Mercy (46 page)

grounds for saying no or any right and it was so fucking dull,

and stupid and I’d want it to be over and I’d wait for it to be

over, especially to be untied; I learned how to wait, not just

when he was doing things to me but after when he’d leave me

there while he’d putter around or watch television or do

something, I’d never know what exactly. I’d get bad pains in

my side from the fucking or really from every time he tied me

to fuck me and I was so fucking bored it was like being back on

the streets but still easier frankly, just awful in some tedious

w ay: when will he be done, when’s he going, when’s it going

to be over. I know I’m saying I was bored, not morally

repelled, and you don’t have a right to nothing if you ain’t

morally repelled, and I know I don’t deserve nothing, but I

wanted us back being us, the wild us outside and free or

stretched out together body to body and carnal, mutual; not

this fucking tame stupid boring tie me up then fuck me. I don’t

have some moral view. M y view was that I was on his side;

that’s what being married meant to me; I was on his side the

w ay a friend on the street, that rarest creature, is on your side;

anything, any time, you need it, you got it, I don’t ask w hy, I

don’t ask any Goddamn thing, I do it, I take any pain that

comes with it or any consequences and I don’t blab about it or

complain or be halfhearted, I just take it. That was it

fundamentally for me. I’d think, when’s he going, except he

w asn’t going; the husband gets to stay. I started having this

very bad pain in m y left side and I felt frustrated and upset

because I hated this, it w asn’t anything for me; it was banal. I

hated having to go through these routines and I’d see the rope

coming out, or the movement toward the bed, or the belts, I’d

see the shadow o f something that meant he wanted this now

and I’d try to divert him to something else, anything else,

football, sports, anything, or if I saw it was going to happen

I’d try to seduce him to be with me; with me. M ore and more

it was pretend, I had to pretend— the sooner he’d come, the

sooner it’d be over, but he liked it, he really liked it, and it

went on and on; afternoons, fading to dusk. After he’d be

jubilant, so fucking high and full o f energy, jum ping and

dancing around, and I’d have this pain in m y left side, acute

and dreadful, and I wanted to crawl into a corner like some

sick animal and he’d want to go visit this one and that one,

married couples, his friends, his family; w e’d go somewhere

and he’d be ebullient and shining and fine and dancing on air,

he’d be golden and sparkling, and I’d be trying to stand the

pain in m y side, I’d be quiet, finally quiet, a quiet girl, not

thinking at all, finally not thinking, eyes glazed over, nothing

to say, didn’t think nothing, just sit there, pale, a fine pallor,

they like white girls pale, unwashed, he wouldn’t let me wash,

dressed, oh yes, very well-dressed, long skirts, demure, some

velvet, beautifully made, hippie style but finer, better,

simpler, tailored, the one w ho’d been naked and tied, and he’d

look over and he’d see me fucked and tied and I’d feel sticky

and dirty and crazy and I’d feel the bruises between m y legs

because he left them there and I’d feel the sweat, his sweat, and

I’d be polite and refined and quiet while he strutted. The men

would know; they could see. T h ey’d fuck me with their eyes,

smile, smirk, they’d watch me. He liked ropes, belt, sticks,

wooden sticks, a walking stick or a cane; cloth gags sometimes. I didn’t feel annihilated; I felt sick and bored. H e’d always do it to me but sometimes he’d have me do it to him as

a kind o f prologue, a short prologue, and I hated it but I’d try

to keep him occupied, excited, I’d try to get him to come, he’d

want to get hard but I’d want to make him come, I’d do

anything to make him come so the next part w ouldn’t happen

but it always did, you put your heart into staying alive, acting

like you’re in charge; married, a married woman, with what

we been to each other, this is just a hard stretch, he’s having

some trouble, it will change, I’ll love him enough, give him

what he needs, it will change, I can do anything, absolutely

anything. I’d go through the motions, tying him, doing what

he wanted, m ostly light strokes o f a cotton wrap-around belt

and fellating him and then he was ready and he’d tie m y wrists

to the bed and I’d start waiting and soon the pain in m y side

would come and I’d know it was going to last for hours and

he’d use a leather belt, a heavy belt, with a big buckle, a silver

buckle, or sticks, or he’d begin with his open hand, or he’d use

a brush, and he’d do what he wanted and he’d take his time and

then sometime he’d fuck me and I’d hope it was over and

sometimes it was and sometimes he’d do more and after he

would untie me and he wanted to visit folks and party, didn’t

matter w ho or where, even his terrible fam ily, he’d play cards,

the men would play cards, or i f it was real late at night he’d

want an after midnight m ovie, a cow boy m ovie, an edge o f

night crowd where there were always people he knew and

deals he could make and he’d strut by them, circle around

them, regale them, touch and poke them, tell vulgar jokes, sell

hash or score and always, always he’d smoke; or w e’d go to an

after-hours club and he’d deal and strut; and I’d sit there, the

quiet, used thing; the pale, used thing. I’d moan and do

everything you’re supposed to; I’d egg him on to try to get him

to finish; I ju st hate the fucking feel o f rope around m y wrists; I

hate it. We didn’t use mechanical things; you can use anything;

you can do anything any time with anything. The bed was in a

tiny middle room, a passageway really, no window s, and I’d

lay there, m y wrists tied to the headboard, and the walls

would be nearer each time, the room w ould get smaller each

time; and sometimes, more and more, he’d leave me spread-

eagle on the bed, m y ankles tied to the base o f the bed, and he’d

be done, and he’d get up, he’d fuck me with m y legs tied

spread apart and then he’d be dead weight on top o f me, he’d

be done, and sometime he’d get up, when he wanted, and he’d

stand there, his back to me, and he’d putter around, he’d find

his pants, he’d pick out a new shirt to wear, he’d hum, and I’d

want to reach out like this was still us, not just him, and he’d be

only a few feet away, but I couldn’t and I’d say his name and

he’d keep his back to me and I’d ask him to untie me and he’d

keep his back to me and I’d tell him m y side hurt and he’d

putter around and I’d see his back and then I’d close m y eyes