by Ann Bogle
Unapproachable. I imagine an L. Frank Baum novel with a hairy lesbian marching band in parade. The womyn visit the barbershop and keep their hair short like men's then let the hair on their legs and armpits grow like European women's. The womyn are hippies in their way.
I have to look back at it: men in Madison guaranteeing the free speech of a preacher on the library mall. The preacher stands during lunch hour on a concrete platform and shouts at the group, perhaps hoping to save them, "F-o-r-n-i-c-a-t-i-o-n!" The beards face him braced at attention, forking the word in the cold.
I walk by watching them, not stopping, thinking, "What fornication?"
Later, ten years later, in Texas, I visit G.'s apartment. She orders the men to piss off the balcony but lets the women through the bedroom to the bathroom to pee. Pages of my thesis are strewn throughout the rooms and cover the floor. We sit on them and on old CDs. The visitors grow upset, to the point of hysteria, if one of their lovers sleeps with another of their lovers or husband or wife. "F-o-r-n-i-c-a-t-i-o-n!" I shout from the bathroom. The men hear it and send in J., the little drug dealer girl, to see.
. . .
When the man comes in the house with his girlfriend, he is hoisting a 12-pack of Bud, and she is holding her eye where he has flicked it with his baseball cap while driving. M. and I have been arguing about the future. At first we are glad to be interrupted. I immediately think of the two of them driving 25 miles out of Houston to get to us in Sugarland, but when I see that the girlfriend is injured, I get on my horse.
The man is wiry and jumpy. There is a tattoo on his upper arm of Charles Manson. He jumps and jumps. He looks like a man on a pogo stick. He will not stop jumping. "I'm going to smash all the windows of her car," he claims. "Stop him," I say to M., but M. does nothing except try to make peace with concentration. "You're not allowed to hurt her or her car," I say to the man, whose name I have heard once and forgotten. The man veers close to my face, "Who're you? Bella Abzug! Gloria Steinem!"
The girlfriend smiles then goes to lie down on the daybed in the dining room. The man runs through the kitchen and out the back door. When he comes back, he says, "I smashed the windows of her car." M. goes out to the driveway and returns. "He did it," he says. "Call the police," I say, and M. says, "We can't have the police here. The neighbors will complain about rehearsals."
Then the man jumps near my face. "I'm going to tell you a story, Bella, Gloria. When I was 13 my father beat my mother every day, and I threw myself into the fight and tried to stop him. I couldn't stop him. He was bigger than I was. You have TLE. I have TLE. You have bipolar. I have bipolar. But mainly I shoot heroin. Would you like to shoot heroin?"
"No," I say and look at M. "She doesn't do that," M. explains. Then M. leaves the house by the front door, and I pretend he will be right back, that he will not abandon me to a fiend. The girlfriend has not gotten up from the daybed to look at her car. She lies turned to one side holding her eye and shyly laughing.
I go to the master bedroom. I close the door. I leave it unlocked for M. The man comes running through the door, jumping and making noise. "I'm going to eat you," he says. Then he leaves and I lock it. I get in bed. I can hear him fucking her in the dining room. I hear her songbird sigh. I can try to get under my head. I pull the pillows over my ears and the covers under my chin. I pray, What solidifies them. What unites them: Blessed are these the workers of the world.
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Published at Wigleaf Oct. 2010. I used Gertrude Stein's word to describe a Hemingway story -- "inaccrochable" --as a prompt.
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read this through once and then again out loud, what a ride! Baum meets Nathanael West.
Thanks for reading, Julie. I read it aloud, too, but missed hearing what I intuited a bit later: the story in present tense. So I flipped it. If necessary, I'll flip it back to past again, but for now, I like this. Thanks again!
I like the present tense, it makes the action more intense. This sounds like an eggplant dream and I like it for that.
Thanks for commenting, Susan. Present tense it is then. Would this were a dream! I would not have left Texas for bourgeois bipolars of the north. Stein described herself as a concrete language realist who wanted to be interpreted literally. Though who reads her that way? Janet Malcolm wrote in The New Yorker she could find no one who had read Stein all the way through, one way or the other.
i enjoyed reading this though i am not sure i was supposed to. i like it not as a dream but as a scary collage. confession: i strongly disliked the book on stein and toklas by janet malcolm as much as i like stein (who i read all the way through - what other way is there?).
Thanks, Finnegan. I'm glad you enjoyed reading the story (I laugh at the bad guy's jokes myself) and that you confessed to not-liking Malcolm's book. I admired the way she constructed two essays in The New Yorker but disagreed with her position on Stein as infantile and unintelligble. Ulla Dido published her 25-year textual study of Stein at about the same time, and somehow Malcolm missed that entirely.
Correction: Ulla Dydo.
Here's a link to an article about Dydo's study at Jacket (on the 100th anniversary of Stein's first book in 1909):
http://jacketmagazine.com/38/r-dydo-rb-esdale.shtml
This is packed with such tight aggression. Enjoyed it.
Intense, intense. How fun that you took a prompt from the matchbook thread.
My heart is thumping. The pacing is perfect. The dialog too.
Exciting, furious, human. Great work.
Thanks, Katrina!
I like how Ajay described this story as "packed with such tight aggression." There is something associative about the narrative logic; it dispenses with explanations, moves through time and memory without explicitly acknowledging the gaps its movement creates. The idea of the 'inaccrochable' is dramatized most clearly in the content (by the wiry man with the Charles Manson tattoo, and in his flaunting of social norms and etiquette), but somehow the idea is also implicit in the story's form, in the way it resists easy reading, even resists categorization.
Edward, thanks for the thoughtful reading and comment. My aim here is not "shards," as I think of it, but for the associations ("the womyn," the uses of "fornication," and the tattooed man) to accrue, to become connected within an object that means. It may not be an object yet.
Wow. I enjoyed that story a lot. I agree with Ajay when he calls it 'tight'. It really is; I felt cast into this story, and the lack of ephemeral explanations to sugarcoat the story creates a kind of intensity, I think.
Danke schoen, Marcel!
oh, this is soooo fun to read. i love the image of men pissing off balconies and women in proper restrooms. and all the other great surreal and funny happenings. it should be a movie.
This is a great read. I like the tone of the piece. Really works.
Great piece, Ann. Keep it coming.
Ajay, Lisa, Sam, and Jeffrey, thank you for reading and commenting.
Allright I read it twice before I read the comments, then I found I was suppose to read it aloud in the present tense. I read it again, this time aloud. All I want to know is what J. looks like.
Such a great read. I think I'll read it again and make sure I didn't miss anything. Way to pack it in.
Thanks, Scott Garson, for selecting "Inaccrochable" for Wigleaf.
Photo added.
This reminds me, in good ways, of Nathanael West.