A Singular Man Part 10

"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 s.h.i.+rl."

"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, s.h.i.+rl."

"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 s.h.i.+rl."

"Feel them."

"Wow."

"Feel this."

"What is this s.h.i.+rl."

"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 s.h.i.+rl'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, s.h.i.+rl 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 pa.s.sengers wiped the sweat from the windows, all faces pressed on gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ter."

Only that it's dark someone would be watching us from a far hillside with field gla.s.ses. I can't match s.h.i.+rl's lightning conversation. Am I her bread and b.u.t.ter. Does she spread me. Like now. This could not have happened with the lights on when we would have behaved like adults. She's st.i.tchless 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. s.h.i.+rl 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 b.u.t.ts 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. s.h.i.+rl, 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 bra.s.s pig. All employees of George Smith please step forward and take your places in the central position. Gosh, only Miss Martin. Get back s.h.i.+rl. 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. s.h.i.+rl get back in line. n.o.body wants to keep in line these days. All out for special attention. Do it once more s.h.i.+rl and you're out of the parade for good. And cut out the immoral gestures, no one's stopping this parade for turpitude. My G.o.d, 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 cra.s.s 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 circ.u.mstances 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 s.h.i.+rl, gone up to the microphone and sung a song into it. Embarra.s.sed 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."

"s.h.i.+rl 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, s.h.i.+rl."

"Kiss my bazumma."

"s.h.i.+rl, you're tearing the garment."

"I'm pulling the zipper."

"It's tearing the garment s.h.i.+rl 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Beep beep."

"Kiss my bazumma."

"Stop telling me what to do s.h.i.+rl. 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 f.u.c.k, I don't mind."

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

"Ha ha George."

"Ha ha s.h.i.+rl 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. s.h.i.+rl 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 s.h.i.+nes the white so white romantic moon. Right across the carpet, half way up the wardrobe and on the sleeve of my s.h.i.+rt. You're just getting carried away s.h.i.+rl. 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 s.h.i.+rl this is a joke no longer.

"s.h.i.+rl what do you mean your friends."

"They're waiting down stairs."

"They're what, s.h.i.+rl."

"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 pus.h.i.+ng me naked into a hotel hall, George, you're not doing that. That's one thing you're not doing."