In the City of Shy Hunters (70 page)

My eyes on my hands, then my eyes through the space under my right armpit.

In all the world, through the triangle my elbow made to my knee, just past my T-shirt sleeve, across granite, in the doorway of the cathedral stood Rose and some bishop guy.

Cardinal O'Henry.

It's the truth.

Rose in drag as a priest.

Just as my eyes saw, a wind came up to them, their cassocks the sound of sails.

The cardinal was a big man, extra-lovely, but short next to Rose. He was wearing a black cassock with red buttons down the front, and a black cape that came down to his elbows. Around his big belly was a tied red sash hanging down one side. A gold cross on a gold chain around his neck.

Duct tape over his mouth.

Rose's silver revolver at his ear.

My body did all those things people describe when shit happens, and before I knew it I was rolling through somersaults and cartwheels, and when I jumped to my feet, just like that, I was standing right in front of Rose, up close.

Rose was gray under black, his lips chapped, the whites of his eyes yellow and red. Sweat rolled off Rose's head over the purple bumps. He smelled of wet wool, and his white Roman collar was brown and yellow.

Backpack straps cut into his shoulders.

The gap between his two front teeth, Rose's smile.

Rose? I said. Rose, are you all right?

Rose's free hand wiped the sweat from his forehead, wiped his face. No clack-clack of bracelets.

Oh, blessed, blessed night
, Rose said,
I am afeared being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial

Rose, I said, Please don't do this.

Rose's laugh was a hard cough, the mucus inside him. Rose bumped his hip against the cardinal's, laughed again so hard his chest sunk in.

Too late, Rose said. We're getting married in the morning.

The cardinal's face was so red his whole head was glowing. His twenty-seven years in the navy was in his eyes, James Bond, searching around for escape. His hair was messed up. He'd lost his little hat. Only one lens in his plastic glasses. A little throat hair just above where the red-covered buttons of his cassock were undone. The red satin sash tied at the hip into a big red bow.

Cardinal O'Henry? I said. Are you him?

The cardinal's wide-eyed steel blue into my eyes.

In the flesh, Rose said.

Sucking snorting sounds through the cardinal's nose. His eyes open wider. Deep inside his eyes, fear.

Rose, I said, The cardinal can't breathe very well, I said, With that duct tape over his mouth.

He can breathe all right, Rose said. The cardinal has a bit of a temper, Rose said. A real holy terror.

He's turning purple, I said.

Wait till he has AIDS, Rose said, And he's in a respirator, he won't be able to breathe at all.

Rose, I said, Let's go home and you and me can lie down in the Joey Heatherton bed, what do you say?

Rose ran his tongue along his chapped lips, let his head drop down and at the same time took a long deep breath. Rose raised his chin up as he spoke.

If the tides were turned, Rose said, This asshole would have you beheaded by noon. I'm dying here, Rose said. This is the end of my life. And you're not going to fuck it up, Rose said.

Rose pulled the silver revolver away from the cardinal's ear, turned the barrel, pointed the silver revolver straight between my eyes, then kept the barrel going around to the side of his own head, pushed the barrel hard against his skin, squeezed on the trigger.

Now get the fuck out of here! Rose said.

Only silence, in all the world, at Saint Patrick's Cathedral's open doors, only silence.

Dead silence.

Don't fight me on this one, Rose said.

Behind Rose, through the open brass doors, the dark vaulted hall of the nave, the Gothic pillars, the stained-glass windows.

My God, Rose, I said. No, I won't fight you. As long as we get to go home.

Promise! Rose said.

I promise, I said.

Then get me the handcuffs, Rose said. They're in the backpack.

My mother's nerves.

The handcuffs were in the side pocket of Rose's backpack. I gave them to Rose. Just like that, Rose handcuffed one cuff around the cardinal's wrist, the other cuff to the bronze door handle.

The cardinal pulled his hand against the swinging door.

The cardinal's wide-eyed steel blue into my eyes.

Rose was right. Another time, another place, this man would have me burned at the stake.

Rose bowed deeply to the cardinal.

Thank you, My Eminent Opponent, Rose said, For giving me this great opportunity.

Rose slung his backpack over his shoulder.

We're going to leave you now, Rose said, But we're not going far—just down the steps for a bit. And don't forget, Rose said, I still have the revolver and you don't. And I still want to shoot your ass.

The
WALK
changed to
DON
'
T WALK
on Fifth Avenue.

Behind us, the cardinal was a darkness inside a shadow.

Rose was a lump that sat down heavy onto the steps just where I'd been sitting. His combat boot kicked at the pile of cigarette butts.

Looks like somebody's been smoking here, Rose said. How long you been waiting?

Shouldn't we get out of here? I said.

Nah! Rose said, We're as safe as Bette Midler in the baths.

Somebody's bound to see him, Rose, I said. The cardinal could start waving with his free hand.

Rose's head was hanging between his knees.

Who? Rose said.

There was no dawn in the dark sky yet. The night was a cool summer night. You could see a few stars.

In all the world Rose and I sat there on the stoop of Saint Patrick's, staring way up past the top of Rockefeller Center, to the stars in the sky.

No traffic. Silence. The silence just before the sun rises.
Entre loup et chien
.

Rose reached in his backpack, pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier VSOP and a plastic snifter.

I left the Baccarat at home, Rose said.

Rose handed me the plastic snifter, pulled the cork on the VSOP, poured two fingers into the snifter.

A toast, Rose said, To Shy Hunters! Rose said. And to the unrelenting darkness of their city!

Rose's hand in mine, together we raised the plastic glass to the darkness that was New York on the other side of Fifth Avenue.

Here's to the City of Shy Hunters! Rose said.

To the City of Shy Hunters! I said.

Rose drank first.

Then me.

Rose's shaky hand poured two more fingers of VSOP.

I rolled cigarettes, one for Rose, one for me.

Rose was dripping sweat, so I put both cigarettes in my mouth, lit one for Rose, one for me. Put Rose's cigarette between his lips.

Rose inhaled deep, exhaled. Rose's cats-fucking laugh bouncing off Saint Patrick's, off Rockefeller Center, off Saks Fifth Avenue, bouncing off horizontals and verticals all around the city.

Why wish for the stars when we have the moon? Rose said.

What? I said.

Rose coughed and coughed.

Oh, never mind, Rose said. That's why I love you so much!

I love you too, Rose, I said. I hope I haven't betrayed you.

Rose's beautiful black eyes yellow and red and full of tears.

Was it as good for you, Rose said, As it was for me?

Rose's cats-fucking laugh bouncing off the buildings, louder and louder. Wasn't long and the whole city was just Rose's cats-fucking laugh.

Rose put his hand open palm on my open palm, lifted my hand up with his. He shook our hands back and forth, back and forth, the way you do when you're the champions.

Only in New York City, Rose said, Would I meet the likes of you, dear William of Heaven. To Manhattan! Rose said.

To Wolf Swamp! I said.

To the city, Rose said, Who daily sells its soul for an image of itself!

To Harlequin, I said, And the city of fools!

Rose reached in his backpack, pulled out a bottle of pills, emptied the blue pills into his Sahara Desert palm.

Valium? I said.

Morphine, Rose said.

Where'd you get morphine? I said.

Never you mind! Rose said. A girl has to have some secrets.

You going to share? I said.

No no Yoko Ono, Rose said.

Rose lifted his Sahara Desert palm, poured all the pills into his mouth.

Jesus, Rose, I said, Isn't that too much?

Nothing's too much, Rose said.

Why you doing morphine? I said.

Because I'm a chicken-shit asshole, Rose said.

What? I said.

Just shut up and pour me some more brandy, Rose said.

I emptied the VSOP into Rose's glass.

L'amour de la bouteille!
Rose said. The last drop, Rose said.

Rose tried to stand but couldn't, so I stood up and Rose took my hand.

Get me my backpack, would you? Rose said. Be careful!

The backpack was heavy.

I got to piss, Rose said. Help me back to the doors.

Rose put his arm over my shoulder. I put my arm around his waist, and we walked that way, back to the bronze doors.

Rose's hand was shaking so much he couldn't undo the cassock buttons, so I undid them. Had to pull up all the cotton robes. Rose pissed
on the opposite side of the cardinal, into the corner where the bronze door met granite and cement, A long line of piss, a little yellow river just south of the Courvoisier bottle and the snifters, flowing down the steps.

Ocean is big because ocean is lower than rivers.

The darkness across the doorway was purple, silent.

YOU
'
RE GOING THIS
way and then shit happens and then you're going that way.

There was a handcuff click sound and then Rose took my hand. His hand was so hot.

Rose's other hand was handcuffed to the other bronze door.

Rose? I said.

Rose put the handcuff key in his mouth, swallowed the key.

More handcuffs? I said. Rose? You said we were going home.

Rose pulled his top lip under his bottom lip. His chin and his lips were moving in a way I'd never seen. Rose's jaw was up and down, up and down, teeth against teeth.

Look who's stuttering now, Rose said.

This, Rose said, Is our final chapter. Now listen to me!

I pulled Rose away from the door, shook him by the shoulders.

Fuck final chapter! I said. Unlock that shit! Come on! Let's go home!

Rose took my chin in his hand, held my chin up, kissed me hot and wet and full and fast. He leaned heavy against the bronze doors, then bent over slow, pulled the jug of gasoline out of his backpack.

Only silence. In all the world, in all of Manhattan, only silence.

Dead silence.

I couldn't feel my arms, my legs. God in heaven! I said.

Exactly, Rose said. I've strut and fret my fifteen minutes. Now it's time to exit stage left, Rose said. Something dramatic, with a bang, a big fucking bang! No whimpers here!

Time to say good-bye, Rose said.

I grabbed for the bottle of gasoline.

No! I said. You can't do this!

Rose's black eyes, ebony stones rolled smooth, went deep into my eyes. His Sahara Desert palm grasped the bottle.

The lucid compulsion to act polemically.

This is my death, Will, Rose said. Capisce?

My breath in. My breath out.

My open palm onto the beaded blue road, the beaded red.

My feet walked backward to where the steps started.

Thank you, Rose said.

I put my arms out, hands palms up at Rose.

Rose, I said, If you're going to do what I think you're going to do with that gasoline, you're just another black queer scapegoat!

You said, I said, That on TV black people never make it to the next episode. Rose! I said. What about the next episode?

Read up on the Cambodian monks who self-immolated, Rose said. There's no victim here! This is my final act as a Shy Hunter, Rose said. A Shy Hunter always chooses life until he chooses death.

Rose unscrewed the lid to the gallon of gasoline.

Then: Rose, I said, Who will anoint your body?

So strange just then, Rose's laugh coming out of him.

Ah! My dear dear William of Heaven, Rose said, Thou hast already anointed me. But to make sure, Rose said, Bring your body back over here for a minute.

Eleven steps back, over the yellow river of piss, back to Rose. I put my palm out and touched Rose's face. His prizefighter bump, his eight-ball cheeks, the clitoris bump between his eyes, his lips, the lines from his nose wings to the corner of his mouth, his keep-your-chin-up chin, his shiny bald head.

We'll perform a sacrament, Rose said. Extreme Unction, the Last Rites. We'll anoint the body
before
it dies, Rose said.

Reach down inside your pants, Rose said. Touch your cock, Rose said.

Rose, I said.

Reach! Rose said.

I reached down in my pants, touched my cock.

The end of it, Rose said. Touch the end, the piss slit.

I touched the end of my cock, the piss slit.

It's wet, isn't it? Rose said.

Yes, I said.

Now draw your hand across your asshole, Rose said, and anoint me, Rose said.

I pulled my two fingers across my piss slit, gathered the moisture there, then up through my crack, across my butt hole. I brought my fingers out, brought my fingers to Rose's forehead, made a vertical and a horizontal on Rose's forehead, on his lips, on his heart.

The top of the head too, Rose said.

A vertical and a horizontal on top of Rose's head.

And at the navel, Rose said.

I reached in, lifted the white cotton robes, made a vertical and a horizontal on Rose's belly button.

And the cock, Rose said.

Rose's cock, the 2001 monolith hard.

Wow! I said. What a piece of work is man!

And
that's
after a pound of morphine, Rose said. Death be not proud! There's so much hope in a hard-on.