Mercy

like in films with a distinguished accent, sort o f tough like

Albert Finney but he talks quiet and nice, a little dissonant; he’s

sort o f slim and delicate, you know how pretty a man can be

when he’s got fine features, chiseled, and curls, and he’s sort o f

waif-like, kind o f like a child in Dickens, appealing with a pull

to the heart, street pretty but softspoken, not quite hard, not

apparently cynical, not a regular N ew Y ork taxi driver as I’ve

seen them, all squat and old, but graceful, lithe, slight, young,

younger than me probably, new, not quite used but not

untouched, virginal but available, you can have him but it isn’t

quite right to touch him, he’s withdrawn and aloof and it

appears as a form o f refinement, he’s delicate and finely made,

you wonder what it would be like to touch him or if he’d be

charmed enough to touch you back, it’s a beauty without

prettiness except this one’s pretty too, too pretty for me, I

think, I never had such a pretty, delicate boy put together so

fine, pale, the face o f an old, inbred race, now decadent,

fragile, bloodless, with the heartrending beauty o f fine old

bones put together delicately, reconstructed under glass, it

w ouldn’t really be right to touch it but still you want to, just

touch it; and you couldn’t really stop looking at him in the

m irror o f the taxi, all the parts o f his face barely hang together,

all the parts are fragile and thin, it’s delicate features and an

attitude, charm and insouciance but with reserve, he puts out

and he holds back, he decides, he’s used to being wanted, he’s

aloof, or is it polite, or is it gentle? He turns around and smiles

and it’s like angel dust; I’m dusted. I get all girlish and

embarrassed and I think, really, he’s too pretty, he doesn’t

mean it, and there’s a real tense quiet and we drive and then he

stops and w e’re there and I hand him the two dollars because

we agreed and he says real quiet, maybe I could come in, and I

say yes, and I’m thinking he’s so pretty, it’s like being in a

m ovie with some movie star you have a crush on only he’s

coming with you and it’s not in a movie but you know how a

crush on someone in a film makes you crazy, so weird, as if

you could really touch him even though he’s flat and on film

and the strange need you think you have for him and the things

you think you would do with him, those are the feelings,

because I have a stupid crush, an insane crush, a boy-crazy

crush, and I am thinking this is a gorgeous night with the

visitation o f this fine boy but I am so fucking drunk I can

barely get up the steps and I think he’ll turn around and go

because it can’t be nice for him and now he can see how drunk;

smashed; as if I got Stoli pumping through m y heart and it’s

fumes I’m inhaling, fumes rising out o f m y ow n veins or rising

from m y chest, like a fog rising out o f m y chest, and I am

falling down drunk and such a fool, in m y heart I am romantic

for him, all desire and affection verging on an impolite

hunger, raw, greedy, now, now, but there’s m y beautiful

dog, m y very gorgeous and fine dog, m y heart, m y beast o f

jo y and love, m y heart and soul, m y friend on romps and good

times around the block, and she’s jum ping up and down and

she’s licking me and she’s jum ping all over me and it makes me

fall and I say I have to walk her because I do, I must, she’s got

rights, I explain, I have this idea she’s got rights, and I think he

will leave now but he says, very quiet and nice, oh I’ll walk

her, you ju st lie here, and I am flat out drunk, laid out drunk,

flat and drunk on m y bed, a mattress on the floor, barely a

mattress, a cut piece o f foam rubber, hard and flat, it’s an

austere bed for serious solitude or serious sex and I am fucking

stretched out and the walls move, a fast circle dance, and he

takes her leash and they leave and I’m smiling but time goes by

and I get scared, I start waiting, I start feeling time brushing by

me, I start thinking I will never see m y dog again and I think

what have I done and I think I will die from losing her if he

doesn’t bring her back and I think I have to call the police or I

have to follow him and find him or I have to get up and get out

and call to her and I think about life without her if she were

gone and I’d die and I try to m ove an arm but I can’t m ove it

and there’s a pain coming into m y heart which says I am a pale

shadow o f what you will feel the rest o f your life if she’s gone,

it says yo u ’ll mourn the rest o f your life and there’s a grief that

will burn up your insides and leave them just bare and burned

and em pty, burned ugly and barren, obliterated; and I know

that if she’s gone I’m going to pull m yself to pieces, pull my

mind apart, tear m yself open, rend my breast, turn m y heart to

sackcloth, make ashes out o f m y heart; if she’s gone I’m lost; a

wanderer in madness and pain; despondent; a vagabond

turned loose one last time, sad enough to turn the world to

hell; I’ll touch it, anything before me, and make it hell. I will

rage on these streets a lifetime and I will build fires from

garbage in buildings and I will hurt men; for the rest o f my

time here on earth, I will hurt them. I will wander and I will

wail and I will break bottles to have shards o f glass I can hold in

m y hand so they cut both ways, instead o f knives, I’ll bleed

they will bleed both at the same time, the famous two-edged

sword, I will use them on curly-haired boys and I will keep on

after death and I will never stop because the pain will never

stop and you w on’t be able to erase me from these streets, I

will sweep down like lightning except it will be a streak o f

blood from the shard o f glass that cuts both ways, and I will

find one and he will bleed. I’ve got this living brain but my

body’s dead, w on’t move, it’s inert, paralyzed, couldn’t move

to save me or her but once I can move I will begin the search, I

will find her, my dog; without her, there’s no love. It’s as if I

drank some poison that’s killed my muscles so they can’t

m ove and time’s going by and I’m counting it, the minutes,

and I’m waiting, and m y heart is filling up with pain, suffering

is coming upon me; and remorse; because I did it, this awful

thing that made this awful loss. Then they’re there, him and

her, and she’s laughing and playing with her leash and he’s

smiling and happy and I’m thinking he’s beautiful, inside too,

in spirit, and I am near dying to touch him, I want to make real