Geryon?
Nothing.
It’s a freedom dream Geryon.
Yes.
Freedom is what I want for you Geryon we’re true friends you know that’s why
I want you to be free.
Don’t want to be free want to be with you. Beaten but alert Geryon organized all
his inside force to suppress this remark.
Guess I better get off the line now Geryon my grandmother gets mad
if I run up her bill but it’s real nice
to hear your voice. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Geryon? All right if I use the phone now? I have to call Maria.
His mother
standing in the doorway.
Oh yes sure.
Geryon replaced the receiver.
Sorry. You okay? Yes.
He tilted
to his feet.
Going out.
Where?
she said as he angled past her in the doorway.
Beach.
Won’t you need a jacket
— The screen door slammed. It was
well past midnight
when Geryon got back. The house was dark. He climbed to his room.
After undressing he stood
at the mirror and observed himself emptily. Freedom! The chubby knees
the funny red smell the saddening ways.
He sank onto the bed and lay full length. Tears ran back into his ears awhile
then no more tears.
He had touched bottom. Feeling bruised but pure he switched off the light.
Fell instantly asleep.
Anger slammed the red fool awake at three a.m. he kept trying to breathe each time
he lifted his head it pounded him
again like a piece of weed against a hard black beach. Geryon sat up suddenly.
The sheet was drenched.
He switched on the light. He was staring at the sweep hand of the electric clock
on the dresser. Its little dry hum
ran over his nerves like a comb. He forced his eyes away. The bedroom doorway
gaped at him black as a keyhole.
His brain was jerking forward like a bad slide projector. He saw the doorway
the house the night the world and
on the other side of the world somewhere Herakles laughing drinking getting
into a car and Geryon’s
whole body formed one arch of a cry—upcast to that custom, the human custom
of wrong love.
XXV. TUNNEL
Click here for original version
Geryon was packing when the phone rang.
————
He knew who it was even though, now that he was twenty-two and lived
on the mainland, he spoke to her
usually on Saturday mornings. He climbed across his suitcase and reached
for the phone, knocking
the
Fodor’s Guide to South America
and six boxes of DX 100 color film into the sink.
Small room.
Hi Mom yes just about
. . . .
No I got a window seat
. . . .
Seventeen but there’s a three-hour difference between here and Buenos Aires
. . . .
No listen I phoned
—
. . . .
I phoned the consulate today there are no shots required for Argentina
. . . .
Mom be reasonable
Flying Down to Rio
was made in 1933 and it’s set in Brazil
. . . .
Like when we went to Florida and Dad swelled up
. . . .
Yes okay
. . . .
Well you know what the gauchos say
. . . .
Something about riding boldly into nullity
. . . .
Not exactly it feels like a tunnel
. . . .
Okay I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel—Mom? I have to go now the taxi’s
here listen don’t smoke too much
. . . .
Me too
. . . .
Bye
XXVI. AEROPLANE
Click here for original version
It is always winter up there.
————
As the aeroplane moved over the frozen white flatland of the clouds Geryon left
his life behind like a weak season.
Once he’d seen a dog having a rabies attack. Springing about like a mechanical toy
and falling over on its back
in jerky ways as if worked by wires. When the owner
Nothing.
It’s a freedom dream Geryon.
Yes.
Freedom is what I want for you Geryon we’re true friends you know that’s why
I want you to be free.
Don’t want to be free want to be with you. Beaten but alert Geryon organized all
his inside force to suppress this remark.
Guess I better get off the line now Geryon my grandmother gets mad
if I run up her bill but it’s real nice
to hear your voice. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Geryon? All right if I use the phone now? I have to call Maria.
His mother
standing in the doorway.
Oh yes sure.
Geryon replaced the receiver.
Sorry. You okay? Yes.
He tilted
to his feet.
Going out.
Where?
she said as he angled past her in the doorway.
Beach.
Won’t you need a jacket
— The screen door slammed. It was
well past midnight
when Geryon got back. The house was dark. He climbed to his room.
After undressing he stood
at the mirror and observed himself emptily. Freedom! The chubby knees
the funny red smell the saddening ways.
He sank onto the bed and lay full length. Tears ran back into his ears awhile
then no more tears.
He had touched bottom. Feeling bruised but pure he switched off the light.
Fell instantly asleep.
Anger slammed the red fool awake at three a.m. he kept trying to breathe each time
he lifted his head it pounded him
again like a piece of weed against a hard black beach. Geryon sat up suddenly.
The sheet was drenched.
He switched on the light. He was staring at the sweep hand of the electric clock
on the dresser. Its little dry hum
ran over his nerves like a comb. He forced his eyes away. The bedroom doorway
gaped at him black as a keyhole.
His brain was jerking forward like a bad slide projector. He saw the doorway
the house the night the world and
on the other side of the world somewhere Herakles laughing drinking getting
into a car and Geryon’s
whole body formed one arch of a cry—upcast to that custom, the human custom
of wrong love.
XXV. TUNNEL
Click here for original version
Geryon was packing when the phone rang.
————
He knew who it was even though, now that he was twenty-two and lived
on the mainland, he spoke to her
usually on Saturday mornings. He climbed across his suitcase and reached
for the phone, knocking
the
Fodor’s Guide to South America
and six boxes of DX 100 color film into the sink.
Small room.
Hi Mom yes just about
. . . .
No I got a window seat
. . . .
Seventeen but there’s a three-hour difference between here and Buenos Aires
. . . .
No listen I phoned
—
. . . .
I phoned the consulate today there are no shots required for Argentina
. . . .
Mom be reasonable
Flying Down to Rio
was made in 1933 and it’s set in Brazil
. . . .
Like when we went to Florida and Dad swelled up
. . . .
Yes okay
. . . .
Well you know what the gauchos say
. . . .
Something about riding boldly into nullity
. . . .
Not exactly it feels like a tunnel
. . . .
Okay I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel—Mom? I have to go now the taxi’s
here listen don’t smoke too much
. . . .
Me too
. . . .
Bye
XXVI. AEROPLANE
Click here for original version
It is always winter up there.
————
As the aeroplane moved over the frozen white flatland of the clouds Geryon left
his life behind like a weak season.
Once he’d seen a dog having a rabies attack. Springing about like a mechanical toy
and falling over on its back
in jerky ways as if worked by wires. When the owner
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