MY ZOMBIE. FIGHTING ME. & losing control then I turned him over onto his belly & straddling him & gripping the little pigtail banging his face against the floor & fucking him in the ass my cock enormous so the skin tore & bled, ONE TWO THREE thrusts piercing to his guts like a sword Who’s your Master? Who’s your Master? WHO’S YOUR MASTER?
47
Do bones float?
& if so, but no flesh is attached, & the bones themselves scattered & lost to one another, what identity is there. I never think of it.
48
Aug. 26 & I was no sooner home & out of the shower & beginning my CARETAKER tasks for the day than the loud knocking came at the front door. & I knew.
I had not listened to any news reports. For why should Q__ P__ have listened. It was 7:50 A.M. I did not know anything, I was not aware of anything. But freshly shaven & my thinning hair combed sleek & damp against my skull & my eyes veined with red but hiding nothing behind my clear-framed plastic glasses. Wearing a clean plain white-cotton T-shirt, old chino work-pants, sandals. (It would be another hot-humid day.) & heard the knocking on the front door & that crackling sound of a police radio, a police squad car pulled into the driveway behind the Dodge Ram. I did not look but I knew. & heard the door being unlocked & opened, it was one of the tenants on his way out & there on the front steps two Mt. Vernon police officers. & their voices asking after Q__ P__ was he a resident of this house? & I stood cold & paralyzed in the hall thinking of the cistern! the dinette “operating” table! the surgical supplies! the store of food, & blankets, & the full-length mirror! & in the CARETAKER’s quarters the Polaroid-mementos of my failed ZOMBIES, & the memento in formaldehyde of BIG GUY, & other items no eyes but Q__ P__’s must ever see. The Dodge Ram I had taken care to cleanse as thoroughly as possible, before dawn working frantically barefoot & bare-chested washing away all evidence. For there was little blood in the van, mainly piss & the lingering stink of piss. My soiled clothes, wig etc. I had shredded & buried in such scattered sites along Route 31, Q__. P__ himself could never recall. & my .38 pistol, the knives & my solitary memento of SQUIRREL I had placed in safekeeping far from 118 North Church.
Yet there was no choice but to come forward, & declare Yes I am Q__ P__. & calm & quizzical approaching the police officers at the door, one uniformed & the other in suit & tie. Greeted me & asked would I step outside. But I did not. Nor did I invite them inside. For this was not like the arrest after the black boy ran bellowing into the street when they dragged me from the van & threw me on my belly & face in the dirt & cuffed my wrists behind my back so I screamed in pain. This was not an actual arrest—was it? But only a questioning. For there were many names on the computer, known sex offenders. For they had no evidence, & they had no warrant or they would already be at their search. Don’t let them inside the house, Dad’s lawyer had said. Don’t go anywhere with them voluntarily. If they continue to harass you, call me. Any hour of the night or day—call me. They were asking could they come inside & I shook my head no, I did not think so. They were polite asking again would I step outside & I was polite & reasonable saying, trying not to stammer, I did not think so. & this surprised them, who are accustomed to bullying citizens. I asked them what did they want? & they looked at me, the older of them in the suit & tie sucking his lip, You know what we want, son, don’t you, & I shook my head no, no I did not, & steeled myself looking at his eyes, & I saw no certainty in them, nor in the face of the other. & this went on for several minutes. & what I knew was that I knew, & they did not. & that I knew of my rights as a citizen. & would not acquiesce to police harassment of a man on probation, who has not violated probation. & a man who is “gay” & does not advertise the fact but is not ashamed of it either, & guilty of nothing because of it either. & at last they spoke of a “young boy” who had been “abducted” the evening before in Dale Springs & he was missing & his bicycle found in an alley & they only wanted to ask a few questions of me, what I might know of this or might have heard, etc., here or at the precinct station, & if I had no objection they would like to look around the premises a little. & I shook my head & repeated no I did not think so, my lawyer has advised me to call him if there is trouble of any kind from the police, if I am harassed in any way & I would like to call him now.
& there was a silence. & the cops stood & stared at me, & I remained inside the doorway not surrendering an inch.
The detective said, All right, son. Call your lawyer. Call him right now. & we’ll be right out here.
So I called Dad’s lawyer at his home. & my voice young & aggrieved as a kid’s telling him of this latest harassment. For an “abduction” I did not know of, having not watched the news, & could they arrest me? with no evidence, arrest me? & Dad’s lawyer spoke to soothe me saying what my rights were, though I should not try to leave the premises. No doubt they were waiting for a search warrant. From where I stood in my room now I could see the two of them plus another, uniformed cop in the driveway contemplating the Dodge Ram that shone so in the sun, circling it & peering into the back (I had removed the plywood partition of course & the strips of plastic from the windows) & seeing—what? Nothing. There was nothing to see. Yet they did not dare break into the van for fear, if they did discover evidence, they would have seized it illegally, & it would be of no worth.