to lie there nibbled by bugs, gnawed by bobcats, but the moon was full and there was plenty of light, or at least plenty enough for him to wend his rapid way with safety. Somewhere along the path he dropped both pen and notebook and didn’t care.
He was nearly there, panting, out of breath before the disgrace, the indecency of what he was about to do ravaged his tender side and slowed his progress. How exactly does your desire, however strong, bestow upon you the right to buy a woman’s dignity? his better self asked. He took one step forward, turned, and took two back. Then he answered himself: They don’t have dignity! They’re whores! He turned again, stepped forward. But his conscience pestered him. He wondered what it was that made a woman a whore, whether nature, necessity, or despair. He stopped, stepped back, considering. At last, he raised his arms to the heavens as if at prayer and rationalized. My lust will put food on someone’s table, he told the moon, some little child who’d go hungry will not because of me. It’s alright. It’s alright. Dropping his arms, he marched on with the gravity of a soldier entering battle.
And immediately froze.
For a cloud had covered the moon and in the darkness the strangled cry of a creature unknown to him rang out. It was high-pitched, a shriek of inconceivable pain, the sound of a death struggle. It dried his mouth. A shiver afflicted his spine. Someone’s eating someone else, he thought. Eating ’em raw, still living but with its guts falling out. And he thought about innocence and victims and whether or not a man couldbe better than an animal and he shouted out: Alright! Alright! I won’t do it! At that precise moment, the cloud over the moon parted and he found himself smack in the center of a broad shaft of silver light that made his very clothes sparkle along with the leaves of the trees and the grass at his feet.
A miracle has saved my soul, thought Jackson, and he muttered a blessing Rabbi Nussbaum taught him for the sake of the creature that was eaten, nature’s consecrated offering made to rescue him from sin. He resolved then and there that no matter how hard up he got in life, he’d never ever seek the company of bought women. Still, he figured he was out in the night with time on his hands and it wouldn’t hurt to just continue on his way to the whorehouse and observe as part of his general education what went on in such a place.
The shack he sought was unmistakable, set off from the rest of the village by a long dirt road, draped from its tin roof with a string of Chinese lanterns that lit up the place brighter than neon. Over the front door, which was painted haint blue, a mess of chicken bones tied together and hung with string clattered in the night’s soft breeze to keep bad juju away. There was a little cleared yard surrounded by underbrush behind which Jackson crouched to study his surrounds. Two pickups and a Chevrolet sedan were parked along the road next to trees disguised in kudzu bordering the woods. There were smells, too, wafting toward his hiding place, the scents of strong perfumes, liquor, and what seemed to him to be fresh biscuits and gravy, eggs, and bacon. He checked his new Timex watch, a gift from Aunt Gertrude Ann for his sixteenth. It was eight o’clock. He guessed sex made men hungry, and they cooked up light suppers within so the clientele could fortify themselves.
A new terror set in. There were men in there, real men, having their needs satisfied. What if they came out and found him? What if they laughed at him hiding there or, worse, what if the gals laughed?How exactly was one supposed to behave while spying on a whorehouse anyway? He began to sweat crouching there in the brush when a whooshing noise not three yards away nearly startled him into a yelp. He flattened himself against the ground in a heartbeat and there was a pounding as of heavy feet chasing the whoosh, following its path exactly, then all came to a
He was nearly there, panting, out of breath before the disgrace, the indecency of what he was about to do ravaged his tender side and slowed his progress. How exactly does your desire, however strong, bestow upon you the right to buy a woman’s dignity? his better self asked. He took one step forward, turned, and took two back. Then he answered himself: They don’t have dignity! They’re whores! He turned again, stepped forward. But his conscience pestered him. He wondered what it was that made a woman a whore, whether nature, necessity, or despair. He stopped, stepped back, considering. At last, he raised his arms to the heavens as if at prayer and rationalized. My lust will put food on someone’s table, he told the moon, some little child who’d go hungry will not because of me. It’s alright. It’s alright. Dropping his arms, he marched on with the gravity of a soldier entering battle.
And immediately froze.
For a cloud had covered the moon and in the darkness the strangled cry of a creature unknown to him rang out. It was high-pitched, a shriek of inconceivable pain, the sound of a death struggle. It dried his mouth. A shiver afflicted his spine. Someone’s eating someone else, he thought. Eating ’em raw, still living but with its guts falling out. And he thought about innocence and victims and whether or not a man couldbe better than an animal and he shouted out: Alright! Alright! I won’t do it! At that precise moment, the cloud over the moon parted and he found himself smack in the center of a broad shaft of silver light that made his very clothes sparkle along with the leaves of the trees and the grass at his feet.
A miracle has saved my soul, thought Jackson, and he muttered a blessing Rabbi Nussbaum taught him for the sake of the creature that was eaten, nature’s consecrated offering made to rescue him from sin. He resolved then and there that no matter how hard up he got in life, he’d never ever seek the company of bought women. Still, he figured he was out in the night with time on his hands and it wouldn’t hurt to just continue on his way to the whorehouse and observe as part of his general education what went on in such a place.
The shack he sought was unmistakable, set off from the rest of the village by a long dirt road, draped from its tin roof with a string of Chinese lanterns that lit up the place brighter than neon. Over the front door, which was painted haint blue, a mess of chicken bones tied together and hung with string clattered in the night’s soft breeze to keep bad juju away. There was a little cleared yard surrounded by underbrush behind which Jackson crouched to study his surrounds. Two pickups and a Chevrolet sedan were parked along the road next to trees disguised in kudzu bordering the woods. There were smells, too, wafting toward his hiding place, the scents of strong perfumes, liquor, and what seemed to him to be fresh biscuits and gravy, eggs, and bacon. He checked his new Timex watch, a gift from Aunt Gertrude Ann for his sixteenth. It was eight o’clock. He guessed sex made men hungry, and they cooked up light suppers within so the clientele could fortify themselves.
A new terror set in. There were men in there, real men, having their needs satisfied. What if they came out and found him? What if they laughed at him hiding there or, worse, what if the gals laughed?How exactly was one supposed to behave while spying on a whorehouse anyway? He began to sweat crouching there in the brush when a whooshing noise not three yards away nearly startled him into a yelp. He flattened himself against the ground in a heartbeat and there was a pounding as of heavy feet chasing the whoosh, following its path exactly, then all came to a
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