STORIES
Gilbert Sorrentino
SHE IS THE aUEENLY PEARL
Walking peacefully on that familiar street, or perhaps another,
for who knows truly the face of the streets? I marveled that it had been
only moments before, or perhaps hours-perhaps an eternity!-that I
had walked this same street, or perhaps another, for the face of the
street is unknowable, we walked together, arms linked, to the world
another happy couple (would it were so!), for what casual stare could
have picked out the terror and depravity that we both knew, now, that
we had to face? I mean picked it out of our faces . She looked sideways
at me, quizzically, almost as if she had never seen me before, and I
laughed, embarrassed, and automatically glanced down toward the
area ofmy manhood. But there was no telltale sign there of the passion
that had almost engulfed me in its black satanic power. The imper–
sonal city, the great, dark, thrilling city, that no one can ever know the
heart of, bustled and hummed about us.
Later, over coffee, she told me, haltingly, sketchily, with sobs and
in anguish, bits and pieces ofher life, her sad, brave little life. I did not
want to hear it. I fought against my feelings but to little or no avail; the
words enchanted me, wove a glittering web, like the web that Circe
wove to discourage her swinish suitors, magical, enthralling.
It
was a
remarkable story, a remarkable life, almost unbelievable, cluttered
and jumbled facts and time heaped together-yet from it a strange
Truth rose like a mysterious attar. And as she talked on and on, I knew
that our bond had become that of steel, I knew that evil and disastrous
experiences would not,
not
prevail over our mutually beloved Ned
