“It’s unfair…”
“Don’t be silly. I realize it’s upsetting to have something that close to you torn to pieces. And the bad thing is, though it’s natural, one’s reaction is defensive. It’s fuckin’ hard to know that you’re going to have to work on what you’re doing, because it ain’t gonna come easily. If you write your fuckin’ heart out, it’s going to be a river of diarrhea.”
Wally slammed his book on the table, said, “You’re a bastard,” and walked out.
Raul sighed. “It sounded immature on his lips.”
“What?” Jeff asked.
“Hmm? Oh, his saying, ‘You’re a bastard.’ It was very weak.”
Everyone was quiet. Raul began laughing again.
Jeff looked amused. “What are you laughing about?”
“I just realized I asked you for a cigarette, and I had a pack on me all the time. Jeff, tell me, what was the story Wally showed you? Was it about some sexual perversion?”
“That’s right. It was about lesbians.” He paused. “No, it was more than that.”
“Don’t go into details.”
Bill laughed. “Why not?”
“Because it’s just pretentious for an adolescent to be writing about that. He likes the idea of having an Oedipus complex, so he fakes a whole poem on the subject. I bet you ten to one he wanted to write that story about homosexuals, but he was afraid somebody might infer something from that, so he switches sexes.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s incredibly difficult for an adolescent to avoid being ridiculous. And when it comes to sex”—Raul gave a bronx cheer—“it’s all over.”
Bill began to slide out of the booth. “Are you going?” Raul asked. “You still have ten minutes.”
“I have to give this to Mrs. White.”
“Oh. Try and come see me down here during the day.”
“You’ll be here all day?”
“Uh, yeah. Probably.”
“Okay, I’ll see, man.” He flipped his hand up.
“Right on.”
Bill left.
“Why do you always say right on to Bill?” Jeff pulled his lower lip and chin tight to drag on the cigarette.
“It’s a Panther phrase as far as I know.”
“Is Bill a Panther?”
“No. He would be, I mean I think he will be. I guess he can’t until he gets away from his parents, because they’re Black capitalists. But I mean really Black capitalists. They’re not just poor blacks who want to be rich.” Raul rose austerely, rattling keys in his pocket. “Jeff, do you have ten cents so I can buy a Coke?”
Jeff gave it to him and Raul walked over to Mike & Gino’s counter area. Mike, or Gino, a short, thin man in a sweatshirt, was hovering about. His wife was nearby. This could be deduced: Raul had heard someone say that it was either Mike’s or Gino’s wife and just by looking at the other member of the partnership, who was fat but without the revelry of obesity, one could tell that he was unmarried. She was always cheerful and usually wore a light blue woolen sweater that made her look comfortable and easygoing. Her husband was wiping the counter just beneath where he was going to place a cup of coffee; doing this, he asked Raul if he could help him. Startled out of staring at his wife, whose unrelieved good-naturedness seemed unnatural, Raul ordered his Coke. Getting it, he walked back feeling calm.
“Jeff, did you go to a camp this summer?” Raul didn’t wait for a reply, though there was one. “What was it like?”
“It was like, it was, uh, I got kicked out.”
“You did? How come?”
“For drinking.”
“For drinking? Are you kidding me? This generation’s obsessed with drugs, and you get kicked out for something so obscene, so slimy as…echh, drinking!”
Jeff looked sheepish.
“Aw, Jeff, Jeff. I’m ashamed of ya, boy, truly ashamed. Hey, listen, fuck-up, I thought it was supposed to be a really liberal camp? Right? So what the fuck they doin’ throwing you out for something so American as drinking?”
Jeff, barraged by complex memories, couldn’t express himself. After some mumbling, Raul came in to help.
“You better spit it out, or it’s gonna choke ya. Aie, did that sound like dime store philosophy. Let’s just…look, tell me something about the camp. No, wait a minute. Tell me why you went to a camp. It’s bad enough you waste the year at school. There must be something more productive you can do than be institutionalized for the summer also.”
“In Mamaroneck you just get beaten up by greasers. And, you know, girls.”
“Ah, yes, les femmes. So,” Raul said with disgust, “did you fuck a lot?”
Jeff again could not express himself.
“Okay, I guess at a certain point you blew it.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“All right. We got that straight. Did you blow it more than once?”
“Un-huh.”
Raul laughed. “Start from the beginning then. Girl number one.”
Jeff’s face became pathetic. “Well, like, for the first two, well, no, I guess it was like a week, maybe week and a half.”
“Okay, it doesn’t matter. Go on.”
“I was down. Really depressed. I was just moping, and everybody couldn’t stand me.”
“What were you depressed about?”
“I don’t know. Well, anyway, one day we were comin’ out of a…a kind of assembly. ’Cause there was one every week. I was comin’ out, and under this tree there was a girl. Amy. She was sittin’ under the tree cryin’.”
“Crying?”
“Uh-huh. So I went over. That kinda made me feel good, you know, that somebody else was unhappy. I went over and asked her what was wrong. She was really crying and she told me to go away. I would’ve normally. It pisses me off when somebody doesn’t leave me alone when I want to, you know? But I sat down and smoked a cigarette.”
“They let you smoke?”
“Yeah.”
“And nobody came over all that time?”
“No. The assembly was still goin’ on.”
“So what happened?”
“After a while she stopped cryin’. And I asked her what was wrong. She asked why did I care.”
Raul chuckled.
“I said I care. I asked her what was wrong.” He paused.
“And?”
“She said everybody hated her.”
Raul broke. He was near the floor, tears in his eyes, hysteria in every limb. He wanted to stop. He knew it would make Jeff angry. But what a cliché!
“I’m sorry, Jeff, I’m really sorry. But it’s such a dumb thing to say.”
“Fine.” Jeff put his feet up, looking hurt.
“No, look, come on, don’t get pissed. You gotta understand the way you said it made it seem ridiculous. I’m sure, you know, at the time it was (pathetic? pitiable?) important. Your just tellin’ it like that without being able to see her made it sound like she said—‘Ewery bowdy hates me.’ Aw, shucks! Okay? Picasso, eh? Okay?”
Jeff couldn’t suppress a smile. Raul’s beaming face cheered him. But it was forced, and Jeff wanted to leave. “Look, it’s time to go.”
“Bullshit, you’re going ’cause you’re angry.”
“No, I’m not. I mean I want to be alone, I just don’t want to…Look, I understand why it seemed ridiculous, but, you know, that hurt me, so…I mean, I’m not angry, okay?”
Raul smiled easily. “Sure. Come down if you can, eh?”
And he was alone.
2.
The black prince’s power weakened. Raul felt robbed of life; though he had controlled it, a certain recognition was absent. He thought of other things.
Mike & Gino’s with a cool winter wind and sunlight spreading across the tile floor, with a quiet, somber song, became melancholy. Raul rode upon a distant shore — black horse and cape; dawn and an uneasy wind. He Who Rides Alone.