Mercy (64 page)

m y muscles, I’m stiff and I’m sore and then m y head’s

separate, it’s very big and there’s a thud in it, a bang, a buzz,

and there’s polka dots in the air, painted on, in the whole vast

room, dancing dots, black and navy blue, and he’s watching

me, I m ove slow ly and finally I am sitting, sitting on the edge

o f the bed, the single bed, sitting, chaste, just sitting, and m y

right leg is split open, the skin on it is split open in two places,

above m y knee and under m y knee, the skin’s torn, there’s big

jagged pieces o f skin, there’s gashes, it’s deep tears, deep cuts,

blood, dried blood and wet blood, m y leg’s torn open in tw o

places, his kisses, his lover’s kisses opened the skin, inside it’s

all angry looking as if it’s turning to a yellow or greenish pus,

it’s running with dirty, angry blood, I think it needs stitches

but I can’t get stitches and I’m scared o f gangrene, old ladies

get it on the street, winos get it when there’s sores, and I go to

wash it at the sink but it hurts too much and I think his water’s

dirty, I’m sure he has dirty water, it looks dirty, and the skin’s

splitting apart more, as if it’s a river running over land, and I

concentrate on getting out, finding m y clothes, putting on m y

clothes, they’re torn and fucked up, and I ask for the keys to

get out and he says something chatty and he smiles, it’s

English but I can’t exactly understand it so I nod or smile in a

neutral w ay and I think I’d better get out and he says see you or

see you again or see you soon, it’s English but it’s hard to

understand, I can’t make out the separate words, and I say

yeah, yeah, o f course, sure, and it doesn’t seem to be enough

so I say I’ll call, it seems better, it’s affirmative, he relaxes, he

smiles, he’s relaxed back into the bed, and I move, slow ly, not

to alarm him, not to stir him, not to call attention to myself, I

try to m ove the w ay they tell you with a book on your head,

smooth and calm and quiet, firm and fast and sure, ladylike,

self-abnegating, to disappear, and I take the keys and I go

down the steps, very slow, it’s hard, the blood from the gashes

is dripping down and the leg’s opening more and it hurts, it

hurts very much— if you spread your arms out full, that much,

or even more maybe. If it was a knife you could put the skin

back together and there wouldn’t be so many diseases, knives

are cleaner, this w on’t go back together, it’s ripped, it’s too

torn, it’s dirty, some special dirt, it’s named after him, this

dirt, it’s called
Paulie
, I named it after him; and I leave the keys

like he told me inside the door in the hall on the floor, it’s

unlocked now, the door’s open, I walk out and it’s deserted,

cold, bare, bare city streets, calm, no wind, a perfect, pure,

clean cold, cold enough to kill the germs on m y leg, it’ll freeze

them and they’ll die, I think it must be the case, if you can kill

them through heat, sterilization, you must be able to kill them

through cold, I think the damaged tissue’s already freezing and

the germs are dying or they will and it’s good there’s no wind

because if anything moves my leg screams, the skin screams,

it’s like a flashfire ignited up my leg, a napalm exploding on

me; and he’s sleeping upstairs, he’s in bed, he didn’t get out o f

bed, he’s asleep, he was back asleep almost before I left, he

seemed to be waiting for me to kiss him goodbye or good

morning or hello, I said I’ll call and he relaxed back into bed, I

stared, I made m yself move, I moved fast, quiet, which is w hy

they teach you to walk with a book on your head, you walk

quiet, with poise, you have a straight back, you take firm,

quiet steps, and I wish someone would go up now while he’s

asleep and kill him or rob him, I wish I could put a sign on the

door— it’s open, kill him, rob him, I think there’s some

chance, it’s a bad neighborhood, maybe som ebody’ll find

him. I’m dirty; all m y clothes are torn and fucked up as if they

were urinated on or wrapped in a ball and used to wipe

someone’s ass. I call Jill from a pay phone. He raped me, I say.

H e’s not the milk o f human kindness she says and hangs up; is

raped me
worse than cheated on you? I got some change, some

quarters, some dimes, m y favorite, half dollars, they’re pretty

like silver, I like them. She knew it was bad; raped me. The

earth’s round but the streets are flat. There’s rain forests but

the streets are cold. I can’t really say I understand. It’s ten a. m.

I’m tw enty-six years old. I got a wound on m y leg, a nasty

sore, dirty fucking sore from a rabid dog, slobbering m angy

cur, an old bag lady’s sore, ugly fucking sore; maybe the

A . S . P . C . A . ’d come and get him. I could use a drink. I got to

sleep before there’s night, it comes fast in winter, you lose

track. It’s ten a. m .; and soon it will be ten-o-five; soon. Y ou

have to count fast, keep counting, to keep track. U g ly,

fucking, stupid bitch, got to sleep, can’t lie down. There’s

fleas.

N I N E

In October 1973

(Age 27)

There’s a basketball court next to where I live, not a court

exactly, a hoop high up, and broken cement, rocks, broken

glass; there’s boys that play, the game ain’t ballet like on

television, it’s malice, they smash the ball like they’re smashing heads and you don’t want to distract them, you want their

eyes on the ball, always on the ball, you want them playing

ball; so you get small and quiet walking by, you don’t let

nothing rattle or shake, you just blend, into the sidewalk, into

the air, get gray like the fence, it’s wire, shaky, partly walling

the place in, you walk quiet and soft and hope your heart don’t

beat too loud; and there’s a parking lot for cops right next to

the basketball, not the official vehicles but the cars they come

to work in, the banged up C hevys and Fords they drive in

from the suburbs because most o f them don’t live here no

more but still, even though they got more money than they

make you don’t see nothing smart and sleek, there’s just this

old metal, bulky, heavy, discolored. The young cops are tight

and you don’t want to see them spring loose, their muscles are

all screwed together real tight and their lips are tight, sewed

tight, and they stand straight and tight and they look ahead,

not around, their pupils are tight in the dead center o f their

eyes staring straight ahead; and the older ones wear cheap

sports jackets too big for them, gray, brown, sort o f plaid,

nearly tweed, wrinkled, and their shoulders sag, and they are

morose men, and their cars can barely hold them, their legs fall