Some of Your Blood (13 page)

A. No.

Q. This is a whole lot to take in all at once, isn’t it?

A. Mmm.

Q. Well, let’s get to work. Here I have your story that you wrote. Don’t open your eyes. Just take it easy. Lie quiet, quiet, quiet. Let it get dark inside your eyes. Ride the dark like a big mattress, George. Let yourself sink down into the dark, down deeper, deeper, deeper. Don’t sleep. Just lie there in the warm dark. Everything’s easy, easy. You hear me, you can talk, easy, easy, easy…. About the hunting. You wrote a whole lot about the hunting but you never even once said you drank the blood of the animals you killed. You—

A.
Anyám!

Q. What?

A. It means Mother.

Q. Go on.

A. That’s all.

Q. (Pause.) You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but why did you say that just then?

A. You asked me.

Q. I did?

A. When I started.

Q. Oh. Oh. Drinking blood. Mother. Mother?

A. She all the time said that. She said it right up to the time she died, I was so big and all … ah you drank the very blood out of me, she said when she felt bad…. Well I didn’t mean to.

Q. Sure you didn’t. Aw, George, that was just what they call a figure of speech, like “as the crow flies,” you don’t really expect a crow to be there flying. There are no horses in horseradish.

A. No, my old man told me I really did. She nursed me when I was born, when she got some sort of trouble and her breasts got to bleeding she wouldn’t stop. She said it was her duty, she near died of it. She did die of it finally.

Q. (Performing what he derided in others as the Psychiatrist’s Pounce; heroically, however, eliminating the A-ha! that goes with it.) You think you’re responsible for that!

A. No I don’t and it wouldn’t make no difference, it was what she wanted, she said that and said it. She look down her nose at strong healthy mothers. She said they didn’t give much. Not like her. She liked to think about that and talk about it. If she was alive today to see what happened she would be happy she died of it.

Q. You seem to have understood her very well.

A. She all the time talked about it.

Q. When did you start getting blood outside?

A.—

Q. George?

A. I’m thinkin’.

Q. Take your time.

A. (Trace of anxiety.) You want to know the very first time. What if I can’t remember what it was?

Q. It doesn’t matter exactly the first time. Were you very small?

A. I guess so ’cause I can’t remember it. I remember the cat….

Q. Want to tell about it?

A. … kittens. It had little kittens. They was sucking on the cat. I must’ve been pretty small. Maybe three, four. I thought I could too. I wanted it. I remember I wanted it.

Q. … What happened?

A. I tried to, the cat scratched me in the face. I had this piece of auto leaf spring in my hand, I don’t know how, I hit out and killed the cat dead right there. Then it couldn’t stop me. But somehow it was the blood I was eating when he….

Q. … Go on. You said, when he.

A. The old man. He come up behind me hit me with his fist middle of the back. (Vaguely moves shoulders on cot.) By God I can still remember how my head snapped all the way back I seen his face upside down it was like getting struck by lightning.

Q. What did he say?

A. He didn’t say nothing. He just said to quit it.

Q. I bet you can remember exactly what he said.

A. Now how could I? I was only a … well … wait a minute. (Long pause. Then, in amazed tone:) He hollered out, DON’T LET ME EVER CATCH YOU DOING A T’ING LAK DOT. Just like that.

Q. Whew … So he didn’t tell you not to do it.

A. Now what else?

Q. I said,
he did not tell you not to drink blood.
He said not to get caught at it. It’s not the same thing at all.

A. It means the same thing.

Q. Think it over. I’ll wait.

A. Jesus.

Q. George, I read in an old book—a book written maybe a hundred and fifty years ago—a story about a boy and his big brother and they stopped for the night at an inn. And there was an old man sitting by the fire and they got talking to him, and the old man said something—I don’t remember what, and it doesn’t matter—something very wise. And just as he said it the big brother hauled off and knocked the little boy clear across the inn.

A. What for?

Q. He said he wanted the kid to remember for the rest of his life what the old wise man said. So that’s been known for a long time. You remember times like that, you remember them all the way down deep. Also you remember everything else about it as well. I bet every time you get the taste of blood in your mouth there’s a big loud something, somewhere, yelling don’t let me catch you.

A. Especially cats … I don’t like the taste.

Q. Know why?

A. By God I do.

Q. Now we know everything but why you like to drink blood.

A. I just like it.

Q. Any other reason?

A. No…. Except sometimes I think it makes me near my mother. Don’t you laugh at me.

Q. I never did yet, George, and I never will…. You know one thing that comes through to me when I read this story of yours is that there are times when you have to have blood and times when you can take it or leave it alone and times when you can go up to two years and never even think of it.

A. That’s so, I guess.

Q. Well, what makes that?

A. I dunno.

Q. Let’s have a look. Here—no: here. Hm. Times you did without were your first two years at the school and your first two or so years at your aunt’s farm.

A. And in the Army.

Q. Yes, in the Army. Except—well, never mind that now. Now let’s see times you had to hunt animals. The third year at the school, right? And overseas.

A. Anna got sick. Woo.

Q. A bad one, hm?

A. Woo.

Q. Well, let’s look at the school one. Because nothing changed on the surface, did it? You went right on doing the same things in the same place. What happened?

A. After two years? The old man died.

Q. And that made you suddenly want blood?

A. I dunno. I just—did, is all.

Q. Maybe because with him gone you wanted that feeling of being closer to your mother?

A. That could be. It don’t sound right somehow. Or it was part of it but only a little part.

Q. And nothing else happened to you around that time?

A. Mm-mm. Nup.

Q. Well, let’s go on to—

A. Wait … Maybe this…. (A long pause.) I tell you, after the old man died everything was way different. Like when I would get out I would have him to go back to. He wasn’t nothing to me, but there wasn’t nothing else. There sure was not one single thing in that dump of a town to go back to. With him gone I was like lost.

Q. Then whenever you felt sort of lost, that’s when you wanted blood.

A. You get hot in the stomach.

Q. It happened when Anna got sick and when your father died and when you got shipped overseas.

A. And a whole lot at home with old man, him drinking. And when Uncle Jim beat up on me that time with the skunk and told me don’t come back don’t come back.

Q. So there you go, George: did you ever know before that your desire for blood came from outside you, by the things that happened to you, and not from inside really at all?

A. No I never.

Q. And now you know when you get that hot stomach you can take care of it some other way than killing something to get its blood. You know that something’s making you feel lost, and if you go fix that, you won’t need the blood. Not ever.

A. And I always thought I needed it and I was the only one.

Q. You’ve just been looking at the wrong end of the thing. There may not be many who have to drink blood, but there are millions—billions, even, who feel what you feel that makes you drink blood.

A. I don’t get you.

Q. Everyone on earth feels lonely sometimes, lost sometimes. Just the way you do. Everybody has his own way of handling it, just as you had a way.

A. I always thought I was the only one.

Q. Don’t think it any more…. Hey, here’s another hole in your story. You say here you broke into the funeral home the night they laid your mother out there. What for?

A. What’d I write? To say good-bye.

Q. ‘To say good-bye to her in his own way,’ is what you wrote. What is your own way of saying goodbye?

A. (After a long pause.) She always said it was for me.

Q. (Carefully.) Tell me what it was like in there.

A. Well it wasn’t no fancy place, not in that town. Just a big workroom kind of place., shelves and sinks and like that, and she was on a long table with a sheet over her and her face. They taken all the blood out of her. I seen them do it at night through the window blind in the back a hole. It was in a bottle on the floor.

Q. And you—

A. She always said that’s what it was for. And in a way it made us be like part of each other forever, don’t you laugh at me.

Q. I’m not laughing…. All right, George. We’ll go, on … Here’s something. You mention a quarry on the other side of town where there were big frogs.

A. Sometimes frogs are good, like on a real hot day, like for a change. They are cold you know. Especially if you scare ’em off where they’re sunning and they dive down deep and hide. They can stay down ten, fifteen minutes and when they come up they’re real cold. Only thing is the biggest frog you ever saw isn’t but a mouthful’s worth. A frog can’t see you if you don’t move. You wait where you chase ’em, they will come right back practically into your hand if you know how to sit still.

Q. You know you’re a regular nature guide, George. I never met a man who knew so much about small game hunting.

A. Well I studied at it.

Q. Oh yes—here’s that part you wrote about sex. You have a very good head on you, George. A lot of people who are supposed to be smarter than you and me put together haven’t figured the thing out as neatly as you did. But tell me something—is Anna the only girl you ever had?

A. Uh-huh.

Q. Look, you won’t mind telling me. When you and Anna—

A. Phil, I don’t want to get you mad—

Q. Go ahead. What were you—

A. What’s that you—

Q. (Laughs.) Now don’t everybody talk at once. What did you say?

A. Phil, don’t ask me about Anna and me, how we do it, all right?

Q. If it’s important to you not to talk about it, we won’t.

A. Well thanks. I got to tell you, I been sort of holding off talking all this time because I wanted us to get past that.

Q. Anything like that on your mind, speak up right at the beginning. I’m here to work with you, not on you.

A. Well all right, there is one more thing, now that you mention it.

Q. Shoot.

A. That letter I wrote Anna, that started all this trouble. I don’t want you to ask me nothing about it.

Q. (Swears, but silently.) Of course not, if you don’t want me to.

A. (Lies back expansively, heaves a deep breath.) Well all right. Now anything goes.

Q. All right. Then quit bouncing around and relax all over again. Close your eyes and make it black, and sink into the black and drift in it. Don’t sleep. You can hear me very well. You can talk very well. Relax all over. Toes. Ankles. Fingers. One Two Three Four Five. How do you feel?

A. (Peacefully.) Swell.

Q. I’m looking through your story again for holes. I see what you mean, George. It
is
all here, once you know how to read it. Here’s the whole thing about the watchman, and I didn’t even see it the first time I read it.

A. (Peacefully.) That was after the fight with Uncle Jim.

Q. Of course you didn’t go into much detail … still, it’s there. You like human blood?

A. The best I ever had was human blood. But it wasn’t that ol’ bum.

Q. (Hesitates.) Well, we’ll come to it, I imagine…. Oh, here’s something. About the beaver lodge.

A. Yeah and the kid tripped my deadfall.

Q. You don’t say much here about what happened. Wasn’t he hurt?

A. Oh, his leg was mashed some. It didn’t bother him after I got there.

Q. You get him out all right?

A. I got him out all right. I beat hell out of him. I wrote it there, it was like he was that damn baby made Anna sick and I could finally hit out at it.

Q. What happened to him finally?

A. I put him in the lake.

Q. Wait a minute … something about a lake … you made up a story in the Thematic Apperception test. You remember, the picture of the swimming hole. Something about a kid screaming, another kid pushed him under the water. Yes, his leg was hurt too.

A. Well yes, it happened like that.

Q. You cut him, George?

A. After I got him back out. He was dead then. It I didn’t hurt him.

Q. How old a boy was it?

A. I don’t know nothing about kids, how old they are for how big. Six, seven, something like that. That was the one I told you, best I ever had. But I was so mad at him, I had a chance to hit back. That probably made all the difference.

Q. Where did you cut him?

A. Through the belly-button.

Q. Whose kid was he?

A. God, I dunno. Them Polock families up that way got more kids than they can count and the dumb bastards can’t count so much either. This wasn’t from around my way, Phil. This was up to’rds Cravensville. Matter of fact Cravensville is right on that same lake, but on the other side and around the point from where I was.

Q. What did you do with him after?

A. Just dropped him in the lake like he drowned.

Q. George, you enlisted right after that. The very next day. Was that because you were scared about the kid?

A. Yes and no. I knew I was heading for big trouble the way I was. I wasn’t worried about that one, it was the next one or the one after I was worried about, if you see what I mean. You could get careless. And I made a guess the Army would be about like the school only bigger and I was right. It straightened me out for two, three years until they shipped us out.

Q. Question of being lost or not lost, again.

A. You’re so right. Nobody was as lost as me after we carried those stretchers off those C-119s. I seen where I was going and it was that. I seen where I been and it was gone. Something had to give.