his shoulders
and heading for the escalator.
Vamos hombres!
yelled Herakles. And so
they went to Peru.
XXXV. GLADYS
Click here for original version
Not only was he very hungry but much more humiliating—
————
12,000 meters above the mountains that divide Argentina from Chile
with their long white gouges tracing
the red sandstone like a meringue pie—Geryon felt himself becoming aroused.
He was sitting in between Herakles and Ancash.
The plane was cold and they had an Aeroperu blanket thrown over
the three of them. Geryon was trying to read.
He had not realized until he found himself stranded in it high above the Andes
halfway to Lima that the novel he’d bought
in the Buenos Aires airport was pornographic. It made him furious with himself
to be stirred by dull sentences like,
Gladys slid a hand under her nightgown and began to caress her own thighs.
Gladys!
He loathed the name. But his thighs
under the Aeroperu blanket were very warm. He snapped off the light
and shoved the book deep out of sight
in the seat pocket ahead of him. Sat back in the dark. On his left side Herakles
stirred in sleep. Ancash was motionless
on the right. Geryon tried to cross his knees but could not, then shifted sideways
to the left. He would pretend to be asleep
so he could lean against Herakles’ shoulder. The smell of the leather jacket near
his face and the hard pressure of Herakles’
arm under the leather sent a wave of longing as strong as a color through Geryon.
It exploded at the bottom of his belly.
Then the blanket shifted. He felt Herakles’ hand move on his thigh and Geryon’s
head went back like a poppy in a breeze
as Herakles’ mouth came down on his and blackness sank through him. Herakles’
hand was on his zipper. Geryon gave himself up
to pleasure as the aeroplane moved at 978 kilometers per hour through clouds
registering −57 degrees centigrade.
Two women with toothbrushes stumbled up the aisle in the reddish dawn dark.
These are all very fine passengers,
thought Geryon dreamily as he and the plane began descent to Lima. It filled him
with tenderness to see many of the people
had little red flush marks on their cheeks where they had slept with faces
pressed to the seat cushion. Gladys!
XXXVI. ROOF
Click here for original version
A soiled white Saturday morning in Lima.
————
The sky heavy and dark as if before rain but it hasn’t rained in Lima since 1940.
On the roof of the house Geryon stood
looking out to sea. Chimneys and lines of laundry surrounded him on all sides.
Everything curiously quiet.
On the roof next door a man in black silk kimono emerged at the top of a ladder.
Clutching his kimono around him
he stepped onto the roof and stood motionless in front of a big rusted water tank.
Stared hard at the tank then lifted
the brick holding down the lid and peered inside. Replaced the brick. Went back
down the ladder. Geryon turned
to see Ancash climbing up onto the roof.
Buenos días,
said Ancash.
Hi,
said Geryon.
Their eyes failed to meet.
You slept well?
asked Ancash.
Yes thank you.
They had all three slept on the roof
in sleeping bags borrowed
from the American downstairs. Ancash’s mother had the roof divided into living,
sleeping and horticultural areas.
Beside the water tank was where guests slept. Next to that was “Ancash’s room,”
an area bordered on one side by the clothesline,
where Ancash had neatly arranged his T-shirts on hangers, and on the other side
by a scarred highboy inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Beside the highboy was the library. Here were two sofas and a bookcase packed
with books. On the writing desk stood
piles of paper weighted
and heading for the escalator.
Vamos hombres!
yelled Herakles. And so
they went to Peru.
XXXV. GLADYS
Click here for original version
Not only was he very hungry but much more humiliating—
————
12,000 meters above the mountains that divide Argentina from Chile
with their long white gouges tracing
the red sandstone like a meringue pie—Geryon felt himself becoming aroused.
He was sitting in between Herakles and Ancash.
The plane was cold and they had an Aeroperu blanket thrown over
the three of them. Geryon was trying to read.
He had not realized until he found himself stranded in it high above the Andes
halfway to Lima that the novel he’d bought
in the Buenos Aires airport was pornographic. It made him furious with himself
to be stirred by dull sentences like,
Gladys slid a hand under her nightgown and began to caress her own thighs.
Gladys!
He loathed the name. But his thighs
under the Aeroperu blanket were very warm. He snapped off the light
and shoved the book deep out of sight
in the seat pocket ahead of him. Sat back in the dark. On his left side Herakles
stirred in sleep. Ancash was motionless
on the right. Geryon tried to cross his knees but could not, then shifted sideways
to the left. He would pretend to be asleep
so he could lean against Herakles’ shoulder. The smell of the leather jacket near
his face and the hard pressure of Herakles’
arm under the leather sent a wave of longing as strong as a color through Geryon.
It exploded at the bottom of his belly.
Then the blanket shifted. He felt Herakles’ hand move on his thigh and Geryon’s
head went back like a poppy in a breeze
as Herakles’ mouth came down on his and blackness sank through him. Herakles’
hand was on his zipper. Geryon gave himself up
to pleasure as the aeroplane moved at 978 kilometers per hour through clouds
registering −57 degrees centigrade.
Two women with toothbrushes stumbled up the aisle in the reddish dawn dark.
These are all very fine passengers,
thought Geryon dreamily as he and the plane began descent to Lima. It filled him
with tenderness to see many of the people
had little red flush marks on their cheeks where they had slept with faces
pressed to the seat cushion. Gladys!
XXXVI. ROOF
Click here for original version
A soiled white Saturday morning in Lima.
————
The sky heavy and dark as if before rain but it hasn’t rained in Lima since 1940.
On the roof of the house Geryon stood
looking out to sea. Chimneys and lines of laundry surrounded him on all sides.
Everything curiously quiet.
On the roof next door a man in black silk kimono emerged at the top of a ladder.
Clutching his kimono around him
he stepped onto the roof and stood motionless in front of a big rusted water tank.
Stared hard at the tank then lifted
the brick holding down the lid and peered inside. Replaced the brick. Went back
down the ladder. Geryon turned
to see Ancash climbing up onto the roof.
Buenos días,
said Ancash.
Hi,
said Geryon.
Their eyes failed to meet.
You slept well?
asked Ancash.
Yes thank you.
They had all three slept on the roof
in sleeping bags borrowed
from the American downstairs. Ancash’s mother had the roof divided into living,
sleeping and horticultural areas.
Beside the water tank was where guests slept. Next to that was “Ancash’s room,”
an area bordered on one side by the clothesline,
where Ancash had neatly arranged his T-shirts on hangers, and on the other side
by a scarred highboy inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Beside the highboy was the library. Here were two sofas and a bookcase packed
with books. On the writing desk stood
piles of paper weighted
Similar Books
