by Anne Carson
it would keep her wrong voice away
from words that belonged to his mother. The baby-sitter went off happily
to find the loon book.
A while later the baby-sitter and Geryon were sitting on the top bunk calling loons
when Geryon’s brother surged in
and landed on the lower bunk, bouncing everyone up to the ceiling.
Geryon drew back
against the wall with his knees up as his brother’s head appeared,
then the rest of him.
He clambered into place beside Geryon. He had a thick rubber band
stretched between his thumb
and index finger which he snapped on Geryon’s leg. What’s your favorite weapon?
Mine’s the catapult BLAM—
he snapped Geryon’s leg again—you can wipe out the whole downtown
with a catapult surprise attack BLAM—
everyone dead or else fill it with incendiaries like Alexander the Great he
invented the catapult
Alexander the Great personally BLAM— Stop that,
said the baby-sitter
grabbing for the rubber band. She missed. Pushing her glasses back up
onto her nose she said, Garotte.
I like the garotte best. It is clean and neat. An Italian invention I believe
although the word is French.
What’s a garotte? asked Geryon’s brother. Taking the rubber band from his thumb
she shoved it in her shirt pocket and said,
A short piece of cord usually silk with a slipknot in one end. You put it
around someone’s neck
from behind and pull tight. Cuts off the windpipe. Quick but painful death.
No noise no blood
no bulge in your pocket. Murderers on trains use them.
Geryon’s brother was regarding her with one eye closed his mode of total attention.
What about you Geryon
what’s your favorite weapon? Cage, said Geryon from behind his knees.
Cage? said his brother.
You idiot a cage isn’t a weapon. It has to do something to be a weapon.
Has to destroy the enemy.
Just then there was a loud noise downstairs. Inside Geryon something burst into flame.
He hit the floor running. Mom!
IV. TUESDAY
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Tuesdays were best.
————
Every second Tuesday in winter Geryon’s father and brother went to hockey practice.
Geryon and his mother had supper alone.
They grinned at each other as night climbed ashore. Turned on all the lights
even in rooms they weren’t using.
Geryon’s mother made their favorite meal, cling peaches from the can and toast
cut into fingers for dipping.
Lots of butter on the toast so a little oil slick floats out on top of the peach juice.
They took supper trays into the living room.
Geryon’s mother sat on the rug with magazines, cigarettes, and telephone.
Geryon worked beside her under the lamp.
He was gluing a cigarette to a tomato. Don’t pick your lip Geryon let it heal.
She blew smoke out her nose
as she dialed. Maria? It’s me can you talk? What did he say?
. . . .
Just like that?
. . . .
Bastard
. . . .
That’s not freedom it’s indifference
. . . .
Some kind of addict
. . . .
I’d throw the bum out
. . . .
That’s melodrama—she stubbed her cigarette hard—why not have a nice bath
. . . .
Yes dear I know it doesn’t matter now
. . . .
Geryon? fine he’s right here working on his autobiography
. . . .
No it’s a sculpture he doesn’t know how to write yet
. . . .
Oh this and that stuff he finds outside Geryon’s always finding things
aren’t you Geryon?
She winked at him over the telephone. He winked back using both eyes
and returned to work.
He had ripped up some pieces of crispy paper he found in her purse to use for hair
and was gluing these to the top of the tomato.
Outside the house a black January wind came flattening down from the top of the sky
and hit the windows hard.
The lamp flared. It’s beautiful Geryon, she said hanging up the telephone.
It’s a beautiful sculpture.
She put her hand on top of his small luminous skull as she studied the tomato.
And bending she kissed him once on each eye
then picked up her bowl of peaches from the tray and handed Geryon his.
Maybe next time you could
use a one-dollar bill instead of a ten for the hair, she said as they began to eat.
V. SCREENDOOR
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His mother stood at the ironing board lighting a cigarette and regarding Geryon.
————
Outside the dark pink air
was already hot and alive with cries. Time to go to school, she said for the third time.
Her cool voice floated
over a pile of fresh tea towels and across the shadowy kitchen to where Geryon stood
at the screen door.
He would remember when he was past forty the dusty almost medieval smell
of the screen itself as it
pressed its grid onto his face. She was behind him now. This would be hard
for you if you were weak
but you’re not weak, she said and neatened his little red wings and pushed him
out the door.
VI. IDEAS
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Eventually Geryon learned to write.
————
His mother’s friend Maria gave him a beautiful notebook from Japan
with a fluorescent cover.
On the cover Geryon wrote Autobiography. Inside he set down the facts.
Total Facts Known About Geryon.
Geryon was a monster everything about him was red. Geryon lived
on an island in the Atlantic called the Red Place. Geryon’s mother
was a river that runs to the sea the Red Joy River Geryon’s father
was gold. Some say Geryon had six hands six feet some say wings.
Geryon was red so were his strange red cattle. Herakles came one
day killed Geryon got the cattle.
He followed Facts with Questions and Answers.
QUESTIONS Why did Herakles kill Geryon?
1. Just violent.
2. Had to it was one of His Labors (10th).
3. Got the idea that Geryon was Death otherwise he could live forever.
FINALLY
Geryon had a little red dog Herakles killed that too.
Where does he get his ideas, said the teacher. It was Parent-Teacher Day at school.
They were sitting side by side in tiny desks.
Geryon watched his mother pick a fragment of tobacco off her tongue before she said,
Does he ever write anything with a happy ending?
Geryon paused.
Then he reached up and carefully disengaged the composition paper
from the teacher’s hand.
Proceeding to the back of the classroom he sat at his usual desk and took out a pencil.
New Ending.
All over the world the beautiful red breezes went on blowing hand
in hand.
VII. CHANGE
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Somehow Geryon made it to adolescence.
————
Then he met Herakles and the kingdom
s of his life all shifted down a few notches.
They were two superior eels
at the bottom of the tank and they recognized each other like italics.
Geryon was going into the Bus Depot
one Friday night about three a.m. to get change to call home. Herakles stepped off
the bus from New Mexico and Geryon
came fast around the corner of the platform and there it was one of those moments
that is the opposite of blindness.
The world poured back and forth between their eyes once or twice. Other people
wishing to disembark the bus from New Mexico
were jamming up behind Herakles who had stopped on the bottom step
with his suitcase in one hand
trying to tuck in his shirt with the other. Do you have change for a dollar?
Geryon heard Geryon say.
No. Herakles stared straight at Geryon. But I’ll give you a quarter for free.
Why would you do that?
I believe in being gracious. Some hours later they were down
at the railroad tracks
standing close together by the switch lights. The huge night moved overhead
scattering drops of itself.
You’re cold, said Herakles suddenly, your hands are cold. Here.
He put Geryon’s hands inside his shirt.
VIII. CLICK
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So who is this new kid you spend all your time with now?
————
Geryon’s mother turned to knock her cigarette ash on the sink then faced Geryon again.
He was seated at the kitchen table
with his camera in front of his face adjusting the focus. He did not answer.
He had recently relinquished speech.
His mother continued. I hear he doesn’t go to school, is he older?
Geryon was focusing the camera on her throat.
Nobody sees him around, is it true he lives in the trailer park—that where you
go at night?
Geryon moved the focal ring from 3 to 3.5 meters.
Maybe I’ll just keep talking
and if I say anything intelligent you can take a picture of it. She inhaled.
I don’t trust people who
move around only at night. Exhaled. Yet I trust you. I lie in bed at night thinking,
Why didn’t I
teach the kid something useful. Well—she took a last pull on the cigarette—
you probably know
more about sex than I do—and turned to stub it in the sink as he clicked the shutter.
A half laugh escaped her.
Geryon began to focus again, on her mouth. She leaned against the sink in silence
for some moments
gazing down the sight line into his lens. Funny when you were a baby
you were an insomniac
do you remember that? I’d go into your room at night and there you were
in your crib lying on your back
with your eyes wide open. Staring into the dark. You never cried just stared.
You’d lie that way for hours
but if I took you in the TV room you were asleep in five minutes—Geryon’s
camera swiveled left
as his brother came into the kitchen. Going downtown want to come? Bring
some money—
The words dropped behind him as he went banging out the screen door.
Geryon rose slowly,
closing the shutter release and pushing the camera into the pocket of his jacket.
Got your lens cap? she said as he moved past her.
IX. SPACE AND TIME
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Up against another human being one’s own procedures take on definition.
————
Geryon was amazed at himself. He saw Herakles just about every day now.
The instant of nature
forming between them drained every drop from the walls of his life
leaving behind just ghosts
rustling like an old map. He had nothing to say to anyone. He felt loose and shiny.
He burned in the presence of his mother.
I hardly know you anymore, she said leaning against the doorway of his room.
It had rained suddenly at suppertime,
now sunset was startling drops at the window. Stale peace of old bedtimes
filled the room. Love does not
make me gentle or kind, thought Geryon as he and his mother eyed each other
from opposite shores of the light.
He was filling his pockets with money, keys, film. She tapped a cigarette
on the back of her hand.
I put some clean T-shirts in your top drawer this afternoon, she said.
Her voice drew a circle
around all the years he had spent in this room. Geryon glanced down.
This one is clean, he said,
it’s supposed to look this way. The T-shirt was ripped here and there.
GOD LOVES LOLA in red letters.
Glad she can’t see the back, he thought as he shrugged on his jacket and stuck
the camera in the pocket.
What time will you be home? she said. Not too late, he answered.
A pure bold longing to be gone filled him.
So Geryon what do you like about this guy this Herakles can you tell me?
Can I tell you, thought Geryon.
Thousand things he could not tell flowed over his mind. Herakles knows a lot
about art. We have good discussions.
She was looking not at him but past him as she stored the unlit cigarette
in her front shirt pocket.
“How does distance look?” is a simple direct question. It extends from a spaceless
within to the edge
of what can be loved. It depends on light. Light that for you? he said pulling
a book of matches
out of his jeans as he came towards her. No thanks dear. She was turning away.
I really should quit.
X. SEX QUESTION
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Is it a question?
————
I better be getting home.
Okay.
They continued to sit. They were parked way out on the highway.
Cold night smell
coming in the windows. New moon floating white as a rib at the edge of the sky.
I guess I’m someone who will never be satisfied,
said Herakles. Geryon felt all nerves in him move to the surface of his body.
What do you mean satisfied?
Just—satisfied. I don’t know. From far down the freeway came a sound
of fishhooks scraping the bottom of the world.
