by Henry Miller
How do you mean—examine you?
Explore my anatomy.
I thought you meant your head.
He can do that too, she said, cool as a cucumber.
And if he finds nothing wrong with you, you’re just polymorph perverse, is that it?
The expression, borrowed from Freud, tickled them no end. Stasia liked it so much, indeed, that she swore she would write a poem by that title.
True to her word, Kronski was summoned to come and make due examination. He arrived in good humor, rubbing his hands and cracking his knuckles.
What’s it this time, Mister Miller? Any vaseline handy? A tight job, if I know my business. Not a bad idea, though. At least we’ll know if she’s a hermaphrodite or not. Maybe we’ll discover a rudimentary tail…
Stasia had already removed her blouse and was displaying her lovely coral-tipped breasts.
Nothing wrong with them, said Kronski, cupping them. Now oft with your pants!
At this she balked. Not here! she cried.
Wherever you like, said Kronski. How about the toilet?
Why don’t you conduct your examination in her room? said Mona. This isn’t an exhibition performance.
Oh no? said Kronski, giving them a dirty leer. I thought that was the idea.
He went to the next room to fetch his black bag.
To make it more official I brought my instruments along.
You’re not going to hurt her? cried Mona.
Not unless she resists, he replied. Did you find the vaseline? If you haven’t any, olive oil will do … or butter.
Stasia made a wry face. Is all that necessary? she demanded.
It’s up to you, said Kronski. Depends on how touchy you are. If you lie still and behave yourself there’ll be no difficulty. If it feels good I may stick something else in.
Oh no you don’t! cried Mona.
What’s the matter, are you jealous?
We invited you here as a doctor. This isn’t a bordel.
You’d be better off it were a fancy house, said Kronski sneeringly. She would, at least … Come on, let’s get it over with.
With this he took Stasia by the hand and led her into the little room next to the toilet. Mona wanted to go along, to be certain that no harm came to Stasia. But Kronski wouldn’t hear of it.
This is a professional visit, he said. He rubbed his hands gleefully. As for you, Mister Miller, and he gave me a knowing look, if I were you I’d take a little walk.
No, stay! begged Mona. I don’t trust him.
So we remained, Mona and I, pacing up and down the long room with never a word exchanged.
Fives minutes passed, then ten. Suddenly from the adjoining room there came a piercing scream. Help! Help! He’s raping me!
We burst into the room. Sure enough, there was Kronski with his pants down, his face red as a beet. Trying to mount her. Like a tigress, Mona pounced on him and pulled him off the bed. Then Stasia bounded out of bed and threw herself on him, straddling him. With all her might she clawed and pummeled him. The poor devil was so bewildered by the onslaught that he was scarcely able to defend himself. If I hadn’t intervened they would have scratched his eyes out.
You bastard! screamed Stasia.
Sadist! screamed Mona.
They made such a din I thought the landlady would be down with a cleaver.
Staggering to his feet, his pants still down around his ankles, Kronski finally managed to splutter: What’s all the fuss about? She’s normal, just as I thought. In fact, she’s too normal. That’s what got me excited. What’s wrong with that!
Yeah, what’s wrong with that! I chimed in, looking from one to the other.
Shoo him out of here! they yelled.
Easy now! Take it easy! said Kronski, putting a little soothing syrup into his voice, You asked me to examine her, and you knew as well as I that there’s nothing wrong with her physically. It’s her belfry that needs looking into, not her private parts. I can do that too, but it takes time. And what would you have me prove? Answer that, if you can I Do you want to know something? I could have the three of you locked up. He snapped his fingers in our faces. Like that! he said, snapping his fingers again. For what? Moral turpitude, that’s what. You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, none of you.
He paused a full moment to let this sink in.
I’m not mean enough, however, to do a thing like that. I’m too good a friend, aren’t I, Mister Miller? But don’t try to throw me out for doing you a good turn.
Stasia was standing there stark naked, her pants slung over her arm. Finally she became self-conscious and started slipping into her trousers. In doing so she slipped and fell. Mona immediately rushed to her aid, only to be vigorously pushed aside.
Leave me alone! cried Stasia. I can help myself. I’m not a child. So saying, she picked herself up. She stood upright a moment, then bending her head forward, she looked at herself, at the very center of her anatomy. With that she burst into a laugh, a demented sort of laugh.
So I’m normal, she said, laughing still harder. What a joke! Normal, because there’s a hole here big enough to stick something into. Here, give me a candle! I’ll show you how normal I am.
With this she began making the most obscene gestures, contorting her pelvis, writhing as if in the throes of an orgasm.
A candle! she screamed. Get a big, fat black one! I’ll show you how normal I am!
Please, Stasia, stop it, I beg you! cried Mona.
Yes, cut it! said Kronski sternly. You don’t need to give us an exhibition.
The word exhibition seemed only to incense her more.
This is my exhibition, she screamed. And it’s gratis this time. Usually I get paid for making an ass of myself, don’t I? She turned on Mona. Don’t I? she hissed. Or haven’t you told them how we raise the rent money?
Please, Stasia, please! begged Mona. She had tears in her eyes.
But nothing could halt Stasia now. Grabbing a candle from the bureau top, she stuck it up her crotch, and as she did so she rolled her pelvis frantically.
Isn’t that worth fifty dollars? she cried. What’s his name would pay even more, but then I would have to let him suck me off, and I don’t like being sucked off. Not by a pervert, any way.
Stop it! Stop it, or I’ll run away! From Mona.
She quieted down. The candle fell to the floor. A new expression now came over her countenance. As she slipped into her blouse she said very quietly, addressing her words to me:
You see, Val, if any one must be injured or humiliated, it’s me, not your dear wife. I have no moral sense. I have only love. If money is needed, I’m always ready to put on an act. Since I’m crazy, it doesn’t matter. She paused, then turned to the dresser in the other corner of the room. Opening a drawer, she pulled out an envelope. See this? she said, waving the envelope in the air. There’s a check in this sent by my guardians. Enough to pay next month’s rent. But—and she calmly proceeded to tear the envelope to bits—we don’t want that kind of money, do we? We know how to make our own way … giving exhibitions … pretending that we’re Lesbians., pretending that we’re make-believe Lesbians. Pretending, pretending … I’m sick of it. Why don’t we pretend that we’re just human beings?
It was Kronski who now spoke up.
Of course you’re a human being, and a most unusual one. Somewhere along the line you got bitched up—how, I don’t know. What’s more, I don’t want to know. If I thought you would listen to me I’d urge you to get out of here, leave these two. He threw a contemptuous look at Mona and myself. Yes, leave them to solve their own problems. They don’t need you, and you certainly don’t need them. You don’t belong in a place like New York. Frankly, you don’t fit anywhere … But what I want to say is this … I came here as a friend. You need a friend. As for these two, they don’t know the meaning of the word. Of the three you’re probably the healthiest. And you have genius as well…
I thought he would continue indefinitely. Suddenly, however,
he recalled aloud that he had an urgent visit to make and made an abrupt departure.
Later that evening—they had decided not to go out—a curious thing happened. It was just after dinner, in the midst of a pleasant conversation. The cigarettes had given out, and Mona had asked me to look in her bag. Usually there was a stray one to be found in the bottom of the bag. I rose, went to the dresser where the bag lay and, as I opened the bag, I noticed an envelope addressed to Mona in Stasia’s hand. In a second Mona was at my side. If she hadn’t shown such panic I might have ignored the presence of the envelope. Unable to restrain herself, she made a grab for the envelope. I snatched it out of her hand. She made another grab for it and a tussle ensued in which the envelope, now torn, fell to the floor. Stasia fastened on it, then handed it back to Mona.
Why all the fuss? I said, unconsciously repeating Kronski’s words.
The two of them replied at once: wit’s none of your business.
I said nothing more. But my curiosity was thoroughly aroused. I had a hunch the letter would turn up again. Better to pretend complete lack of interest.
Later that same evening, on going to the toilet, I discovered bits of the envelope floating in the bowl. I chuckled. What a flimsy way of telling me that the letter had been destroyed! I wasn’t being taken in that easily. Fishing the pieces of envelope out of the bowl I examined them carefully. No part of the letter adhered to any of the pieces. I was certain now that the letter itself had been preserved, that it had been stashed away somewhere, some place I would never think to look.
A few days later I picked up a curious piece of information. It fell out during the course of a heated argument between the two of them. They were in Stasia’s little room, where they usually repaired to discuss secret affairs. Unaware of my presence in the house, or perhaps too excited to keep their voices down, words were bandied about that should never have reached my ears.
Mona was raising hell with Stasia, I gathered, because the latter had been throwing her money around like a fool. What money? I wondered. Had she come into a fortune? What made Mona furious, apparently, was that Stasia had given some worthless idiot—I couldn’t catch the name—a thousand dollars. She was urging her to make some effort to recover part of the money at least. And Stasia kept repeating that she wouldn’t think of it, that she didn’t care what the fool did with her money.
Then I heard Mona say: If you don’t watch out you’ll be waylaid some night.
And Stasia innocently: They’ll be out of luck. I don’t have any more.
You don’t have any more?
Of course not! Not a red cent.
You’re mad!
I know I am. But what’s money good for if not to throw away?
I had heard enough. I decided to take a walk. When I returned Mona was not there.
Where did she go? I asked, not alarmed but curious.
For reply I received a grunt.
Was she angry?
Another grunt, followed by—I suppose so. Don’t worry, she’ll be back.
Her manner indicated that she was secretly pleased.
Ordinarily she would have been upset, or else gone in search of Mona.
Can I make you some coffee? she asked. It was the first time she had ever made such a suggestion.
Why not? said I, affable as could be.
I sat down at the table, facing her. She had decided to drink her coffee standing up.
A strange woman, isn’t she? said Stasia, skipping all preliminaries. What do you really know about her?, Have you ever met her brothers or her mother or her sister? She claims her sister is far more beautiful than she is. Do you believe that? But she hates her. Why? She tells you so much, then leaves you dangling. Everything has to be turned into a mystery, have you noticed?
She paused a moment to sip her coffee.
We have a lot to talk about, if, we ever get the chance. Maybe between us we could piece things together.
I was just about to remark that it was useless even to try when she resumed her monologue.
You’ve seen her on the stage, I suppose?
I nodded.
Know why I ask? Because she doesn’t strike me as an actress. Nor a writer either. Nothing fits with anything. Everything’s part of a huge fabrication, herself included. The only thing that’s real about her is her make believe. And—her love for you.
The last gave me a jolt. You really believe that, do you?
Believe it? she echoed. If she didn’t have you there would be no reason for her to exist. You’re her life…
And you? Where do you fit in?
She gave me a weird smile. Me? I’m just another piece of the unreality she creates around her. Or a mirror perhaps in which she catches a glimpse of her true self now and then. Distorted, of course.
Then, veering to more familiar ground, she said: Why don’t you make her stop this gold-digging? There’s no need for it. Besides, it’s disgusting the way she goes at it. What makes her do it I don’t know. It’s not money she’s after. Money is only the pretext for something else. It’s as though she digs at some one just to awaken interest in herself. And the moment one shows a sign of real interest she humiliates him. Even poor Ricardo had to be tortured; she had him squirming like an eel … We’ve got to do something, you and I. This has to stop.
If you were to take a job, she continued, she wouldn’t have to go to that horrible place every night and listen to all those filthy-mouthed creatures who fawn on her. What’s stopping you? Are you afraid she would be unhappy leading a humdrum existence? Or perhaps you think I’m the one who’s leading her astray? Do you? Do you think I like this sort of life? No matter what you think of me you must surely realize that I have nothing to do with all this.
She stopped dead.
Why don’t you speak Say something!
Just as I was about to open my trap in walks Mona—with a bunch of violets. A peace offering.
Soon the atmosphere became so peaceful, so harmonious, that they were almost beside themselves. Mona got out her mending and Stasia her paint box. I took it all in as if it were happening on the stage.
In less than no time Stasia had made a recognizable portrait of me—on the wall which I was facing. It was the in the image of a Chinese mandarin, garbed in a Chinese blue jacket, which emphasized the austere, sage-like expression I had evidently assumed.
Mona thought it ravishing. She also commended me in a motherly way for sitting so still and for being so sweet to Stasia. She had always known we would one day get to know one another, become firm friends. And so on.
She was so happy that in her excitement she inadvertently spilled the contents of her purse on the table—looking for a cigarette—and out fell the letter. To her astonishment I picked it up and handed it to her, without the slightest attempt to scan a line or two.
Why don’t you let him read it? said Stasia.
I will, she said, but not now. I don’t want to spoil this moment.
Said Stasia: There’s nothing in it to be ashamed of.
I know that, said Mona.
Forget about it, said I. Fm no longer curious.
You’re wonderful, the two of you! How could any one help loving you? I love you both, dearly.
To this outburst Stasia, now in a slightly Satanic mood, replied: Tell us, whom do you love more?
Without the slightest hesitation came the reply. I couldn’t possibly love either of you more. I love you both. My love for one has nothing to do with my love for the other. The more I love you, Val, the more I love Stasia.
There’s an answer for you, said Stasia, picking up her brush to resume work on the portrait.
There was silence for a few moments, then Mona spoke up. What on earth were you two talking about while I was gone?
About you, of course, said Stasia. Weren’t we, Val?
Yes, we were saying what a wonderful creature you are. Only we couldn’t understand why you try to keep things from us.
She bristled immediately. Wha
t things? What do you mean?
Let’s not go into it now, said Stasia, plying the brush. But soon we ought to sit down, the three of us, and get things straight, don’t you think? With this she turned round and looked Mona full in the face.
I have no objection, was Mona’s cold response. See, she’s peeved, said Stasia. She doesn’t understand, said I.
Again a flare up. What don’t I understand? What is this? What are you driving at, the two of you?
We really didn’t have much to say while you were gone, I put in. We were talking about truth and truthfulness mostly … Stasia, as you know, is a very truthful person.
A faint smile spread over Mona’s lips. She was about to say something, but I cut in.
It’s nothing to worry about. We’re not going to put you through a cross-examination.
We only want to see how honest you can be, said Stasia.
You talk as if I were playing a game with you.
Exactly, said Stasia.
So that’s it! I leave the two of you alone for a few minutes and you rip me up the back. What have I done to deserve such treatment?
At this point I lost track of the conversation. All I could think of was that last remark—what have I done to deserve such treatment! It was my mother’s favorite phrase when in distress. Usually she accompanied it with a backward tilt of the head, as if addressing her words to the Almighty. The first time I heard it—I was only a child—it filled me with terror and disgust. It was the tone of voice more than the words which roused my resentment. Such self-righteousness! Such self-pity! As if God had singled her out, her, a model of a creature, for wanton punishment.
Hearing it now, from Mona’s lips, I felt as if the ground had opened beneath my feet. Then you are guilty, I said to myself. Guilty of what I made no effort to define. Guilty, that was all.
Now and then Barley dropped in of an afternoon, closeted himself with Stasia in her little room, laid a few eggs (poems), then fled precipitously. Each time he called strange sounds emanated from the hall bedroom. Animal cries, in which fear and ecstasy were combined. As if we had been visited by a stray alley cat.
Once Ulric called, but found the atmosphere so depressing I knew he would never repeat the visit. He spoke as of I were going through another phase. His attitude was—when you emerge from the tunnel, look me up! He was too discreet to make any comment on Stasia. All he dropped was: A rum one, that!
