The Collected Stories of Diane Williams

by Diane Williams

  On her fence sat an animal with its face turned away from her. Its penis was at an upturn, and she called authorities to inquire about that one. There is something in her inquiry which is a shriek.

  In swollen volume, animals dawdle beneath her auto and they surround her auto. She notifies authorities. Come here. I want you to feel what this is like.

  An animal on her roof—its silhouette revealing a narrow waist—spit—spat its acorn at her.

  Certain animals have intentions to awe, to com­fort, to guide, to be gossipy—to be observant, to be sly, to be thoughtful, and more. To be witty, to come to light, to be worth waiting for.

  ROMANCER

  ERECTOR

  a novella

  1

  How keen I have been with my thinning mind, with my large feet in new shoes, to have a life story.

  I feel unsteady and am afraid of my boyfriend.

  I unbutton my vest and I say, “What a marvelous, adorable boy!

  And for now, there’s a slight bulge in my acumen.

  2

  Soon I laugh and am willing to stay the night here.

  There is old pottery and a gilt chair, and an unold mouth about to kiss me.

  I’ll wind up in this position with the boy’s father, our host, Don Musgrave.

  I regard the boy’s boyishness in the morning.

  I show him part of my breast and he puts crayon marks on paper.

  “May I have a drink of water?” the boy asks, for he is not aggressive, as if in romantic trouble.

  A dark pink river is visible beyond the window. This is the dark pink River Urine.

  You’ll see.

  3

  As a woman of my own devising I have had an actual undoing—a fairly smooth, horizontal, waist-high undoing—at this residence.

  I took my bedding downstairs for washing in a big heap that was teetering. It isn’t peaceful here and there is gray in the child’s hair.

  He digs a hole in his mother Cora—or something—and she groans and then the child’s charm briefly reappears.

  The Burgundys—two other guests—keep speaking coarsely. And the dirty Burgundys are the first guests to go home.

  That Musgrave boy with the gray, black-tipped hair is now bathing and there may be some similarity between Don Musgrave and me—a slight fullness of the throat, deep creases about the cheeks.

  4

  Can we do any more with this—with this encampment? It is on The River, on the corner diagonally across from the other corner on which stands the Church of Transfiguration. This encampment is very small and is slightly under the overlapping folds of its surroundings.

  Not surprisingly, the settlement narrows into a cashew shape that conveys a frowning expression.

  5

  It’s as if the Musgraves work harder than I do.

  They talk to me. They give me money. I don’t have much money, but I love to be with young kids.

  The boy’s eyelid area is rounded. He has a triangular face. His lower lids swell. Everybody loves this boy.

  One night his dad Don told me to sit down or to lie down on the mat.

  “What is it?” I say.

  He isn’t lucky with his wife Cora and I come here all the time and he gives me clothes.

  “Harder, even harder,” he says.

  He says, “You don’t have to do that unless it gets you excited.” He says, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  6

  While he uses the facilities, I loll, because I have been running around all weekend, sort of like a crazed man.

  I have small breasts and a sharp-edged collarbone and hard flesh. My nose is long and my eyes are slits.

  It is difficult to explain the true details of my head.

  I am two-thirds life-size.

  My costume ties behind my neck and fits over my trousers. I have chains and strings around my neck.

  At this residence I am a guest and I am with the rest of them, in a gown, eating.

  7

  I see the sofa I am sodomized on often enough and although I qualify for a big romance, most nights I am in bed by myself because the child who might be at my side has gastroenteritis.

  So let me start again to be sweeter. I will someday cook them all a meal.

  8

  To two medium pieces of bread I add a pulpy center.

  The process of letting my spirit rise in a warm place until it’s double its size used to occur to me more often than it does now as I sit at my desk.

  I make notes, drink up, and try to forgo indifference. I take a brief nap in my chair.

  9

  Later I’ll explore the stylish rear of the house.

  For nothing is so hopeful or so merry as rooms in which there are garlands and bow-knots and a great deal of plaster paneling.

  But my neck doesn’t look that good any more and Don says that’s because that’s where people have tried to strangle me.

  10

  I go out to The River and stare at some of the forces of life.

  There is another one of them every time I turn around.

  The orchard within my reach has a complex past and the trees are fragile.

  I am angry toward the end of the day, but you won’t have to find out much about that.

  11

  If you’re still here, you’ll have some food, which is very tasty—whole wheat bread!—no-meat croquettes, and creamed green beans!

  The real story begins on Wednesday—although I have storyish ideas, but no story in me.

  And, admittedly, if you speak to me, I cannot hear it.

  12

  This is my friend Kim Burgundy, my friends Steve, Cora, and Don.

  Should we change the furnishings? Are they nice enough for you?

  My acquaintances—propping themselves up among their pals—are pretty much as you might expect.

  And an examining hand may soon be proceeding along you smoothly—even bringing about that old bugbear pain.

  13

  You can still have a cup of coffee—plus you will need to produce at least bits of rugged individualism because this is America!

  14

  A group is yapping away.

  15

  And if there is any great USA supper it might be braised beef balls and creamed potatoes.

  16

  Although, if any of this needs to be any different—it can’t be—this is the end.

  IT WAS LIKE MY

  TRYING TO HAVE A

  TENDER-HEARTED

  NATURE

  (2007)

  Again, you decide what appeals to you.

  —jo ippolito christensen

  ON SEXUAL

  STRENGTH

  a novella

  1

  The Wife Would Come to Us

  Mr. Bird was sexually strong. That sounds good. Three—four times a night—he’d wake his wife up and thereby pass himself off as a man who encour­ages one to get certain ideas.

  The wife would come to us and cry! That sounds harsh.

  They’re all dead now and perhaps I am.

  “She is not a slut,” Bird had said, when he intro­duced me to his wife.

  From his wife we heard she spent her life obtain­ing troubles.

  Mrs. Bird’s name was Blanche. I am the neighbor.

  My eyes are brown with a dash of green, with a dash of gray.

  2

  “Stay for Lunch!”

  One late morning when Mrs. Bird came over, I said, “Stay for lunch. Why won’t you stay for lunch? Do you want to stay for lunch?”

  “No,” she said.

  I did not manage to exit the room. It may have been that I opened my trousers and I regarded my long peni
s.

  Blanche smoothed out her blouse. Her blouse was very lavish. Lavish? I mean that her blouse was very large and very clean!

  The noise of an airplane engine rubbed at our heads.

  Her hair she kept off of her forehead with a headband.

  My semen dropped onto Blanche’s beige slacks.

  3

  Reddish Skin and This Red Flesh

  Hell, I had been putting things into myself and things were coming out of me and I couldn’t close enough up.

  Blanche had reddish skin and this red flesh.

  I was very worried about sex, because, you know, I’d never had any formal training.

  I offered her a molasses nog.

  She wept and scrubbed at her slacks with a dishtowel.

  Blanche, who is a big-busted woman, neatened herself. I do not know why, but in my big kitchen back then, almost from the start of her visit, I was thirsty for embarrassing moments.

  We sat in the room and I tried to attract her. It’s fully air-conditioned for summer.

  She wiped her cheek with a blue sponge from the sink. Her short pigtail was tied with a red ribbon hanging down her back.

  4

  Oh, If You Want, Yes

  I live in the domicile I did back then and at the upper end of my property is Voight Street.

  I’ve still got the damask curtains and the mahog­any cabinet, the flowering currants and winged euonymus, the inkweed, and my downy serviceberry.

  I am an American fur sales manager.

  My mishap with Blanche Bird could have been shrugged off. Oh, if you want, yes, I did shrug it off.

  At any rate, Blanche even returned and she said she appreciated many of the things I had done for her.

  My wife was sick and she stayed in her room.

  I brought out my silver sedan and asked Blanche to take a ride. After questioning her, it appeared we’d go.

  The state trooper found us and returned us to my home.

  5

  Both Were Busy with

  Their Penises

  I heard myself called by name. My wife was in the vestibule acting uplifted by daily wear and tear.

  The pets we own, I noticed then—one with a tan muzzle, the other with a dark brown muzzle—both were busy with their penises.

  “Do you want to be petted?” I said. “Then come here.” They have pointed small snouts and erect ears.

  Neither of—neither, none of us, we did not, nor did the Birds have children.

  They’re like little snails without their shields.

  6

  I Knew I Liked Sex

  I went outside to toss the slugs off the lettuce and Blanche excused herself.

  Try as I may, I was going over my morning stuff.

  I knew I liked sex. I just couldn’t get enough practice.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if many, many people know the whys and the wherefores of the modern methods for sex—up-to-the-minute, well-balanced information.

  Well, my wife has a customary sympathetic man­ner and she enjoys breast play. Her mother told me.

  Somebody said if you bury a bottle of beer, all of the slugs will leave your lettuce alone and they will drink your beer! Now there were so many slugs it was just crazy!

  7

  A Very Personal Matter

  The afternoon at the factory was quiet. Athena brought a big pie and made coffee.

  I am a perfect bore. That sounds harsh.

  For the hundredth time, my factory is in the rear, past the showroom.

  I was happy to get home as early as I planned.

  My wife was seated, maybe, with her hands at her crotch. “If my life is ruined,” she said, “it was the right thing to do.” She smiled over it.

  This—you can see—is a very personal matter.

  I am Enrique Woytus and nothing remained for me except to figure and to doodle into a space between a few hours earlier and the next moment.

  At this moment my wife offered that she did not feel influential.

  8

  Fruits and Flowers

  The Birds, on the other hand, went out a lot. And they even traveled to cities in the north and stayed at hotels.

  Sight seen! At the back of the house, between clipped hedges, there are fallen fruits and flowers. Let it remain so.

  In point of fact, this is a story dominated by activi­ties going smoothly before the interruption.

  To this day I think I hear a bird’s wings flapping or a dog shaking his body in the showroom.

  9

  “Don’t You Think

  That Will Be Nicer?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Bird were visiting us. Mr. Bird said to me, “I think you’re excrement.”

  I had just kissed his wife Blanche, either on, down inside, or near her collar. On my mouth, her flesh felt much to my liking. She had a tiny amount of hair dragging around her neck and one or two small, dull dinner rings on her hands.

  When the Birds arrived we had opened windows, saying “Don’t you think that will be nicer?”

  Those were the days when the troubles were grad­ually beginning to fit the occasion.

  Before throwing open the door, I had cooked a tropi­cal supper, and I had been looking forward to a vacation.

  Mr. Bird made a comment about the smell of mold in the house, about which I am very sensitive.

  I thought to suck my pipe and I invited all of them to have a drink.

  10

  Guide My Heart!

  I pulled myself back from politeness.

  “We are not your guests,” Mr. Bird said.

  Guide my heart! I had labored over my wife and I had labored over his wife, using my back rim circular spreading.

  This is a mercy how I defended myself in the com­bat. I did not get really wet. It might have been only a few drops.

  11

  Bottom to Top

  I got down and went to the bathroom to clean up. I changed my garments, bottom to top.

  The first part of my body hit was my head—next my happiness, my thoughts, my fears. I suffered a con­cussion. Was knocked out for a quarter of an hour.

  I ate a lot of fruit as a remedy. I had pain in the spleen.

  12

  My Wife Said

  The house behind you—where you see craft items and the specialty products on the lawn—is where the Birds used to have their activities and their intercourse.

  The street is arched over with trees.

  My wife—my wife is resigned to a life somewhere between laughter and tears. “We’d all be blamed,” my wife said, “if we were never misunderstood.”

  To my credit, at the factory, the in-rack was filled.

  13

  I Had Tossed It Aside

  The morning when the Birds made another entry had brought cooling seas and high altitude winds.

  I wonder if the head of the penis has the most nerve endings. I had tossed it aside, moistened.

  Rudy, the Birds’ large pet with rough fur came in. The door to the patio was open. Mr. Bird moved the table. Sure enough, there I was, but nothing appeared more firmly rooted than did Rudy with his caramel face.

  I lowered my head while my neighbors advanced.

  “You go back home!” Mrs. Bird told her husband.

  14

  Coldly Ignored

  A letter from Blanche arrived which highlighted what I felt had been coldly ignored.

  Dear Enrique,

  Your skin was not broken, but you call your doctor! (The rest of the letter from Blanche was chatty.) We are in the North and the coffee shops are better than those we have at home. Constipation is another reason the travel is not so simple. Nothing to do is another reason for the same problem, in one sense.

  Blanche

>   I read the letter twice. I had the letter from Blanche and I was busy all day and enthusiastic.

  15

  Dear Blanche

  Dear Blanche,

  I am doing and planning heartfelt, helpful things for myself.

  What suits me is a moment for something to enjoy.

  Enrique

  I really felt ill. I wiped out the back of my throat with my finger.

  16

  Good Behavior Can Come On

  Dear Blanche,

  You are not fortunately at home. Listen, good behav­ior can come on slowly in certain types. Do you know the reason for this letter? This is a roundabout way to talk to you, to be calm and to be reassuring.

  Enrique

  I did not open Blanche’s next letter to me at once because one of the worst days of my life was over.

  17

  Blood-Blackened Cords

  Things get my attention and I horse around into them!

  My job includes giving moral support and I also need to make an impression on the customers.

  I thought I should leave on vacation.