The Turn of the Screw

Transcription

1 The Iow Review Volume 2 Issue 2 Spring Article The Turn of Screw Joyce Crol Otes Follow this nd dditionl works t: Prt of Cretive Writing Commons Recommended Cittion Otes, Joyce Crol. "The Turn of Screw." The Iow Review 2.2 (1971): Web. Avilble t: This Contents is brought you for free nd open ccess by Iow Reserch Online. It hs been ccepted for inclusion in The Iow Review by n uthorized dministrr of Iow Reserch Online. For more informtion, plese contct lib-ir@uiow.edu.

2 The Turn of Screw Glori Joyce Crol Otes TUESDAY, JULY 6. A wide sny bech. Pebbles big s hnds. Here sky is bluer thn it is t home. Got out of hotel before nyone could sy hello?need be lone fter lst night. Uncle nd his hcking cough! Styed up most of night with him. His coughing is like noise of erth, its insides shifting. I imgine erth splitting drw old mn down, his body tumbling in crter, in Hell.... (Curious bout Hell: will mke much noise?) flmes Hd red Bible him while he ly re coughing nd spitting. Didn't py ttention me. Finlly he slept?round five. I fell on my bed fully dressed nd slept until seven. Sleep like deth. In morning I got out fst, my hed echoing with Uncle's wful noises... so gld be lone! And n strnge thing... hppened. A mile from hotel. Me wlking fst, enjoying ir, smell of se. Gret gulping breths of ir. My new boots slick with mud, my eyes fixed on before me... ground glncing up I sw girl, hrdly more thn child. Twelve, thirteen yers old. TUESDAY, JULY 6. Alone here, hidden, sick t hert. Awy from tht horrible numerosity. The oppression of London sky, terrces bd in evil light, nnge of hisry, o mny horizons brought up short.... tht Chimneys mock, beckon. Stined nd wered like cheeses.... The stern se. demnding It, o, mocks. But it does not know me. Idle now for weeks, for month nd hlf. Dying by se, Wering sme two or three sets of clos?no need chnge?nonymous gentlemn drk-ringed bout eyes with filure?frid of new rrivls t hotel: but re ll y strngers. This morning I nerly collided with young mn I hd noticed lst nd n older night?he mn, probbly his fr, rrived yesterdy, old mn pprently quite ill?sw him wlking long bech, lone. Rr finely dressed nd yet with look how strnge tht I should feel so certin of this!?of being doubtful of his clos, s if y belonged someone else. A wistcot of ple stin. Excellent boots. Htless, drk red hir, very strong fetures? eyebrows re especilly drk nd firm? eyes downcst s if serching String t me! 36 University of Iow is collborting with JSTOR digitize, preserve, nd extend ccess The Iow Review

3 She clled out something me, strnger. A high wheedling voice. Words I couldn't her. senses My rushed ger, stinging. I ws def. A pull my insides. Pin. Ah, tht girl!?not pretty but full-fced, full bodied, her eyes gleming slits bove her corse pinkened cheeks?eyes s if re were gleming lredy secret between us! A dress of some green mteril, over her full shpeless hips nd thighs; her plump little feet in boots, splttered with mud; her cheeks red s if pinched, very excited, strnge drk eyes gleming... A hed of curls?drk blond, depths of blond nd shdow, enough mke my body che. Licking her lips. One foot extended s slightly if in dnce. Cried out me? question ner voice tilting upwrd shrilly?but noise of wves drowned her out, my blood drowned her out, puls in ers. ing my Her gleming eyes. The mist seemed thicken nd clok us both. My eyes filmed over, filmed over.... Bell-like ne her voioe. I could see now veins in her throt. Behind her, hlf mile from bech, like fortress?is it building church? A wrehouse? Stinging film over... my eyes my hert is pounding... Around us on violently bech: no one. Hert Empty. dense pounding, temples pounding, dew-like moisture on every prt of my body, cold nd slick s fog, my insides in... I of pin. Suddenly thought my uncle bck in hotel: he might be dying. A thicket for us. Gint bushes, spongy ground. The pebbles fde. The girl bcks wy from me. Wide string smile. Her fce protruding, plump. Something bout her wet mouth tht out his fte re, on ground. Something herldic bout him? for senses t figure rt?my stung sight of him? Then I sw, stnding frr up bnk, ner thicket, tht poor little girl who runs loose in wn sometimes?"not in hed"? right she ws beckoning young Americn. Some instinct mde me shy hlt, bck up?wht would hppen? I wnted turn nd hurry wy. Befuddlement bout us? everywhere of crshing wves? young mn's smrt gittion?his clos suddenly clos of n cr. I must leve, must leve! Flushed fce? girl's frizzy blond own hir?my strnge eltion?she is putting her hnd out him, she is clling him but I m o fr wy her. He will uch her, tke hold of her rm. He will pproch her nd uch her. The three of us stnd on bech in tl silence. Witing. It is o lte for me turn nd hurry own wy?my fce flushed nd churns dngerously heted?something in my brin nd fixes me here spot?his bck is me: Wht does his fce show? She is string up in his fce?she sees?wht words re pssing m? Wht words re spoken such time? between He pproches her. His stiff bck. She drws wy, Gint bushes tesing. will hide m from me. Pnting, dizzy. I will be sick. He hs tken hold of her now?yes, he hs uched her? two of m drwing bck, bck, lmost out of my sight?y will hide t 37 Fiction

4 is ferful... but I cnnot it is sp, o lte, I cnnot sp my hnd from out her... There! Her reching rm, her elbow. My close bout fingers her elbow. Giggling, bcking wy... brnch ctches in her hir nd n snps wy gin, snps stright... my fingers sliding up her rm shoulder nd she is lughing fintly, brethily, down on her upper Up is s gleming if with she is no more cunning, very young, thn twelve or thirteen yers old... her chest rising nd... flling little body stumbling bckwrds, drwing us both bckwrds in thicket.... She gve jump. A little screm. Jerked wy from me?pointed some where behind me?wht ws it? I couldn't see nything. Wht? Over come with hve mde pnic?j terrible mistke. My uncle hs followed me. The girl rn wy. Behind me on bech re ws no nothing, one, I sod re trembling nd string bck up bech, no, no nothing, one, nd yet hd ide tht someone hd been re us stnding wtching only few seconds before.... I mselves from me?it is going hppen, it is going hppen? The girl scremed suddenly. Lept bck. Must hve seen me. I hurry up bnk, must hide. Must get out of ir sight. Hert sickened with fer, pnic... I must not stumble.... Reddening terrible fce. The dowdy room I hve tken: its smll chrms nd beguilements, etched glss, lce curtins, dust of sorrow, sorrow, sorrow.... In mirror my fce me. surprises So so ple, frightened! I hd thought it be, for one confused moment, fce of tht young mn. Not my uncle...? Slick with swet. Oh, reeking. My hed is still pounding. If nyone hd seen... if... nyone. Uncle would bndon me, like rest, if he hd seen.... God: dy. help me get through ech WEDNESDAY, JULY 7. Ppers still filled with Vicri's Jubilee. Uncle Wllce t brekfst, robust nd scornful, n excellent mood. Eggs, hm, st, mrmlde, WEDNESDAY, JULY 7. Sleepless. Preoccupied. Idle now for month nd hlf. My life: turned over nd over s I turn this pper 38

5 buns. Sntches up pper red me n item: snorts with disgust. Brekfst tkes n hour nd hlf. The dining room hs high cvernous echoes. The room ceiling: everything is not much used, hotel not much used. Everyone looks English except us. Cold mely independent fces. A womn in her fifties t ner erly tble... dull red-blond hir, brusque mnnish... but her fce gestures is ttrctive s she wrd glnces me, pst her husbnd. Uncle does not see. Reding tliird newspper, grunt ing, coughing up something in his... seside windows npkin. By n English fmily with three children? oldest girl bout ten. A child. Alone t nor tble is middle ged mn in rough tweedy jcket, o big for him, sipping te. Reding pper. Very British. Lifting pper turn it he glnces wrd Uncle nd me?our eyes meet?n he looks wy. A lrge rigid fce. Eyes piercing. With Uncle t seside. Grunts, clering his throt vigorously, string out t se. It disppoints him. Spits something up in his hndker chief. Wht if he dies...? My first trip Europe; three months of trvel hed; wht if he sickens nd dies nd leves me lone? No. Behind him is my fr. His bror. Dying lso, dying very slowly. Decdes of it. In Bosn y tke decdes. Qurles Ltd., Dry Goods. Loosed, wht would my body do...? Run from this wreck of mn. Run. Noble wreck, ruined noble fce. Cscdes of wrinkled shrivelled flesh on his neck! Bck in Bosn y re over us?two of frowning sourly kind, two filures. Uncle nd nephew. When Uncle Wllce ws my ge he ws lredy fr... Then weight in my hnd, something flung down, forgotten. be Brekfst. Creful not stre t him. Hot, hot te. There is delightful fmily t window tble?rr hzy light?rin dy? No mtter. I will bicycle out in isoltion. My hert hs been turning inside me, tugging one side. A leden sickish I tug. surrender.... He is sitting with old wer gentlemn, ing clos tht fit him splendidly. Yet somehow not his. I turn my pper very briskly, netly, drw his ttention.... An instnt of our exchnging recognizes His eye me wnders glnce... perhps he from wy yesterdy? from me. red hir. Close-curling Hndsome, ple, Americn fce. Sits erect t tble like son. I imgine he is perhps twenty-five yers old, nd most dredfully bored in compny of tht old mn, somehow thrown in with him for trip, yet I don't believe tht re fr nd son.... y Absurdly sd: re y leving room. Yet n eltion? dining prospect lies hed of furr meet ccidentl Is re ings, meetings. nd mysterious perhps incompre hensible llince here? Subdued. A solitry brekfst. The fmily hs left dining room now? I her excited tlk of n crrige, excursion?two nd girls boy, beutiful children. The boy is by fr youngest nd wlks with bold stride. To be fr, fr of tht.. Wht. would tht prticulr boy. 39 Fiction

6 children died. First boy, n girl. Then wife. Now I m his son, Two filures. mybe. Uncle in chir below hotel. Attendnts eger Cool for plese. July, y tlk of chnce of clering by this fternoon, lwys squinting t sky nd mking prophecies. The middle-ged ldy greets us doubtfully; yes, it is cool for July, she sys. I m bored, bored. In cnvs chir beside Uncle. t String se. More blue here thn bck distnces?i cnnot home?choppy sp thinking of tht girl of yesterdy, tht child on bech. My body tries shrivel. I think of my cousin Mdeline?tht fce of hers. Accusing me. He sid things me! Sid things! Like girl of twelve, herself. But she ws twenty-four. Next week I will be thirty. Uncle clering his throt loudly, spreding blnket cross his knees; more newsppers. of Brings edge his hrd cross his moustche. fingers Someone ner puses him. Cne in hnd, junty for mn his ge, his berd trimmed spde-like shpe. Drk. Net. He is but gentlemn nervous?wers polk-dot bow tie nd golfing cp. Hevy-set thighs nd rso. in Uncle Wllce nd he re tlking. "... north of Bosn...?" "... Clinns, Arnold Clinn, finnce... imports...?" "... crowds in London?... wful!" My eye is drwn out edge of se. Women: girl of yesterdy. Eyes secretive s slits. Her foot? mud? men? How could it be experienced, so deep nd terrifying condition? Beutiful children! Idle. Yet smll fever begins in me, s if I were bout strt work. Idle nd nervous. But I see tht I m not heding for my room, no, I m wlking quite resonbly hedlong in kind of hush?post-brekfst solemnity in this droll old hotel, ll in kind of hush, fixtures overdone nd pompous nd hushed, held breth, s in tht eerie moment when some thing grs or crouches in for n ttck.... preprtion Ah, bech. Poor helpless eyes bobbing bout?from horizon shore?re y re, seted. The old mn humped nd tyrnnicl. The young mn with legs crossed;* white trousers, hndsome high-butn shoes, n ir of indolence nd The son imptience. of welthy fr, certinly. Approching old gentlemn. His sudden rised fce?querulous wtery eyes?yet I introduce myself quite esily. Ah, re yes, y Americns; should I seem surprised? From Bosn. It turns out tht we know someone in common. I cht quite hppily, quite esily with old mn. seems hve My gittion subsided. Ignore young mn's stre?it is her own good my voice conscious of gin?o Self, o hunted, driven by Self, lwys Self. I must overcome myself. Ptrick Qurles II. His nme. I think of Dickens?for we re ner Dvid Copperfield's country?no, I think of Stendhl: young mn 40

7 nkle? ple sckings? of leg inside scking? knee? thigh clf Old men chttering: of London, of crowds, this over screming, clumsy doing of fine thing, mn in golfing cp sys. Ah, cords of her litde throt were tut with concentrtion! Chep mteril of dress drwn tight cross smll bosom, s tight veins of throt, tense rteries of smch, loins... blue veined thighs, shdowy soft insides of... thighs. London defced: n trocious sight. Miles of... unsightly scffolding sudden, new vision of our n ge, unwelcome perspective of century tht lies hed tht Mchinery infurites nd deflowers nd... destroys. Wlking slowly down bech. Why do I wnt run, run wy from m, chtter of old men!? root is live in me, in me. stirring Trembling. Ugh. I m live nd old men re dying or re ded, if I over glnce my shoulder t m I would see two only ging gentlemen one in cnvs chir, bundled up for cool July morning, or with cne thrust his through rm, words tht do not mtter, flow of words tht do not mtter wy pebbles of this wide wet bech mtter?nd behind m, in Americ, own my fr stnds like monu ment, his shdow rooted him t his bse, unshkble. Cn you shke m? You wlk wy from m. lounging idly, restlessly, mbitious nd yet not strong enough direct progress of sry he is in. Con demned lmost nd never be quite rel, quite symptic. He seems be listening s I spek of London.... He is mn mrked for some strnge For destiny. women? Yes, but more. He does not know wht his fte will be. Nervous, I m beginning be nervous.... He is like young niml: no hisry. The old mn contins ll ir fmily hisry. Drws it up in him. We chtter two wonderfully, Americns, he seems be impressed with my denuncition of nonsense. Jubilee Cn understnd best hrsh brsive words. The young mn gets suddenly, unccountbly,... wy. his feet nd strolls The old mn is lrge monument: nephew smll mrker. In flsh I see ir fmily grvesite. Yes. I, here so nd stnding helplessly timidly, cne tucked through my rm, nd smiling smiling, grvesne of o frgile substnce: wintry gusts from this se would me. destroy I light cigr. 41 Fiction

8 THURSDAY, JULY 8. Ws informed of letter for me? ok it from clerk, surprised, for who would write me??hving left home s I did?could not recognize hndwriting?wlked confused out front of hotel, lmost slipped on steps tht were wet from morning's envelope rin?re nervously? My Der Boy, open I m nxious for this letter do nothing except soo you, encourge you, insist upon simple joy you hve given me by existing so innocently nd so nobly s yourself. From my timid post of observtion your future strikes me s rich nd enormously open, wide s ocen? nd I beg tht you do not destroy it by ny impulsive ct?for, you see, I ws most reluctnt nd helpless witness Tuesdy's smll episode? or by ny systemtic nd perhps more wsteful surrender of your youth nor's ge. Be free: I rejoice in your very being. No signture. I stumbled long street?cobbled street?row row upon of smll blnk houses, wer of shops, church nd its crumbling ivy wll mind in ter whirl?pnic?must up this letter nd get rid of it Went in pub. Seted, my eyesight blotched. Din inside my hed. Lst night Uncle kept me wke gin, reding Bible him. Words kept rising in my hed: Why doesn't he die! My fer of him, my love for him. Why don't y ll die, die! I order smll beer nd drink it t once nd in instnt in which I close my eyes I cn see ir bodies THURSDAY, JULY 8. Wlking quickly long shore. Unble think. Must think. Not fit for compny now?my fce msk of grimces, tunts, smirks, bewilder ments, smll nd pins plesures, fetureless s se. Not humn now. Not humn. To hve dred wht I did!... A sleepless night, plpitting hert. Absurd t ttempts pryer. Godless pryer. But some something, thing must id me, must me beguile out of... out of myself memory of wht I hve done... memories of Fr's fits of mdness, Imginry seizing his throt, Demon lwys beside him, squtting, leping up when he did not, could not, hve it.... Am I expected my fr's son, fter ll? Heroism: mdness. cquiescing tht At botm of my soul it squts, like tht dwrf of demon: fer tht I m md, evil, reckless, sick, corrupting, contminting, loosed, formless, like wves here sucking upon pcked snd, desolte, in exhustible, dmned.... Why did I write him tht letter? Yet? joy of this morning! The utter bndoned joy of writing, seling of envelope, very slow, slow, firm ddressing of nme tht suddenly seems hve been my own invention, hve been known me ll my life: Ptrick Qurles II. Wht is he? A disinherited son?so I hve gred. He hs look of London urchin grown nd clod 42

9 bobbing nd ebbing in tide, bodies of old, old men, ssed up wrd n nonymous shore tht is neir Americn nor English, just shore, just bodies of ded. Why don't y die nd free us from m??free us life? fternoon. men Spent Segoing here? retired in ir men?noisy greetings?"wht ho!" y cll out ech or when y meet?n fll in silence?but silence is not wkwrd. Women. bout. Moving They glnce t me nd my hert feels enormous, One womn suffocting. stres openly t me. A brod smile, strggly hirs on her forehed... skin not ple like Mdeline's but opque, blunt... esing scking from her musculr leg, hevy flesh, drk hirs growing out of flesh... but I stnd suddenly, hurry wy. Must get bck hotel before Uncle is ngry. I re letter up in smll pieces nd threw it wy. splendidly?n cr? nervous flitting consciousness tht no clos cn define?i will clo you. Wht will hppen when our eyes meet? Tht fteful terrifying instnt of our common knowledge! I will bow him, I will cknowledge every... Breth in thing meekly. rgged spurts. Aging. My best work is behind me. Now, hed of me, is work of nor kind... He is so young, he is pure instinct. The old mn, uncle, wnts suck his energy. Ignornt old mn! I m md hve such... thoughts. shrp pin in my chest s I climb hotel steps, which seem suddenly mountinous.... Is he steep, here, witing? The letter in his hnd, witing? FRIDAY, JULY 9. Excursion by crrige. Out long country rods in spite of drizzle. Uncle's sour me for cough. Forgve leving him yesterdy: his heir. Women. Foul nd sluggish in ir evil. Mud on my boots, scummy feel of my own skin. My cousin's ters nd red-rimmed eyes. The womn in tvern: veins of her flesh would hve been hidden deep inside tht opque ftty skin. Afternoon te: Uncle gorges himself. Buns, Beer. Coffee. jm. Whiskey. Smll met pie. My duty rise obediently s son, seek out more FRIDAY, JULY 9. Feverish nd Sleepless. very hppy. Three letters composed for him, nd I hrdly know which select. All of m? The chmbermid listens with her good plin worried gze upon me. I begin explining crefully, but end by stmmering, my eyes filled with moisture?"mr. is n Qurles sensitive... nd extremely gentlemn he would be distressed be ld tht he wlked off with my letters this... he morning quite simply picked m up by ccident, when we cht... I clled pused ger. fter him, of course, but, s you my 43 Fiction

10 food. Which re we villge in? Wht is its nme? The mp I studied is mrked with nmes of plces I hd wnted explore?blundesn, Gret Yrmouth, Bournemouth itself?but everything psses now before my eyes in mist, senses my sting, mchinery of my brin rces hed wht, wht?? Cution, letter dvised. Wht does tht men??why cution?? Am I bout do something I must be urged ginst? Uncle's piggish grunts. The Royl Bth Hotel. Will I outlive him? St in pub with him, lonely pub. Thought of hell. Spirits brushing ginst us in dylight, dmned. Wht could y tell us bout hell if y could spek? know, he doesn't her so well quite... nd... nd I would ctully not mtter prefer bring up him, nd certinly I would prefer never see poor letter gin if it were of... of question question insulting him, however..." indirectly. Nods in sympthy with me. Grimly. Out of her mild gze I think I see nd something growing?shrp dedly nd cunning?but no, I must be imgining it. Imgining it. She replies tht it is out of her control.... Only mnger, perhps. Very hrd for her know wht do.... But no, no, I sy t once, mnger must bsolutely not be bored; I will surrender letter?gily I tell her this, redy bck wy?she frowns, blinks slowly nd stupidly t me? she consents. Suddenly Dutiful Nothing nephew more. sick mn. Ah, she consents! And within five minutes we re re, in tht room! The Qurles hve tken rr grnd suite of rooms. A sitting room of relly lvish proportions?excellent furniture? in crpet much finer condition thn one in my sd little room? tht stres out blcony wonderfully t se nd sky. There is little old ntique of writing desk which I pproch, under chmbermid's wtchful eye, for my letter would be here if Mr. Qurles hd relly wlked off with it?nd humbly, timidly I bend over desk, in tht good ldy's sight, nd do not uch nytl?ng on it. Only yesterdy's Times. A letter tucked in its envelope, postmrked Bosn. I shke my hed?nothing here?nd, with slight questioning rise of my eye brows, indicte tht I will tke one just step inside this bedroom String t me impssively. Wht is she thinking? Cn she guess? The forbidden rises one's fce in 44

11 presence of such women, y positively drw guilt out, expose everything?but though I m nervous extremely nervous, I smile rr brvely bck t her?how she stnds wtching me!?and so I open door one of bedrooms nd simply len hert is inside?my pounding It is his room. Scent of pomde. Tobcco. For long icy moment I stnd re? my body rigid with necessity of showing nothing, bsolutely nothing, s if hunters nd ir dogs will be upon me if I flinch?i feel his strnge heedless presence bout everywhere me, me. rushing upon So much more closer nd derer thn he might ever be in his own person? "No luck, sir?" chmbermid out. clls SATURDAY, JULY 10. Three letters. Tht drk demnding hnd?not ldy's hnd?it is someone like myself, shouting t me?trying mke me her? A womn young nd her mor brush me pst with scent of something hrsh nd bout flowery m?my nerves re re jumping?people beginning notice me. An elderly mn is string quite openly t me?did he write se letters? I wlk out quickly. Must be lone. My Der Boy, Understnd only tht I wish you well only well!?nd tht I should not SATURDAY, JULY 10. Anor sleepless, ching night. The chmbermid's fce hovering in my privte drkness?witness of my folly!?this I will morning press upon her smll sum, hopefully not bribe? or hve I come tht? A gift, sign of my grtitude for her kindness, her? No brekfst this morning. My smch is so wek, I m so pre... I m terrified.... occupied Must imgine him. Him. I stnd on blcony nd think of him, envision him, only him. The se is choppy nd leden dy. Everything disppoints us tht is not humn. Few people strolling out. Ldies with ir long dresses, so drsticlly 45 Fiction

12 communicte so strngely nd so secretively if or mens were open me.... The lst sentence is crossed out, I cn't mke out nything. No signture. protected. Gentlemen. Hts, gloves, pipes. Must imgine him. No freedom. Fllen upon evil dys, sick dys signs of devsttion ll round me, inside me? My Der Boy, You re generous llow me write, knowing tht it is only mnner in which I my hold you close, ly upon you?oh, so soothingly!? most respectful of hnds?i see in your fce terrible need. 1 fer for you. Will you stnd on shore nd ccept se fril words of mine, will you ccept only gift I dre give you?words, prophecies Fox 2l long moment I cnnot think. Wht is hppening? It is s if secret own self?my self?were me writing like this, hinting t terrible knowl edge? prophecies: wht does tht men??are re spirits, ghosts? Is re future self? future Ptrick Qurles?gzing bck upon me, seeing me, from future? 1900's, when we my ll be free!?nd reching bck bless me? And so I stnd on shore, yes. I ccept. In this dour chilling breeze I m very hppy, nd I turn slowly look bck t hotel?tht monster of hotel! Who is wtching me? He must be gzing t me from one of windows. But I dre not wve. Wht does he think? Is he re? Is re relly nyone re? I stre in spce, smiling. Across distnce something psses in me, like breth. Lighting cigr I stroll down bech nd open third letter. A Ah, he is re! Wooden steps. The bordwlk. Ah, he is... he is reding reding my letters.... He is wht I hve reding written him, in such nguish! Disgust? Shme? Or cn he sense humn wish behind it, wish spek kindly nor soul, soul....? solitry Feverish. The wind inside my hed, not cooling it. Wind. Fever. My hed is swimming. He is stnding re with his bck me?his figure blurs nd swims in my vision?i wnt cry out him, "Must I grow old? Must I die? If you wlk wy from me I will die?" No?he is turning? His figure ginst somber wter. Unimgined?such splendor! He is looking wrd me but I drw bck t once, in shdow of room? my eyes brimming? Across tht spce he seems bless me. I must put my hnds out ginst French doors, I must stedy myself or I will fling myself forwrd, outwrd, my deth Yes, he looks t me. It hs hppened. The distnce between us is holy. A hush.... He is my living Self: I see tht now. s I hve never Living lived. He is mgnificent. I m live in 46

13 letter from friend, one who wishes me well nd knows me, knows me. him nd ded, ded in myself, live in him, only in him? but My Der Boy, You re without hisry nd so you must free yourself from it. But cution. Am I speking mdness? Am I offending you? Or cn you under stnd how I should, if I dred, quite openly invite you len upon me s kindly fr...? The sense tht I cnnot spek you, cnnot revel myself rments you?this me, mkes me che t bitterness of things. I rech out wrd you?i let you go?i bndon you? More words crossed out. Something tries come through those X-ed out words. A commnd. Angry urgent words. Utter cution. A voice hs I know re re I spoken. ghosts. understnd m. I feel m in this medievl wn, on ll sides of me, hrsh nd innocent with ir cold piercing eyes nd ir vicries? ir terrible vicries? J will kill him. No. words re not mine. I will never ly hnds upon him. The mrk of my hnds would show upon him, it would screm out tht I ws his murderer?/ will suffocte him?i will not come ner him, no. No. I will sit quietly t his bedside s he strngles in his own phlegm? poison tht bubbles up out of his ugly soul Will I sit t his bedside? Will I wtch him die? Will I dre nything? Will I outlive him? In lifetime re re few moments of such bliss. Trembling, hiding, in shdows of my room... sfe. Sved. My hert lunges bckwrd in sfety. Must hide. Must remin hidden. I m growing old, yes, soon I will be s old nd s s ugly his uncle?yes, nd it is we right, must be pushed side, we must die?must cquiesce drkness?our heirs demnd future. They demnd tht hisry be turned over m. In this moment of joy I m trns formed. He, he is myself: wlking wy! Free wlk wy! I must strin see him, his hndsome figure bout fde in low-hery breness of country, tht shy purple nd gold tht runs nerly edge of se.... A moment o deep for ny utternce. It tkes me n hour dress. I m shky, yet. A little feverish. Soon I will be working gin?i will work through him. He will possess me. I m redy work, redy even return col-gry skies of London, tht sky tht encloses nd entrps mind He hs undersod my messge. My love. I hurry downstirs. I must feed birds in grden?i hve forgotten bout m for dys?the grden is deserted, hushed. Everyone is elsewhere. Only he nd I re here, our minds beting with beuty of this sombre grden nd its wide grvel pths nd its pinched roses nd wered wlls? 47 Fiction

14 In lifetime re re few moments of such bliss. Trembling hnds. The birds re reluctnt?only sprrows?sdly, sullenly in re wet?why y reluctnt come me? Strved nd men me? nd yet reluctnt come Next Issue TIR 2/3 SUMMER 1971 Fiction Gerld Jy Goldberg Jeremy Shw Chrles Aukem Philip Dmon Criticism Thoms Vogler, Robert Lowell: Pyment Gt He Nne Robert Lowell, Purgry Thoms R. Whitker, Voices in Open: Wordsworth, Eliot, Stevens Glwy Kinnell, The Poetics of Physicl World plus Twenty-three pges of new poetry 48