Читаем Fall and Rise полностью

“We could still fool around. You don’t get herpes through the hand, though I wouldn’t want you to do it with your mouth unless you—”

“I’ll talk to my gynecologist to see what I can do in the future with a carrier. Now I better go,” and I start for the living room.

“Then just sleep over. I’m telling you, you can’t get it unless I stick my dick in you. I’ll wear pajamas. I’ll wear my bathrobe in bed and keep my underpants on or change into a fresh pair.”

“I’m going home. All I’m asking from you now is to help me get a cab.”

“Damn. Fuck it! Piss! Oh hell, I’ll drive you home.”

“You have a good parking spot. Is it good for tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t lose it. Just put me in a cab.”

“And if I hadn’t told you I had herpes?”

“And if you hadn’t?”

“I would have felt lousy. Worse. Suicidal to the point of kicking myself. Okay, get dressed. But take all the books I gave you. My one condition, or no cab.”

I change in the bathroom. He has his coat on when I come out and is holding my coat and bag and a shopping bag with the books in it.

“My umbrella!” I say. “I left it at the reception.”

“Want to phone them from here?”

“No, and I’m sure I’ll never get it back.” I look inside the shopping bag. “Looks like more books than before.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise when you got home. I found some other Japanese books — beauties, one only on cats in Japanese art. Nobody loves cats more than you and maybe no people but the Chinese painted them better than the Japanese. You even have two Siamese. Sammy and Sue. How are they? I miss them. Getting off your couch with my pants plastered with their hair. Fish. I remember those long white sausages of slightly digested fish I’d step in early in the morning on my way to your john. And your temperament is practically Japanese. Soft — I’m talking about stereotypically Japanese — and your voice mostly softspoken and your attitude so polite and deferential in company, so it’s perfect these gifts.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying about me, but you win.”

I have my coat on and he hands me the two bags. “My apologies, Helene. It’s been a bad night for us and my library but not Japan. You might even think of changing fields after several close thumb-throughs of these books, so maybe also a bad night for American literature but Japan’s gain.”

“You never know. But there are plenty of things Japanese I’ve always liked. Music, food — movies, other than for the ones where dogs walk around with human hands in their mouths.”

“With Yatsuko — talking about food — I never walked out of those restaurants the way most people say they have — hungry. She ate sparingly. I used to have my plateful and then half of hers. But one last time.” Before I can stop him he has his arms around me and is kissing my neck, working his way up diagonally to the jaw. I try to squirm free, bag of books drops to the floor. “What are you doing? You can’t get herpes from kissing or hugging either, unless I’ve sores on my lips or open wounds on my fingertips which I’ve kissed with my herpes-infested lips. But I don’t. Just on my dick.”

“God, was coming up here ever the mistake. What’s next on your list, rape? Get off me?”

“After I leave you downstairs,” letting me go, “I’m going to whack off. Put vaseline on it, which I do only in extreme cases when I need a walloping release,” and he grabs his penis through the pants, “and jerk the thing till it hurts,” and demonstrates.

“Why do you have to elaborate so much? Don’t answer.”

“I don’t have to elaborate. I do have to answer. I’m disappointed, so I’m trying to be nasty as shit to you, which includes being graphic. But in the end, to myself, well—”

“Let’s go.” I unlock the door and leave.

“Don’t forget the bag of Japanese.” He gives it to me, “No, it’s too heavy,” takes it back, and we wait for the elevator, standing several feet apart, and take it down, two of us against opposite walls watching the floor numbers light up. I say goodnight to Russell, who says “Don’t be a stranger.” Peter whistles for a cab and says “You have enough money?”

“You don’t think it’s a little late to whistle so loudly for a cab?”

“Don’t worry, they’re my neighbors. And listen, Helene. Maybe in a few weeks—”

“Got ya.”

“Lunch I’m talking about. Only lunch. It’s clear to me now that anything but that would never work.”

“We’ll see.” He opens the door, leans forward to kiss my cheek and I pull back my head. “As I said, let me check with my doctor first to see if it’s safe,” and I get in the cab.

He puts the bag of books on my lap. “You cunt.”

“Bull. You brought it on and have always brought it on and will continue to bring it on yourself,” and I slam the door.

“What?” he says through the window, and raps on it. “I didn’t quite hear that. What, you cunt?”

The cabby’s laughing.

“Don’t you laugh, you moron,” Peter yells, and slams the cab roof with his hand.

“Hey,” the cabby says. “Hey! Hey!”

“Hundred-tenth off Riverside,” I say, “and don’t get out, don’t fight — please.”

“Okay,” and he drives away.