538
PARTISAN REVIEW
punch, and places his smelly palm over my mouth. I scream merci–
lessly; Mother lets out a cooing sound. "Shut him up," the conduc–
tor pants. The officer unbuttons his holster and, through the win–
dow, shoots the crows off the telegraph poles. In the dining car I play
simultaneous games of chess with my corpulent jailers: one bad
move and they'll string me up.
My wife arrives, she was my last wish. Her blond hair is pulled
back in a bun, and she tries on one wide-brimmed hat after another.
She'd like to know which one looks the best. "They'll hang me," I
say spitefully. "Stop that , silly," she says, and makes a circle on my
face with kisses. The train pulls into a glass-roofed station enclosed
by iron railing. All the trainmen are prisoners. A one-armed inmate
brings me a clean shirt; I look for the prison seal on it. They take my
picture and place an inkpad under my fingers . "Any lice?" a voice
asks. I walk , wearing a collarless shirt, long underwear, and unlaced
shoes. "They'll finish you off in the nonsmoking waiting room."
"Why there, of all places?" "Because there is a reception for mem–
bers of the government in the other waiting room. Don't you see the
red carpet?" I find myself closed in by rusty, dilapidating walls.
Women with black-and-blue marks urinate standing up in little
alcoves. I am made to walk between two rows of men; their pistol
whips hiss on my back-I don't have to be urged to move on. I yank
open the window and jump; wire netting spans the prison yard, I
bounce on it a few times . Now I am sitting on a bench in the corri–
dor; next to me is a rosy-cheeked guard, and by his side a pale civil–
ian; then another rosy-cheeked guard and another pale civilian-we
are all handcuffed together. From the corridor they take us to the
bath; inside we see our reddened monkey-brethren, water dripping
from the tips of their cocks. With their eyes closed, their heads
thrown back, they are soaking in the mud of memories, in Sundays
past, in amniotic fluid. Under the shower, on a wooden rack , I squat
with my head bowed. I have the razor blade that I managed to hide
during the body searches. This would be a good time to slash my
wrists and watch the soapy water wash away the blood. Rusty water
is dripping from the spout now; guilt bedews my forehead. I sit in
the hall and they come to tell me I have a daughter. I sit in the hall
and they come to tell me my friend will not recover. I sit in the hall
and they call me as a witness, as a defendant. Nobody calls me now .
Visiting hours are over.
