The Room (17 page)

He stood up and looked at the joint of wall and floor, then paced back and forth for a few minutes then stopped in front of the mirror. He studied the pimple, looking for evidence of a change, then shrugged his shoulders and turned away. He leaned against the wall for a moment and
looked at the bed, feeling the cell and the heavy steel door. He was in here and they were out there. All he had was a lousy 50 sq. ft., and they had the whole fucking world to roam around in. All he had was a bed, a fucking shitter and a steel door and they had the whole world to fuck around in, to do any damn thing they wanted. If only he could get free of those bastards out there. All those rotten sonsabitches who keep fucking things up on him. Every goddamn time you get something going they come along and screw it up. No matter what it is they screw it up. They just cant leave you alone. Not for one fucking minute. No matter where you go or what you do some sonofabitch comes along and fucks it all up. Why cant they leave you alone. Why in the name of krist cant they just leave you alone. No. They have to screw it up. Every fucking time. They just wont leave you alone. If only theyd leave you alone for five fucking minutes everything would be all right. Thats all. Just five fucking minutes and everything would be all right. But they wont. The ugly motherfuckers,

going back to the bed and glancing around the cell. Concrete and steel. Yeah, and those 2 bastards are driving around like king shit. Probably laughing their asses off because Im sitting in this fucking cell.

He stretched out on the bed, let his eyes close and listened to the chairman of the special investigating committee of the Senate of the United States.

On behalf of the other members of this committee, and myself, I want to thank you gentlemen for appearing before us and making available to us, and the citizens of our country, evidence of misuse and abuse of authority. And especially to you, sir, who did so while your life was threatened. We have listened to your testimony and read the many documents submitted by you, and though what we have heard and read was not pleasant – but rather it was ugly and horrifying – we are indebted to you for making these facts known. We, too, agree that there is nothing more important than truth. It is only with the truth that we can make this country of ours truly free. And it is only by being scrupulously honest and diligent in defending truth by seeking out the guilty and exposing lies, that
we can keep our nation free. This is not an easy task, but assuredly it is a necessary one. You have set a fearless example and it is now up to us, and the Congress of the United States, to follow your example. It would be more than cowardly for us to do less. It is an inspiration to us to have the privilege of working with an individual such as yourself who has set aside all thoughts of personal safety and stands exposed and vulnerable under the banner of truth, and it would be unseemly for us not to take our stand beside you under that banner.

He tried to walk normally, but couldnt because of his wet pants. His house was only a few houses away, yet it seemed like such a long distance to walk, especially in the bright sun with the buses and cars going by, and the people walking up and down the street. He had just learned to whistle, sort of, and tried whistling as he walked home, but the only sound that came from his lips was a muffled whoef, whoef. But at least it was summer and it wasnt cold. It would be impossible to try and walk normally with wet pants in the wintertime. But when his pants were wet in the winter it was from snow and ice and not pee, and he didnt have to walk as if they were dry. And he would be wearing lots of sweaters and a coat and even if his pants were wet with pee you couldnt see it. But he was wearing short pants and you could see the big wet spot and smell it and it was hard to walk as if his pants were dry. He could feel his legs staying apart even though he tried to keep them together like always. But he wasnt sure just how he did walk when his pants were dry. He knew he didnt walk like he was walking now, but just how did he walk? He tried to remember which way his legs should really go, but no matter how many different positions he tried none of them felt right. He tried squeezing his legs together, hard, but he almost stumbled and fell. With each step he tried a slightly different position, but none of them felt exactly right, and it seemed like such a long walk to his house. He could always tell his mother that he wet his pants. She would get mad, but maybe it wouldnt be too bad. But then she might ask him why. What could he say then?
Something happened and he wet his pants? But she might ask him what happened and then what would he say? He could tell her he almost got hit by a car. That really happened once. On his way to school and he had to cross that big, dumb intersection where all the streets crossed each other and there were always cars going by one way or another and the traffic cop waved at him to cross as he stood on the island in the middle of the intersection and he darted across the street and a car slammed on its brakes because he had a green light too, and he got so scared he fell down and wet his pants. The car was real close, but he didn’t get hit. At least he didnt remember getting hit, and the cop came over and the man got out and they asked him if he was all right and he cried and they examined him and made sure he was all right and they helped him up and they put him in the mans car so he could drive him home and tell his mother what happened and he was afraid to tell the man he had wet his pants and he knew he was going to get the mans seat all wet and he didnt want to get his seat wet, but he didnt know what to do, he had to sit on the seat, and he couldnt tell the man that his pants were wet so he tried raising himself by leaning against the back of the seat and pushing down with his feet, but he couldnt get very far off the seat and anyway he knew the man could smell him and it took forever to drive the few blocks home and all the time the man kept asking him if he was all right and if he hurt anywhere and he kept trying to keep himself off the seat and just stared through the windshield and jerked his head back and forth in answer to the mans questions and when they got home he ran up the steps yelling for his mother and put his arms around her and started crying and everybody was talking and asking and answering and she held him and reassured him and consoled him and when the man finally left he told her he wet his pants and she smiled and told him that that was all right, but if he told her now that he almost got hit by a car she would want to know why he was in the street and where was the driver and what was his name and where did it happen and he wouldnt know what to say. What could he say? How could he explain his wet pants? And anyway, it was all Leslies fault and her brother. If they didnt tell him to come down in the cellar
with them it wouldnt have happened. He thought it was just going to be like the other times when he and his friends went in the cellar with Leslie and they took their pants down and Leslie lifted her skirt so they could see her thing and she spread it apart and then she bent over and he peed on her and then he bent over and she peed on him, but now his pants were wet and he just couldnt seem to walk right and soon he would be home and he would have to think of something to tell his mother. Unless, maybe, he could get into the bathroom before she saw him and he could take his underwear off and put it in the dirty clothes and maybe she wouldnt smell the pee. And then, maybe, he could sneak into his room and put on another pair of underwear and she wouldnt know and he could just sit around and listen to the radio until his father came home from work and they ate supper. But how could he get up the stairs without her hearing him, and in the door and down the hallway to the bathroom. Everything squeaked. The stairs, the door, the floor. Everything. And anyway, he couldnt walk right. Especially up the stairs. It was hard enough trying to walk right on the street, but going up the stairs was even worse. Each step seemed to squeak and groan louder and louder and his pants seemed even wetter. And he was colder now, now that he was no longer in the sun, and it was hard to adjust to the sudden darkness of the stairway and the cold wetness. As he worked his way to the top of the stairs the smell of pee became stronger and stronger and he shivered slightly as he opened the door and sort of shuffled into the living room where his mother was dusting the furniture. Briefly he was aware of the sharp, clean smell of furniture oil, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the smell of his pee. He wanted to look up at his mother and smile and then go trotting into his room or somewhere, or say something like, hi mom, or anything, but his body and lips wouldnt respond to the desire and he just sort of moved around where he stood with his face only half-tilted up, feeling wet and cold and burning all over. His mother looked at him and asked him what was wrong and he stammered a few muffled syllables and she walked over to him and looked at him more intently and asked again what was wrong and he tried to shrug and say, nothing, but
he could only fidget and mumble, but only for a few seconds, and then he told her his pants were wet and Leslie peed on him and his mother kept saying what? what? and he showed her the wet spot and told her again, slowly, hysterically, that he had peed on Leslie and she had peed on him and his mother spanked him and he had to go to his room and wait until his father came home from work and then tell him what had happened and all the time he waited he just sat wanting to cry, hoping his father would never get home, and at the same time hoping he would hurry so he could get it over with, and eventually his father did get home and he told him what had happened and there was a lot of noise and confusion and eventually he was told to take a bath and when he finished his mother told him not to do that again and that he should stay away from Leslie and he was sent to bed early and at least the day was over, but he couldnt go to sleep because he was afraid they might say something to Leslie or her mother and father and they would know he told on her and she would tell his friends and they wouldnt talk to him and he wished he could fall asleep so the night would be over and it would be morning and maybe everything would be over with and at least now the smell was gone and he was warm and dry

and he couldnt figure out what fuck meant. A friend of Leslies older brother was with them and he kept saying he wished they could find a place to fuck and he followed them around trying to figure out what the word meant and wondering what they were going to do. They had on their skates and were walking through a dirt driveway and they were looking in bushes and cellar windows and that guy kept saying he wished they could find a place to fuck and he kept following them wondering why they didnt want to go roller skating or to the cellar where they usually went so they could look at Leslies thing and all the things she could do with it

and he wondered if Leslie and her brother still played games even after she got hair. His friend Jimmy had a sister a few years older than him and he used to peek at her and he said she had hair and he would tell them about it and how big her nipples were as they hid in the corner of the school yard at
night all jerking off together. And sometimes in school he would take his out and wave it around under the desk and his friends would laugh and the teacher would always yell at them to stop laughing and every time she did he would laugh even harder and louder and then she would yell at him and make him write a demerit slip for laughing in the classroom

and he would wonder what it would be like to have a sister and if he did have one if she would let him touch it the way Leslies brother did and he wondered if she still let him and if Jimmys sister would ever let him touch it or look at it or if he would ask her if he could. Every day they would ask Jimmy if he had asked his sister yet and he always said no, so he never knew what it was like to touch there

mary, mary, quite cunttrary, how does your garden grow

and he couldn’t pass the candy store without staring at the magazine in the window. It was called
Weird Tales
and there was a picture of a naked woman and all you could see was her terrified face and huge tits and there were martian monsters in the background and they were coming after her and her hair stood on end and her eyes were very big and she was pretty but the whole picture seemed to be her big tits and they were round like melons and stood straight out right under her face and many times each day he would stand there and stare and his stomach would start feeling funny and tight and he would start getting sick to his stomach and he would go home and jerk off

but just wait until he had his day in court. I/ll show those bastards. I/ll get them on the stand and tear them apart. I/ll makem look like the monkeys they are. I/ll crucify the bastards. I wont need any goddamn lawyer to help me hack them to pieces. I/ll do it alone. By the time I get through withem theyll curse their mothers for giving birth to them, the ugly motherfuckers. The fucking d.a. and the judge can go through all the stipulating shit they want, I dont give a fuck. All I want to do is get them on the stand. Thats all. Just let me get them on the stand and I/ll punish the stinking pricks. I/ll show them whos guilty, the rotten cunts.

mary, mary, quite cunttrary, how does your garden grow

all I want is a chance, thats all. Just give me my day in court with those mothers cunts and theyll be dead. That is right your honor. I wish to defend myself. And I realize, and am fully cognizant, of my rights to counsel and wish to waive those rights. Yeah, I/d waive anything to get at those bastards.

Q
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And you say you and your partner were driving north on Hill St. when you saw someone in the doorway of the jewelry store on the north side of the 2200 block of Hill Ave.?

A
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Thats right. Kramers Jewelry store.

Q
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What time was this?

A
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Approximately 2:35
A
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M
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