A Singular Man

5

WHITE clapboard country hotel. The Goose Goes Inn. Often reminding George regrettably of Mrs. Goldminer. Last night the snow flurries turned into a blizzard. Whiteness now lays heaped high through the morning woods and pink on the sunny hills.

Smith arrived at the hotel in the dark. And in his room pulled the curtains over and sat in the big flowered chair with legs crossed sipping a drink. Said snow you can't get me all cozy and warm in here. Standing in front of the mirror, red from neck to ankles. Rotating the throat and outstretched arms. A little ritual for the good night's sleep. It's freezing outside. And with that cold thought tuck the head into the white crisp pillow to sail away on the magic carpet. First checking the zip on the red underwear. Never know who might trip to the wrong door in the night. It is a matter of basic good manners to be properly zipped up. And then when they say O I beg your pardon, one can smile and pass for a glowing ember.

Few taps on the phone. Gay voice.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith."

"I think two eggs, toast, honey and coffee."

"The juice of some fruit, Mr. Smith."

"Not this morning, thank you. Think there'll be ice today."

"Hard to say Mr. Smith, going to be a white Christmas, sure was a lot a snow last night."

"Skiing, how's that."

"Plenty."

And breakfast on the big maple tray. As Smith snaked up from behind the blankets when the maid was gone. Toast hot in the napkin. Pop on the butter and honey. Live and let live. Pour out the steaming dish of coffee. And the train just pulled out of the junction and Miss Tomson never took a peek or gave a wave. Didn't even want her pay. Just disappeared off to her house party and fun with the flashy makers of her life's laughter. Why do the odious manage so well in this world. And people with principles get trampled and kicked and crushed to the bottom of the pile.

And Smith in galoshes, a parcel tucked under each arm, set off down the road from The Goose Goes Inn, walking in a tire track. By a closed up shack for selling summer vegetables. And another two miles by white fields, to a fork in the road. Where a narrow lane climbed a little hill lined neatly with young trees. And beyond a stone wall the white gabled roof of a house. In die first month I bought it I planted a rare row of saplings along the drive. Carried away by the thought of summer evening strolls under a canopy of leaves. The kids got at them with hatchets. What's left looks all silver now.

Smith gingerly making tracks through the snow, drifts up to the knees. Stone wall with a tall rustic figure and light and sign. Mrs. George Smith. I don't suppose she'll be looking out the window or God forbid, down the sights of a gun. Always had a horror of living near roads. Now when I come out here I wish I could hear the odd car go by. Catch my breath. They don't see me coming. She's in there combing out her hair. Which is brown. She used to say when I first met her, hey George grab handfuls of it and pull me down on your knee. I obeyed in a stiff mechanical manner because it was all so overt. Yet once she gave me a whole bowl of cherries and they were side by side on the kitchen table and I thought this will be the test, she's always withholding and depriving and I counted the cherries in each bowl and I was stricken when mine had two more than hers. Found all the good things about her in some secret moment.

Up the little path press the bell and the chimes are ringing. No carefree children's foot prints out in the snow. Maybe they're not up. I hear a clatter, and a voice inside.

"It's daddy."

"O.K., it is. Open up the door and let me in."

"Hey daddy, you a snowman out there."

"Please open the door, it's rude to leave someone standing on a doorstep."

"What's the snow, hard or soft."

"Please open the door."

"Please "No."

If you don't live with kids they grow to hate you. If you five with them they hate you more. Not a shred of respect. Left standing on what technically is my own doorstep. Just one careless night, getting carried away, George pull me by the hair down on your knee. Then end up standing stiff with cold and they won't let you in.

"I'm asking you, quite civilly and calmly if it's you Roger, to open up this door."

"No. This isn't Roger."

"Whoever it is, open it."

"No."

"Why won't you open it."

"Because I don't like you."

"Who's speaking in there, is that you, Wilbur."

"Stop calling me boys' names."

"Clarissa."

"Smart. How did you guess."

"What's happened to your voice."

"None of your business."

"I'm asking you for the last time, Clarissa to open up this door. I'm frozen."

"It's not your house."

"It is my house."

"We live in it and that means we own it and that means I can keep this door shut and you out of here if I want. I guess you understand English don't you."

"Call your mother."

"You call her."

"Where have you learned to be so revolting."

"Out of a book."

"Sassy little bitch."

"And you're a revolting degraded human being."

Smith chose silence. Toes hardening to ice. Can't see through the steamed up glass. If this goes on any further I'm going to turn on my heel and walk straight back to the hotel, pack and if necessary hitch hike back to town. After a couple of miles ramble through the snow overstraining my heart I have to stand here and take this offense. Can see what open country, summer green fields and shady woods with crystal lakes do for kids. Makes them into savages. Ah, a sound of authority.

"Just a moment George, it's bolted with half a dozen locks. Now get, Clarissa."

"Thanks. I'm frozen."

"Come in, you're early. Just lost my slipper coming down the stairs. Forgive the chaos. Roger and Wilbur were building a jail on the stairs last night."

"For me I suppose."

"Don't be so sensitive."

''Naturally one wants to feel welcome."

"Well, all right, you're welcome, George. Give me the galoshes. Take a seat and I'll get you a drink. What would you like."

"I had a derobe on the train last night."

"Is that you being objectionable or a drink."

"Just a drink."

"I'll make you one. How do you make it"

"I don't know. I don't know anything."

"Don't bleed all over the furniture now."

"It's two miles walk here."

"I know."

"Well what do you mean don't bleed over die furniture. I've come in an absolutely friendly mood. Ha ha, he he. Just bubbling with good nature."

"So am I, ha ha."

"And get locked out on my own doorstep."

"O.K. George, I know you own the house."

"Just an ordinary decent reception is all I'm asking for. And I get abuse."

"Do you have to take a young child seriously."

"A revolting, degraded human being. No father wants to hear that."

"Well you heard it."

"That's what I'm saying."

"And George, I'm saying don't sit bleeding over it."

"Welcome. Come in George. Sit down George. Attempt a pleasantry."

"A gruesome pun."

"Even so, you ask me if I'm trying to be objectionable."

George leaning back. Stare out at the family unit. Her handfuls of brown hair. I have never asked my kids to treat me like God. Or for that matter even like some saint. O I've been guilty. Shouted when I should have shut up. Shut up when I should have shouted. I admit those things. Lashed out when the child was only trying to give me a friendly punch in the kidneys. Even got down on my knees with the toys and they tell me get away, you're ruining our game. I said O.K. kids I don't mind, youth wants to play together. Youth is exuberant. All I was trying to do was push one of the little trucks up the ramp and they push me away. Why should I mind. Haven't I been honest with you kids. What's the matter, don't you get enough to eat and the best of everything. I never had toys like this as a kid. They look up at me and say coldly, don't blame us, we weren't your father. And when feelings are hurt. O.K. that's that. But make no mistake, I've got feelings.

"Georgie, boo, Georgie. Boo. Here's a nice little cocktail for Georgie. Made it all my ittle self."

"Look Shirl, it's a long way in the snow out here, if you don't want me, say so right now."

"You say that every time you come, George. You're dressing differently George."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be ashamed, George, it's an improvement. How's fat."

"I'm not answering that."

"George she's fat. O.K. how's Matilda."

"She's all right."

"Make nice yummy meals as usual."

"Matilda's quite adequate as a cook."

"Well guess so long as that's all you use her for that's swell."

"For your information I don't fornicate with my servants."

"No one has ever suggested such a thing. Excuse me while I get dressed, the kids are locked in the cellar, you're safe."

"Very thoughtful."

"Knew you'd see it that way."

Smith saw cross the sitting room. Wide maple floors. Great brick oven fireplace and glass doors to the garden shutting out the winter. Nearly ten years ago. My God I was young. And today take a frosty journey to suffer a stream of smart remarks. The way I met her first by paying for her ticket on a train and I've been paying for her ever since. When people are fidgeting through a handbag with a conductor hanging over you, naturally you want to be of assistance. And so for my few pennies of kindness I purchased a nice background of fast back chat, the big pile of brown hair, George get your hands in this, shoe bills, George you know how I need a change since everybody looks at my legs. Then once in the courtship she said she wanted to say something serious, something she knew I would understand and she wouldn't be misunderstood. She said promise you won't mind. I said of course. She said George, I know you speak very educated and I know there are awful things like those who live on one side of the tracks and those who live on the other side of the tracks. Well, George, this is my problem, you know what side of the tracks I'm from and it's not my fault that it's the best side, but what side of the tracks are you from, George. Don't answer if you don't want, George. You're hurt now George, aren't you, that there's a track running between us. It's only sometimes, George, that your grammar and I know you may be only using this sort of usage to be funny, but even your selection of ties and shirts, now please, we both know that there are two sides to every track and matters not a damn really except that there are two sides. George what side of the track are you from. And we had that litde talk on a train. Which while we were talking was putting people on their side of the tracks. I was confused and must admit terribly flustered. I had no warning except having a remark of mine remade by her and she'd add, sounds better that way. I never told her what side of the tracks I was from. And I suppose she assumed it went right through my house. Wow was I deeply shocked by her question and woo hoo, surprised she ever felt it needed an answer. And a big dark hand came out and pushed the sun out of our togetherness. Still I took a fistful of the brown hair. With no mention of tracks when I was taking it.

"Penny for your thoughts, George/'

"OI was just thinking."

"About money."

"No."

"Do you like these things you just slip on. Do you think it suits me, don't you think it has that Saturday lunch about it."

Shirl stopping abruptly to shift a hip in front of George, throwing out the cloth just so. This Friday lunch feeling, the snow outside, kids in the cellar, the presence of the kid's father, a half mile of open country in every direction two feet deep in whiteness.

"Hey George stay for dinner and I'll show you something else I got, gorgeous things for feet in gold thread. Hey. Your mind's so far away, George. You take being a father so seriously. Trudge through the snow with your little presents. Get left on the stoop of your own house. Do we cost too much."

"Enough."

"We cost too much."

"You're saying it, not me."

"How's business, George."

"Depressingly full of insult."

"O you poor ruthless thing, let me get something cold to put on your head."

"I think Til be going. There's no point having you irresponsibly get at me. As regards cost, I'm indifferent."

"So funny how you changed. You must have been the tightest guy I ever met. Remember the time — "

"Now shut up."

"Gee."

The time was a dance. Not long after I met her on the train. I was leaning out with my hand to touch her on the eight o'clock summer evening like to take a handful of that brown thatch. She said don't touch me. She saw what this remark did to my face. She said O touch me, but later tonight when the dance is over, I don't want to look mussed. Touch me then, then I'll love being touched. She said people will have to see me tonight, I want to look well groomed, just that I hate being touched, well like a meal on the table before everyone is ready to eat, you don't want me to feel all tampered with, don't you want to save it all for later. I took my hand away, and wore it in my pocket. I went standing around the dance, along the edges when the couples glided by and she smiled over the shoulders. The music stopped, she ran right across the floor, grabbed me, hands on the lapel and said we're all going road housing and wild and ending up at the country club, it'll all be crazy hitting the golfballs in the lake, and crazy when we get really crazy. I put my other hand in my pocket and was wearing them both there, she said what's the matter, I said I didn't know, she said you do, I said it's expensive a night like this. She just said there's Claude. And Claude never wilted at expense, just went into his thin folder and took out a single note of massive denomination. I should have turned then for home. But I couldn't because she would have gone with them and what if the night were crazy and she could say when she was a meal ready to eat, grab me by my brown thatch. I went in an-c other car, she was a plaything for the crowd. At the top of a table suggesting all the songs. Dripping candle wax on Claude's hair and he worshipped her for it and it just made him look like the victim of some crime following after of course the crime his father and mother committed getting him. She made him open his mouth and she dripped it down his throat. I thought she was carrying my being a cheapskate too far. I got up, walked across the maple, stepped through, and on the flag stones looked out at the shadows of the hills and down over the trees to the long lake. Hands flat out on the wall and she came out and saw me and thought I was vomiting. I said I ought to be. She said you have no rights on me, I'm not your possession, these are my friends, I've known them most of my life, if anything they have more claim on me than you have, but if you'd stopped your little act of silence and sulking and joined in the fun or if you just said you had no money, that you couldn't afford, or said something like that, why wouldn't I understand, I know some poor people too, but they don't mind spending money. She stepped back, put her hand under my chin and lifted it up. She said look at me, I want you to look at me, I'm commanding you to look at me, now smile, smile, bigger, O.K. you can take a handful of my brown thatch.

And today ten years later and three days before silent night holy night when business volume is at a peak and downstairs a loud bellowing noise in the cellar with four kids pounding on the pipes. And Shirl swirling with her new cocktail dress. And I told her to shut up, and wham she goes all silent. My how things have changed. There was reason for my being the way I was. When I was young. When Shirl one weekend fell for some big blond brute who she said lifted her up and kissed her against a wall with her feet dangling. But we had got too close then and she went away a weekend begging she had to, would I let her go because she needed to stay in circulation just so she could still stay exciting to me. She said let's play with each other's emotions. Torture each other with jealousy, let's George betray the faith we have in each other and build it all up again after. And just this one weekend with the blond brute, so she could walk in the gates of the college and the blond brute could brag about how she was his date. She came back to me with not much to say except when she talked about it she got shifty eyed and started breathing heavily. Then she said I hate the way you are, you never tried to stop me.

"George, I got an engagement tonight after dinner, so you don't mind we can call a car maybe to take you back."

"I see."

Shirl when she says things picks something up off a table. Puts it back. Then she goes towards the kitchen and talks over her shoulder. Wags her behind. A neat compact soft thing in the days when I was in a position to feel it. I suppose if I just went up to her now and touched it. But I have no right to presume in our separated state that I could lay hand on this part of her. There's little more than I can take of this kind of thing, because I ought to take her and the dress off and give her a boot out in the snow. No one around here to complain, Mr. Smith seen driving the stitchless Mrs. Smith into the elements. I own this land.

"George, you're wearing your sense of ownership on your face."

"It's my face. You've got your own face."

"Gee thanks George."

"Anytime. What's your engagement."

"Interested. You want to come. These people are dying to meet you. Because you've got such a weird reputation. The way you swam at the island picnic last year. Everyone was impressed the way you dove into the cold water and stroked superbly out to the float, the masterful smoothness of your movements, I personally know for a fact all ladies were desperate to wiggle out of bathing garments and dive after you."

"Are you finished."

"George if you saw yourself. If you hadn't been so flamboyant no one would have minded."

"I almost drowned. That's not amusing. I took a very discreet dive. I have never tried to show off swimming."

"Sometimes I wonder where all the big strong men in this world have gone. If there ever were any."

"I was drowning. Big strong men can drown as well as people like myself. I mean I'm not all that weak."

"Boxing and wrestling lessons at The Game Club."

"Who told that."

"Never mind. Got your face beat in, too, I heard."

"Balls. Who told you that. I want to know where you got that information."

"Ittle George."

"Shut up, Shirl."

"I guess this is just like all our weekends. O you're just one big great long bluff."

"I reject that."

"George what's that. Hey what's that red thing. You're not wearing long red underwear."

"I'll wear whatever I feel like and stop torturing me."

"George, you're made for it. Look at what I had to do to make you masterful And soon as I made you masterful and you made money — "

"Do not mention money, Shirl."

"So anyway I made you masterful."

"I'm masterful myself."

"The only time traffic will stop for you, George, is when you're dead."

"Get me my galoshes."

Dust sifting through the sunlight. When the silence gets terrible and Shirl sees an ash white face on a once gentle Smith. Like a sudden thoughtful finger up to her lips.

"George. I'm sorry I said that."

"It's all right, get me my galoshes."

"I really am sorry I said it. I wish I didn't say it. Strike me for saying it, George. Strike me anywhere you want."

"I'll get the galoshes myself."

"George I beg of you to strike me for saying it. I say the wrong things. That come into my head and I wish you wouldn't listen."

Shirl silent at the door. Leaving it open with the chill wind rushing into the house as George walked out. The lane along the orchard, in summer such a sweet place of tall grass and black snakes. And now they must be sleeping under the rocks. And it seemed on the air that a voice shouted something more but it got cold and hushed. Snow plow moving down the road, leaving a wide track and high drifts. Driver wearing orange ear muffs. Only thing I noticed. And going afi the way back I hardly knew I was going. Could have relented, tucked down the dinner and took a car back. I'm like that. Withdraw utterly from the ultimate insult. And left the kids in the cellar. Not that they like me anyway. Take my money, and then look me in the eye and say who asked you to be our father. That's the kind of remark those kids make. They were watching out a cellar window, heard their mother screaming she didn't mean it, that she'd take it all back. Be a new one for the kids. Gee, dad was like a clam, walked right away in the snow and he never turned around.

The Goose Goes Inn with several cars collected and some guests throwing snowballs one of which caught Smith between the shoulder blades making a round white blot on his coat as he climbed the hollow wooden steps. His dispirited nature and oblivion drew some comments about the fellowship this time of year of some people wasn't worth mentioning. Inside, the Christmas tree, tinsel and strains of music of the modern yule variety from the cocktail lounge. Crossing the lobby for the key.

"Sir there have been three phone calls."

"I'm not in to anybody."

"Not to anybody. They said it was urgent and tell you soon as you got in."

"I'm going for a nap."

Worried looking receptionist. Don't worry, it's just Shirl who thinks I may be wiring instructions to my bank where they've got all my legal tender neatly stacked from which they take and send a handful often to Shirl. She's afraid she might have to sell her horse and the kids' ponies, cut down the guest list, summer itineraries. While I sit in that box with my secretary's exboy-friends spying from buildings across Golf Street. Opening letters of obnoxious intimidators. Sure, go ahead, buy that fabric with the lunch look, get a dinner, breakfast, any look you want.

Sadly Smith derobed. Plunging into a steaming shower to unfreeze the muscles and bones. And put a face to the showering water and breathe it up the nose. Feel it cascade off the privates so lonely these days. Only thing bright about climbing into this afternoon bed is the red underwear. To sleep, lay with a hand outstretched on the pillow, open, palm upwards, will someone's head lie back in it, tighten a fist up in the brown thatch. Can you ever go back to bodies where you've been, once you've left. Count the cherries in the bowl and see if I've got the most. Join hands while music plays. See summer lanterns burn the fireflies. Or walk by an autumn river, stand against a tree just seeing each other in the ordinary afternoon. You make a baby. Then you can't sleep at night. Go to a park bench for two years to catch up. Another baby comes. Finally one day you can breathe. And these former babies tell you stop breathing.

Smith rolled over, pulling up the crisp sheets. Digging toes down. Self employed slave. Shirl never made me masterful. If anything she's contributed to my cringing. Dazzling crowds in train stations the tanned beauty in white linen suits while I was just walking along behind looking like her employee. Telling me to do the right thing so people will be impressed. No one could take their eyes off her eyes, her legs, hair and I started grabging on all sides. Goodnight now. And hello. I see a woman walking along a road wearing nothing but a cardboard sign which she's showing me and it says be my valentine. And jumping into a fast car, making for the highest hill, I erected another sign which you can see for miles around and it said, in no uncertain words, you bet.

The phone by George's bed was ringing and ringing. It's dark. Must be late. Grab this ringing thing. Just pushed my glass of water over. I can't face turning on the light. O.K., what is it, phone, what are you going to tell me out of that black hole.

"Mr. Smith."

"Yes."

"Sorry to disturb you but there seems that there is a Mrs. Smith—"

"No calls from Mrs. Smith, please."

"But she's not calling, Mr. Smith."

"What is she doing."

"She's smoking and having a drink."

"You've just woken me out of a sound sleep to be flippant."

"She's in the lobby. Said she'd stay till I got you."

"Tell her to go away."

"Mr. Smith I'm afraid you'll have to do that yourself."

"Tell her to come up."

"Yes."

God here I am in the red underwear inviting disaster and laughs. Better to face this situation stark naked. She'll wonder what I'm doing in bed at eight thirty in the evening, my life, my body, I'll put it in bed whenever I want. Second thoughts which I'm making first again, I'll leave on the red underwear. What am I, unclothe myself just to suit her. Come to show me the gold slippers. Just tell her simply, the checks are still going to come, O I'll keep pouring the money in, keep those little kids healthy so they can tell me to my face that I am a big unwholesome cad. This is new, a discreet knock.

"Come in."

"George, may L"

"You may."

"No light."

"I know."

"Where are you George."

"In bed."

"Can't we have some light."

"No."

"Well can I come in."

"Come in."

"Should I close the door."

"Close it."

"Is it all right with you if I sit down."

"By all means. There's a chair three paces to your right."

"Thank you George."

"Any time."

"I've got it."

"Good."

"Can I talk, George."

"Sure."

"You know what I want to say, George."

"Beep beep."

"What's that funny noise you're making."

"You mean, beep beep."

"Yes, beep beep."

"O that's just beep beep."

"Sounds strange coming out of the dark."

"Beep beep."

"George."

"Yes Shirl."

"George."

"I'm listening Sha."

"I sound so loud in the dark."

"Beep beep."

"Don't do that George. Please."

"Beep beep."

"I know I deserve it George."

"Deserve what."

"Beep beep."

"Beep beep."

"George are we cars."

"You said it."

"I wanted you to see my gold slippers George."

"Too dark."

"Yeah. But do you want to feel my gold slippers."

"Stand back."

"I know I deserve it George. Do whatever you want to me."

"Pretty risky talk."

"I want to be risky."

"What are you doing Shirl."

"I'm undoing."

"Beep beep, I'm a car."

"This is the way we used to be, George."

"I've just stopped for traffic lights."

"Are you sitting up George."

"I'm waiting for the lights to change."

"And we should have been like this more often. Don't you think, George."

"Beep beep, I'm going again."

"Should we have a crash."

"Are you suggesting I'm not a careful driver."

"No George."

"Well watch it, beep beep."

"I can see you George. I can."

"He he. I can you too, Shirl."

"We've wasted so much time, George, haven't we."

"Don't drive your car too close."

"I want you to crash into me."

"Safety first."

"George."

"What are these Shirl."

"Feel them."

"Wow."

"Feel this."

"What is this Shirl."

"This is what I want you to feel."

"I'd be a fool to feel it."

"Be a fool and feel it."

"What a foolish feeling."

"Just because you're feeling foolish."

Reach out a hand to help. It's only polite. And she puts up her wrist and a hand softer than I ever thought it could be. This holiday in the country in the red underwear. O I raged. Of course I was insulted. How did she get over to the bed, in just the gold slippers. Climb right up on top and sit on it like a flagpole. I was thinking of just going into the village to buy a soda. Miss Tomson please don't go loose and lax at the holiday house party, all yule and yessy. Or engage with the empty balled vice presidents. What right have I to persist, I daren't even call you Sally in my dreams. Just press my face into Shirl's headlamp. Most comforting thing you can do. I hate cars. But amazing the lies you get up to in order to bring upon complete delusion. She's just come here like this to use me. Not for my personality but my organ.

"You like it, George."

What can you say to that. No. I don't like it. I suppose I could have a machine under the bed answering back in firm tones, yet giving way slightly to the emotional excitement of the time. Gee, Shirl And Miss Tomson you touched my knee however briefly or lighdy you touched it. I'm glad you didn't lean forward and grab. It was a movement of the arm. That light tap on the knee. Wanted so much to see your face and your wave goodbye. I was too full of seeing myself watched by the whole train as passengers wiped the sweat from the windows, all faces pressed on glass and they all began to sing together, up out of their seats, train's leaving, rush to the end of the car and all wave, can't see the faces for the hands, or Miss Tomson's because they're all so sad I'm gone, in there struggling to say goodbye to me. The train just clicked down the track away. And I was left.

"George I like my bread and butter."

Only that it's dark someone would be watching us from a far hillside with field glasses. I can't match Shirl's lightning conversation. Am I her bread and butter. Does she spread me. Like now. This could not have happened with the lights on when we would have behaved like adults. She's stitchless save slippers just like her bravado in early marriage when I told her I would never have her scramble my eggs without her clothes on. No nude cooking. Garments must be worn in the kitchen. When we early loved she said she liked to hold it, talk to it, tell it stories as it stood and rub it softly on her eyes, good for the sight. Now grabs my belly in handfuls. Just to bring out my inferiority. For her age not bad, still built. Women flower annually and maybe I'm catching her in bud or she's in bud and I'm her bee. And if I gave orders for the parade. Shirl shows up with cigarette holder. Of course the first four will carry drums. Naturally, why wouldn't they carry drums. It is agreed among us that the rear shall be brought up by a steam organ. A musical one.

"Fat belly George, what are you mumbling."

She butts in just as I was going to give the signal for the parade. Let us again recast the scene. Four drummers first. The balloon carriers each with a hand on the hot steam organ will naturally bring up the rear. Shirl, will you get back, out of the way, I happen to be the director of this parade. Yeah, I'm the director. Not be intimidated by your breasts which drove me into wedlock, sagged and stared at me ever since. I had the steam organ specially brought from a country where it was the last one. You've always wanted to steal the stage from me. Until naturally I got up this here parade to bring back my self respect. Now get back in line with the rest. You heard me. Get back. Now I want four people to come forward and volunteer to carry the community chest. In which of course is the brass pig. All employees of George Smith please step forward and take your places in the central position. Gosh, only Miss Martin. Get back Shirl. You just spend my money, you don't help me make it. Put away that cigarette holder and wipe that smile off your face. O.K. all of you to whom I have given scrolls of merit, hold them up. Gee, I hope you deserve them*

"George don't slip out it's a year since you were in."

I'm just ready to give the signal to march but I can't with these constant interruptions. The steam organ is losing valuable steam. Almost forgot the friends I had in childhood. Slip them between people who live in Merry Mansions who have just rushed out because the Gold-miners set it on fire. Members of The Game Club take up the rear, each carrying an acorn as an item reminding us that any one of us can get bigger than we appear on the surface. Shirl get back in line. Nobody wants to keep in line these days. All out for special attention. Do it once more Shirl and you're out of the parade for good. And cut out the immoral gestures, no one's stopping this parade for turpitude. My God, Miss Tomson. Just going to start without you. You could lead it. I've just jumped out of an alley and wrote your name with a bucket of paint over a giant wall. Didn't have the crass to put Sally. People said it was physically impossible to do it while being director of the parade but I did it. Till those dirty little urchins came along and ruined my heartfelt statement with another one. O.K. ready everybody. My goodness, just looked down in time, my fly's open. An order under these circumstances would sound ridiculous. If not downright impertinent. Hold it, folks. Must tidy myself up a bit Get back in there and don't come out again till I tell you. Naughty. All right now. Ready.

"George."

Don't shout my name in vain. You've done every sly thing to ruin the parade. With the tables set in the park. Where we were going to march to eat with banners, streamers red white and blue. And the organizers would have given out prizes. While the director watched from the stage. I know what you would have done Shirl, gone up to the microphone and sung a song into it. Embarrassed me as director. Because you wanted to appear before the public. Hear your voice floating over the crowd. So they would clap and cheer and say you're great. And I was only an acquaintance. From the other side of the tracks. You've interrupted my parade for the last time. Boom boom boom. Just got it going again. Thank you drummers.

"George what parade, shut up, it's up and enter me again."

"Shirl watch the underwear."

"What made you wear red."

"A predilection."

"Take it off, it rubs me."

"You're holding my head down by the ears and stop tearing the garment, Shirl."

"Kiss my bazumma."

"Shirl, you're tearing the garment."

"I'm pulling the zipper."

"It's tearing the garment Shirl and is caught in the hairs of my belly."

"It rubs me."

"I didn't ask you to come in here."

"George you wouldn't turn on the light. Shut up and take a handful of hair. You were so nice when you were a car. Drive you bastard."

"Beep beep."

"Kiss my bazumma."

"Stop telling me what to do Shirl. I've got my own mind."

"I'm the hottest handful you've had for months."

"Don't be too sure."

"So you've been into Matilda."

"That remark is false."

"Was she a good fuck, I don't mind."

"I repeat that remark is false and your use of language regrettable."

"Ha ha George."

"Ha ha Shirl it's not funny."

"Once more, fast George."

In this rural retreat of The Goose Goes Inn, the Friday before the Tuesday of Christmas. I wake to find my person used for a motive of which I had no notion. Torn out of the red underwear. Bereft of that red safety. Shirl a master at that tempting tickle, cupping up pearls blowing a warm air saying it was bigger than she remembered and she had memories. Till the energy I was conserving to get back to town, all gone. She'll take this as a renewal of hatred. A right to snoop round Eagle or Golf Street. Once getting hands on her, can't get them off. Deepest darkest kisser. And what can you do when it's upright. As she says wow. When it's downright rude to do nothing.

"Faster George, my friends are waiting."

Snowy owl hoots. Hear him out there in the night. When all the other animals are snug or more likely tearing each other and feathers apart. And in here I am agog and speechless at this last remark. I am no machine. I am no piece of old rope. I'll pretend the physical excitement has made you utter statements without meaning. has made you utter statements "Hurry George."

"Hurry George."

Between the parted curtain shines the white so white romantic moon. Right across the carpet, half way up the wardrobe and on the sleeve of my shirt. You're just getting carried away Shirl. Since you haven't as I hope you haven't, had any for a while. Ha ha, friends are waiting. I suppose if I had any mine would be waiting too. We've come together panting mechanically which is what disturbs me. I should have said no.

"Faster George, harder. Now you know why I ride horses."

The village church bell rings, quarter mile down the road. We're in here like this with flowers on the bedroom curtains and on the chair. Shake your brown thatch all out over your shoulders, be the last time I'll grab. I will not go faster.

"My friends are waiting, George."

In summer on this road they sell the stacked up pumpkins, purple aubergine and zeplin watermelons. And fresh farm eggs. Not for nude cooking I said. And Shirl this is a joke no longer.

"Shirl what do you mean your friends."

"They're waiting down stairs."

"They're what, Shirl."

"Waiting."

"Get out of this bed."

"Hey we're not finished."

"I will not give myself to being used while your friends wait for you. Get out."

"I'm not dressed."

"Get out."

"You're not pushing me naked into a hotel hall, George, you're not doing that. That's one thing you're not doing."

"I am doing. Out. Into the hall."

"No."

"Go to your friends. Waiting for you. Bunch of ambitious little commuters. O Shirl's just upstairs having a throw with some guy. Don't make me a laughing stock."

"You are already. Everybody knows how you make your money. And they laugh, boy do they laugh. They laugh because they know."

"You take it from me and spend it."

"I wish I didn't because it's horrible money."

"I reject that."

"And they know what happens with that nigger in that apartment. Don't try to fool me."

"Simply get out of this room before I lose my temper."

"Always knew you were from the wrong side of the tracks."

"A litde vulgar fantasy of yours."

"It isn't. You sneaked into society."

"I see. I'm in society now."

"They saw you sneaking, don't worry. My friends know. Your phoney little cultivated habits."

"I reject that."

"Mosaics all over your stupid house. How they let you in The Game Club I don't know. And trying to make some baronial hall sowing trees up our drive. My friends were wise to that, don't you worry. Can't find my things. I want the light on."

"You came in in the dark you go out with all lights off."

"You rat. I'm glad I can't see your face. It's the only way I could bear you fucking me."

"I think perhaps you've said enough."

"Tell me to get out. And I'm going."

"Splendid. Bring your little playmates downstairs with you."

"You bet I will. You'll hear from my legal counsel."

"Can't wait."

"My friends are better than you are and I'd like to know where all that other money goes. And I'll find out. You can't kid my lawyer, he's smart."

"Since I pay for him I'm glad to hear that."

"I ought to have half of what you possess."

"Ha ha."

"Go ahead and laugh. Where's my purse. You'll be laughing. Boy you'll be laughing. FU make you laugh. You'll laugh all right. Boy you'll be laughing."

"Ha ha."

"Laugh all you want. Go ahead. But I'll squeeze you dry."

Across the room somewhere in the dark there was the momentary silence. Four hoots of that snowy owl. And summer comes back and the tangled worms squirming in the white silk nets they weave in wild cherry trees.

"George, George, what terrible things am I saying."

"You were saying, boy, you'll be laughing, And I'll squeeze you dry."

"George, I'm scared and shivering. What's making me shiver. Turn on the lights. I'm scared the things I'm saying."

"Can't you find your purse."

"No George and I'm scared. Don't throw me out. I didn't mean that about legal counsel."

"Forget it."

"George, I can't. What about the kids. God legal counsel. Don't make me go to court George."

"I'm not making you go to court."

"They'll scream down at me. I know they'll scream down at me. A judge with white hair. He'll eat up my soul George."

"Don't be silly."

"Never make me go before a judge, George. As you lie there now promise me that. I'm scared. Let me sit. I'd be accused. The judge would accuse me and it would be horrible."

Can see the shadow of her hair. See the shoulders she covers with her shirt. And I know she's breaking right in two. Tears pouring down her cheeks. Wait and the sniff and sob will come. Shirl all women cry. The lousy life. But outlive men. I mean you no harm. Let no judge get you. Even on judgement day. When all the country yokels are clustering in the trees and I step down the steps of my tomb. To cheers. Remember under the snow lies summer. Done that for a lot of years. Can sit then sucking a straw of grass and it hardly matters nearly that one is in society. Or that I went out in the world ruthlessly. Maybe sneaking across the tracks. Shirl you're crying. I could cry too. I went so far in the snow today. Walked back along the tracks in the road where it was hard. Thinking so much about the silence you hold like a child's hand and it was all up over the hills. I came last night when it was snowing. A rich man. The papers said it would be crisp and cold. At the Junction it began to snow. I was hurt when the train left. I hate anything to leave. Stay. Stay longer. I only told you to get out because it was a fiasco. Paper hats and jumping bodies in the lobby. Tell me nice things and I'll believe them forever. Shirl don't cry. What harm really for a fast one and for you to run down and meet your friends and go out speeding over the snowy roads and even sit on a stranger's knee. Why should I mind. Except that I suppose I have no friends. Save one old one standing staring at me at some excavation site when I ran. So Shirl little girl. Dry up your eyes. I've got your purse here under my pillow. And now I'll give it back. Made of mesh like your slipper. And you can go away then. Out to friends. I think you're right, the only time traffic will ever stop for me.

Is when

I'm dead.