Good People (7 page)

Now I Am Doubled Over

A
LLOW ME TO SAY
a few words, he says, and then he says, People think backward. I say to the person next to me, I can't believe we've allowed this to go on, and the person next to me says, I don't know what you mean. At this point I'm livid, I am beside myself. I think about starting a fire or setting off an explosive, but I don't because that's not a nice thing to do on a Sunday morning and I don't have matches on me or kindling or anything that even resembles dynamite, so I remain seated beside myself. And it feels especially true, because at this point it's as if I'm both the one who said I can't believe we've allowed this to go on and the one who said I don't know what you mean. It is exactly like me to be disbelieving and confused at the same time. So this is when I feel the disbelief and confusion at the base of my skull working its way up toward the top of my head and down
my spinal column and all the way around into my guts. I can feel it spreading through my pelvic floor, seeping into organs and blood vessels. Now I am doubled over. Now I am on the ground, writhing, and I think, Why is this happening again. I think about how many times this has happened and in front of how many people. I can hear the people saying, This poor fellow, or I can't stand to see him like this, or I think we should go home now. Once on the floor like this, writhing, making a spectacle, I realize I might also be the one who said, Allow me to say a few words, in the first place, which was clearly a mistake and probably how this whole mess got started.

The Sky Was Everywhere Like Water

T
HERE'S A WOMAN
with her lip split open and it's not my fault. People assume it's my fault, but the truth is the splitting happened on a Thursday in front of strangers and dogs while on a boat. What I'm saying is, there were witnesses. It probably doesn't matter it happened on a Thursday, but that's when it happened. When things happen are usually important, though, so maybe I'm wrong about this part not mattering. It doesn't matter what I think matters or not. What does matter is that I'm the one who had it happen this way, on a Thursday, in front of those strangers and dogs, in the middle of that boat, it was me, the one who split her lip open for her, though it wasn't my fault, despite what people assume. I asked her first, I said, Do you want me to split your lip open for you? She could've said no, could've said I'd rather you didn't, or
Now isn't a good time, but instead she said something about my mother. At this point, the strangers and dogs were on the opposite side of the boat, but that probably doesn't matter, either. Then she called me names, some of them filthy, and I did what I usually do when she calls me filthy names, which is I look her straight in the eye like we're playing poker and I've got a full house. She doesn't like it when I have anything higher than two pair. This is when she called me a gentleman, said something about it being only Thursday. I asked her if she brushed her teeth with that mouth and she took a swing at me. Some of the strangers and dogs started paying attention to us while this was happening. We could hear them murmuring, see them pointing fingers. She turned toward them and made a crude gesture, one involving her breasts, which are sizable. This is how she conducts herself in mixed company so you can't blame anyone for any particular behavior around her. When I say anyone I mean me in this case, you can't blame me for what happened, not when it comes to someone like her, not when it happens on a boat on a Thursday in front of strangers and dogs. I'm not sure whose boat it was or how we came to be on it. We were always someplace surrounded by people and there was no accounting for any of it. Like how we met at a poker game. I didn't even know how to play poker back then, but that didn't matter apparently
and it didn't matter on the boat, either. Although I do believe we were on the boat to play poker. At least that was our intention, to play poker on a boat. We never did actually get to play on the boat, but that was our own fault. I remember the sea's being rough, if we were on the sea, which I don't think we were. It may've been a lake or a river or a river that flows out of a lake into the sea. I don't know anything about boating, about rivers, lakes, oceans. The woman with her lip split open, she doesn't know anything about this, either. I think this is an important part of what happened, though, maybe even why it happened. That we weren't on solid ground, couldn't keep our footing. People aren't meant to sway, I don't think. It affects them, people I'm talking about, us in particular. Something about the inner ear, which is too close to the brain, which controls this kind of behavior. The sky was everywhere that day, like water. I know more about the sky than I do the water, which is to say that I've been walking under the sky my whole life and only once or twice have I been out on the water. I think she said something about this right before her lip got split open. She said to look at the sky, she said it was everywhere today. I think I took this as something like a final straw, something we couldn't get past. So by now, everyone, the strangers and dogs included, was hoping I'd split that lip wide open and so this is what I did. It's the bottom lip that got split,
close to the middle, but a shade to the starboard side. I learned about the starboard side from the captain when he told everyone where to sit and stand while the boat was in motion. But how I learned the word
starboard
doesn't matter, out of all the things that don't matter, this is the most or the least or however it should go. Some of the strangers laughed when her lip got split, others cheered, like I'd won a big pot and the lip had lost her entire stack. The dogs all barked and kept on barking while she was bleeding all over the boat like that. The captain went belowdecks to get ice so she could press it to her lip, to keep it from swelling up too bad, to stop the bleeding. Someone handed me a beer at the same time the captain handed her an ice pack. After that everyone went back to what they were doing before the splitting, which was drinking, talking, swaying. As for the woman who got her lip split open, she's got stitches in there now. The stitches are supposed to dissolve at some point, but they haven't yet. Though maybe she has to go back to the hospital to get them removed. I'm not sure what she said about the stitches. I'm not sure what people assume, either, but I'm sure it's the worst. You can't blame people for assuming the worst, and when I say you, I mean me most often. I don't blame anyone for anything. What's important is this is how she walks around the world now, under the everywhere sky, with her lip split open. I'm sure we'll
laugh about this someday, I'm sure this is something we can tell our grandchildren or tell people at parties on boats. We'll be sure to tell them about the strangers and dogs, the captain, the splitting and all that. We'll probably forget that it happened on a Thursday, which will be unfortunate, I think. It seems important, like it's almost unimaginable for this to happen on a Monday, for instance. I'm sure someone will ask about the boat, but if we don't know whom the boat belonged to now or how we came to be on it together, I'm sure we won't know any better then.

I Want to Kiss Myself, Good God

I
'
M NOT
T
ANYA'S IDEA
of a handsome man. She hasn't told me this herself, but I've heard it from other people, people we have in common, including my Sofia.

The people we have in common are horrible because of who they are and where they come from and how they were raised. There are other reasons, too, but these are the most important.

I remember the night my Sofia told me I wasn't Tanya's idea of a handsome man. Everything about it was awful and I mostly blame God, but certainly Tanya and my Sofia shoulder some responsibility, too.

Also, Teddy the cripple, who played a part in all of this and who once upon a time was my best friend, if you can believe that.

I sometimes think of Teddy and Tanya and my Sofia as an unholy trinity, but I don't know which is the father, who's the son, or what the unholy ghost.

I'm not at all religious, which is why I don't know who should be what.

But this was long ago, before all of these horrible people, including my Sofia, told me that I wasn't Tanya's idea of a handsome man, though I'm sure nothing's changed.

When I say nothing, I mean Tanya's ideas more than anything else.

Otherwise, everything in the world has changed and not for the better.

Some of these people, the horrible ones, do believe I am, in fact, a handsome man, but that is both of no surprise and no consolation.

One of these is my Sofia, wherever she may be, all over the crippled world.

Even still, I wake like most people, in the morning and every day, after a long, brutal night and fitful sleep,
and I stumble into the bathroom and think about the people, including Tanya and my Sofia, who I know are horrible and my headache pounds and the cold tile shocks and my erection sags and I empty my bladder and think another day and for what purpose and to what end and this is when I open the medicine cabinet and consider swallowing all of the painkillers and sleeping pills, but then I look into the mirror and I want to kiss myself, good God.

I take in my features all at once, though it is better to concentrate on certain aspects one at a time. Otherwise, the whole of it can be overwhelming.

There is the color and shape of my eyes, the perfect brows framing them just so. The forehead, which bears only the slightest hints of age and faded scars from a childish bout with chicken pox. The full lips with that charming birthmark edging toward the right corner, the dimpled chin obscured by a salt-and-pepper beard, neatly trimmed, the line moving from the top of my ears in a perfect L shape to the rim of my mouth.

There is a glow.

I don't know what's wrong with Tanya and her ideas, why she couldn't see what was always right in front
of her, though I've spent many a long night trying to figure out what the problem was and how it might've been fixed.

I try not to think about Teddy, because by rights he should be dead by now.

It pains me that the horrible people are horrible, including my Sofia and including Tanya, and I think what can I do. I am a man, after all, and I am surrounded on all sides, helpless, and all I can do is keep to myself, which I do most of the time because were I to say this out loud for anyone to hear, for anyone to take the wrong way, misinterpret, because that's what horrible people do the world over, in big cities and small towns and quiet villages and hamlets and rural prairie places with all of the grain waving and grandstanding, then what will become of me then?

I often think about what will become of me.

I think about what will become of my Sofia, too, wherever she may be, who is, or rather was, when I knew her, as anyone might imagine, horrible.

I do not think about what will become of Tanya because of her misguided ideas.

The few people still left in town have always taken things the wrong way, have always talked about me and my private affairs, what went on between me and my Sofia and Tanya, for instance.

This is how these people were raised. You can tell by how they look at you out of the corner of their faces, hissing, snickering. They were taught to behave like this, to take things the wrong way, to talk about other people's private affairs.

People always want to tear down their betters.

My Sofia and Tanya are twin sisters, or rather, were twin sisters, because one or both might be dead now. I'm not sure if you remain twins after death.

So many people are dead now or might be, including members of my own family.

My family did everything they could for me. They never allowed me to work on the farm, for instance. This perhaps wasn't best in the long run, but they didn't know better and I do not blame them entirely.

My Sofia was always dying.

I would feed my Sofia painkillers and sleeping pills because I wanted to help. I always had good intentions when it came to my Sofia. I didn't enjoy seeing her suffer like that, though some claim otherwise. Some claim that I only got involved with my Sofia so I could get close to Tanya. Others that I was trying my best to kill my Sofia, keep her sickly, weak. This is yet another example of how horrible people are horrible, that they can even imagine this sort of thing, which is a particularly craven way of looking at the vicissitudes of love.

I don't know what that means, but it seems right to me.

When I say some claim what they claimed about me and my Sofia in regards to Tanya I'm talking about Teddy the cripple, my best friend, most of all. Teddy would claim this all the time, both to my face and to everyone we knew in common.

Everyone recognized the peculiar perfection of my face, the way I carried myself, some said like a king or Jesus.

There was always scuttlebutt, hearsay, innuendo.

I was famous.

I would see her next to me in the mirror, my Sofia, in the morning, looking the way she looked, and I'd open the medicine cabinet and pull however many pills from the pillboxes and say, Take these.

She would choke them down all at once, look up at me, and say, So now what?

I never had an answer for her, but we would go back to bed and take advantage of each other for the rest of the day.

These were glorious times.

I never once thought of Tanya while in the middle of my Sofia.

Teddy was crippled anew every few years, but it started with what his parents did to him as a boy. They would have him work all day on the farm even though he wasn't strong enough to do it. Teddy was born with scoliosis and a clubfoot and had no more business out there in the field than me or my Sofia.

When Teddy was finished in the fields, he would come in and they'd feed him some stew if they weren't in
the middle of themselves. Teddy said he'd come into the house sometimes and catch his parents tangled up in the living room. Sometimes they would ask him to take pictures. He never showed me the pictures, but I saw them one time over at his place. They were next to his bed, hidden behind a stack of books and papers.

I think maybe Teddy was in the fields while I was in his room looking at the pictures, doing whatever he had to do out there.

Maybe you can't blame Teddy entirely for what happened with my Sofia.

So much of my time is spent trying to assign blame to those who deserve it most.

For instance, my Sofia. I haven't seen her in years. I don't know where in the world she might be hiding herself.

My Sofia used to hide from me all the time. I would come out of class and look for her in the hallways, in the playground, on the streets, in the meadow. She was always nowhere.

Now I think she was with Teddy half the time. They were probably getting tangled up with Teddy's parents in the living room, everyone taking pictures of everyone else. I didn't think this back then, but I do think it now.

Tanya, though, was never nowhere. Tanya was always exactly where you could easily find her. Out there in the middle of everything, prancing around in the sundresses she always wore, regardless of the season.

When I look into the mirror and want to kiss myself, I want to do so for many reasons. Not the least of which is who wouldn't except for Tanya, and goddammit if only God knows why sometimes.

Tanya and my Sofia were identical twins who didn't look like each other.

Teddy thought my Sofia was prettier than Tanya, which tells you all you need to know about Teddy.

I would always refer to Sofia as my Sofia and never once said that about Tanya. I would say things like, My Sofia is spending a month at the sanitarium, or I would say, No one can dance a tarantella like my Sofia.

What I would say about Tanya was, Did you see Tanya in that sundress this morning?

I would say this to my school chums, particularly Teddy, who was my best friend, even though he was as horrible as the rest of them and a cripple to boot.

Teddy would make some comment about Sofia's figure, he would call her voluptuous or an hourglass. He would tell me what he would like to do to her and how often. I would tell him to calm himself down, that he would only be disappointed, that hourglasses break and then it's sand all over your shoe.

Every morning when I wake is a disappointment. I look around the room and everything is the same. My Sofia is nowhere next to me in bed and she isn't hiding in the bathroom. Years ago I would wake up to find my Sofia in the bathroom with the door locked. I never knew what it was she did in there and I never asked.

There is a table next to my bed where I keep a clock and various necessities. I will not list the necessities because I am often ridiculed for having them, for thinking them necessary.

My Sofia was merciless in this regard.

There are the humidifiers, which keep me breathing through the night. The doctors told me were I not to run the humidifiers I would end up dead.

This was also true of my Sofia, who always had a terrible time breathing. There was something wrong with her lungs, throat, and nose. Actually, there wasn't a single part of her body that wasn't part of the problem.

There's a chance my Sofia is dead, though I perish the thought and God should forbid it. She wasn't a well woman when I knew her and I doubt she's improved. People almost never get better, especially the horrible ones. If such is the case, if my Sofia is indeed dead, then I can see myself not filling the humidifiers up with water anytime soon.

My family always made sure my humidifiers were filled with water. They made sure I was propped up under enough pillows to allow for easy breathing. Those people loved me dearly and it's a shame what happened to them.

I would lie awake at night and listen to my Sofia struggle for breath. Sometimes she would ask me to do her
in with a pillow. She would tell me she couldn't take it anymore, that her whole body was killing her.

My Sofia's body was a marvel on the outside. I would tell her to think of her body as something I could enjoy, something intended for me, something that she had to put up with for a greater good.

Part of the greater good turned out to be Teddy. I never caught them in the middle of each other, but I know what I know.

I only once tried to make love to Tanya.

There was nothing about Teddy that should make anyone want to run away with him. He never once stumbled into his bathroom, looked into the mirror and wanted to kiss himself. I can promise anyone this much.

I never watched Teddy do his work in the field. If I was at his place during the day, I was either spying on his parents tangled up in the living room or looking through the pictures next to his bed.

My Sofia and Tanya and Teddy and I all grew up together, which only means that for a while there we
attended the same schools, spent a certain amount of time and anguish together in close proximity.

When I look out the window I see no one almost all the time. Once in a while, I imagine someone coming up the walk. Usually it is my Sofia, under a parasol, aiming to take advantage of me.

The school was populated with the kinds of horrible people you find all over.

The pills in the medicine cabinet are painkillers and sleeping pills. This is because I am in a great deal of pain and can't sleep, very like my Sofia, if she is still alive.

I remember being out there after school, waiting for my Sofia. I wanted to walk her home, see her to the door. Otherwise, the neighborhood kids, my school chums, would chase her down and do unspeakable things to her. I heard them planning to do this during lunch.

Teddy was the worst of these hooligans, the ringleader.

I would see them hiding in the bushes as we walked past, hoping to catch her alone, take advantage of her poor peripheral vision, spring an ambush on her.

Because we are talking about truly horrible people here, like my school chums, we have to make ourselves clear. Truly horrible people aren't horrible because they take things the wrong way, but it doesn't help matters, but what would I have to gain, in the end, after all is said and unsaid, done and undone, what's in it for me, pointing all of this out, going on the record as it were, making myself clear, understood, being as I am here, alone and surrounded.