Mercy (79 page)

but with dishonorable intent and profane desire. It’s rightly

the bartender’s. H e’s been taking the money as it’s been due

with righteous discipline, which is w hy you ain’t overdrawn

on the account; you asked him in a tiny mouse voice afraid o f

the answer, you squeaked in the male din, a frightened

whisper, you asked him if you owed, you got up the nerve,

and yo u ’re straight with him as far as it goes but these extra

bills are rightly his; or you could have another drink; but you

had wanted to end it well, with some honor; and also he ain’t a

waitress, dear, and the m oney’s got his mark on it; and he ain’t

cracked a smile or said a tender word all night, which a girl

ain’t used to, he don’t like girl drinkers as a matter o f principle

you assume, he’s fast, he’s quiet, he’s got a hard, cold face with

a square ja w and long, oily hair and a shirt half open and a long

earring and bad teeth and he’s aloof and cold to you; and then

suddenly, so fast it didn’t happen, there’s a big, warm hand on

your hand, a big, hairy hand, and he’s squeezing your fingers

around the two dollars and he’s half smiling, one half o f his

face is smiling, and he says darling take a fucking cab. Y ou

stare at him but you can’t exactly see him; his face ain’t all in

one piece; it’s sort o f split and moving; and before you exactly

see his mouth move and hook it up with his words he’s gone,

w ay to a foreign country, the other end o f the bar where

they’re having bourbon, some cowboys with beards and hats.

Life’s always kind in a pinch. The universe opens up with a

gift. There’s generosity, someone gives you something special

you need; two dollars and you don’t have to suck nothing, you

are saved and the man in his generosity stirs you deeply.

Y o u ’re inspired to succeed with the rest o f the plan— move,

stand, walk, execute each detail o f the plan with a military

precision, although you wish you could take o ff your T-shirt

because it’s very hot but you follow the plan you made in your

mind and although your legs buckle and the ground isn’t solid,

it’s swelling and heaving, you make it past the strange, w avy

creatures with the deep baritone voices and the erections and

you get out, you get out the door even though it’s hard and

yo u ’re afraid because you can see outside that it’s raining, it’s

raining very hard, it’s pouring down, it’s so wet, you really

have an aversion to it because all your clothes will be drenched

and soaking and your lungs will be wet and your bones will

get all damp and wet and you can’t really see very well and the

rain’s too heavy and everything looks different from before

and you can’t really see through the rain and it’s getting in

your eyes as if your eyes are under water and burning, all

drowned in water, they hurt, and everything’s blurred and

your hair’s all wet as if it w o n ’t ever be dry again and there’s

water in your ears deep down and it hurts and everything's

chilly and wet. The w o rld ’s wet and watery and without

definition and without any fixed places o f reference or fixed

signs and it’s as if the city’s floating by you, like some flood

uprooted everything and it’s loose on the rapids and everywhere you step you are in a flood o f racing cold water. Y ou r feet are all wet and your legs are all wet and you squoosh in

your boots and all your clothes are soaked through and you are

dripping so much that it is as if you yourself are raining,

w ater’s flooding o ff you and it’s useless to be a person with

legs who counts on solid ground because here you have to

walk through water, which isn’t easy, yo u ’re supposed to

sw im through it but there’s not enough to swim through and

there’s too much to walk through, it’s as if yo u ’re glued and

gum m y and loose and the ground’s loose and the water’s loose

and yo u ’re breathing in water as much as air and you feel like

some fucking turkey that’s going to drow n in the rain; which

probably you will. Y o u ’re trying to walk home and it’s been a

long time, the old trick o f putting one foot in front o f the other

doesn’t seem to be working and you don’t seem to have got

very far but it’s hard to tell since nothing looks right or

familiar and everything’s under water and blurry and yo u ’re

cold and sort o f fixed in place because the w ater’s weighing

you down, kind o f making you so heavy you can’t really m ove

as i f yo u ’re an earthbound person m oving effortlessly through

air as is the case with normal people on normal days because it

ain’t air, it’s water. Y o u ’re all wet as if you was naked and your

clothes are wet and heavy as if they was lead and your breasts

are sore from the wet and the cold and your pubic hair’s all

wet and rubbing up against the wet stu ff all bunched up in

your crotch and there’s rain rolling down your legs and

com ing out the bottom o f your pants and yo u ’d be happier

naked, wet and naked, because the clothes feel very bad on

you, wet and bad. T h ey’re heavy and nasty and cold. The

m oney’s in your hand and it’s all wet, all rained out, soaking

wet, and your hand’s clutched, and you try proceeding

through the wet blur, you need to stay on the sidewalks and

you need to avoid oncoming cars and turning cars and crazy

cars that can’t see any better than you and you need to see the

traffic lights and you need to see what’s in front o f you and

w hat’s on the side o f you and what’s behind you, just as on any

regular day, and at night even more; but you can’t see and the

rain keeps you from hearing as well and you proceed slow ly

and you don’t get too far; it’s been a long time you been out

here and you haven’t gone but half a block and you are

drenched in water and breathing too fast and breathing too

hard and your legs aren’t carrying you right and the ground’s

not staying still and the water’s pushing you from behind and

it’d like to flatten you out and roll over you, and it ain’t nice

lapping against the calves o f your legs; and a cab stops; which

you have barely ever ridden in before, not on your own; it

stops; you’ve been in them when someone’s given you money

to deliver packages and said where to go and exactly what to

do and how much it would cost and still you were scared it

would cost too much and you wouldn’t have it and something

terrible would happen; a cab stops and you don’t know if two

dollars is enough or if he thinks you’re turning tricks, a dumb

wet whore, or if he just wants to fuck or if you could get inside

and he’d just take you home, a passenger; a cab stops and

yo u ’re afraid to get in because you’re not a person who rides in

cabs even in extremis even though you have two dollars and

it’s for taking a cab as the bartender said if you didn’t dream it

and probably he knows how much everything costs; a cab

stops; and yo u ’re wet; and you want to go home; and if you

got in the cab you could be home almost right away, very

close to right away, you could be home in just some few

minutes instead o f a very long time, because if you walk you