He lay shivering in the dim light, the sheet drawn perfectly straight across his shoulder, trying to speak but even as his lips moved, he could not make a sound. In his staring eyes, the image of the woman in white came up the aisle between the beds, carrying a screen, up the aisle. His lips formed, Now wait, not this bed, any other bed but not this bed, now wait ... But he could not make a sound. He choked on a scream, Not this bed ... but he could not make a sound. He felt for his pocket, but he had no pocket. He found his left wrist with his right hand, and all he felt was the naked wrist. —Not here ... not this bed ... not yet ... he whispered; and the screen stopped there two beds away, and came open. Stanley listened: he thought he could hear the beads rolling on the floor; mounting, pausing, rolling back. -Pater noster, he whispered as they rolled, -qui es in coelis ... His tongue found the hollow on his gum. —Qui tollis peccata mundi ... no I mean qui . . . qui . . . who . . . He coughed, and tried to say, Wait! ... but found he was throwing up, and put his head over the side of the bed. Then he put a foot out, and it touched the cold floor. The sound of the engines rose, and with that his heart took up beating heavily, and he caught his breath and was able to breathe. Both feet on the cold steel floor, he steadied himself with a hand on his night table and tried
to whisper Wait . . . but he heard, —What? . . . what am I ... doing here? all I have ... all I have lost . . . He was dizzy, standing. The ship bumped, and shook. He held to the foot of the bed, and held the more tightly when the whistle sundered the only sounds he had, and failed, coming back from the harbor in fragments to augment them: the steady energumenical force of the engines, filling his heart to a shape rising from his chest to burst the bounds of his throat, and the squeaking, squeaking, squeaking behind the screen. That sound had begun unevenly, and then stopped, and commenced again with the regular mounting thrust and withdrawal of the engines and of his heart, faster, all of them as he came closer to the shadowless screen and behind it a moan, and gasps, the wary and then attacking steps and panting of the beast he approached silently, whispering unheard, —Wait . . . don't . . . don't . . . leave me alone. It was nearly dark. The whistle sounded again, halting everything. Even the reversed engines stopped; then there was a consummate pause, and the engines, and his heart, took up slowly, as the starboard side rose, and he took another step forward. He had seen Naples.