The Autobiography of Red (8 page)

Geryon fell asleep seven or eight times on the way to the volcano.

 

The other two were talking about feminism then life in Hades then unstable bitumen

 

or was that from
Britannica?
All

 

the sentences mixed around in Geryon’s drifting drowsing head
men

 

had to be taught

 

to hate women for foot massage pumice and ballast on railroad sure

 

they know how eruption

 

takes place his little elementary courtesies darting out like a tongue but

 

how can I talk

 

to people who don’t know the European experience
—now

 

jolted awake Geryon

 

glanced out. The world had gone black and bulbous. Shiny ropes of old lava

 

rose and fell in every direction

 

around the car which had come to a halt. Most volcanic rock is basalt.

 

If it is dark and blocky that means

 

very little silica in the composition (so the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
).

 

Very little silica in the composition,

 

said Geryon as he climbed out. Then the rock silenced him.

 

It pitched away on all sides

 

utterly blank except for one crazed blackish unit of intraplate light

 

bouncing from rock to rock

 

as if looking for lost kin. Geryon put his foot out to take a step.

 

The lava emitted

 

a glassy squeak and he jumped.
Careful,
said Herakles’ grandmother.

 

Herakles had lifted her out of the back seat,

 

now she stood leaning on his arm.
The lava dome here is more than ninety percent

 

glass—rhyolite obsidian they call it. I find

 

it very beautiful. Has a kind of pulse as you look at it.
She began to move

 

forward with a tinkling sound

 

over the black billows.
They say the reason for all these blocks and rubble on top

 

is strains produced when the glass

 

chills so rapidly.
She made a little sound.
Reminds me of my marriage.
She

 

stumbled then and Geryon

 

caught her other arm, it was like a handful of autumn. He felt huge and wrong.

 

When is it polite to let go someone’s arm

 

after you grab it?

 

Just for an instant balancing on the vitreous surface he went to sleep and awoke

 

still gripping her arm, Herakles was saying

 

 … in crossword puzzles. It’s the word for blocky lava in Hawaiian.

 

How do you spell it?

 

Just like it sounds
—aa. Geryon dozed off, awoke again, they were in the car

 

already driving away

 

from the terrible rocks. Up front Herakles and his grandmother had begun

 

“Joy to the World” in harmony.

 

Herakles and Geryon had gone to the video store.

 

Full moon sends rapid clouds dashing past a cold sky. When they came back

 

they were arguing.

 

It’s not the photograph that disturbs you it’s you don’t understand what photography is.

 

Photography is disturbing,
said Geryon.

 

Photography is a way of playing with perceptual relationships.

 

Well exactly.

 

But you don’t need a camera to tell you that. What about stars?

 

Are you going to tell me

 

none of the stars are really there? Well some are there but some burned out

 

ten thousand years ago.

 

I don’t believe that.

 

How can you not believe it, it’s a known fact. But I see them. You see memories.

 

Have we had this conversation before?

 

Geryon followed Herakles to the back porch. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa.

 

Do you know how far away some of those stars are?

 

Just don’t believe it. Let’s see someone touch a star and not get burned. He’ll

 

hold up his finger, Just a memory burn! he’ll say

 

then I’ll believe it. Okay never mind stars what about sound, you’ve watched

 

a man chop wood in a forest.

 

No I do not watch men in forests.

 

I give up. That would be very cold. What? That would be very cold,
repeated

 

the grandmother from the porch swing.

 

Watching men in forests? A memory burn. Ah. She’s right. Yes she is she

 

had lung burn once

 

and that was cold and don’t call me she when I’m right here.

 

Sorry.

 

You got lung burn in Hades? No it was in the Pyrenees I burned my lungs I had

 

gone to St. Croix to photograph skiers

 

that would be the winter Olympics 1936 Grushenk was competing do you know

 

Grushenk? Well never mind he was very fast

 

I sold a photograph of him in his extraordinary scarlet ski pants

 

to
Life
magazine for a thousand dollars.

 

That was a handsome sum in 1936. Don’t be patronizing it’s still a handsome sum
—

 

for a photograph. Herakles’ father

 

(she waved her hand towards the sofa but Herakles had gone back in the house)

 

gave me less than half that for “Red Patience”
—

 

you took a look at “Red Patience” didn’t you? I wish he hadn’t hung it in the kitchen

 

much too dark in there

 

people think it’s a black-and-white photograph of course nobody knows

 

how to look at a photograph nowadays.

 

No I saw the lava, is it lava? Of course yes you mean at the top of the cone.

 

No I mean at the bottom

 

of the picture on the trunk of one of the pine trees little red drops like blood.

 

Ah yes very good the little red drops

 

my signature. It is a disturbing photograph. Yes. But why?

 

“Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.”

 

Who said that? Yeats.

 

Where did Yeats see a volcano? I believe he was talking about politics. No

 

I don’t think that’s what I mean.

 

Do you mean the silence. But all photographs are silent. Don’t be facile you

 

might as well say all mothers

 

are women. Well aren’t they? Of course but that tells you nothing. Question is

 

how they use it—given

 

the limits of the form— Does your mother live on the island? I don’t want

 

to talk about my mother.

 

Ah well. Silence then.
Herakles came out the door from the kitchen.

 

Climbed over the back of the sofa

 

and subsided into it lengthwise.
Your grandmother has been teaching me

 

the value of silence,
said Geryon.

 

I bet,
said Herakles. He turned to her.
It’s late Gram don’t you want to go to bed?

 

Can’t sleep angel,
she said.

 

Is your leg paining? I can rub your ankles. Come I’ll take you up.

 

Herakles was standing in front of her

 

and he lifted her towards him like snow. Geryon saw her legs were asymmetrical,

 

one pointed up the other down and back.

 

Goodnight children,
she called in her voice like old coals.

 

May God favor you with dreams.

 

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table when Geryon opened the screen door.

 

He had taken the local bus from Hades. Seven-hour trip. He wept most of the way.

 

Wanted to go straight to his room

 

and shut the door but when he saw her he sat down. Hands in his jacket.

 

She smoked in silence a moment

 

then rested her chin against her hand. Eyes on his chest.
Nice T-shirt,
she said.

 

It was a red singlet with white letters

 

that read
TENDER

 

               
LOIN
.
Herakles gave it
—and here Geryon had meant

to slide past the name coolly

 

but such a cloud of agony poured up his soul he couldn’t remember

 

what he was saying.

 

He sat forward. She exhaled. She was watching his hands so he unclenched them

 

from the edge

 

of the table and began spinning the fruit bowl slowly. He spun it clockwise.

 

Counterclockwise. Clockwise.

 

Why is this fruit bowl always here?
He stopped and held it by the rims.

 

It’s always here and it never

 

has any fruit in it. Been here all my life never had fruit in it yet. Doesn’t

 

that bother you? How do we even

 

know it’s a fruit bowl?
She regarded him through smoke.
How do you think it feels

 

growing up in a house full

 

of empty fruit bowls?
His voice was high. His eyes met hers and they began

 

to laugh. They laughed

 

until tears ran down. Then they sat quiet. Drifted back

 

to opposite walls.

 

They spoke of a number of things, laundry, Geryon’s brother doing drugs,

 

the light in the bathroom.

 

At one point she took out a cigarette, looked at it, put it back. Geryon laid

 

his head on his arms on the table.

 

He was very sleepy. finally they rose and went their ways. The fruit bowl

 

stayed there. Yes empty.