‘I’m not gay!’ I shouted in panic. ‘At least, I don’t think so,’ I added, not as loudly.
‘Nor am I, if you want the truth,’ said Cyrus.
‘Of course, they aren’t,’ shouted Dolly from her bed. ‘They drool over Playboy magazine, and that has pictures of naked girls.’
Sera looked at Sam doubtfully. Sam nodded and smiled back. I blessed their innocence.
‘Why were they in each other’s arms?’ said Sera, shaking her white head.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you why,’ I said, smiling like Hercule Poirot in the last chapter of an Agatha Christie. ‘I’m giving up law.’
‘But you’ve hardly started, lad.’
‘Isn’t that good? I haven’t wasted too much time.’
‘No!’ cried Sera. ‘Please, Brit—no—it’s bad enough Dolly’s leaving us and now you—’
‘What’s the connection?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Write.’
‘Hooray!’ said Cyrus, raising me in his arms like a glass of champagne. I’d never, in my life, been so high. That should’ve told me where I was headed next.
from The Golden Gate
Vikram Seth
4.24
Phil looks at Ed: intense, athletic,
Silent—the sort of man whom he’s
Uneasy with. But Ed’s ascetic
Tension betrays his own unease;
And by now Phil’s free-floating status
(Buoyed by spirituous afflatus)
Projects goodwill on all mankind—
And so, in half an hour, we find
The pair engaged in conversation,
Which, now that he’s regained his cool
And half slipped back to playing the fool,
Revolves round
Ed’s prolonged narration
Of how he happened to procure
A green iguana from a store.
4.25
‘ . . . They had a sale on small iguanas—
Babies—a span long, kind of cute.
Sure, I’d gone in to buy piranhas,
But seeing them, I knew they’d suit
My image: I could take them walking
Through the Financial District, talking
To them about the price of gold.
We wouldn’t make the centerfold
Of Playgirl, as they aren’t too pretty,
But what the heck, I didn’t care:
Traffic would swerve, and folks would stare
—I had it figured out—the city
Would halt, the cops would come and say,
“Get those darn things out of the way!”
4.26
But, sadly, Arnold Schwarzenegger
—I got just one—looks really strange:
His legs keep getting bigger and bigger
But not his torso—Should I change
His food?’ Ed asks with some disquiet.
‘Don’t know,’ replies Phil. ‘What’s his diet?’
‘Salads, and larvae—and bonemeal.’
‘Why that?’ asks Phil. ‘Because I feel
His jaw’s so rubbery and floppy
He may need extra calcium.’ ‘No.
The phosphorus-calcium ratio
Is far too high in bonemeal. Copy
My method: cut that bonemeal out,
And feed it vitamins till it’s stout.
4.27
To feed it bonemeal is to maim it.’
‘You’ve kept iguanas, Phil?’ ‘Oh, sure—
Iguanas, rabbits, dogs, you name it!
My wife—but I don’t any more . . .
(Phil’s speech grows slurred) . . . We got a spider—
Paul and I call it Easy Rider.’ ‘Who’s Paul?’
‘My son. He lives with me.’
Ed frowns at Phil: ‘Why shouldn’t he?’
‘Oh! I’m divorced,’ says Phil. ‘You married?’
‘No, no—’ ‘Well, don’t! Women are turds.
That whole snake pit is . . . for the birds,’
Phil mutters—but his slurs have carried
To Jan, who with ferocious mien
Injects herself into the scene.
4.28
‘Phil, you’re obnoxious . . . (Like a razor
Her voice dissects him) . . . when you’re drunk.’
Her eyes bore through him like a laser.
‘What . . . ? What . . . ?’ In an amnesic funk
‘What did I say?’ asks Philip (thinking,
That’s Jan . . . she’s pretty nice . . . likes drinking..
What’s made her mad?) ‘ . . . Hey, have a drink—’
He offers her a glass. ‘Men stink!’
Janet exclaims with tingling fury.
‘You puke all over us, then say,
“What did I do?” file us away
As saint, virago, nag, slut, houri
Or household pet or household drudge—
God—Claire was right . . .’ Phil does not budge
4.29
From where Jan leaves him, rooted, staring.
He leans in foggy shock on Ed.
Then in a voice drunk and despairing:
‘I’m plastered! What was it I said?’
‘Nothing you meant. You’re right. You’re plastered.’
‘I’m going . . . home . . .’ ‘Unless you’ve mastered
The art of driving straight when drunk,
Once you’re behind that wheel, you’re sunk!
I’ll drive you home. Come back tomorrow
To fetch—’ ‘I live near Stanford, Ed.’
‘Oh . . . well, in that case, share my bed—
Just don’t try driving!—You can borrow
My toothbrush too. Come on, let’s go—
Good night, Liz—Bye, John—Homeward ho!’
4.30
They totter car-wards. Now Ed’s driving
Toward his Spartan lodgings, where,
Within two minutes of arriving,
Stretched on the bed, Phil sees a chair
Piled high with shirts, a tennis racket,
A Bible, an unopened packet
Of guitar strings, a saxophone,
Shaving cream, razor and cologne . . .
A commentary on Aquinas
Rests on the floor, while on a shelf
Lies the august Summa itself,
Next to (in order) Conquering Shyness,
The Zen of Chess, The Eightfold Way,
Theories of Film, and the Pensées.
4.31
Phil looks around at Ed’s housekeeping.
Ed yawns, and strips off shirt and shoes.
Silence outside. The iguana’s sleeping.
This quiet grid of avenues
With red-flowered gum for decoration
Lies deep in slumber and sedation.
‘It suits me, Phil. The flat’s quite small,
But there’s a garden, after all—
And a small pool for the iguana . . .’
Phil’s bleary eyes rest on a bowl
Of fruit, a crucifix, a roll
Of film, a photograph of Lana
Turner, who smiles across the floor
At Holbein’s sketch of Thomas More.
4.32
‘My patron saint.’ ‘Which one?’ Ed, grinning,
Says, ‘Go to sleep!’ and turns to pray.
He asks forgiveness for his sinning,
Gives thanks for the expended day,
Consigns his spirit to God’s charity . . .
Now Philip, with exiguous clarity
And some bewilderment, sees Ed
Cross himself twice, then come to bed.
Lights out. Phil mumbles, ‘What a party!
I really blew it then with Jan.
Ed, thanks a lot. I mean it, man—
I haven’t yet met a Dorati
I didn’t like . . . (Across the bed
He reaches out and touches Ed) . . .
>
4.33
. . . Good night.’ Ed fears to answer. Trembling,
He moves his hand across the space
—What terrifying miles—assembling
His courage, touches Philip’s face
And feels him tense up and go rigid.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ed says, in a frigid,
Half-choking voice, ‘I thought you might—
I didn’t mean—I mean—good night.’
Taut with a cataleptic tension
They lie, unspeaking. Phil thinks, ‘Why
Be so uptight? He’s a great guy.
I’ve never bothered with convention.
God! It’s a year that
I’ve been chaste . . . ,’
And puts his arm around Ed’s waist.
4.34
Now, just as things were getting tenser,
And Ed and Phil were making love,
The imperial official censor
—Officious and imperious—drove
His undiscriminating panzer
Straight through the middle of my stanza.
Now, Gentle Reader, is it right
This swine should put my Muse to flight,
Rooting about among my pearly
Wisdom till he finds orts that he
Can gobble down with grunting glee?
Forgive me, Reader, if I’m surly
At having to replace the bliss
I’d hoped
I could portray, with this.
4.35
I’ll move the ménage to mañana,
But under protest. Saturday
Dawns bright and clear, and the iguana
—Fantastic dragon of green clay,
Great saurian from realms primeval!—
With scraping, scuffling, and upheaval
Bestirs himself now in his shed.
Ed yawns and half gets out of bed,
Returns and nuzzles
Philip’s shoulder,
Puts on his jeans, and goes to get
An avocado for his pet.
He says, ‘Poor Schwarz. It’s getting colder.
This heat’s kaput. Tonight, instead,
You can sleep underneath the bed.’
4.36
The warty beast observes Ed coldly,
Stares at the green and mottled pear
He proffers. Noisily and boldly
He crawls towards him, unaware
Of the loose leash that Ed is holding.
Ed slips it round him, gently scolding:
‘Now watch that dewlap—mind those spines—’
But Schwarzenegger undermines
All of Ed’s efforts at persuasion
—By jerking, clawing—until he
Obtains his avocado. ‘We
Are now prepared for an invasion.
Of our quiescent neighborhood.
You want a walk? . . . (The head bobs.) . . . Good!’
4.37
Ed leaves, upon the kitchen table,
A note: Dear Phil, Please help yourself
To breakfast. Sorry I’m not able
To make it. Coffee’s on the shelf.
I’ll be back soon. Ed and his lizard
Now do their rounds: a comely wizard
And his unsightly basilisk.
Behind, two neighbors’ children risk
Utter and prompt annihilation
Should the familiar’s fiendish eyes
Turn on them. ‘You’ll burn up,’ Pam cries.
She quakes in fear and veneration.
‘Coward!’ says Gabrielle in a tone
Of scorn. ‘You’ll only turn to stone . . .
4.38
You scaredy cat!’ Pam begins crying.
Swiftly the reptile eyes look back.
Gabrielle gasps. Pam, petrifying,
Awaits the fiery-tongued attack.
‘Hello,’ says Ed, ‘meet my iguana,
Brought all the way from Ecbatana
In the mysterious land of Wales
For kids to stroke his shiny scales.’
Pam thaws to Ed’s enlightened coaching:
‘Here’s how to pet the friendly beast.
He isn’t slimy in the least.’
Pam frowns and touches him, reproaching
Her friend (who’s having none of that)
With ‘Yeah? Now who’s a scaredy cat!’
4.39
Perfecting their aerobic labors,
Once more around the block they creep,
Greeted by mailmen and by neighbors.
When Ed returns, Phil’s still asleep.
But, upon waking, to his credit,
He does not try to expunge or edit
—With, ‘Geez, I had so much to drink
Last night, I really cannot think
What happened . . .’—what in fact transpired.
He smiles at Ed: ‘Good morning.’ ‘Hi!
Coffee?’ ‘You bet.’ Ed’s somewhat shy.
‘This coffee really gets you wired,’
Phil says. ‘It’s just like . . . (With a groan) . . .
Christ! Paul! Ed, may I use your phone?’
4.40
‘Sure. Phil—if Paul has no objection—
Would you—I’ve got this weekend free . . .’
Phil dials, nods, gets the connection.
‘Joan? This is Phil. Is Paul—I see—
I’ll wait . . . Hi, son, how are things going?—
Chuck’s baseball cap? Great!—So they’re showing
What? Star Wars? No, I can’t allow—
Now, young man, don’t you teach me how . . .
Paul! Did you hear me? Star Wars—Never!—
I don’t care what she lets him do—
What’s that? Chuck will make fun of you?—
Well, just this once then—But don’t ever . . .
(Alas! that such Affected Tricks
Should flourish in a Child of Six!)
4.41
. . . You’re welcome—You’re a tricky fellow—
Does Monday suit you?—You don’t care? . . .
(Phil laughs) . . . You’re having fun!—Don’t bellow:
It sounds worse than a madhouse there—
See you then, son—No, nothing, staying
With a friend—Ed—yeah, that’s right, playing! . . .
(Phil shakes his head) . . . Now give the phone
To Mrs Lamont . . . Hello there, Joan.
Thanks for all this—Not Sunday, Monday,
Yes, after school—Yes, he can see
Star Wars—Say hi to Matt for me!—
That’s very kind. I hope that one day
I can take care of Chuck for you
When you’ve got other things to do.’
4.42
The weekend kicks off with a glorious
Brunch at an open-air cafe.
Champagne and omelettes. Ed’s censorious
Conscience is dormant for a day.
They drive across to Sausalito;
Later, divide a vile burrito
From Taco Hut, and wash it down
With a Dos Equis, cool and brown.
Ed suggests tennis next, and trounces
His friend with effortless panache;
To cool themselves they take a splash
In Schwarz’s pool, where Phil denounces
Schwarz as the dullest, dimmest, and
Least soulful beast of sea or land.
4.43
The iguana stares: obtuse, phlegmatic,
Full five feet long from tail to snout,
He complements Ed’s sharp, erratic
Essence (as wurst does sauerkraut).
With evening, Ed and Phil go walking
Through the calm city—laughing, talking;
A mentor’s what Ed needs; and Phil,
Warm and Socratic, fits the bill.
At night, Ed brings in his iguana.
Phil eyes him warily, while he
Eyes Philip just as warily.
Phil tries to bribe him. A banana?
The monster bloats his jowls at this,
Emitting his hoarse gular hiss.
4.44
‘Phil, don’t annoy.’ ‘The causation
Should run from him to me instead . . .
But I suppose I’m on probation.
Where will he sleep?’ ‘Beneath our bed.’
‘Beneath our bed? His least vibration
Will rock the room to its foundation.’
‘Don’t slander Schwarz.’ ‘Well, on your head
Be it if one of us is dead
By dawn—’ ‘It’s just for the duration
That the heat’s knocked out in his shed.
I’ll fix it. If it’s cold,’ says Ed,
‘And Schwarz goes into hibernation,
It could be months . . .’ The quadruped
Advances now with torpid tread.
4.45
They sleep. (There is no other option.)
Their ectothermic chaperone,
Taking to his in-house adoption,
Sinks into slumber like a stone.
Ed goes next day to church, confession;
He strays home with a lost expression,
And mumbles, ‘Phil . . . I don’t know quite
If what we’re doing is . . . is right.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Philip, puzzled:
‘We both—’ ‘I know,’ says Ed at length,
‘I’ve prayed to God to give us strength
To—Phil, I—O my God, I’ve muzzled
Love’s only true voice, Jesus Christ,
Who came to earth and sacrificed
4.46
His life for me . . . for me, a sinner.’
Phil looks at Ed, then says, ‘My friend,
Let’s fix that heating. After dinner
We’ll talk this out.’ But dinner’s end
Sees Ed in new heart altogether,
As if a cloudburst of black weather
Had been dispersed and, rinsed by storm,
The night is generous and warm.
Phil looks at this good-looking lover’s
Face as he prays: its casque of peace
Cleansed of all turbulent caprice
And guilt, and, as they pull the covers
Over themselves, says, ‘Ed, I’m glad
For these three evenings that we’ve had . . .’
4.47
What does Phil see in Ed? Why does he
Seem so committed to him? True,
Once at a party, drunk and fuzzy
—John would be shaken if he knew—
Phil made it with a guy at college.
(Well, once or twice.) And he’d acknowledge,
Even when married, now and then,
His eye might stray toward other men.
But that’s it. And, though unconventional,
That too seems meager cause why he
Should fall for Ed so speedily.
Yaraana Page 12
