Dhalgren

But he closed the notebook cover over the page. Then he turned around. Lanya, sitting on the bed in her jeans and sneakers, but no shirt, looked up from the book of poems.

De

Kid nodded. “Okay.”

De

Kid went and put his arms around both of them; Lanya’s bare back under his hands was very warm. One of them held on to his waist. After a moment De

“Yes we can,” Lanya said. “Here, see…”

A minute later, heads together, arms locked around one another’s backs, Kid said, “This is comfortable.”

“I think,” De

“Mmm…” Lanya nodded.

“Didn’t you say something about wanting to go out?” Kid asked.

She nodded again. “Mmmm? Let’s go.”

First cold air under his left arm, then his right. Her fingers on his chest were the last to leave him.

He looked at the desk and wondered whether he should take the notebook.

“You sure keep it hot in here,” De

“Oh, would you turn that off for me?”

“How?”

“Never mind. I’ll do it.”

Kid looked up: Lanya squatted before the heater, grunting and twisting at something inside.

“There.” She stood. “Let’s go.”

“You ain’t go

The sides of the heater, cooling, clanged.

“Be a doll and let me wear your vest?”

“Sure,” De

“If I wanted them covered, I’d put on a shirt.” She took the vest from him. “There’s some advantages to living in this city.”

“You’re a fu

“You’re a fu

De

“What are you gri

“Nothing,” and ended up gri

She considered a moment, sucking her underlip. “Nope.” One nipple was just visible inside the leather lapel. The other was covered. “Just curious.” And picked up her harmonica from the floor by the bed.

They play me into violent postures. Adrift in the violent city, I do not know what stickum tacks words and tongue. Hold them there, cradled on the muscular floor. Nothing will happen. What is the simplest way to say to someone like Kamp or De

They were quiet through the living room. At the head of the steps De

“What’s so fu

Kid thought: There’s a moment in her laughter when she’s very ugly. He watched for it, saw it pass again, and found himself laughing the harder. She took his hand, and he was very glad she did. The stridence smoothed in his own voice.

De

“Where’s your school?” Kid asked.

“Huh?”

“De

“You told me about the school,” De

“It’s right down there. That’s where we’re going now.”

“Fine.”

She bit both lips and nodded; then slid her arm up to link Kid’s elbow, held out her other hand to De

The green jacket was new. The shirt between the brass zippers looked old. He came from the corner, unsteadily, head slightly down. His varying steps took him indiscriminately left or right. Twenty-five? Thirty? His black hair was almost shoulder length. In the bony face there was nothing like eyes. He…staggered closer. Tiny lids were pursed at the back of fleshed-over sockets otherwise smooth as the insides of teacups. One leaked a thread of mucus down his nose. He came on, missing the lamppost by a lucky detour. On twine around his neck hung a cardboard sign, lettered in ballpoint:

“Please help me. I am deaf and dumb.”

De

The heavy blond Mexican in the collarless blanket-shirt hurried from a doorway. The irregular tap of the blind-mute’s cowboy boots stopped when the Mexican seized his shoulder; his head came way up and swung in the air like sniffing as the Mexican took the blind-mute’s hand. He pressed in his fist against the mute’s palm, and pressed again, and pressed again, making different shapes. The blindmute nodded. Then they hurried to the corner, holding one another’s arm.

“Shit…” De

“Why?” Lanya asked. She reached across to hold the right lapel of De

“Don’t tell me everything in this fucking city happens for a reason,” Kid said. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Lanya said, “usually, in Bellona, everything happens for…” Then she sucked her teeth. “Deaf and blind? That’s heavy. I was in San Francisco once. You know the welfare office on Mission Street?”

“Yeah,” Kid said, “I tried to get on welfare out there, but they wouldn’t let me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I was walking by it once…reading the signs on the Page Glass Company…? When I looked down, I saw a dumpy woman in a flowered house dress leading this old man who was tapping a cane. But when she got to the steps, she stooped down to feel around. And she was saying, ‘Now I know…I know where it is.’ Three more steps, and I realized she was blind, too. I watched them till she finally got them through the door. It was fascinating, and a little horrifying. But when I went on, I began to think: What a marvelous image for most of human history, not to mention current politics. Practically every relationship I know has something in it of—and then of course it struck me, and I began to laugh right there on the street. But the point is, it really hadn’t occurred to me all the time I’d watched them. And all I could do was think how lucky I was that I had decided not to be an artist, or a writer or a poet. Because how could you use a perfectly real experience like that in a work of art today, you know?”

“I don’t get it,” De

“It’s just that…” Lanya frowned. “Well, look, De