What was happening to me-is happening to me-is that I am feeling my way-feeling: that’s a good word-feeling in the sense of emotion rather than the tactile sense-feeling my way to a new perception of reality. Before that, before the sunglasses, I perceived and reasoned in a masculine, in-line way, vertical, just like AMROK II. And now…and now I am discovering and exploring a feminine, horizontal perception of reality.
And what that requires is to deny cold order-logical, intellectual order, that is-and perceive a deeper order, glimpsing it dimly now, somewhere, an order much deeper and broader because…The order I have known up to now has been narrow and restricted, tight and disciplined. But it cannot account for…for all.
This feminine, horizontal perception applies to breadth, explaining the apparent illogic and seeming madness of the universe-well, this perception does not deny science and logic but offers something more-an emotional consciousness of people and of life.
But is it only emotional? Or is it spiritual? At least it demands a need to accept chaos-a chaos outside the tight, disciplined logic of men and AMROK II, and seeks a deeper, more fundamental order and logic and significance within that chaos. It means a new way of life: the truth of lies and the reality of myths. It demands a whole new way to perceive a-
No, that’s not right. Perception implies a standing aside and observing. But this new world I am now in requires participation and sharing. I must strip myself naked and plunge-if I hope to know the final logic. If I have the courage…
Courage…When I told Celia of the power I felt when selecting my victim, and the love I had for him when he was selected-all that was true. But I didn’t mention the fear-fear so intense it was all I could do to control my bladder. But isn’t that part of it? I mean emotion-feeling. And from emotion to a spiritual exaltation, just as Celia is always speaking of ceremony and ritual and the beauty of evil. That is her final logic. But is it mine? We shall see. We shall see.
I must open myself, to everything. I grew in a tiled house of Lalique glass and rock collections. Now I must become warm and tender and accept everything in the universe, good and evil, the spread and the cramped. But not just accepting. Because then I’d be a victim. I must plunge to the heart of life and let its heat sear me. I must be moved.
To experience reality, not merely to perceive it: that is the way. And the final answer may be dreadful to divine. But if I can conquer fear, and kill, and feel, and learn, I will bring a meaning out of the chaos of my new world, give it a logic few have ever glimpsed before, and then I’ll know.
Is there God?
3
He pulled that brass plunger, standing at her teak door, grasping the bundle of long-stemmed roses, blood-colored, and feeling as idiotic and ineffectual as any wooer come to call upon his lady-love with posies, vague hope, a vapid smile. “Good-afternoon, Valenter.”
“Good-afternoon, thir. Do come in.”
He was inside, the door closed behind him, when the tall, pale houseman spoke in tones Daniel was certain were a burlesque, a spoof of sadness. That long face fell, the muddy eyes seemed about to leak, the voice was suited for a funeral chapel.
“Mither Blank, I am thorry to report Mith Montfort hath gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Called away unexthpectedly. She athked me to prethent her regreth.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeth thir.”
“When will she be back? Today?”
“I do not know, thir. But I thuthpect it may be a few dayth.”
“Shit,” Blank repeated. He thrust the flowers at Valenter. “Put these in some water, will you? Maybe they’ll last long enough for her to see them.”
“Of courth, thir. Mather Tony ith in the thtudy and would like you to join him, thir.”
“What? Oh. All right.”
It was a Saturday noon. He had imagined a leisurely lunch, perhaps some shopping, a visit to the Mortons’ Erotica, which was always crowded and entertaining on a Saturday afternoon.
And then, perhaps, a movie, a dinner, and then…Well, anything. Things went best, he decided, when they weren’t too rigidly programmed.
The boy languished on the tufted couch-a beauty!
“Dan!” he cried, holding out a hand.
But Blank would not cross the room to touch that languid palm. He sat in the winged armchair and regarded the youth with what he believed was amused irony. The roses had cost twenty dollars.
“About Celia,” Tony said, looking down at his fingernails. “She wanted me to make her apologies.”
“Valenter already has.”
“Valenter? Oh pooh! Have a drink.”
And suddenly, Valenter was there, leaning forward slightly from the waist.
“No, thank you,” Blank said. “It’s a little early for me.”
“Oh come,” Tony said. “Vodka martini on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Right?”
Daniel considered a moment. “Right,” he smiled.
“What will your son have?” the waiter asked, and they both laughed.
“My son?” Blank said. He looked to Tony. “What will my son have?”
They were in a French restaurant, not bad and not good. They didn’t care.
Tony ordered oysters and frogs’ legs, a salad doused with a cheese dressing. Blank had a small steak and endives with oil and vinegar. They smiled at each other. Tony reached forward to touch his hand. “Thank you,” he said humbly.
Daniel had two glasses of a thick burgundy, and Tony had something called a “Shirley Temple.” The boy’s knee was against his. He didn’t object, wanting to follow this plot to its denouement.
“Do you drink coffee?” he asked. They flirted.
“How is school?” he asked, and Tony made a gesture, infinitely weary.
They were strolling then, hands brushing occasionally, up Madison Avenue, and stopped to smile at a display of men’s clothing in a boutique.
“Oh,” Tony said.
Daniel Blank glanced at him. The lad was in sunlight, brazen. He gleamed, a gorgeous being.
“Let’s look,” Blank said. They went inside.
“Ooh, thank you,” Tony said later, giving him a dazzling smile. “You spent so much money on me.”
“Didn’t I though?”
“Are you rich, Dan?”
“No, I’m not rich. But not hurting.”
“Do you think the pink pullover was right for me?”
“Oh yes. Your coloring.”
“I would have loved those fishnet briefs, but I knew even the small size would be too large for me. Celia buys all my underwear in a women’s lingerie shop.”
“Does she?”
They sat on a park bench unaccountably planted in the middle of a small meadow. Tony fingered the lobe of Dan’s left ear; they watched an old black man stolidly fly a kite. “Do you like me?” Tony asked.
Daniel Blank would not give himself time to fear, but twisted around and kissed the boy’s soft lips.
“Of course I like you.”
Tony held his hand and made quiet circles on the palm with a forefinger.
“You’ve changed, Dan.”
“Have I?”
“Oh yes. When you first started seeing Celia, you were so tight, so locked up inside yourself. Now I feel you’re breaking out. You smile more. Sometimes you laugh. You never did that before. You wouldn’t have kissed me three months ago, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t have, Tony, perhaps we should get back. Valenter is probably-”
“Valenter,” Tony said in a tone of great disgust. “Pooh! Just because he-” Then he stopped.
But Valenter was nowhere about, and Tony used his own key to let them in. Daniel’s roses were arranged in a Chinese vase on the foyer table. And in addition to the roses’ sweet musk, he caught another odor: Celia’s perfume, a thin, smoky scent, Oriental. He thought it odd he had not smelled it in this hallway at noon.