
##1003653 The disaster was great for me and Scud . We were given time off school to help clear up the beaches . Not that we did much . There were experts fixing the birds . And there were men in orange suits spraying the sea with chemicals . Everyone in the town wanted to do something but no one could really do anything . There were some people standing around just crying . Old Bill Western from the market was crying -- me and Scud saw him with snot at the end of his nose , muttering " the birds , the birds " to himself like a poem . <p> Everywhere you looked there was oil and people in plastic suits . It was like the high season and for us and it was all excitement . " Let 's get oil on our shoes and leave trails through the streets , " we said ; " Let 's go into Seaview Gifts and mess up Phellp 's carpet ; " but they would n't let us on the beach . <p> The oil was good for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . They needed volunteers up at the estuary for a week 's work , and he went up there to help ; he packed his case and put on his galoshes and oilskins and he looked like he was going to war or something . <p> " I 'm not sure what I can do , but at least I can do something , " e said , and I was dead proud of him even though it was n't a real job . <p> When he was gone my mother was like a different person . She smiled and put on extra makeup and she gave me money to get sweets from Bunce 's . Me and Scud bought Superchews and then went down to watch the people cleaning up the beach and the birds being loaded into the caskets : they were limp and their eyes were white and they were quiet like they got such a shock that they forgot how to squork -- or maybe the oil had got inside their lungs or voice box or whatever it is that birds have . <p> It was bad @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that slick came to town things got better for me , and the black mood lifted off from house ; I could time it to the day that Da went to the estuary . The shouting and swearing stopped then . According to Mam , Da had these black moods although how she saw what colour they were I 'm not sure . But sometimes the mood got so bad that we all had to tread slowly around the house like we were walking in mud bog . But with Da gone for a week my mother cheered up and there was a holiday atmosphere . <p> Me and Scud went looking for the BBC and the newspaper men . We decided that we would give interviews and if they asked us we would say that the disaster was great for pocket money and parents and it gave out Das something to do . We 'd say that it made my mother happy and that we were given time off school and that we felt important what with the town being on the telly . Obviously we would say that we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to their feathers and the slick and everything but like my Mam says you should n't go on and on about it . <p> Scud found a newsman from London and he told him that they should send us food like they do for the Africans because we would n't have a damn thing to eat now because all we ate down here was fish , which was a lie because we ate chips and burge most of the time and the only fish we had was fish fingers . Scud was annoyed afterwards because the man said he was n't filming him ; and anyway he forgot to tell him that his Da knew that the reason for it was Arabs getting revenge for all the oil we blew up in that war . <p> Everyone around us was sad but we were happy like clowns . So we went round and laughed and shouted . Everyone was talking about it all the time and their faces were like sad cods and their favourite words were ruined and terrible and I could see the colour of their moods and like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ came round to our house . Chaz owned the Royale guest house overlooking the harbor and he wore purple shirts . He always had a tan because in the winter he went to Spain and in the summer he worked here . Chaz came round and he was in the kitchen talking to Mam when I walked in . Chaz was taller than my Da and he had more money than Da but for all that I preferred my Da . <p> " Da 's gone to help the disaster , " I told him . " He 's living in billets and saving the birds . " " Hope he can save my bookings , " Chaz said . " I 've had three cancellations . " <p> Chaz had one of his shirts on and he gave off this smell like our bath after Mam had been in it . <p> I was thinking that if he was so worried why was n't he up in the estuary helping out , like Da . <p> " You should go up to the estuary , " I said to him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to run here , " my Mam said and I never knew why she called him Mr. Thomas to me when to him she said Chaz in private because I 'd overheard them once . <p> " Why do n't you go and watch telly , " my Mam said . " You might see Da . " And I thought that was a great idea so I went upstairs . <p> I watched the news on three channels and the disaster was first on two of them and second on the other but Da was n't on the news . They showed the estuary and there were thousands of men in suits like they were on the moon and I thought that Da was one of those men . <p> I saw the town and the estuary and interviews and dead birds and tractors in the sand and birds being washed and looking funny . God I never saw so many birds . It took all that oil to show us all the birds we had living here . After the last news I saw Chaz leaving downstairs and kissing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Da and thought he should get a medal or something for helping out like that . Stud 's Da could n't leave his shop , but Chaz Thomas could have helped if he was so worried about his guests . Da was there now probably up to his neck in oil and holding up a cormorant in one hand and a guillemot in the other and people cheering and saying , " Give him a medal , give him a medal . " <p> Over the next few days things calmed down a bit . There were n't so many people driving to the town to have a gawp at the sea and take photos . The television people left town and on the news they only had the disaster fifth and seventh . Even the papers did n't talk about it , except for locals ... but I suppose there was more important news what with bombs and the princess and whatnot and you ca n't bore people with the same old story . <p> In school Talbot got us to write a story about the disaster . I wrote @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . Miss Evans got us to draw the disaster and we put paint on our hands and made marks on white paper and it looked like oil . Then the headmaster told us to pray that the town would be all right by the summer , and I thought about Chaz 's guests but I did n't want to ask God for them . By the end of it all I 'd had it up to my head with that blinking oil . It was getting into every little conversation and sticking all over people and getting them down like birds and now the teachers were giving us lessons on it . <p> Mam 's cherry mood soon flew off and she was damn moody with me and it was because Da was coming back soon . She went out late one night and Da called and I was n't sure where Mam was so said she was probably talking to the BBC or something . <p> Da sounded like a different person on the phone . He sounded happy like his mood had flown off him and he talked and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out on a great adventure . He said they had rescued two thousands birds or something and that the tanker was bigger than Cardiff Arms Park . <p> I envied him being up there is the billets saving the world . <p> Me and Scud stayed cheerful and went down to the harbor and threw stones into the slick which was thick as treacle and moving nowhere like a pond . We tried to skim some flatties but they never bounced they just stuck there then . We walked back and saw a shark but it was n't it was a seal and it was dead and I felt sick and I thought about Bill Western crying in the street and I wanted to cry myself but I did n't because of Scud . Scud said that that stupid seal should have slid through the oil but he had n't . Whatever Da was doing up at the estuary it was n't making things any better , I thought . <p> I was a picture of town in County Clothes and the sand was gold and every was smiling and I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was stuck there like a black pond , and I thought that if I was a fish I would get out fast and swim to America or Devon . The disaster was n't on the new anymore although when Da called you 'd think it was still more important than the wars in the world and the princess and all the other news that was going on . <p> Chaz Thomas was round again . He was moaning about his guest house and how it would be a real disaster for him . Mam made him drinks and she kept sighting and saying to me how terrible it wad for Mr. Thomas and that he would be ruined . <p> Maybe that 's why she was being friendly to him , she felt sorry for him and maybe it was a disaster for him but he was n't a cormorant or a seal and he was still going to Spain for his holiday . I suppose you can kiss someone if you feel sorry for them . <p> At school Scud said that Chaz Thomas was in love with my Mam @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pipe . He was n't mean when he said it he just told me and he went red . I said that Mam just felt sorry for Chaz Thomas because it was a real disaster for him . I was glad to see Da back . He came in the evening and he looked like the man on top of a mountain smiling and knackered and he was full of tales , he said . I listened to him and I wanted to know it all but Mam sent me upstairs to watch telly and she said she wanted to talk to Da . I thought that maybe she wanted to talk to Da about me or maybe tell him about Chaz 's bookings and how upset he was . <p> The next day at breakfast Mam was n't around and Da was quiet and his eyes looked like that cormorant I saw all white and staring fearful like he got a shock . Maybe the black mood had come back and I thought I would wash it off if I had the right chemicals and whatnot . <p> I asked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Spain . Then I saw that he was crying and thought that maybe he had seen too many dead birds . <p> " You did your best , Da , you did your best , " I told him . But he stayed like he could n't move . I guess that you had to be a grown-up to appreciate a disaster like that . <p> 
##1003656 MY MASTER 'S TEMPER were by spasms choleric , the spasms exacerbated by trespass , real or fancied , of his slaves , all of whom had had occasion to beg their fellows daub their backs with salve of rum and lard . Yet Dufay had raised up drivers to lash the hands to work , drivers on whom he palmed off most of the stewardship , that he might dedicate himself to advancement of universal knowledge . In sun and rain he tramped , far from the carries where his hands labored , peering under leaves , down burrows and up into nests to discover and name what creatures inhabited the wilderness parts of his domain . <p> An excellent draftsman , he delighted in sketching particulars of feather , fur and scale ; the curve of claws , of teeth and beaks ; the depths of eyes ; the stretch and shove of limbs . On sketching expeditions to the rockiest , most surf-pounded tips of St. Michel , he spied from blinds he had had constructed on narrow ledges , to watch the sea birds @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spied on the slaves , yes , on his own wife and children , in like manner , but I never saw him loiter in the shadows of human habitation . ) <p> From the age of five , I , PIERRE-BAPTISTE , whom the whites called Goody , had been laboring in the carries , coughing from the fire that burned off the leaves , stepping and stooping to chop the canes and singing between my gritted teeth to keep the bone-grinding pace . One day , M'sieu was riding his mare past the gang , his cockaded hat abob on Yolande 's trot as he passed on his way to more tangled parts of our isle to sketch . His old servant trotted behind , one Christophe , called Long-Shanks , carrying the tools of his master 's art . Alas , this wornout soul , Christophe , keeled over . Without further adieu , he gave up the ghost and died . <p> " Hop to ! Do you not leave Long-Shanks asprawl to be chewed by dogs , " said M'sieu . " Yet let me have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wait on me at once , not again the tapered wrists of an aging yellow too refined to lift . " And , rueful , he doffed his hat to Christophe . <p> PIERRE was called from the gang then , to lay down his bill and serve the master as porter . Wriggling joyful I was , who had no notion what a world of fetching made a body servant 's work ! Though I was then a strapping youth of ten , they had not yet given me a pair of pants . So , on the first day I turned my eyes from the cane to follow Yolande 's tail , I did not look around me much , but only mulled over one single question : Would I get a pair of drawers ? And when I did , that very eve , and not coarse Osnaburg , but silk , however faded , I strutted like a cock , and capered to the piping of the cane flute , the first capers I had cut in a very long time , for my smock had ceased @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shrink and cower over Johnny Fish . <p> Yet the drawers they had given me were pantaloons from years before , very baggy and covered with tufted ribbon loops . And these stale fancies gave great merriment to Pamphile , the master 's son , and his stepmother , who swore they would grow my frizz to a full-bottom -- " he would need no curling iron , and his nits would lose themselves in the maze " -- and send me over the seas to court , to wait on the jades that yawned around the King . And they conceived a plot , to give me a name of antiquity , like a hero 's in a tragedy , but M'sieu stamped his foot and swore , " I 'll be damned if I learn a new name I must remember in the bush when I call on him to set a snare . " <p> At night , in the dark , I lay with the fancy pants on my bed . With my fingers I tugged at the fall , so it tore , and , when @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what company was around . <p> " The stuff be so old it has rotted , " I allowed . <p> So they gave me some drawers more plain and recent . <p> Once I was decently covered , I straightened my back and willingly shouldered the master 's easel . I looked about me smartly , as he enjoined me over Yolande 's withers , " Observe the curious cunning with which Nature has devised the creatures . " <p> Dutifully , at first , I gaped at the mole , all fur and snout , with shovelly hands , that blindly hunches and wriggles a path like an endless pant leg to inhabit . How came he to St. Michel ? Did he tunnel under the sea ? Or was he pushing like a hungry root at Creation ? <p> The island had not the variety of creatures , allowed M'sieu , that are known on the continents ; yet creatures there were sufficient to preoccupy an inquiring philosopher , most particularly species of lizard and bird . And soon enough Pierre began to observe for the pleasure of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ green throat of one small lizard , puffed like a lady 's coyly dropped handkerchief , as the creature took the sun . All languor he lolled till he cast his tongue to snag a fly ! Servant no less than master marveled at the parakeets , their feathers brighter than flowers , cleaning themselves with their toes and hooking with their beaks the mites , smaller than lice , that inhabited the feathers ' underbrush . <p> And the white egret , and in season , the blue heron . <p> Then there were fishes , more multivarious than birds , a garden of flesh in the waters , impossible to catch and hold , their form their movement , their movement one with the water they had their being in , the salty tear-drenched garden of the dead my godmothers had told me of , where I did not want to linger , though I ate any fish my elders caught , for I knew they took the fish with gratitude , and were forgiven . <p> The master did not trust the waters any more than I , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seeds , waiting their time . Yet Dufay would not take off his shoes to wet his feet in the sea , let alone remove his clothes to wet his person . He did not like it , that was all ; he did not care for it , so he said . ' T was a slimy , endless chaos , he did not want it to impinge on his person . <p> Still , he must have fish to sketch and paint , if his natural history were to be complete . So it fell to me to catch these fish , yet without spoiling their form . So I must into the sea . If I would not do it , he would send me back to the fields . Yet I knew not how to comport myself in the sea . Nor did my master , yet he would teach me , by hypothesis , trying one expedient then another . <p> First , he had me dangled as bait on a rope he tied to a pole held by two very big men . And he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I learned to hold my breath . And he bade me agitate my arms and legs , like a human mill , and thus make myself an engine for motion in the sea . And when he saw my terrors had eased , he bade the two men throw me in , without the rope or the pole , so I must save myself with the motions I had learned . And in this manner I was trained to be nimble in the sea , to capture the fishes Dufay would sketch . <p> As I must paddle about with a spear in one hand , so I must keep the other , and both my legs , in motion , as an ox on a treadmill , to churn myself afloat . Yet -- could I quiet my heart that pounded loud in my ears as depths rose to claim me , could I bring myself to open my eyes -- then I saw , not the flesh-shrouded bones of the dead , but a paradise shimmering in veils of light . Surely the dead must be at peace in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ forgiven for plucking blossoms of flesh , not to eat , but for M'sieu to paint . Yet , the longer I spent in the garden of the dead , the less fearsome seemed the prospect of death . Was I not floating in a bliss that laved me , luxuriant and enjoyable ? So Pierre splashed among his ancestors ' souls , visible only as movement in water , and he celebrated their sweet repose , free of the whites who feared to set foot in their domain . Seeing how Pierre smiled when he rose for breath , the master clapped his hands and patted his slaveman 's head . <p> " Good Goody , " he said . " Good boy . Do you fetch me the fish , one by one , I will capture their likenesses . " <p> Alas ! Though I popped to the surface with a speared fish for him to sketch , or even a live one , squirming to escape and smothering in air , there was no way to capture the gracile essence save by immersion . So much the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He did not revere the fish , and his stiff fillets , dull eyes already rotting , were not his truest portraits . He never even saw the hermaphrodite plants , with thick stalks and bright-petaled flowers , yet with roots emerging from the calyx , squirming and grasping at tiny fish , which they did feed into the calyx as hands would stuff a mouth . For M'sieu did not believe Pierre when Pierre spoke of them , and offered to bring one up , though it might be a pet of the dead . M'sieu did not believe a slaveman could discover creatures a master had not . " Tut tut ! " he said . <p> And it was not just the underwater creatures M'sieu so blindly eschewed . For he took apolectic fits at the sight of certain vermin , viz. , the legions of rats that encamped in his fields to commandeer cane . Monsieur refused to limn them , though most assuredly they be " principal fauna . " And I do suspect they are as dear to their Creator as any other creature . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , assuredly not when friends came to dine , but for a family dinner . Why not ? The creatures have fed on sugar ; their flesh is sweet . And as they eat so much of our crop , to eat them in turn is a sensible economy . Yet our Monsieur forebore this dainty for himself and his ; the old mistress -- the first one , the haughty and pious -- sent the slave-children into the fields , to hunt and catch the rats , that at very little cost to the whites we slaves might daily dine on flesh , and so keep up our strength , without our sweat smelling fishy , or any expense for pork or beef . At the same time , we would help to save the crop . <p> This scheme fermented among us great bubbles of resentment -- we to eat what the whites refuse as unfit ? Our people left the vermin corpses for pigs , preferring to feed our strength with fish leaping fresh to the net , the gift of death to life , and so much @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we hung that mistress in effigy , her figure sewed of sacking stuff , with a block of wood for a missal in her paw . This straw mistress we roasted above our bonfire . When she burned , she gave out a satisfying , piteous plaint , for we had filled her body with rats and mice . <p> No more than pilfering vermin or invading insects were we slaves to be discovered in M'sieu 's chaste pencil-and-chalks or his fastidious ink-washes , unless we be those dim , tiny , bent figures seen from afar in rippling fields of cane . Front and center the feathered creatures , most especially those of a gaudy and brilliant plumage and distinguished profile , with warrior 's crest and aquiline beak . Dearer to Pierre the drab pelican , its beak a belly of fish , and after the pelican , among featherless creatures , the crab that skulked in the brush , till , spying an enshelled slime shuck off his outgrown house , Sergeant Crab nipped in to occupy . How quaint to see patrolling crabs reconnoiter tunnelish paths through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Were these the army of maroons , the runaway slaves the grown-ups spoke of in whispers ? <p> In time the habits of pirate crabs seemed no less strange than the CHARACTER OF M'SIEU himself . For though he deemed himself a well-bred man , he observed no niceties of deportment or dress . Indeed , by the time he threw me his breeches , they were out at the knee , his coat tattered streamers , so I would rather get my clothes , of lesser stuff , from the captain of the drivers , Master Squint , of whom more later . But as for M'sieu , he forgot to close up his fall when he pissed . When his servant was slow , and he took a fit of pique and dressed himself , he rolled one stocking over his breeches , buckled his cuff over the other . He consistently forgot to wind the watch he carried on a chain and ignored the beating of the dinner gong . <p> When his brother 's agents came from France , he bade me shave his head , though @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him more than once . He would not pay a barber , you see . Yet over his wounds , his full-bottom snugged his head most accommodating , so he might have cut a good figure had he not dragged from his fraying cuff a huge nasty rag to wipe his nose after pinching snuff . And those come from France remarked , he had lost the habit of bowing , though surely he must have had it once . <p> He never took a man 's hand nor kissed a lady 's , but only nodded absently when presented -- did I say " kiss a lady " ? When sober , he fondled neither maids nor men and eschewed intrigues , though when he had drunk himself sodden amidst a crush of planters he indulged in the jovial pinch . And now and then took a woman without ceremony , as a dog smelling rut , and so had fathered a brat or two in the yard . <p> His visitors returned to France , his wig gathered dust on a stand , the hair of his head pushed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a depraved monk , so devilish wild he must wear his nightcap even on the steamiest nights so as not to fright the maids . Yet there were worse . <p> Had he kept his counsel , he might have been a tolerable master , save he exacted from those he lorded it over punctilios he himself foreswore . Madame , his second young wife -- the first had died in a fluxy sweat -- he bade dress and speak as a queen , though she minced through the pantry fearful of scorpions . Badgering the maids to scrape the mold off hanging meat , she must wear three sleeve flounces , and a sack , and a useless apron of lace , and a pinner with trailing lappets . She must be rouged and powdered , and patched and plucked , and teeter on high heels , her head dressed out with false curls . She must embroider perfect lilies on the household linens and read the scriptures every day as befitted a lady who , though born in these islands , had been schooled in a convent in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ catch her with her sleeves rolled , calling her " Rogue " and lambasting her as a slavey . <p> POOR MADAME ! She struck false notes on the pianoforte , the keys of which the air 's moistness had swollen from tune . Her thread often tangled as she passed and repassed her needle . M'sieu then pined for a wife who knew what to do with the keys at her waist . Indeed children tittered in their sleeves as she passed with her nose in the air . And though she could crack those keys on a servant 's skull , the smell of meat that had hung too long could not be masked with spice and wine . Yet again the bread was not too stale for willful jaw to crack ! It is true that stuffing poked from the chairs , but M'sieu himself had scored the silk with the rowels of his spurs , neglecting to call for his boots taken off . <p> If M'sieu 's wife were buffeted by his fits of discontent , consider : his slaves were entirely at his mercy . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with his hands did marvel at his master 's alternation between three states : the first , a profound , faithful and innocent regard for the animals he observed ; the second , an absentminded , brisk accord with his fellow human beings , including myself ; the third , a sudden and violent animosity toward all Creation , which consumed his bandy-legged , potbellied person and laid waste roundabout . Was the tyrant who snapped his quills and tore his paper the same who stood so still to lure a lizard the tomtits lit on his head ? In his rages he caned me and whipped me , yet still I pitied him . For , though a slave , I did live within myself a free man , master ; M'sieu the converse . <p> Yet HIS DRAWINGS were all control , more exact than Nature herself had been , so scrupulously did he render the shape of each lineament , each color shade or tint , each hillock and valley of musculature and quirk of physiognomy , so exactly did he capture the needle-prick stare of the hawk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whose delicate and whiskery deliberations he forgave its resemblance to the loathed rat . <p> Yes , and the thorny brush , the bent of which reveals the wind ; the smoke tree 's haze of ground twigs ; the monstrous hairy sour-sap fruit ; the manchineel with its blistering milk , its horrible charmy apples -- ah , First Woman ! -- the amaranth , center stalks a fountain of blood ; the rocks and the stones , earth with its packings and crumblings , yes , so truly did M'sieu draw all these , so meticulously paint , with such accurately mix't colors , one might have thought him a devil , tempting poor sinners , take one hesitant , fateful step into the world of his creation , a world seeming purer than our own , in which each creature , nay each rock , turns always for inspection , if not its best side , then at least that side most expressing its essence . <p> The purity came from this effect : though Monsieur did limn the animals precisely in all proportions and attributes , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dapple of light , revealed and covered them . Were I to judge from the plates in books , the rendering of shadow , velvet and dense or hazy and dim , does give to the painted world its appearance of movement , suggesting alternation of day and night , and hence the round of seasons , the progress through shift and transformation to death , and thence to life again , from which no man can escape . Yet in the works of M'sieu , Creation is suffused in a pure , bright , even light , as if all creatures were light-struck cripples , caught in the terrible stillness before the palsy strikes , the storm breaks , the lava flows , caught in this moment as in Eternity , not the eternity of paradise , earned by the good , but a terrible stasis , the paralysis of Sun 's merciless glare . Ah , what be any man but damned who casts no shadow ? Shadow , shadow , the dark blot of being , stain of the blood waters , deep and heavy and old , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of ashes drenching our bones . We who casts no shadow , is he not unquiet in quiet forever , dead in life and live in death ? Here is the paradox of the art of Dufay . Yet this be heady stuff , this paradox , argued in a vacuum tube , in the hand of Baron Skull , with the mercury long since run out . <p> In one other more mundane particular the art of M'sieu lacks verisimilitude : in the vine-swagged jungles that climb the mountainsides ; in the groves of mango and orange trees , flaunting their gauds of fruit ; among the tidy coffee trees ; the cutlass-leaved bananas ; the feathery palms ; deep in the cane carries ' green and landlocked sea , the island of St. Michel where abides Pierre be festooned with a florid plant called orchid , which displays itself in sun and shade , windward and leeward , high and low . M'sieu would not draw the brown-bagged blossoms , and cursed and stamped if he found but a grain of the pollen on his sleeve , calling for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ AH ! If Buffon had come out from France , he would have seen in what respects his natural history of these islands be incomplete . Yet many an artful work was sent to France for engraving , and Pierre vaunted himself , he served a worthwhile master , though sorely the master tried his servant . <p> Those of HIS FINISHED WORKS M'sieu cherished too greatly to send forth , he locked in his old campaign chest , with several tattered standards and a sword he had worn in battles with Protestants before he came out to the Anduves . There in his chest he supposed his oeuvre would be safe from theft or spite or the depradations of rats or of armies . Alas ! The chest was not close-fitted . In the leathern interior damp took hold and bred up slimes to soften the paper , spoil the colors and blur the exact outlines of the images . This I discovered one evening in a damp season when the company sat till midnight smoking pipes and drinking toasts from a bowl of fired brandy . Forsooth , I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ To cool the rebellious heat that rose in my head with the fumes of the burnt brandy the dissipates imbibed , I ventured into the keeping room to pick the lock of the campaign chest , as oft I did , for the sole purpose of examining , however furtively and briefly , the pictures and notes stored within , to renew my sense of my master 's worth . <p> And what a putrefaction did I spy and smell ! From the pigments on his pages there bloomed a terrible colony of proliferating , stunted monsters , regiments of blue and green and white spoilers , obliterating the limpid symmetries of M'sieu 's vision , as if creatures of shadow and orchid-dust mites , obscure vermin and hermaphrodite flora-fauna he had refused to draw , had vengefully mingled their juices and their rage , and given birth to generations of vileness so wicked their stench was worse than death . All was rotting , beyond rotting , and would soon be lost altogether , as I pray my own pages , in their careful confinement , will not . And @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ might fly from his trunk into the world , a greater plague than Pandora set free , and without any mitigating hope . <p> To stifle the slimy creatures , I hastily doused the oeuvre in a dusty particulate reserved for the wigs , which did whiten those heads and smother nits and might , the Gods be willing , sweeten the moldering pages in the chest . This good powder did possess a most pleasing scent , mixed of many magical essences of the several flowers of France , compounded with musk and orris root , It did indeed seem to stifle the odor like rancid cheese and stale piss that soured the chest . Yet before the slimes could flee the carnage , PIERRE relocked the chest . He sat by it then , guarding against my seepage from under the lid . And he listened for the master 's call . <p> 
##1003658 Sure , hysterically , I guess , I hid out again in the office stockroom so no one would see how I was . How messed up I was . Office air wore me out , every staple , every badly lit , Xerox-fumed breath I took . Since she 'd dumped me I could no longer look at my girlfriend , or anyone , without wincing straight in their face , whenever I passed one of them , the other beautiful record company people , in our tortured fluorescent-lit halls . I browsed and shook in my windowed stockroom , a lost closet crapped over with old , dead cassette tapes and warped albums overlooking fortyfour leaning blue stories of sickening , barely uninhabited air . Death herself breathed right before me on the other side of the glass -- out beyond her , Central Park with its carpet of trees , nearly night way up in Harlem . I put my hand coolly against the window , feeling the wind buffeting , trying to break in and get me . <p> Things were speeding up . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ n't like I 'd had some big crisis or anything , but the night before , I 'd slept just miserably , sweating , and woke all raw . Later that morning , on my way to work , I kept thinking the straphangers on the train were too aware of me , panhandlers , businessmen , all of them . I should say screw it , I thought , and go home . Maybe call in sick . But I fumbled around in my pockets , in my coat even , and I could n't find my damn keys . <p> I was so tired . . . for no reason it was starting to feel like one of those mornings that are so impossibly overwhelming , so nerve-wracked , you just want to pick up a gun . I could do something like that , I imagined , if I got thrown one more thing . <p> Around noon or so , I left the stockroom and went back to work . Then I watched as Maria , my moody , fellow tele-representative , walked my way down the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wad . We 'd had our dramas , but we had never gotten fully together , and so seeing her stung , I copied things , poisoning my skin with the inky fumes . Words crossed her lips as she saw me , and I sensed a surge of telepathized anger vibrating between us down that hall . Once , I even believed she might go so far as to practice acts of magic or evil spells upon me , she being , they said , a witch . Maria and I 'd had this halfhearted , sick flirtation , gazing at each other in meetings , or side by side , our arms brushing together in lust . Like me , I suppose she just needed to touch someone . <p> As she came nearer , one of my eyelids began jittering wildly-I could hear my pulse , and my lips felt the throbbing hot seed of a herpes sore . My God , I could hardly keep control of my body ! I smiled stupidly , and , ignoring her , turned to my work . I shoved the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my dread , refusing me . Maria came over . She poked at the copier once and it ran . <p> " Sure . Great , " I said . <p> " Stu wants you in the TV room , he said for me to say . " <p> " Yeah . I 'm gone already , " I said . <p> " No , he wants you now , ' he said , " she said . <p> " Wait . I meant like , I 'm there . I 'm gone . . . I 'm going already . " <p> " Huh ? " She dabbed her nose with her wad of tissue , sniffling . " No , now , ' he said . Our commercial 's on . " <p> " Right , see ? " I clumsily gathered my paperwork up as if done , piling thoughtless stacks . At the edge of things , I could sense something was smoldering , a fear coming . " But I meant it like , I 'm going . I 'm not even here , still , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ " <p> I licked where my lips tasted hot from my herpes sore . " Wait a sec . Hold it a second , " I winced . <p> Like my mother , Maria took hold of my shoulder and I thought I would fall . <p> " Yeah , sure , " she said . " Would it kill you for once to say yes ? ' Is that so tough ? Or is it-is it just you always , always , always have to mess with me ? " she said . <p> My voice sounded thin to me , and being almost a solid month single , I was unsure how to talk to her , or how to be . I just wanted to become tiny and to sleep again . I pretended to walk somewhere necessary , and , rounding the corner to marketing I spotted our boss and the payroll guy , head-to-head . They laughed liked conspirators , whispering things . Nervous sweat soaked me , beading up wet on my face and neck . I was sopped with it ! I wiped at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Why pretend it would ? <p> I hid . I knew I 'd never make it until five . I did n't know what was going on . For weeks , I had been waking and lying in my bed , still exhausted , denying the hideous white daylight which ruthlessly sucked me back into the world , me putting off opening my eyes again and fully returning to the land of the calm . . . my problems , my ex , Rebecca , tossing plates at me , me tossing them back . Truly , I did n't know what all was wrong . . <p> I had been having nightmares in which my stepfather beat me with his fists while I stabbed at him with a knife . Dark people choking and embarrassing me . Dreams where I woke up crying , or muttering things , totally unable to remember what it was that I had just then , shivering , dreamed . <p> Now I hid with the ghosts of those seventies bands in the stockroom-I should add that this was back when I worked the phone @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we were mergered and swallowed whole . Sweet Melanie , Carly and dull Helen Reddy . Hiphuggered Cher . I could almost reach out and touch her , there in the air . In my window a floor-to-roof view of the city . We could all be free so quickly , I reasoned , troubled by these forgotten singers , and I leaned , distractedly touching at myself in front of the other tiny office people numb in the building across from me . But below them , and down diagonally from me through my window , two snickering guys stood silently waving up while a third pointed for the unseen laughing others to hurry and take a look . And did n't this seem it had all happened somehow before ? Over and over and over again ? No , not this specific humiliating incident , in the stockroom , but something uncannily like it . The onlookers always of course were different , yet more or less acted exactly the same . <p> I caught sight of the big , green FUJI FILM blimp careening then , trying to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and absolute bomb , but hobbling , piggish almost , as if caught on a piece of string . The wind tugging it . Its pilots obviously drunk and almost fishtailing themselves into the towering , lit-up Tishman Building , adrift in these skyscrapered winds . Beyond the green blimp rose a choir of granite spires , the knife-tipped Helmsley , the cake-like Plaza . All of us-everyone watching-wished the thing would explode . What arrogance ! What use was there even in trying in such a world ? <p> I saw , outside and across from my building in a window a story or two down , another dress-suited , lonely worker . An older , unfortunate blonde woman in her own glass office who watched the blimp , or who had started watching it , and no longer actually was , as she thinly sighed . Then she touched her tears . I saw her ! She was baring her heartunaware and alone , with this unrehearsed act , standing angly there , nibbling the arms of her glasses . . . her suffering she just took for granted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could read it all : she did n't still have a lover , that much was for sure . So what good was it ? What use then were all of her objects , that shitty vase ? <p> If only I could be there and touch her , I thought ! If only I could reach out and comfort her , whisper it , nuzzle those words in her hair . I know you . I know where you 're hurting , I said . <p> I thought if I could just come with her once . The doorknob clicked and I crouched by a file of old disco hits . One of my sort-of-friends , Donny , peeked the door open and slipped on in . " Beat me to it , man . Every day , someone 's done sneaked in here ahead of me . " A handsome and southem-voiced weightlifter , in a lousy band , Donny never seemed to much care . <p> " Whatever you 're doing , you 're caught , " he said . " What ? " I said . <p> @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ kidding . " " Pretty crappy , huh ? " " Kind of . " <p> " I 'm just feeling sort of like , well . " <p> Donny closed us in . " So forget all this noise . What 's outside ? Hey , whoa , " he said . <p> My eyes wrenched up blurring with tears . <p> " Whoa , baby . You are really not feeling so good . " <p> " Exactly , yeah . You 've hit it right on the nose . " My mood flopped around like a tired child 's , and when Donny walked over to touch me I flinched at this animal shine in his eyes , like a dog or something . I saw for a split second how he might like to bite me , to rip my throat , like everyone did on my morning train . Donny crushed my arm . " Leave this crap . Let 's go upstairs and let me buy you a beer . " <p> " Our commercial 's on . I 've got to count when they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ himself having a criminal cast of mind , did not trust that the regional television commercials he paid for would ever truly play as the stations said , so we each took turns for him counting their airings , we underlings , Donny , Maria , and me . Donny flexed his neck muscles and walnut sounds popped in his body . He tugged my arm . " Huh , say , you jerkoff , let 's split . Let 's sneak upstairs to the bar for some beers . " <p> " What was that ? " <p> " What was when ? " <p> " No , you said .... Nothing , man . Never mind . Skip it . Well , first look if you see Maria . " " Maria . " <p> " She hates me . She does ! " I said . <p> He twirled the brown curls on his forehead . " No way , friend . Might turn me like into a lizard . " " A toad , you mean . " <p> " Toad , fucking rhino , whatever . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Texas . For Chuck E Cheese 's . I wonder , like , how would you . . . What if you shot it ? " he said . Something was wrong with my thinking . Our office girls , the blonde woman across from my window-if I could just touch her , I thought , I 'd be saved . What an utter mess . It 's not that I missed my old girlfriend . I missed all of them . I did n't trust women , but I could n't bear being alone . <p> Once , I had tried to ask Maria to lunch , but my nerves failed me . Now I regret those unlived bits of life . And I ask myself-if only I 'd talked to her , what would have eventually happened ? Where would all of our rendezvous have led ? To what secrets , what unrelieved hours of pleasure ? <p> Donny and I headed for the elevator down at the service hall . We passed office doors , desked workers wistfully glimpsing us , cloistered nuns , old guys erotically @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that glance . Yes , it gripped my heart , everyone hiding their lives . We caught the big swaying elevator car to the bar at The Top of the Sixes . Donny clutched his crotch . " Do n't let it get to you . I piss on that job from up here , " he said . What a cruel trick-that elevator ! Inches away from my loafers , it fell away , the sheer , dropping black hole below us , so empty , that freon-cool , deep-shafted whistling air . <p> I felt queasy . <p> " Hey , I hope you 're not broke , " Donny said . Then a hundred floors . Me , I suspected dark entities chewed through each cable 's core . Grimy trolls , beings which squeezed from my consciousness . Yet if our elevator fell through the singing air , it would take only seconds to crush to our death . <p> Where would my girlfriend be then ? I did n't know what was still eating me-my chest trembled . After our fight with the dishes , Rebecca @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She was bleeding , the linoleum petaled with thrown scrambled eggs . Making love to her , I thought we were maybe made-up . We could talk it out . But weirdly , when I spoke to her , all I could make was this screechy slur . <p> I was obsessing on women at work , and projected these nervous and sex-filled imagined scenes , even now , shakily scouting the bar . The chromy lounge . Another insanely high view of Manhattan . The place was dead . Donny knew our young actor-waitress . They kissed hello , and she headed us off to a booth by the windows . Our first drinks were free . Donny said , " That girl 's Victoria . What a pair of lungs . Go ask who the other girl is , her barmaid friend . " <p> " Are you kidding ! Not me , man . I 'm way too tense . " " Aw , come on . Cheer up , " he said . <p> I was helpless . There was nowhere to hide . I looked down @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were just sitting here , anyhow . " " We are , " he said . " But we 're in the catbird seat .... I think they 've just finished their shift . " " No way , " I said . " No ! I 'm not going . " <p> " O.K. , O.K. All right already , then . If I 'm not back quick , watch my drink , " he said . Then he left , and I never saw Donny again . I mean ever again . He was swallowed up . <p> While I waited around , hiding , my drinking arm was shaking like a starving pup , spilling gin , and tipping my glass by the window . When I looked down over our gray city , toy buildings , the miniature-golf-sized horizon reeled up , tilting wrong like a carnival ride . I threw back that blued icy gin . <p> It was nearly five , yet I could n't cool down my mind . Back at my desk hung this Post-It note left by Maria . You 're dead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , You are not here-4:10 ! Then I heard <p> Maria 's cough come across our thin cubicles . Around me , a few office phones bleated unanswered in a dozen dark offices and rang from the vacant desks . I was alone with her , trapped in our office . I knew I would see her before she arrived . In periphery , first her black dress , then the rest of her . <p> She dropped to the swivel chair next to my ratty desk , and naturally , I glanced up her legs as she slumped , as she crossed her legs , and tried not to look up her dress . <p> " Guess what , " she said . " Guess what I heard from Stu . " " Yeah , shoot , " I said . <p> " You 're up the river , I heard . To your neck in it . " " Boy , that is some kind of dress . " <p> She reached for her Post-It note , crumbling it up . She was flaming ! " A ten-year-old . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aleck ? " she said . I had n't fully caught what I 'd said . " What ? What ? " I said . " My dress , huh . " <p> I could n't look at her straight in the eye , and pretended I was staring at the doodled shapes scrawled on my desk blotter , panicking , my tongue feeling thick as clay . " What ? It 's nice , " I said , suddenly knowing some blush , or some gesture or muscular twitching might somehow reveal to her I was afraid , not of her-but of all of the signs of my fear itself . <p> " You asshole . Is that all is left in your head ? Christ , all you guys ! Is everything sexual ? " she said . <p> I looked at her shining black thicket of coiling hair . She leaned closer , until I felt where she breathed her cool breath on me , looming some . " What 's up with you , William ? You 're wigging out . You 're hitting on me-are n't @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , " I said . <p> I did n't know what else to tell her . I could n't see what to say . Every second , yes , God , what connivance , what lies ! In between orders I Amexed , I had plotted the cloth-hidden arc of her breasts , and the rest of her . I imagined where her sex slanted up in her dress . I did that , the way that I do with all women . Every one of you . Only vaguely attached to my work . But now all the words muddled . I was caught . I could n't see what to say . My pulse rushing , roared in my head like the Xerox . I just grinned at her , nothing inside me but air ; that 's it , I thought . Me , an inflated man . <p> Maria leaned over me , whispering , her arm sliding warm on my shoulder , her words buzzing . " Look , why do n't we go out and talk somewhere . " She touched my hair . " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to flirt with me , honey ? " she said . " I-got to run . I 'm kind of nauseous , " I said , unconnecting us . " I 'm holding you ? " <p> I gathered my briefcase and jacket . <p> " Wait , hold the elevator ! Let me go grab my coat , " she said after me . I told myself , not in a billion years , punching the door button , and every other elevator button that would close the door . I would n't have made it alone with her . Alone in the elevator 's box with her mind . <p> I felt as if I 'd been gnawed up inside of some giant mouth . Chewing sounds , everything wanting to eat . <p> What a nervous mess ! Out in the canyons of city air , I dodged all the office-trons staggering for home . Exposed , it seemed , as if Maria had intruded into one of my dreams . No way could I secretly lust for her now , having ditched her , and now that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Forty-second Street , I bought a paper to hide my face , and caught an express for the Village . If I could just get away by myself , I thought , I 'd be fine . <p> But dragging up from the stinking , dark steps of the subway , I saw this small crack buzzard scamming on Twelfth Street , perched in a doorway , thin as death . I sped up some , automatically regretting I had done it , and slowed my walk almost to calm , but the thin dude had already moved out of his doorway . He scooted up , saying things , when he was hardly close enough to be heard , " Sharp jacket , Slick . Say , let me ask you a question . Wait ! Wait a second . Excuse me , God damn you , a second , " keeping by me , looking up with these wild navigational glances . " Excuse me , wait ! Shit , ca n't I ask you a question ? You better'n me , Slicky ? " and such as that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him , I guess . Then he just snatches my arm like a crab . <p> " Whoa ! What the hell ? Jesus ! " I said . What was going on ? How did they sense when you 'd weakened some ? I could n't ditch him , could n't fend him off ; he clutched at the sleeve of my jacket , and side by side , both of us broke into a jog . <p> Unbelieving , I pulled us out into the traffic , yanking free of him . " Slick , look at here . You ai n't together . . . , " he said . I was running . <p> Near my neighborhood , one bum was bashing an older bum , throttling him . " Give me my dollar , " the younger one yelled . The air had a color , like something was on fire somewhere . Things were starting to fog . Peripherally , the buildings were smeared with a nauseous blur . I had stood on this comer a zillion times , yet for a second I forgot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ " Give me half of one . Give me my dollar ! " the younger bum begged . I almost vomited . <p> Then things began jelling back , and I sensed my girlfriend , her essence , a few blocks away from my home . I 'm right here , I said , and placed myself right where I was . I hid , and watched my apartment from beneath a thin dogwood tree . I was home now , but I could n't go through the door , through that darkenend hall . They could cut me down , strip me and shovel my heart out ; I did n't care . I could n't talk anymore . My arguments with my girlfriend were waiting upstairs , not physically her with her actual body , but a memory-her . The aftershock of hours of fighting . Our anger , it pressed every inch of the walls . What tension ! Our poisons would haunt up the air in there after Rebecca and I were long dead . <p> What else was it ? I felt in my pockets , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ They 'd deserted me . On the intercom , when I buzzed our drunk super to let me in , all I could make was that weepy slur . I was so tired , with no chance to sit and be quiet somewhere . I had my problems . I got barely warmed . I do n't know what else to tell . <p> Sure , a child was n't dying . There were people in this world far worse off than me , and you could sit there , I guess , and honestly argue how I just wanted to feel someone 's mothering pity . " Ah , cheer up , " people said . I was really dumb . I thought I wanted to die . But I never did . I 'm like anyone . I 'm still here . I lived . <p> 
##1003662 I <p> A blond , blue-eyed child , about three years old , no one will know her exact age , ever , is sitting in the clay of a country road , as if she and the clay are one , as if she is the first human , but she is not . She is dressed in a boy 's shirt , sewn from Osnaburg check , which serves her as a dress . Her face is scabbed . The West Indian sun , even at her young age , has made rivulets underneath her eyes where waters run . She is always hungry . She works the clay into a vessel which will hold nothing . Lizards fly between the tree ferns that stand at the roadside . A man is driving an American Ford , which is black and eating up the sun . He wears a Panama hat with a red band around it . He carries a different brightly colored band for each day of the week . He is pale and the band interrupts his paleness . His head is balding @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In his business , appearance is important . He is practicing his Chinese as he negotiates the mountain road , almost washed away by the rains of the night before . His abacus rattles on the seat beside him . With each swerve and bump , and there are many , the beads of the abacus quiver and slide . He is alone . " You should see some of these shopkeepers , my dear , " he tells his wife . " They make this thing sing . " His car is American and he has an American occupation . He is a traveling salesman . He travels into the interior of the island , his car packed with American goods . Many of the shopkeepers are Chinese , but like him , like everyone it seems , are in love with American things . He brings American things into the interior , into the clearing cut from ruinate . Novelties and necessities . Witch hazel . Superman . Band-Aids . Zane Grey . Chili con came . Cap guns . Coke syrup . Fruit cocktail . Camels . Marmalade @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mirror make room on the shopkeepers " shelves . The salesman has always wanted a child . His wife says she never has . " Too many pickney in the world already , " she says , then kisses her teeth . His wife is brown-skinned . He is not . He is pale , with pale eyes . The little girl sitting in the road could be his , but the environment of his wife 's vagina is acid . And then there is her brownness . Well . And then he sees her . Sitting filthy and scabbed in the dirt road as he comes around a comer counting to a hundred in Chinese . She is crying . Has he startled her ? He stops the car . He and his wife have been married for twenty years . They no longer sleep next to each other . They sleep American-style , as his wife calls it . She has noticed that married couples in the movies sleep apart . In " Hollywood " beds . She prevails on Mr. Dickens ( a handyman she is considering bringing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hollywood " beds from mahogany . The salesman gets out of the car and walks over to the little girl . He asks after her people . She points into the bush . He lifts her up . He uses his linen hanky to wipe off her face . He blots her eye-corners , under her nose . He touches her under her chin . " Lord , what a solemn lickle ting . " He hears her tummy grumble . At the edge of the road there is a narrow path down a steep hillside . The fronds of a coconut tree cast shadows across the scabs on her face . He notices they are rusty . They will need attention . He thinks he has a plan . At the end of the narrow path is a clearing , with some mauger dogs , packed red-dirt yard , and a wattle house set on cement blocks . The doorway , there is no door , yawns into the darkness . He walks around the back , still holding the child , the dogs sniffing at him , licking at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ blond and blue-eyed , is squatting under a tree . He is afraid to approach any closer , afraid she is engaged in some intimate activity , but soon enough she gets up , wipes her hand on her dress and walks toward him . Yes , this is her little girl , the woman says in a strangely accented voice . And the salesman realizes he 's stumbled on the descendants of a shipload of Germans , sent here as convicts or cheap labor , he ca n't recall which . There are to this day pockets of them in the deep bush . He balances the little girl in one arm , she weighs next to nothing , removes his hat , inclines his balding head toward the blonder woman . She lowers her blue eyes . One eye has a cloud , the start of a cataract from too much sun . He knows what he wants . The woman has other children , sure , too many , she says . He offers twenty American dollars , just like that , counting out the single notes , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ everything , always , and that he loves children and has always wanted one of his own but he and his wife have never been so blessed . The woman says something he does not understand . She points to a small structure at the side of the house . Under a peaked roof is a statue of the Virgin Mary , a dish of water at her feet . On her head is a coronet of lignum vitae . She is rude but painted brightly , like the Virgins at the roadside in Bavaria , carved along routes of trade and plague . Her shawl is colored indigo . " Liebfrau , " the woman repeats . He nods . The Virgin 's shawl is flecked with yellow , against indigo , like the Milky Way against the black of space . The salesman is not Catholic but never mind . He promises the little girl will attend the Convent of the Immaculate Conception at Constant Spring , the very best girls " school on the island . He goes on about their uniforms . Very handsome indeed . Royal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ blue hatbands . He points to the band around his own hat by way of explanation . The royal blue will make his daughter 's eyes bright . This woman could not be more of a wonder to him . She is a stranger in this landscape , this century , she of an indentured status , a petty theft . He wonders at her loneliness . No company but the Virgin Mother . The woman extends her hand for the money , puts it in the side pocket of her dress . She strokes the head of her daughter , still in the salesman 's arms . " She can talk ? " " Jah , no mus ' ? " A squall comes from inside the darkness of the house , and the woman turns , her dress becoming damp . " Well , goodbye then , " the salesman says . She turns back . She opens her dress and presses a nipple , dripping , into the mouth of her little girl . " Bye , bye , " she says . And she is gone . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ girl makes no fuss , not even a whimper , as he carries her away , and he is suddenly afraid he has purchased damaged goods . What if she 's foolish ? It will be difficult enough to convince his brown-skinned wife to bring a white-skinned child into the house . If she is fool-fool God help him . Back at the car he tucks her into the front seat , takes his penknife and opens a small tin of fruit cocktail . He points to the picture on the label , the glamorous maraschino cherry . " Wait till you taste this , darlin ' . It come all the way from America . " Does she have the least sense of what America is ? He wipes away the milk at the corners of her mouth . He takes a spoon from the glove compartment . " You can feed yourself ? " She says nothing , so he begins to spoon the fruit cocktail into her . Immediately she brightens and opens her mouth wide , tilting her head back like a little bird . In no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ eat too fast , sweetheart . Do n't want to get carsick . " " Nein , nein , " she says with a voice that 's almost a growl . She closes her eyes against the sun flooding the car . " Never mind , " he says , " we 'll be off soon . " He wraps the spoon and empty fruit-cocktail tin into a sheet of the Gleaner , putting the package on the floor of the back seat . Next time he will pour some condensed milk into the tinned fruit , making it even sweeter . There 's a big American woman who runs a restaurant outside Milk River . She caters to the tourists who come to take the famously radioactive waters . And to look at the crocodiles . She also lets rooms . She will let him a room for the night . In turn he will give her the American news she craves . She says she once worked in the movies . He does n't know if he believes her . He puts the car in gear and drives away @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this how women feel ? he wonders , as he glances at the little girl , now fast asleep . What has he done ? She is his treasure , his newfound thing , and he never even asked her name . What will you call this child ? the priest will ask . Now she is yours . He must have her baptized . Catholic or Anglican , he will decide . He will have to bathe her . He will ask the American woman to help him . He will take a bathroom at the mineral spring and dip her into the famous waters , into the " healing stream , " like the old song says . He will baptize her himself . The activity of the spring , of world renown , will mend her skin . The scabs on her face are crusted over and there are more on her arms and legs . She might well have scurvy , even in the midst of a citrus grove . But the waters are famous . As he drives he alternates between making plans and imagining his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ taken leave of your senses , busha . She calls him busha when she 's angry and wants him to stand back . No , busha . Is who tell you we have room fi pickney ? He will say he had no choice . Was he to leave this little girl in the middle of a country road covered with dirt and sores and hungry ? Tell me , busha , tell me jus " one ting : Is how many pickney you see this way on your travels , eh ? Is why you do n't bring one home sooner ? Tell me that . Everybody wants a child that favors them , that 's all . She will kiss her teeth . If she will let him have his adoption , he will say , she can have the other side of the house for her and Mr. Dickens . It will be simple . Once he plays that card there will be no going back . They will split the house down the middle . That will be that . Like is drawn to like . Fine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ advantages to being a traveling salesman in this place . He learns the island by heart . Highland and flood plain , sinkhole and plateau . Anywhere a shopkeeper might toss up , fix some shelves inside a zinc-roofed shed , open shop . He respects the relentlessness of shopkeepers . They will nest anywhere . You can be in the deepest bush and come upon a tin sign advertising Nescafe , and find a group of people gathered as if the shed were a town hall , which it well might be . Everything is commerce , he can not live without it . On the road sometimes he is taken by what is around him . He is distracted by gorges , ravines possessed of an uncanny green . Anything could dwell there . If he looks closer he will enter the island 's memory , the petroglyphs of a disappeared people . The birdmen left by the Arawak . Once he took a picnic lunch of cassava cake and fried fish and ginger beer into the burial cave at White Marl , and left a piece of cassava @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gazes at the remains of things . Stone fences , fallen , moss-covered , which might mark a boundary in Somerset . Ruined windmills . A circular ditch where a coffle marked time on a treadmill . As steady as an orbit . A salesman is free , he tells himself . He makes his own hours , comes and goes as he pleases . People look forward to his arrival , and not just for the goods he carries . He is part troubadour . If he 's been to the movies in town he will recount the plot for a crowd , describe the beauty of the stars , the screen washed in color . These people temper his loneliness . But now , now . Now he thinks he 'll never be lonely again . II The Bath is located on the west bank of Milk River , just south of where the Rio Bronte , much tamer than its name , branches off . The waters of the Bath rise through the karst , the heart of stone . The ultimate source of the Bath is an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the sea . The relationship with the sea is suggested everywhere ; the limestone that composes more of the land than any other substance is nothing but the skeletons of marine creatures . " From the sea we come , to the sea we shall return . " His nursemaid used to chant this as he lay in his pram on King 's Parade . The water of the Bath is a steady temperature of 91 degrees Fahrenheit ( 33 degrees Centigrade ) . The energy of the water is radiant , fiftyfive times more active than Baden-Baden , fifty times more active than Vichy . Such is the activity that bathers are advised not to remain immersed for more than fifteen minutes a day . In the main building the bather may read testimonials to the healing faculties of the waters . These date to 1794 when the first bathrooms were opened . Lord Salisbury was cured of lowness of spirit Hamlet , his slave , escaped depraved apprehensions May 1797 , Anno Domini Mrs. Home was cured of the hysteria and loss of spleen December 1802 , Anno Domini @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anno Domini Septimus Hart , Esq. , banished his dread July 1835 , Anno Domini The Hon. Catherine Dillon was cured of a mystery February 1900 , Anno Domini The waters bore magical properties . Indeed some thought the power of the Lord was in them . The salesman 's car glides into the gravel parking lot of the Little Hut , the American woman 's restaurant . She named it after a movie she made with Ava Gardner and Stewart Granger . " A movie she made " sounds grandiose ; she picked up after Miss Gardner , stood in for her during long shots . She hears the car way back in the kitchen of the restaurant , where she 's supervising Hamlet VII in the preparation of dinner . Tonight , pepper-pot soup to start , followed by curried turtle , rice and peas , a Bombay mango cut in half and filled with vanilla ice cream . The American woman , her head crowned with a thick black braid , comes out of the doorway onto the verandah which runs around the Little Hut , and walks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , what have we got here ? " She points to the passenger seat in front . " What are you ? A kidnapper or something ? " She 's wearing a khaki shirt with red-and-black epaulets , the tails knotted at her midsection , and khaki shorts . The kitchen steam has made her clothes limp , and sweat stains bloom on her back and under her arms . Her feet are bare . She wears a silver bangle around one ankle . " Gone native " is one of her favorite ways of describing herself , whether it means bare feet , a remnant of chain , or swimming in Milk River alongside the crocodiles . Still she depends on the salesman to bring her news of home . " I 've got your magazines , your Jets , " the salesman says , ignoring her somewhat bumptious remark . It was late afternoon by now . A quick negotiation about a room for the night and then he would take his little sleepyhead , who has not stirred , to be bathed . He has great faith in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the American woman about a room . " There 's only one available right now , " she tells him . " I 've been overrun . The room is located behind the restaurant next to the room where Hamlet VII sleeps . The salesman , she remembers his name is Harold ( he was called " Prince Hal " at school , he told her ) , hers is Rosalind , is not crazy about sleeping in what he considers servants " quarters , and tells her so . " My daughter , " he begins . Rosalind interrupts him . " Look , this is all I have right now . You may as well take it . " He 's silent . " It 's clean and spacious , " she tells him , " lots of room for you , and for her . " She nods in the direction of the little girl . She ca n't help but be curious , aware from his earlier visits that he said he had no children , that his wife had turned her back on him , or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for an import firm with being a pirate on the Spanish Main , right down to the ribbon on his hat and his galleon of a car . " Footloose and fancy-free , " was how he described himself to her , but Rosalind did n't buy it . He seemed like a remnant to her . So many of them did . There was something behind the thickness of green , in the crevices of bone ; she wore a sign of it on her ankle . " Very well , then . I 'll take it . " " You wo n't be sorry . " " I need to take her to the Bath presently . Will you come ? " " Me ? Why ? " " I need a woman to help me with her . " " I thought you said a woman to help me was your daughter . " " I did . " " What 's wrong with her ? " " Her skin is broken . " " Well , they have attendants at wrong with to help you . " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a stack of Jets , pitcher of iced tea , and a break into the real world , Chicago , New York , Los Angeles , before the deluge of bathers , thirsty for something beside radioactive waters , descended on her . " It will be fine . Just do n't let her stay in too long . " " I wo n't . " " How much do I owe you for the magazines ? " " Not to worry . " " Well , then , the room is gratis . " That was fair . He felt a bit better . At the Bath a white-costumed woman showed him and the little girl into a bathroom of their own . She unveiled the child and made no comment at the sores running over her tummy and back . As she dipped the child into the waters an unholy noise bounded across the room , beating against the tile , skating the surface of the waters , testing the room 's closeness . " Nein ! Nein ! " the little girl screamed over and over again . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did not bubble or churn ; there was nothing to be afraid of . The salesman finally found his tongue . " What is the matter , sweetheart ? You never feel water touch your skin before this ? " But the child said nothing in response , only took some gasps of breath , and suddenly he felt like a thief , not the savior he preferred . " Nein ! Nein ! " she started up again , and the woman in white put her hand over his treasure 's mouth , clamping it tight , and holding her down in the temperate waters , rising up from the karst . She held her down the requisite fifteen minutes and then lifted her out , shaking her slightly , drying her , and only two bright tears were left , one on each cheek , and he knew if he got close enough he would be reflected in them . The woman swaddled the child in a white towel , saying , " No need to return this . " She glanced back , in wonder he was sure @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the waters were as magic as promised maybe he would not have to return . He lifted the little girl up in his arms and felt a sharp sensation as she sank her baby teeth into his cheek , drawing blood . The salesman had tied the stack of Jets tightly , and Rosalind had to work the knife under the string , taking care not to damage the cover of the magazine on top . The string gave way and the stack slid apart . The faces of Jackie Wilson , Sugar Ray Robinson , and Dorothy Dandridge glanced up at her . A banner across one cover read " Emmett Till , The Story Inside . " She arranged herself on a wicker chaise on the verandah and began her return to the world she 'd left behind . She took the photographs-there were photographs-released by his mother-he was an only child-his mother was a widow-he stuttered-badly-these were some details-she took the photographs into her-into herself-and she would never let them go . She would burn the magazine out back with the kitchen trash-drop it in a steel drum @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 'd give the other magazines to Hamlet as she always did-he had a scrapbook of movie stars and prize fighters and jazz musicians . The mother had insisted on the pictures , so said Jet . This is my son . Swollen by the beating-by the waters of the River **40;233;TOOLONG . Hamlet heard her soft cries out in the kitchen , over the steam of turtle meat . " Missis is all right ? " She made no answer to his question , only waved him off with one hand , the other covering the black-and-white likeness of the corpse . She did not want Hamlet to see where she came from . America 's waterways . She left the verandah and went out back . Blood trickled from the salesman 's cheek . " Is vampire you vampire , sweetheart ? " " What are you telling me ? " They were sitting on the verandah after dinner , the tourists having strolled to Milk River guided by Hamlet to watch the crocodiles in the moonlight . " Are they man-eaters ? Are they dangerous ? " one tourist @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than you could possibly be of them , " Hamlet told her . The little sharp-toothed treasure was swaddled in the towel from the Bath and curled up on a chaise next to Rosalind . Tomorrow the salesman would have to buy her decent clothes . If he decided to keep her . But he must keep her . " I gave a woman twenty American dollars for her . " " What is she ? " What indeed , this blond and blue-eyed thing , filled with vanilla ice cream , bathing in the moonlight which swept the verandah . Not a hot moon tonight . Not at all . He rubbed his cheek where the blood had dried . " Her people came from overseas , long time ago . " They sat in the quiet , except for the back noise of the tropics . As if unaware of any strangeness around them . Silence . His wife would never stand for it . He might keep his treasure here . He would pay her room and board , collect her on his travels . A lot of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with his . Why was he such a damn coward ? Rosalind would never agree to such a scheme , that he knew . But no harm in asking . It would have to wait . He 'd sleep on it . But when he woke , all he woke to was a sharp pain in his cheek . He touched the place where the pain seemed keenest , and felt a round hardness that did not soften to his touch but sent sharp sensations clear into his eyes . When he raised his eyelids the room was a blur . He waited for his vision to clear but nothing came . The red hatband was out of sight . He felt the place in the bed where his treasure had slept . There was a damp circle on the sheet . She was gone . 
##1003672 Lena had never been completely comfortable with mirrors . Since she was a toddler , shc had lived in fear that anytime she looked into one , the glass would throw back more than just her reflection . Now , standing before her bathroom sink , she thought she caught a glimpse in the mirror of a figure standing behind her . She had to make herself turn and look directly into the spot where the figure had stood . It was empty . <p> I wish I had a mama or a grand I could trust to hear may sadness and not get upset , she thought . I 'd tell them just how hard it 's been . But she knew from experience that whenever she shared her sorrow and pain her fear and terror with anyone other than her best friend , Sister , the word spread so quickly through town she had to do extra duty to call everyone down . She knew no one ever intended to betray her confidence . But her sadness , it seemed , was just too heavy a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ took the advice of her elderly friend Miss Annie Mae : She just told her troubles to the Lord . <p> Right then Lena said a quick little personal prayer . <p> And she did feel al bit more confident as she stepped into the shower , glancing boldly into the full-length mirror by the steam-room door as she did . She stood inside the stall and listened as the percussive thump of " Sexy Noises , " her best dancing-in-the-shower music , flooded the room . Even in the early Corning light , Lena could see the outline of her favorite juniper trees outside the glass shower wall . Her mind began to wander . <p> Suddenly an unexpected sound cut through the shower spray and the seductive music . " Ahem . " <p> Lena stopped shampooing her pul ) ic hair with a soapy white shower mitt and stood stock-still , the spray from the showerhead pelting her in the chest . <p> " Is there someone out there ? " she called over the sound of the shower 's water . She hit a button on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She listened . <p> She heard it again . " Ahem . " <p> My God , " Lena gasped . " Who is that ? Who is that ? She looked around the shower stall for something , some weapon with which to defend herself . All she had was a loofah on a light balsa stick : some pink and purple herbal soaps ; shampoo and condition ; a small plastic hip -- popotamus in a hat and tutu that her godchildren had given her ; and a short bristle-back brush . She grabbed the stiff brush , knowing it was a puny defense . <p> " I 'm not in this house all by imself , " Lena shouted toward the shower door , her voice cracking and giving away her fear and deception . There was a split-second pause , then came the reply . <p> " Lena , it 's me . Herman . " <p> Lena was speechless . She thought : Now who in the hell is Herman ? He said his name as if he were identifying himself for some official position . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said . " Herman . " <p> He had a real counttry sounding voice that had an unfamiliar , foreign taste to it , a little flat on some words but somehow smooth . He pronounced Herman as if it were " Hur-mon " with the emphasis on the first syllable . <p> " It 's me , Lena Herman . " <p> Lena started to open her mouth to scream , but she smacked her lips and felt the Sahara in there . So instead she turned the shower spigot to " C " and filled her dry mouth with cool water . It did n't help . She still could not find a voice . But she did like the sound of this Herman 's voice . <p> " Lena , I 'm a spirit , Herman said . <p> Oh God , she thought . It 's the ghosts and stuff . It 's starting again . <p> Herman kept right on talking . " Lena , I come cause you called me . I could n't ' a come if you hadn'a called me up , " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . " I sho ' looks forward to meetin ' ya . " <p> The invitation for Lena to step outside hung in the air like steam . Lena could n't help herself She was intrigued . Her heart was still thumping in her chest , but she dropped her " weapon " and moved toward the door . She could n't believe she was doing this , but she reached her hand out and grabbed the big white Turkish towel hanging on a hoop nearby . It felt a little like sticking her hand into a dark hole at an amusement-park fun house-frightening and exciting . <p> Snatching the towel inside the stall without looking outside , Lena breathed a shaky sigh of relief : But she also felt a thrill of exhilaration . She had to stop for a second or two to catch her breath . Then she tried to wrap the fluffy white towel around herself in the least seductive fashion she could . It did not work . No matter how she threw and wrapped and twisted , she managed to look cute . So she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , heavy wet braids free of excess water and took a deep breath . <p> Surprisingly , she was not scared . She thought back to meetings she had had with other ghosts when she was younger . How her heart had raced , how the hair on her arms had stood on end , how sometimes she had felt dizzy at the sight of a headless body or huge animal or a mist or vapor covering everything in its sphere . But this time was different . Lena felt just a little anxious , like before a blind date . Under her breath she muttered , " Well , Lord , " sounding like her dead Granddaddy Walter before he embarked on an adventure . She opened the shower door all the way , letting out a puff of steam , and stepped out . Lena halfexpected the door to make a creaking noise like in a haunted house when she closed it . She steeled herself for what she was about to see , but she did n't even flinch when she turned and saw him ... Herman had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . <p> It was a face she had seen in the arrangement of leaves on a tree in the woods , a shape that was there in the sunlight , then gone in the shade . It was a face that she had seen in the clouds . It was a face that showed innate gentleness . <p> It was a face , she realized suddenly , that she had seen in her dreams . <p> Tina McElroy Ansa on the Spirit World <p> In the South of the 1950 's and 1960 's , where I was raised , Black folks talked all the time about spirits and hants , dreams and visions , feelings and ghost tales that were true . We planted by the signs of the moon , we named our children by the sudden tastes of the mother , we played the numbers by our dreams and we ended relationships by the twitch of a muscle or the ache of a scar . <p> I 've always thought that this spirit world of dead people who had been so close in life was something we should @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , I just wanted to wallow in it . So I opened myself up to God and the universe , and the spirit world came flooding back to me . <p> The older I get , the more connected I feel to the spirit world . Perhaps with the passing of loved ones from corporeal to spirit we see that the ribbon is not broken with death . I feel closer to my brothers now than when they were alive , and I talk with my extraordinary Auntie whenever I want and need to . And in my garden , I plant vegetables by the signs of the moon . <p> Footnote 
##1003675 he questions that were never asked may be the most important . You do n't think of this . You never do . When you were little , your mother used to tell you that asking too many questions could get you into trouble . You realize now that not asking enough has landed you in the same boat , in the same river of shit without the same paddle . You phone your mother long distance to tell her this and she says , " Well , two wrongs do n't make a right , dear , " and gives you a dessert recipe that is quoted as being Prince Charles 's favorite in the September issue of Royalty magazine . <p> Your success in breast-feeding depends greatly on your desire to nurse , as well as the encouragement you receive from those around you . -Brinkley , Goldberg , and Kukar , Your Child 's First Journey , copyright 1988 , 2nd edition , page 173 " Is there anything coming out ? " He peers curiously at the baby 's head , my covered breast @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ n't tell , " I wince . " What do you mean , you ca n't tell ? It 's your body , is n't it ? I mean , you must be able to feel something , " scratching his head . <p> " Nope , only pain . " <p> " Oh . " Blinks twice . " I 'm sorry . I 'm very proud of you , you know . " The placenta slips out from between your legs like the hugest blood clot of your life . The still-wet baby is strong enough to nurse but can not stagger to her feet like a fawn or a colt . You will have to carry her in your arms for a long time . You console yourself with the fact that at least you are not an elephant , who would be pregnant for close to another year . This is the first and last time she will nurse for the next twelve hours . <p> " Nurse , could you please come help me wake her up ? She has n't breast-fed for five hours now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hair on it . You ca n't help but look at it a little too long each time you glance up at her face . The nurse undresses the baby but keeps the toque on . The infant is red and squirmy and you hope no one who visits says she looks just like you . <p> " Baby 's just too comfortable , " the nurse chirps . " And sometimes they 're just extra tired after the delivery . It 's hard work for them too , you know ! " " Yeah , I suppose you 're right . " " Of course . Oh , and when you go to the washroom , I would n't leave Baby by herself . Especially if the door is open . " The nurse briskly rubs the red baby until she starts squirming , eyes still closed in determined sleep . " What do you mean ? " <p> " Well , we have security , but really , anyone could just waltz in and leave with Baby , " the nurse smiles , like she 's joking . " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ yes . And you should n't leave valuables around either . We 've been having problems with theft and I know you people have nice cameras . " <p> You have just gone through twelve hours of labor and gone without sleep for twenty-eight . You do not have the energy to tell the nurse of the inappropriateness of her comment . The baby does not wake up . <p> Your mother-in-law , from Japan , has come to visit . She is staying for a month to help with the older child . You did n't breast-feed with him because he refused to . You tell her that the baby wo n't nurse and that you are getting a little worried . <p> " Your nipples are too flat and she 's not very good at breast-feeding , " she says , and angry tears fill your eyes . <p> " Are you people from Tibet ? " the nurse asks . <p> Breast milk is raw and fresh ( page 174 ) <p> You are at home . You had asked if you could stay longer in the hospital @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no . Your mother-in-law makes lunch for herself and the firstborn , but does not make any for you because she does not know if you will like it . You eat shredded wheat with NutraSweet and try breastfeeding again . <p> The pain is raw and fresh . The baby breast-feeds for three hours straight , and when you burp her there is a pinkish froth in the corners of her lips that looks like strawberry milk shake . You realize your breast milk is bloodflavored and wonder if it is O.K. for her to drink . Secretly , you hope that it is bad for her so that you will have to quit breast-feeding her . When you call a friend and tell her about the pain and blood and your concerns for her health , you learn , to your dismay , that the blood will not hurt her . That your friend had problems too , that she even had blood blisters on her nipples , but she kept right on breast-feeding through it , the doctor O.K. 'd it , and ohhh , the blood , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she went right on breast-feeding until the child was four years old . <p> When you hang up , you are even more depressed . Because the blood is not a problem and your friend suffered even more than you do now . You do n't come in first on the tragic nipple story . You do n't even come close . <p> " This is n't going very well . " I try smiling , but give up the effort . <p> " Just give it some time . Things 'll get better . " He snaps off the reading light at the head of the bed . I snap it back on . <p> " I do n't think so . I do n't think things are going to get better at all . " " Do n't be so pessimistic . " He smiles , trying not to offend me . <p> " Have you read the pamphlet for fathers of breast-fed babies ? " " Uhhhhm , no . Not yet . " Shrugs his shoulders and tries reaching for the lamp again . I swing out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ " Well , read the damn thing and you might have some idea of what I 'm going through . " <p> " Women have been breast-feeding since there have been women . " " What ? ! " <p> " You know what I mean . It 's natural . Women have been breast-feeding ever since their existence , ever since ever having a baby , " he lectures , glancing down once to my tortured breasts . <p> " That does n't mean they 've been enjoying it , ever since existing and having done it since their existence ! Natural is n't the same as liking it or being good at it , " I hiss . <p> " Why do you have to be so complicated ? " <p> " Why do n't you just marry someone who is n't , then ? " <p> " Are you hungry ? " My mother-in-law whispers from the other side of the closed bedroom door . " I could fix you something if you 're hungry . " <p> Engorgement ( page 183 ) The baby breast-feeds for hours @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ supposed to work . You phone the emergency breastfeeding number they gave to you at the hospital . The breast-feeder professionals tell you that Baby is doing what is only natural . That the more she sucks , the more breast milk you will produce , how it works on a supply and demand system , and how everything will be better when the milk comes in . On what kind of truck , you wonder . <p> They tell you that if you are experiencing pain of the nipples , it 's because Baby is n't latched on properly . How the latch has to be just right for proper breastfeeding . You do n't like the sound of that . You do n't like how latch sounds like something that 's suctioned on and might never come off again . You think of lamprey eels and leeches . Notice how everything starts with an " 1 " . <p> When the milk comes in , it comes in on a semitrailer . There are even marbles of milk under the surface of skin in your armpits , hard as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as solid as concrete balls and the pressure of milk is so great that the veins around the nipple are swollen , bulging . Like the stuff of horror movies , they are ridged , expanded to the point of blood-splatter explosion . <p> " Feel this , feel how hard my breasts are . " I grit my teeth . " Oh , my god ! " " It hurts , " I whisper . " Oh , my god . " He is horrified . Not with me , but at me . <p> " Can you suck them a little , so they 're not so full ? I ca n't go to sleep . " " What ? ! " He looks at me like I 've asked him to suck from a vial of venom . <p> " Could you please suck some out ? It does n't taste bad . I tried some . It 's like sugar water or something . " <p> " Uhhh , I do n't think so . It 's so . . . incestuous . " " We 're @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 's sake . How can it be incestuous ? Do n't be so weird about it . Please ! It 's very painful . " <p> " I 'm sorry . I just ca n't . " Clicks off the lamp and turns over to sleep . Advantages also exist for you , the nursing mother . . . it is easy for you to lose weight without dieting and regain your shape sooner ( page 176 ) " You look like you 're still pregnant , " he jokes . " Are you sure there is n't another one still in there ? " <p> " Just fuck off , O.K. ? " <p> Your belly has a loose fold of skin and fat that impedes your vision of your pubic hair . You have a beauty mark on your lower abdomen you have n't seen for five years . You wonder if you would have had a better chance at being slimmer if you had breast-fed the first child . There is a dark stain that runs vertically over the skin of your belly , from the pubic mound @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the bottom of your breasts . Perversely , you imagined it to be the marker for the doctor to slice if the delivery had gone bad . The stain is n't going away and you do n't really care because what with the flab and all , it does n't much make a difference . You are hungry all the time from producing breast milk and eat three times as much as you normally would ; therefore , you do n't lose weight at all , you just do n't gain on top of the residual fat you have already achieved . <p> " You should eat as much as you want , " your mother-in-law says . She spoons another eggplant onto your plate and your partner spoons his over as well . The baby starts to wail from the bedroom and your mother-in-law rushes to pick her up . <p> " Do n't cry , " you hear her say . " Breast milk is coming right away . " You want to yell down the hall , that you have a name and that it is n't @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ prolactin , which causes the secretion of milk , helps you to feel " motherly " ( page 176 ) Just how long can the pain last , you ask yourself . It is the eleventh day of nipple torture and maternal hell . You phone a friend and complain about the pain , the endless pain . Your friend says that some people experience so much pleasure from breast-feeding that they have orgasms . You tell your friend that if that was the case , you would breast-feed until the kid was big enough to run away from you . <p> The middle of the night feed is the longest and most painful part of the breast-feeding day . It lasts from two to six hours . You alternate from breast to breast , from an hour at each nipple to dwindling half hour , fifteen minutes , eight minutes , two , one , as your nipples get so sore that even the soft brush of the baby 's bundling cloth is enough to make your toes squeeze up into fists of pain , tears streaming down your cheeks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the clock prolongs your misery . You try thinking of SIM . The pain is so intense , so slicingly real , that you are unable to think of it as pleasurable . You realize that you are not a masochist . <p> Because you must sit down or lie down to nurse , you are assured of getting the necessary rest you need postpartum ( page 176 ) <p> You can no longer sit to breast-feed . You try lying down , to nurse her like a puppy , but the shape of your breasts is not suitable for this method . You prop her up on the back of the easy chair and feed her while standing . Her legs dangle but she is able to suck on your sore nippies . You consider hanging a sign on your back . " The Milk Stand . " <p> Your ass is killing you . You take a warm sitz bath because it helps for a little while , and you touch yourself in the water as carefully as you can . You feel several new nubs of flesh @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you are growing a second , third , fourth clitoris . When you visit your doctor , you find out that they 're only hemorrhoids . <p> " I 'm quitting . I hate this . " " You 've only been at it for two weeks . This is the worst part and it 'll only get better from here on , " he encourages . Smiles gently and tries to kiss me on my nose . <p> " I quit , I tell you . If I keep on doing this , I 'll start hating the baby . " " You 're only thinking about yourself , " he accuses , pointing a finger at my chest . " Breast-feeding is the best for her and you 're giving up , just like that . I thought you were tougher . " " Do n't you guilt me ! It 's my goddamn body and I make my own decisions on what I will and will not do with it ! " " You always have to do what 's best for yourself ! What about my input @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ raise our baby ? " he shouts , Mr. Sensible and **34;128;TOOLONG . <p> " Is everything all right ? " his mother whispers from outside the closed bedroom door . " Is anybody hun- " " We 're fine ! Just go to bed ! " he yells . The baby snorts , hiccups into an incredible wail . Nasal and distressed . " Listen , it 's me who has to breast-feed her , me who 's getting up every two hours to have my nipples lacerated and sucked on till they bleed while you just snore away . You have n't even got up once in the middle of the night to change her goddamn diaper even as a token fucking gesture of support , so do n't you tell me what I should do with my breasts . There 's nothing wrong with formula . I was raised on formula . You were raised on formula . Our whole generation was raised on formula and we 're fine . So just shut up about it . Just shut up . Because this is n't about you . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ breast-feed , I would do it gladly ! " he hisses . Flings the blankets back and stomps to the crib . <p> And I laugh . I laugh because the sucker said the words out loud . It is 3:27 A.M. The baby has woken up . Your breasts are heavy with milk but you supplement her with formula . At 5:15 , you supplement her again and your breasts are so full , so tight , that they lie like marble on your chest . They are ready . <p> You change the baby 's diaper and put her into the crib . In the low glow of the baby light , you can see her lips pursed around an imaginary nipple . She even sucks in her sleep . You sit on the bed , beside your partner , and unsnap the catches on your nursing bra . The pads are soaked and once the nipples are exposed , they spurt with sweet milk . The skin around your breasts is stretched tighter than a drum , so tight that all you need is one little slice for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it tears , spreading across the surface of your chest , directed by your fingers , in a complete circle around your entire right breast . There is no blood . <p> You lean slightly forward and the breast falls gently into your cupped hands . The flesh is a deep red and you wonder at its beauty , how flesh becomes food without you asking or even wanting it . You set the breast on your lap and slice your other breast . Two pulsing orbs still spurting breast milk . You gently tug the blankets down from the softly clenched fingers of your sleeping partner , unbutton his pajamas and fold them back so his chest is exposed . You stroke the hairless skin , then lift one breast , then the other , to lie on top of his flat penny nipples . The flesh of your breasts seeps into his skin , soft whisper of cells joining cells , your skin into his , tissue to tissue , the intimate melding before your eyes , your mouth an " 0 " of wonder and delight . <p> @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restless , a soft moan between parted lips . They are no longer spurting with milk , but they drip evenly , runnels down his sides . The cooling wet becomes uncomfortable and his eyelids flutter . He focuses on my face peering down and blinks rapidly . <p> " What 's wrong ? " he asks , voice dry with sleep . <p> " Nothing . Not a thing . How do you feel ? " " Funny , " he answers , perplexed . " My chest feels funny . I feel all achy . Maybe I 'm coming down with something . My chest is wet ! I 'm bleeding ! " <p> " Shhhhh . You 'll wake the baby , " I caution . Gently press my forefinger over his lips . <p> He was groggy with sleep , but he is wide awake now . Sitting up . Looks down at his chest , his two engorged breasts . He looks at my face . Then back at his breasts . <p> " Oh , my god , " he moans . " It 's @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worry . Everything is fine . Just do what comes naturally . " <p> A sudden look of shock slams into his face and he reaches , panicked , with his hands to touch himself between his legs . When he feels himself intact , relief flits his eyes to be permanently replaced by bewilderment . <p> I smile . Beam in the dim glow of light . Turn onto my side and sleep sweetly , soundly.Ms . <p> Footnote 
##1003677 These days everyone was a cuckold . And why not , when marriage was insufficient to satisfy most human need ? <p> ALL week Bill had been looking forward to this moment . He was about to fuck the daughter of the man who had fucked his wife . Lying in her bed , he could hear Celestine humming in the bathroom as she prepared for him . It had been a long time since he 'd been in a room so cold , with no heating . After a while he ventured his arms over the covers , tore open a condom , and laid it on a cardboard box that served as a bedside table . He was about to prepare another , but did n't want to appear overoptimistic . One would achieve his objective . He would clear out then . Already there had been too many delays . The waltz , for instance , though it had made him giggle . Nevertheless , he had told Madelaine , his pregnant wife , that he would be back by midnight . What could Celestine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shower ; and the wind cut viciously through a broken window . His wife had met Celestine 's father , Vincent Ertel , the French ex-Maoist intellectual , in Paris . He had certainly impressed her . She had talked about him continually , which was bad enough , and then rarely mentioned him , which , as he understood now , was worse . Madelaine worked on a late-night TV discussion program . For two years she had been eager to profile Vincent 's progress from revolutionary to Catholic reactionary . It was , she liked to inform Bill-using a phrase that stayed in his mind -indicative of the age . Several times she went to see Vincent in Paris ; then she was invited to his country place near Auxerre . Finally she brought him to London , to record the interview . When it was done , to celebrate , she took him to Le Caprice for champagne , fish cakes , and chips . That night Bill had put aside the script he was directing and gone to bed early with a ruler , a pencil , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was becoming particularly enthusiastic about Vincent , Bill had made up his mind not only to study the great books-the densest and most intransigent , the ones from which he 'd always flinched -but to underline in them , and even to memorize certain passages . The effort to concentrate was torment , as his mind flew about . Yet most nights-even during the period when Madelaine was preparing for an encounter with Vincenthe kept his light on long after she had put hers out . Determined to swallow the thickest pills of understanding , he would lie there muttering phrases he wanted to retain . One of his favorites was Emerson 's " We but half express ourselves , and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents . " One night Madelaine opened her eyes and said with a quizzical look , " Ca n't you be easier on yourself ? " Why ? He would n't give up . He had read biology at university . Surely he could n't be such a fool as to find these books beyond him . His need for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ need for sleep . How could a man have come to the middle of his life with barely a clue about who he was or where he might go ? The heavy volumes represented the highest , surely , that man 's thought had flown ; they had to include guidance . The close , leisurely contemplation afforded him some satisfaction-usually because the books started him thinking about other things . It was the part of the day he preferred . He slept well , usually . But on the long night of the fish cakes he awoke at four and felt for Madelaine across the bed . She was n't there . Shivering , he walked through the house until dawn , imagining she 'd crashed the car . After an hour he remembered that she had n't taken it . Maybe she and Vincent had gone on to a late-night place . She had never done anything like this before . He could neither sleep nor go to work . He decided to sit at the kitchen table until she returned , whenever it was . He was drinking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the evening . If anyone offered him a drink before this time , he claimed it was like saying good-bye to the whole day . In the mid-eighties he 'd gone to the gym in the early evening . For some days , though , good-bye was surely the most suitable word . It was late afternoon before his wife returned , wearing the clothes she 'd gone out in , looking disheveled and uncertain . She could n't meet his eye . He asked her what she 'd been doing . She said , " What do you think ? " and went into the shower . He considered several options , including punching her . But he fled the house and made it to a pub . For the first time since he 'd been a student , he sat alone with nothing to do . He was expected nowhere . He had no newspaper with him , and he liked papers ; he could swallow the most banal or incredible thing provided it was in newsprint . He watched the passing faces and thought how pitiless the world @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it . He made himself consider how unrewarding it was to constrain people . Infidelities would occur in most relationships . These days every man or woman was a cuckold . And why not , when marriage was insufficient to satisfy most human need ? Madelaine had needed something and she had taken it . How bold and stylish . How petty to blame someone for pursuing any kind of love ! He was humiliated . The feeling increased over the weeks in a strange way . At work or waiting for the tube , or having dinner with Madelaine ( who had gained , he could see , a bustling , dismissive intensity of will or concentration ) , he found himself becoming angry with Vincent . For days on end he could n't really think of anything else , as if the man were inhabiting him . As he walked around Soho , where he worked , Bill entertained himself by thinking of how someone might get even with a type like Vincent , were he so inclined . The possibility was quite remote , but this did n't @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some satisfaction , if not credit . What incentive , distraction , energy , and interest Vincent provided him with ! This was almost the only creative work he got to do now . FEW days later he was presented with Celestine . She was sitting with a man in a newly opened cafe , drinking cappuccino . Life was giving him a chance . It was awful . He stood in the doorway , pretending to look for someone , and considered whether he should take it . Vincent 's eldest daughter lived in London . She wanted to be an actress , and Bill had auditioned her for a commercial a couple of years earlier ; he knew that she 'd obtained a small part in a film directed by an acquaintance of his . On this basis he crossed the cafe , introduced himself , made the pleasantest conversation he could , and was invited to sit down . The man turned out to be a gay friend of hers . They all chatted . After some timorous vacillation Bill asked Celestine in a cool tone whether she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hours . He did n't go home but walked about . When he was tired , he sat in a pub with the first volume of Remembrance of Things Past . He had decided that if he could read to the end of the book he would deserve a great deal of praise . He did a little underlining , which since school he had considered a sign of seriousness , but his mind wandered even more than usual until it was time to meet her . To his delight Bill saw that some men glanced at Celestine when they could ; others openly stared . When she walked to the bar , they turned to examine her legs . This would not have happened with Madelaine ; only Vincent Ertel had taken an interest in her . Later , as he and Celestine strolled up the street looking for cabs , she agreed that he could come to her place at the end of the week . It was a triumphant few days of gratification anticipated . He would do more of this . He had obviously been missing out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the flat , dressing , cooking , reading , searching for her glasses , he could enjoy despising her . He informed his two closest friends that the pleasures of revenge were considerable . He liked saying that the French were used to being occupied . Now his pals were waiting to hear of his coup . Celestine flung her keys , wrapped in a tea towel , out a window . It was a hard climb : her flat was at the top of a rundown five-story building in West Kensington , an area of itinerants , bed-sits , and students . Coming into the living room , he saw it had a view across a square . Wind and rain were sweeping into cracked windows stuffed with newspaper . The walls were yellow , the carpet brown and stained . The gas fire , which had several pairs of jeans suspended in front of it on a clotheshorse , gave off an odor , and heated parts of the room while leaving others cold . She persuaded him to remove his overcoat but not his scarf . Then she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ floorboards ; between an old sink and the boiler there was hardly room for the two of them . " I will be having us some dinner . " She pointed to two shopping bags . " Do you like troot ? " " Sorry ? " It was trout . There were potatoes and green beans . After , they would have apple strudel with cream . She had been to the shops and gone to some trouble . It would take ages to prepare . He had n't anticipated this . He left her there , saying he would fetch drink . In the rain he went to the off-license and was paying for a bottle of wine when he noticed through the window that a taxi had stopped at the traffic lights . He ran out of the shop to hail the cab , but after he opened the door , he could n't go through with it . He collected the wine and carried it back . He waited in her living room , pacing and drinking . She did n't have a TV . Wintry noises @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he 'd shared as a student . He was about to say to himself Thank God I 'll never have to live like this again when it occurred to him that if he left Madelaine , he might , for a time , end up in some unfamiliar place , with stained , old , broken fittings . How fastidious he had become ! How had it happened ? What other changes had there been while he was looking in the other direction ? He noticed a curled photograph tacked to the wall ; it looked as though it had been taken at the end of the sixties . Bill concluded that it was a picture of the hopeful radical who 'd fucked his wife . He had been a handsome man , and with his pipe in his hand , hair below his ears , and an opennecked shirt , he had an engaging look of self-confidence and raffish pleasure . Bill recalled the slogans that had then decorated Paris : " Everything Is Possible . " " Take Your Desires for Realities . " " It Is Forbidden to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ TV commercial . What optimism that generation had had ! With his life given over to literature , ideas , conversation , writing , and political commitment , ol " Vincent must have had quite a time . He could n't have been working constantly , like Bill and his friends . The food was good . Bill leaned across the table to kiss Celestine . His lips brushed her cheek . She turned her head and looked out across the dark square to the lights beyond , as if trying to locate something . He talked about the film industry and what the actors , directors , and producers of the movies were really like . Not that he knew them personally , but they were gossiped about by other actors and technicians . She asked questions and laughed easily . Things should have been moving along . He had to get up at 5:30 to direct a commercial for a bank . He was becoming known for such well-paid but journeyman work . Now that Madelaine was pregnant , he would have to do more of it . It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ screenwriting he wanted to do . It was dawning on him that if he was to do anything worthwhile at his age , he would have to be serious in a new way . And yet , when he considered his ambitions , which he no longer mentioned to anyone-to travel overland to Indonesia while reading Proust . . . and other , more " internal " things-he felt a surge of shame , as if it were immature and obscene to harbor such hopes ; as if , in some ways , it was already too late . He shuffled his chair around the table until he and Celestine were sitting side by side . He attempted another kiss . She stood up and offered him her hands . " Shall we dance ? " He looked at her in surprise . " Dance ? " " It will " ot you up . Do n't you . . dance ? " " Not really . " " Why ? We always danced like this . " He shut his eyes and " Why ? We always danced like this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bang in a nail with his She kicked off her shoes . " We danced like this head as if attempting to bang in a nail with his " I 'll illustrate you . " She looked at him . " Take it off . " " The kicked off her shoes . " We danced like this , " she said . " I 'll illustrate you . " She looked at him . " Take it off . " " What ? " " on a Chopin waltz , took his hand , and placed her other hand on his back . He looked down at her dancing feet even as he trod on them , but she did n't object . Gently but firmly she turned and turned him across the room , until he was dizzy , her hair tickling his face . Whenever he glanced up , she was looking into his eyes . Each time they crossed the room , she trotted back , pulling him , never unamused . She seemed determined that he should learn , certain that this would benefit him . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ last . He fell back into his chair , blowing and laughing . " But after a week , who knows , we could get you work as a gigolo ! " IT was midnight . Celestine came naked out of the bathroom , smoking a cigarette . She got into the bed and lay beside him . He thought of a time in New York when the company had sent a white limousine to the airport . Drinking whiskey and watching TV as the limo passed over the East River toward Manhattan , he wanted nothing more than for his friends to see him . She was on him vigorously , and the earth was moving : either that , or the two single beds , on the juncture of which he was lying , were separating . He stuck out his arms to secure them , but with each lurch his head was being forced down into the fissure . He felt as if his ears were going to be torn off . The two of them were about to crash through to the floor . He rolled her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ showed her what would have happened . She started to laugh ; she could n't stop . The gas meter ticked . She was dozing . He had never lain beside a lovelier face . He thought of what Madelaine might have sought that night with Celestine 's father-affection , attention , serious talk , honesty , distraction . Did he , Bill , give her that now ? Could they give it to each other ? With a kid on the way ? Celestine was nudging him and trying to say something in his ear . " You want what ? " he said . " Surely . . . no . . . no . " " Bill , yes . " He liked to think he was willing to try anything . A black eye would certainly send a convincing message to her father . She smiled when he raised his hand . " I deserve to be hurt . " " No one deserves that . " " But you see . . . I do . " That night , in that freezing room , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she asked , for as long as she wanted-he had never kissed anyone for so longuntil he forgot where he was , or who they both were , until there was nothing that they wanted , and only the most satisfactory peace . He got up and dressed . He was shivering . He wanted to wash-he smelled of her-but he was n't prepared for a cold bath . " Why are you leaving ? " She leaped up and held him . " Stay , stay-I have n't finished with you yet . " He put on his coat and went into the living room . Without looking back he hurried out and down the stairs . He pulled the knob of the front door , anticipating the fresh , damp night air . But the door held . He had forgotten : the door was locked . He stood there . Upstairs she was wrapped in a fur coat , looking down the stairwell . " The key , " he said . " Old man , " she said , laughing . " You are . " She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ door , he mumbled , " Will you tell your father I saw you ? " " But why ? " He touched her face . She drew back . " You should put something on that , " he said . " I met him once . He knows my wife . " " I rarely see him now , " she said . She was holding out her arms . They danced a few steps across the hall . He was better at it now . He went out into the street . Several cabs passed him , but he did n't hail them . He kept walking . The rain was comforting . He put his head back and looked up into the sky . He had some impression that happiness was beyond him and everything was coming down , and that life could not be grasped but only lived . 