Mercy (30 page)

with a driver. We sat in the back. He was elaborately

courteous. He didn’t say anything. I thought he would explain

things and say why. I sat quietly and waited. He was

unfailingly polite. We ate pinner. He said nothing except do

you like your dinner and would you like more wine and I

nodded whatever he said and m y eyes were open looking right

at him asking him to tell me something that would rescue me,

bring me back to being someone human with a human life.

Then he said he would take me home, form ally, politely, and

at m y door he asked i f he could come in and I said he could

only i f we could talk and he nodded his assent and the driver

waited for him and we went in and he touched me to fuck me,

his hands pushing me down on the bed, and I wanted him dead

and I tried to kill him with m y bare hands for touching me, for

not saying one word to me, for pushing me to fuck me, and I

hit his face with m y fist and I hit his neck and I pushed his neck

so hard I twisted it half around and he was stunned to feel the

pain and he was enraged and he pushed me down to fuck me

and he pinned me down with his hands and shoulders and

chest and legs and he kept fucking me and he said now he was

fucking me the w ay he fucked all whores, yes he went to

brothels and fucked whores, what did I think, that he only

fucked me, no man only fucked one wom an, and I would find

out how much he had loved me before because this was how

he fucked whores and this was how he would fuck me from

now on and it went on forever and I stopped fighting because

m y heart died and I lay still and I didn’t m ove and it still kept

going on and I stared at him and I hated him, I kept m y eyes

open and I stared, and it w asn’t over for a long time but I had

died during it so it didn’t matter when it ended or when he

stopped or when he pulled out o f me finally or when he was

gone from inside me and then it was over and there was

numbness close to death throughout me and there was some

man between m y legs. I hadn’t moved and I didn’t move, I

couldn’t m ove, I was on m y back and he had been on top o f me

to fuck me and then he slid down to where his head was

between m y legs and he turned over on his back and he rested

the back o f his head between m y legs where he had fucked me

and he rested there like some sweet, tired baby who had ju st

been born only they put him between m y legs instead o f in m y

arms and he said we would get married now because there was

nothing else left for either o f us; pity the poor lover, it hurt him

too. He was immensely sad and immensely bitter and he said

we would get married now because married people did it like

this and hated each other and felt dead, fucking was like being

dead for them; pity the poor husband, he felt dead. He stayed

between my legs, resting. I didn’t move because there is an

anguish that can stop you from moving and I couldn’t kill him

because there is an anguish that can stop you from killing.

Something awful came, a suffering bigger than my life or your

life or any life or G od ’s life, the crucifixion God; the nails are

hammered in but you don’t get to die. It’s the cross for ladies, a

bed, and you don’t get to die; the lucky boy, the favorite child,

gets to die. Y o u ’ve been mowed down inside, slaughtered

inside, a genocide happened in you, but you don’t get to die.

Y o u ’re not G od ’s son, you’re His daughter, and He leaves you

there nailed because you’re some stupid piece o f shit who

loved someone and you will be there forever, in some bed

somewhere for the rest o f your life and He will make it a long

time, He will make you get old, and He will see to it that you

get fucked, and the skin around where you get fucked will be

calloused and blistered and enraged and there will be someone

climbing on you and getting in you and God your Father will

watch; even when you’re old H e’ll watch. M left at sunrise,

sad boy, poor boy, immensely sad, tired boy, and time was

back on top o f me and I couldn’t move and I waited on the bed

to die but I didn’t die because God hates me; it’s hate. I couldn’t

m ove and I endured all the seconds in the day, every single

second. A second stretches out past hell and when one is over

another comes, longer, worse. It got dark and I dressed

m yself—that night, ten thousand years later, ten million years

later; I dressed m yself and I went to the club and M was

serving drinks and his friend the
pied noir
was there, the

handsome fascist, the gunrunner for the O. A . S., and this time

he looked at me, now he looked at me, and it was hard to

breathe, and I was transfixed by him; and the noisy room got

quiet with danger and you could feel him and me and you

could see him and me and we couldn’t stop and the fuck we

wanted filled the room even though we didn’t go near each

other and he was absolutely still and completely frightened

because M might kill him or me and I didn’t care but he was

afraid, the great big man was afraid, and I wanted him and I

didn’t care what it cost ju st so I had him, and M said take her, I

give her to you, he shouted, he spit, and I walked out in a rage,

a modern rage that anyone would dare to give me to someone;

me; a free woman. Outside there’s an African wind blow ing

on the island, restless, violent, and there’s perfume in the

wind, a heavy poppy smell, intoxicating, sweet and heavy.

The
pied noir
is deranged by it and he know s what M did and he

is deranged by that, he wants me with M ’s nasty fuck on me,

fresh like fresh-killed meat. God is the master o f pain and He

made it so you could love someone forever even if someone

cut your heart open. I wait in m y bed, I leave the front door

open. I want the fascist; I want him bad. I am fresh-killed

meat.