A Matter of Love in da Bronx (46 page)

--I'm really leaking! He knew the reason. It had plagued him from the time he left his home. The walk to work was a bombardment of terror, fusillades that made him cringe and crouch at unfelt pain. He heard himself cry out.

--Holy Jesus, fucking Christ Almighty! No! And again. --Son of a bitch! What agony! Could He have endured this? He didn't endure the nails. It dawned on Sam that they were both involved--albeit in far different ranges--in a consummation of love.

With the vision of Mary before him, the turn on the viadolorosso in his mind was inevitable, paved with near-feral desire, speculation, imagination. It began with two words.

What if...what if I never met Mary?

Acknowledge first that this is inconceivable; wonder, then, what would have been of my life? It would be like returning to the Pliestocene, a hard, cold drudge. To the end of my days there would be no change. I would live with Mom and Pop, and give them my paycheck forcing myself to remain an eleemosynary in all aspects of my life: body, mind, soul. Then, one by one, I would bury them. First Pop--the men always go first. Then Mom. And who would bury you? Somebody would have to put you out with the trash. They'd have to find you first. Perhaps better would be to take a walk in Bronx Park, fall down and decay with the leaves. What an odious thought. But, a fitting end to a fart of a life. I would've allowed that to happen to me, if I hadn't met Mary. The worst part, I wouldn't have known what I had done. To have been given the gift of life, and never to have known what I had, disposing of it by the yearsful as so much trash. I just wouldn't have known anything different. So that's to what they refer when they speak of the bliss that comes with gross ignorance. How Nature provides us with all the sensations, as well as the anesthesia.

What if...I died? Like right now, walking, I just, suddenly, had some sort of an attack...? Or maybe a building was on fire, and I ran in to toss the baby out the window to the firemen, and perished in the blaze? Mary's name would be on my lips with my last gasp. No question.

--Mary, no, Ma-Ma-Marrrryyyyyy... I can just see everyone at the funeral, the tears, the sadness. And Mary would say something like—“Though the flame of our love burned for only a short time, yet did it blaze bright enough to last into eternity!” Shit! She wouldn't say any such thing. More like why the asshole goes kill himself just when the good part was starting? Well, if I did die this second, at least I do not go with the weightless bliss that bears no scars, and no passion. I could be grateful for that.

What if...Good Lord! God! What if Mary died! Right this second? Holy motherfucking son of a bitch! Don't even think of it! But think of it. Right away, I would say I must be some rotten kind of person to deserve that--not even saying what Mary would feel about it. If there really is a god, does he really keep tabs on what you say, then makes it cost you? Like when I said I wish my parents were dead? Not supposed to say that, so it goes on your Master Card charged to your soul. Would I really get hit for saying that? Naw! No question, I know exactly what I would do if Mary were taken from me: I'd kill myself. You see, there's no one else that I ever expect would ever take Mary's place, no one. If I met another girl, say like Louisa--not that I would ever...you know...Lou is better than a brother to me--yet, meet a girl, how could I...do anything with her? Here I am, if Mary dies, and I don't kill myself, I've got only a long life of wet dreams ahead of me! Mary and I swore we would have absolutely nothing to do with sex until we made love to each other, and that's the way it's going to be! That's the way I want it to be. Jesus! If I went to confession the priest would never fucking believe me!

--You mean, with all those tons of impure thoughts, you committed no impure acts? You didn't jerk off once? You want to think about it, Sonny? And I'd say, Naw, not even once, Father, but boy! Have I been starching the sheets! Think you're funny. No. I don't think I am. The real funny thing is even if the Pope himself gave me special dispensation from my vow to Mary--That's all right, Son, go ahead and fuck your hand--I would keep my promise to her. Whatever misery and pain I may feel because of it would be nothing compared to the pleasure and beauty she has brought me. Her memory would be my inspiration for the rest of my days. Hey! What kind of bullshit is that? If Mary dies, you die. Period.

What if what if Mary ended up in a wheelchair like her father? I mean, forget the calamity for Mary, just...if it was so? What made me think of that? For Christ Sakes! Can you believe it? Of course! I'd cherish her more than ever! Just call me Sam-Sol.

Yeah! What if it was you in a wheelchair? I'd roll myself into the Bronx River, what do you think? And deprive Mary of the chance to make her life worthwhile by loving someone fully? It would be much too much a burden for her! Any less than for you? Than for Sol? Oh! Shit! I don't know! I suppose as long as we were together, in any state, in any condition. You know what, you crazy bastard, you're not fucking human! No one does that! Sure! Maybe for a while, but not for the rest of his life. Man cannot regenerate his limbs, or his life. At some point he must chose: live what life he can, or sacrifice it to senseless loyalty. Even a dog can teach your more than that, he can show you how to eat from a bowl.

What if Mary...what if Mary just thought I was a pure, plain asshole and didn't want anything to do with me? After all, she's human. She yearns for affection. We could've made love that night in the bar, but some simpleminded ideal of purity made you refuse! What a shithead! You're calling yourself names because that's what you are! Doesn't make you feel any better about yourself, and the next person that calls you a shithead will get killed for it. No matter, one sip speaks for the kettleful of soup. She's had more than a ladleful of you, Mister. I wouldn't mind if you were impotent... So, she tells you she doesn't want to have anything more to do with you. Now do you kill yourself? Well, not right away. Gotta give myself a chance to win her back. Maybe it's a misunderstanding, who knows? What if it takes a year? Two years? So what? So, do you remain a celibate? So, that's going to be hard to take, her with someone else, and you with a perpetual hard-on trying to get it off by fucking your belly button. I can't imagine one hour knowing Mary was no longer mine, no less a year! What are you doing to me? Should Mary quit me, I'll plead for insanity! Perhaps the Court of Life will give me a choice: Sam Scopia, you have been found guilty of super-adoration. Your punishment is either to watch Mary in someone else's arms for sixty full and whole seconds, or, at high noon in Times Square, you are to be striped nude, your hands secured behind your back, then to be hoisted high enough for everyone to see you by a marlin hook started under your chin to go through your tongue and out between your eyes, which will keep your screams muffled a bit, and, if you're lucky enough, will enable you to swallow enough of your own blood to kill you in an hour or two. How do you choose?

Idiotic question!

What if...what if you found out just what kind of a lover you were with Mary? If you turned out like terrific, that would be great. No problem. But, what if you were a dud? One big, rousing Bronx cheer? A real fizzler? A nothing? Would she put up with it? Or tell you to get lost?

Through the morning that thought--the thought that Mary could actually not want to see him any more; with the two of them existing on the same planet not together, with the thousands of mini-scenes he conjured of the two of them in a moment of lovemaking not to ever take place--was the source of the fibrillations and high anxiety that steamed his brain to the hue of a Maryland Blue.

--The hook! I'll take the hook.

--What? What did you say?

--Mary! Oh! Sweetheart! Glad be I to hear thy voice.

--I don't know what you're saying, but I've had to wait so long to use the phone I'm already late to get back to work that I've haven't got three seconds.

--If you have just three seconds, give me just three words...

--I can't. Someone's nearby.

--I love you. I adore you!

--Sam, I must go. Please don't interrupt. I have just a second. Don't come down. I won't see you... There was interference in his brain. All he heard were her words: "...no more...," missing the last word, "...time..."

The dead-drone on the phone turned to a beeping when the words he heard sunk in, the world came with them on top of him. He needn't worry any longer whether or not he could perform the act of love with Mary; whether he would be adequate, satisfactory; and whether or not this subconscious concern is what kept him from leaping when the opportunity was given. All unnecessary psychological gymnastics. His worst fears filled the shop completely as if with phosgene gas to which all rational thought succumbed. His emotions had one gigahertz of lucidity before they reacted like a computer dunked in oil. Fssssstttttzzzzzz! Blankscreen.

The arena. Bright sun. Hot sand underfoot. Gawking people faces hotdogs indermouth. Body parts about. Big, soaked bloodleaks. Walk the murderous walk about the dying stations to know what is your due. The hapless on hold to wait your words of solace as unto them they do. With firepots. Chopping blocks. Tearing poles. Pinching nippers. Breakingbonebars. Barbed whalehooks. Beating chains.

--You! Who are about to be tortured to death! Do you want to live forever! Watch me! And learn how a man dies!

Sam stopped before the beautiful girl with yellow hair who looked at him with adulation, hope. Her blink brought the axe down with it, her hand flying from her arm at the wrist. Sam left the stump covered with his vomit.

Sitting on a toilet seat one story high, the man's eyes an entreaty for mercy, which he got. His carriage shot downwards, sitting him flat on the sand impaled on a pole that came out of his skull. Sam moved on, a ventriloquist, screaming for the corpse.

No, Sam was not hungry for the freshly eviscerated liver, his eyes too taken with the still beating heart hanging out between melony tits.

Then, he was looking into lad's eyes gaping back at his aside the funnel stuck deep in the throat into which went the fuming, boiling lead.

--Fuck you, World! Sam looked about at the gleering, loathsome spectators. Do your damndest. I died some few words ago:

--I won't see you no more, she said. They descended to pluck out hair by hair, and inch by inch peel him bare of skin before rolling him in salt. Ryam.

 

SMELL. It cupped her face, stuffing her nose and mouth. Mary never experienced the pungency of it before, yet she identified it instantaneously. Sex. Fuckdoing. It thickened the air with its mucosity. Was it compellingly exciting? Or odious? Before she could decide, she found herself struggling to take in the scene that smashed itself into her eyes.

Gina answered her knock, opening the door, a snatched blouse barely covering her nude self.

Mary slipped into the room.

--Gina...!

--Aunt Mary! I'm so glad you came! Her kiss was hard, sincere.

The taste on her niece's cheek--salt, perspiration, mixed with man's overheated saliva--plummeted directly to her labia. She took in the room, the dynamized atmosphere barely in ebb. Then, the roguish smile on the face of the blackhaired, strongbodied man on the hideabed. He was just able to cover himself with the sheet. His head was propped up on one hand, the other waved.

--Hello, Aunt Mary!

--Hello, yourself! Of course I had to come, Gina! I've been so concerned about you, so delighted to get your call today! How handsome! How gorgeous he is! What must it be like to make unbridled love with so stunning a creature? How exciting! How terribly envious I feel! Were they in the middle of...? Or did they just...finish? The smell says they've been at it for hours. Seems they haven't stopped for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

--Don't look so concerned, Auntie! I asked you to come here because I want you to meet my husband! The doctor! The doctor! Remember? The doctor I told you about? Yes! Isn't it thrilling! We were married two? Three? Days ago? I lost track...

--I'm so happy for you! How lucky she is... All the years I've lost. If only Sam and I had found each other early, too. So much bliss we've missed. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. What a scene! Gina's covering her boobs, yet I can see her pubic hair and ass, and he...what? Did he fall asleep? By knowing him, know all Man. Does not all semen smell the same? The slick lubrication emitted by her genitalia. Their spit. Their sweat. All the juices of their lovemaking intermingling on, in, around them. Gina! If I'd known I'd have brought more than just Baretti's chocolates!

--Oh! No! This is great! I'm famished. I don't think we've eaten in weeks! This is how a doctor lives. He's finishing his residency in August. He's been on duty the last three days, and coming with me...Hee-hee!...every chance he could. He's asleep again. Every single second he could he gets, he corks off. He can use the rest, he has to go back in about...let's see...in about twenty minutes. This is only one room, but it's big enough for what we need it for. Only temporary, until I get a check, and he starts his practice...

Mary's vision was frozen. He had shifted slowly, the sheet slipping from his torso, revealing his erect penis. She watched the wet highlighted organ throb. --You...you went to...to...

--Yes, with the money you loaned me! To see my mother's attorney who... Gilda followed her gaze. ...who said he'd send me whatever money I needed to go to school, so your mother and father can't do a thing about it, especially now that I'm married...

I'm not watching an X-rated film now. This is the real thing. I'm really here. She was mesmerized by the swollen organ standing out so brazenly. My God! Does Gilda really take that thing into her? I wonder what it would be like to have it put inside me? If I could only take off my clothes, and lay down beside him to fondle and kiss so marvelous a piece of man... What am I saying? I wish it were Sam! And we were alone! In just such a room! My God! What am I saying? I should be embarrassed, but here I am taking it all in! I just can't stop staring at his fucking hard-on! Look at it! Look at the size of it! I've never seen one...in real life! What a strange piece of sculpture. And that's what I feel when Sam is against me.