The Autobiography of Red Read online

  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.