he fucked whores and this was how he would fuck me from
now on and it went on forever and I stopped fighting because
m y heart died and I lay still and I didn’t m ove and it still kept
going on and I stared at him and I hated him, I kept m y eyes
open and I stared, and it w asn’t over for a long time but I had
died during it so it didn’t matter when it ended or when he
stopped or when he pulled out o f me finally or when he was
gone from inside me and then it was over and there was
numbness close to death throughout me and there was some
man between m y legs. I hadn’t moved and I didn’t move, I
couldn’t m ove, I was on m y back and he had been on top o f me
to fuck me and then he slid down to where his head was
between m y legs and he turned over on his back and he rested
the back o f his head between m y legs where he had fucked me
and he rested there like some sweet, tired baby who had ju st
been born only they put him between m y legs instead o f in m y
arms and he said we would get married now because there was
nothing else left for either o f us; pity the poor lover, it hurt him
too. He was immensely sad and immensely bitter and he said
we would get married now because married people did it like
this and hated each other and felt dead, fucking was like being
dead for them; pity the poor husband, he felt dead. He stayed
between my legs, resting. I didn’t move because there is an
anguish that can stop you from moving and I couldn’t kill him
because there is an anguish that can stop you from killing.
Something awful came, a suffering bigger than my life or your
life or any life or G od ’s life, the crucifixion God; the nails are
hammered in but you don’t get to die. It’s the cross for ladies, a
bed, and you don’t get to die; the lucky boy, the favorite child,
gets to die. Y o u ’ve been mowed down inside, slaughtered
inside, a genocide happened in you, but you don’t get to die.
Y o u ’re not G od ’s son, you’re His daughter, and He leaves you
there nailed because you’re some stupid piece o f shit who
loved someone and you will be there forever, in some bed
somewhere for the rest o f your life and He will make it a long
time, He will make you get old, and He will see to it that you
get fucked, and the skin around where you get fucked will be
calloused and blistered and enraged and there will be someone
climbing on you and getting in you and God your Father will
watch; even when you’re old H e’ll watch. M left at sunrise,
sad boy, poor boy, immensely sad, tired boy, and time was
back on top o f me and I couldn’t move and I waited on the bed
to die but I didn’t die because God hates me; it’s hate. I couldn’t
m ove and I endured all the seconds in the day, every single
second. A second stretches out past hell and when one is over
another comes, longer, worse. It got dark and I dressed
m yself—that night, ten thousand years later, ten million years
later; I dressed m yself and I went to the club and M was
serving drinks and his friend the pied noir was there, the
handsome fascist, the gunrunner for the O. A . S., and this time
he looked at me, now he looked at me, and it was hard to
breathe, and I was transfixed by him; and the noisy room got
quiet with danger and you could feel him and me and you
could see him and me and we couldn’t stop and the fuck we
wanted filled the room even though we didn’t go near each
other and he was absolutely still and completely frightened
because M might kill him or me and I didn’t care but he was
afraid, the great big man was afraid, and I wanted him and I
didn’t care what it cost ju st so I had him, and M said take her, I
give her to you, he shouted, he spit, and I walked out in a rage,
a modern rage that anyone would dare to give me to someone;
me; a free woman. Outside there’s an African wind blow ing
on the island, restless, violent, and there’s perfume in the
wind, a heavy poppy smell, intoxicating, sweet and heavy.
The pied noir is deranged by it and he know s what M did and he
is deranged by that, he wants me with M ’s nasty fuck on me,
fresh like fresh-killed meat. God is the master o f pain and He
made it so you could love someone forever even if someone
cut your heart open. I wait in m y bed, I leave the front door
open. I want the fascist; I want him bad. I am fresh-killed
meat.
S IX
In June 1967
(Age 20)
One night I’m just there, where I live, alone, afraid, the men
have been trying to come in. I’m for using men up as fast as
you can; pulling them, grab, twist, put it here, so they dangle
like twisted dough or you bend them all around like pretzels;
you pull down, the asshole crawls. Y ou need a firm, fast hand,
a steady stare, calm nerve; grab, twist. First, fast; before they
get to throw you down. Y ou surprise them with your stance,
warrior queen, quiet, mean, and once your hands are around
their thing they’re stupid, not tough; still mean but slow and
you can get gone, it takes the edge o ff how mean he’s going to
be. Were you ever so alone as me? It doesn’t matter what they
do to you just so you get them first— it’s your game and you
get money; even if they shit on you it’s your game; as long as
it’s your game you have freedom, you say it’s fun but
whatever you say you’re in charge. Some people think being
poor is the freedom or the game. It’s being the one who says
how and do it to me now; instead o f just waiting until he does
it and he’s gone. Y ou got to be mad at them perpetually and
forever and fierce and you got to know that you got a cunt and
that’s it. Y ou want philosophy and you’re dumb and dead;
you want true love and real romance, the same. Y ou put your
hand between them and your twat and you got a chance; you
use it like it’s a muscle, sinew and grease, a gun, a knife; you
grab and twist and turn and stare him in the eye, smile, he’s
already losing because you got there first, between his legs; his
thing’s in your fist and your fist is closing on him fast and he’s
got a failure o f nerve for one second, a pause, a gulp, one
second, disarmed, unsure, long enough so he doesn’t know ,
can’t remember, how mean he is; and then you have to take
him into you, o f course, yo u ’ve given your word; there on the
cement or in a shadow or some room; a shadow ’s warm and
dark and consoling and no one can close the door on you and
lock you in; you don’t go with him somewhere unless you got
a feeling for him because you never know what they’ll do; you