It was when I saw my face next day the revelation came.
Blinking & leaning close to the mirror because I didn’t have my glasses, & there was this FACE! this fantastic FACE! battered & bandaged (& blood leaking through already) & stitched (more than twenty stitches they gave me at Detroit General for three bad gashes) & the lips bruised & swollen & these were bloodshot-blackened EYES UNKNOWN TO ME.
& I understood then that I could habit a FACE NOT KNOWN. Not known ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD. I could move in the world LIKE ANOTHER PERSON. I could arouse PITY, TRUST, SYMPATHY, WONDERMENT & AWE with such a face. I could EAT YOUR HEART & asshole you’d never know it.
21
Phone rang & it was Mom. Asked how I was & I said. Asked about my classes at Dale Tech & I said. Asked about my sinuses & I said. Asked about the caretaker’s job (which was Dad’s idea for Q__ P__, not Mom’s) & I said.
Has it been six months since my dental check-up Mom asked & I said I didn’t know & Mom said she was afraid it was more than six months possibly a year? & did I remember all the dental work I’d had to have done ten years ago when I’d neglected to have my teeth examined regularly & cleaned & I said & Mom said should she make an appointment for me? with Dr. Fish? & I stood there holding the phone receiver & through the opened doorway & along the hall at the mailboxes there was the one called Akhil talking with the one called Abdellah & I wondered what they were saying. If I could hear them, if the language they spoke was my own.
22
Couldn’t remember where I’d hidden them. Groping around on top of the beams filthy with cobwebs & desiccated husks of insects & my fingers came away empty. ROUND-LENSED GLASSES & CLEAR PLASTIC FRAMES. In school across the aisle his silky hair & face I stared at & the light winking off the lenses like there was a SECRET CONNÉCTION between us.
Except there wasn’t.
Or maybe there was & he denied it. Pushing me away if I stood too close in cafeteria line. Bruce & his friends & I’d slip in behind them & pretend like I was standing with them sometimes pushing up against them, a boy’s back.
BRUCE BRUUCE BRUUUUCE! I would whisper jamming my fingers in my mouth & my mouth against the pillow wet from drooling.
A door opened in my dream & I was BRUCE.
His parents came over to talk to Dad & Mom. I hid away hearing their terrible voices. Dad came finally to get me—Quentin! Quen-tin!—flush-faced & his glasses damp against his nose & his goatee quivering when he discovered me hiding curled up like a big slug behind the trash pail in the cupboard beneath the sink. What do you mean biding from me, son? Do you think you can hide from me? Led me by the arm into the living room where Mom was sitting stiff-smiling on the cream-colored brocaded sofa with two strangers, a man & a woman, Bruce’s parents, & their eyes like shattered glass in their angry faces & Dad stood with his hands lowered to my shoulders & asked in a calm voice like somebody on TV news had I purposefully hurt Bruce? tangling his neck & head in the swing chains purposefully? & I jammed my fingers in my mouth, I was a shy slow-seeming child & wide-eyed & the light of fear always quick in my face. I stared at the carpet & the little round plastic things that bore the weight of the coffee table & the sofa & were intended to protect the carpet & I wondered if there was a name for such things & who is the source of NAMING, why we are who we are & come into the world that way—one of us BRUCE, & one of us QUENTIN. Mom began to speak in her high quick voice & Dad cut her off calmly saying it was my responsibility to speak, I was seven years old which is the age of reason. & I started then to cry. I told them no it was Bruce, it was Bruce who hurt me, scared me saying he would strangle me in the swing chains because I wouldn’t touch his thing but I got away, I got away & ran home & I was crying hard, my elbows & knees were scraped & my clothes soiled.
& Mom hugged me, & I was stiff not wanting to press into her breasts or belly or the soft place between her legs.
& Dad said it was all right, I was excused. & Bruce’s parents were on their feet still angry but their power was gone. Bruce’s father called after me like a boy jeering, & what did you do with our son’s glasses?
23
Mom called. Left a message on the answering tape saying she’d made an appointment for me with Dr. Fish. Also would I like to come to dinner Sunday.
At the time the phone rang I was on the third floor in Akhil’s room using a screwdriver to open the rusted furnace vent which had been only partway open. Crouched over & my face heavy with blood. Akhil is from Calcutta, India. Maybe he is Hindu? A physics grad student & maybe one of Dad’s but I would never inquire nor would Akhil make any connection between the CARETAKER of this property in his jeans & sweatshirt & PROFESSOR R__ P__ who is so distinguished.
Akhil is shy & dusty-skinned & slender as a girl. In his mid-twenties at least but looks fifteen. Their blood so different from ours. Ancient civilization. Monkey-like. He speaks English so soft & whispery I almost can’t hear—Thank you sir. Take care NOT TO MAKE EYE CONTACT but in our mutual awkwardness I did glance at him, & he was looking at me, he was smiling. Eyes liquidy-brown like a monkey’s would be, a warm glisten in them.
Oh Jesus my eyes slid down him, the slippery length of him. Melting at his crotch. A shimmering puddle at his feet.
Q__ P__ was observed standing quickly. Had to get out of that room. My voice loud & American & movements clumsy but I believe this is what any CARETAKER of any rooming house in University Heights would say under the circumstances That’s O.K., it’s my job.
24
Thursday was Q__ P__’s busy day!
Chores at the house. Drive-in breakfast in the van at Wendy’s on Newaygo Street. Swallowed two uppers with black coffee. Swung around to Third Street to XXX VIDEO to return last night’s video & rent another, a new release. Feeling O.K. 10 A.M. meeting with Mr. T__ in the county services building, the old wing beside the courthouse. Where you walk through the metal detector & two county sheriff’s deputies give you the eye. & upstairs in the probation dept. Mr. T__’s door is shut & I wait for a few minutes & I’m O.K., I’m cool. Shaved last night & had a shower yesterday morning, or day before. Always wear a necktie, coat & a belt for my trousers at Mr. T__’s. A black dude looking like Velvet Tongue waiting for his probation officer too but I don’t want to look too close nor does he. & Mr. T__ calls me in & there is a handshake & Have a seat, Quentin, how’re things going? & I say. How’s your caretaking job? & I say. How’s your classes at Dale Tech? & I say—pretty good, a B in Intro to Computer & a B—in Intro to Engineering & Mr. T__ nods & writes something down. Or anyway doesn’t question.
Asks me how’s my group therapy, am I attending faithfully & I say. How’s my private therapist & I say.