Kiss Me, Judas by Will Christopher Baer
The necklace you gave me, she says. The black locket. It’s gone.
I’m sorry. I tell myself not to be sorry, not to care. But I can’t help it.
There’s a woman sitting on a bench across from me. It could be the woman I saw talking to Jude. Her face is buried in a magazine. She has short, muscular legs in white stockings. A short gray dress. She crosses her legs and smoothes the nylon along one thigh with her palm. The dress slips and I see the lace of a garter. My knees weaken. My wife used to wear a garter when she was feeling like a dirty girl.
Phineas, did you hear what I said?
I close my eyes and hold them shut.
What? What did you say?
It wasn’t rape.
Eve, please. Listen to me. The man who did this is dead. He’s dead.
No, she says. It wasn’t rape.
Okay, I say. It’s okay.
This might sound crazy, she says. But sometimes I think it was a woman. A very strong woman.
I open my eyes and the woman is gone. The crossed white legs and flash of garter were an illusion. I turn to look at Jude. She still sleeps, her face innocent and dreaming and I tell myself nothing sounds crazy.
What did she look like? What color was her hair?
I’m sorry, Eve says. I don’t know.
What about the police? What do they think?
They think I’m in shock and I’m nineteen. They think I’m a lesbian.
I love the cops.
They asked me a thousand questions about you, she says.
And Georgia is missing, I say.
It was Georgia, she says.
I don’t say a word. I watch Jude sleep. I can hear Eve breathing. I tell her to lock her doors, to be careful of strangers. I tell her I can’t talk anymore.
The phone buzzes in my hand. I hang up and call the hospital again. I ask for the emergency room and I am put on hold. The same void. The same churning in my belly. I watch Jude sleep and finally a sexless voice comes on the line. Emergency room. Can I help you?
I need to speak with Rose.
I’m sorry. The voice coughs, or chokes. Rose?
Rose White. She’s an intern. A student.
Perhaps you would like to leave a message.
Perhaps perhaps perhaps.
Excuse me, sir?
I want to speak with her.
Hold on. And papers rattle. A metallic whine and other voices distorted, underwater. A male voice comes on the line, suspicious and cold. He asks me to identify myself.
I know who I am. Who are you?
The voice hesitates, then tells me that there is no one in the emergency room named Rose White.
I’m hearing things. The ticket clerk chews a breath mint and I hear the delicate crunch of teeth against bone. A boy with gold hair is tossing pennies at a wax paper cup and the coins ring against the floor like high heels. An old woman with pale, stretched cheeks has sewage in her lungs and every time she takes a breath, I can hear the liquid rattle in her chest. I didn’t have the wrong address when I went to the little Hobbit house to meet Rose. The Blister got there before me with a crew of federal agents dressed up like exterminators and plumbers. She opened the door with a trusting smile and they swarmed inside and devoured her. They drugged her and rolled her up in a faded Turkish rug that she found at a flea market for a real bargain and stuffed her into an unmarked white van. Then they emptied her house and surgically erased all evidence of her existence. They left the FOR SALE sign in her yard and sent the real estate agent along to deal with me.
The phone is buzzing, disconnected. I say thank you and feel myself slinking. I sit down with my back against the wall and watch Jude sleep. I close my eyes and see a brightly colored beach ball, kicked and punched and abused by sunburned drunks until it is nearly ragged, deflated. Soon the ball is pulled high by the wind and allowed to drift for a while.
I feed my last quarter into the machine and dial Moon.
He grunts, hello. And I try to sound casual, uninterested. I ask him to look into the disappearance of a young woman named Rose White.
Are you kidding.
I am silent for a long time and Moon asks if I’m okay.
It’s important, I say.
Moon wants to know where I’m calling from and I hang up on him.
sixteen.
The sound of metal against metal. The train doesn’t move. Jude sits with her eyes closed and her gloved fingers pressed to her temples. It’s been thirty minutes since they allowed us to board and nothing is happening. I sit across from her and I see a woman in a ski mask with her fist between Eve’s thighs. I wonder when the bar will open. A tall glass of vodka with ice might empty my head. I was drinking the very same thing the night I met Jude.
Why did you choose me? I say.
Her eyes become green slits. What?
At the hotel. Why me and not the bald guy with the gold watch? The midget with bad teeth or the transvestite behind door number three?
Jude smiles and I realize that my feelings will be hurt if it was pure chance. She removes one glove and bites the edge of her fingers. The tip of her tongue, fleshy and pink.
Don’t be offended, she says. But you were an easy target. You were weak and disoriented and I knew you were the one as soon as I saw you.
It was fate, then.
Did you think it was your smile? Your sexy blue eyes, maybe.
Maybe.
*
I slide down in my seat and stare at her until a bright red dot appears between her eyes. I close my eyes and I still see the dot. I tell myself I will put the bullet there, when the time comes. I will kill her. I will kill her. But I’m such a liar.
I was wondering about Pooh, I say.
What about him?
Before you killed him. What did he say, exactly?
Jude removes the other glove and looks at her watch.
We should be leaving soon.
I cross the compartment to sit beside her. I slip my left hand between her narrow thighs and stroke her with my middle finger. The black pants are so tight. The heat from her body is intense and I remember she’s menstruating.
What did Pooh say? I’m just curious.
Jude moves her hips against my hand. It wasn’t rape, she says.
Her breath is quick and I wonder if she’s even wearing panties.
Pooh was never there. It was a woman, I whisper.
Oh, that’s nonsense.
She is surging against my hand. I feel sick. I think I might come in my own pants.
I heard a rumor, I say. A sexy bit of gossip. An angel walked into a hospital in Colorado Springs and turned in a lost kidney. It was used to save a little boy.
Don’t believe it, she says. Don’t.
I pull my hand away and wipe it across my jeans. Jude lets her head sink back against the foam cushion. Her face and throat are flushed, her hands limp as sleeping birds.
Why did you choose me. Why?
There’s a knock at the door and the train begins to move.
A young black guy in a stiff blue suit. Tickets, please.
I give him the tickets and ask for directions to the lounge car.
Jude doesn’t want a drink. She takes her boots off and unbuttons her blouse. Her bra is red lace and again I see blood when I look at her. And something else catches my eye; around her neck is a small, tear-shaped black locket that I’ve seen before. Pooh took it from Eve as a souvenir, a trophy. And Jude took it away from him. I wonder just how stupid she thinks I am. I place my hands on the sides of my head to keep it from spinning off. I’m ten years old and I’m soaking wet. I’m standing in the rain and I refuse to believe that the sun isn’t shining. Look around, I say. It’s coming down in fucking ropes.
What are you talking about? she says.
Nothing.
I have a headache, she says.
Lucy used to have awful headaches. She would go blind. There was nothing I could do for her and I hated her for it. I go to the sink and soak a washcloth in cold wa
ter.
Jude drapes it over her eyes and says thank you.
I want to kiss you, I say.
You stink of guilt, she says.
The lounge car has curved windows, like bubbles in the roof. The sky is blank. I take a seat at the bar and ask for vodka with orange juice. I figure the vitamins will be good for me. The bartender is at least a hundred years old and he pours my drink with trembling hands.
*
Henry takes a seat on the stool next to me. I barely recognize him. His ragged white hair is slicked back with gel that looks hard to the touch. He is dressed in a charcoal gray suit, with a crisp white shirt and black tie. My wedding ring winks at me from his creased and sun-hardened left hand.
He smiles. Greetings, brother.
Henry, I say. Care for a drink?
It’s too early for me. Coffee, he says.
I didn’t know you were taking the train.
Didn’t I mention it?
I gaze at the pale orange drink before me and I remember Jude’s strange lament. The blood of a stranger must be spilled. The bartender places a cup and saucer on the bar and pours the coffee without spilling a drop. I watch Henry dump several packets of sugar into his cup but no cream.
No, I say. I don’t think you did.
Oh, well. It is the only way to travel. Unless you’re in a hurry, that is.
The stranger could be anyone. It could be me.
In the mirror behind the bar I see Jude. She lies on a narrow bed in our compartment, black silk legs bent like a grasshopper. She is hot and has taken off her shirt. One red bra strap falls from her shoulder. She lazily flips through a magazine. She unbends her legs and rests her bare feet on the green icebox that contains my kidney. Shouldn’t we hurry, I say. Before the ice melts.
She smiles at me. Oh, please. Don’t worry so much.
Henry is looking at me, amused. Do you always talk to yourself?
My teeth are chattering and I sip my drink. There’s no kidney in that icebox. It’s money or a bomb or a sock full of dirt. I should wait until she falls asleep and have a look. I do have the key. But if it is my kidney I might fuck it up by exposing it to the world. And if it’s a bomb, then Jude is a liar and I will have to kill her. I don’t want to kill her. I have loved two women and one of them is already dead.
Not always, I say.
Henry finishes his coffee and runs one hand through his stiff, plastic hair.
How is your new identity working out? I say.
He smiles. It’s not bad, brother. There’s a truckload of details to consider, though. What’s my favorite color, my birthday. What do I eat for breakfast and how do I take my coffee. Where am I from and all that shit. My wife’s name and what does she look like. Speaking of which. I saw that little tiger lily you’re with and riddle me this, is she as mean as she looks?
I smile. She’s mean, I say. I turned my back on her once and she cut me open.
Henry laughs. The best woman is like a gun.
Henry is a good actor. He could talk trash and tell lies about women and baseball and money with anybody. I want to tell him it’s unnecessary but something stops me. I don’t trust him yet. After a while he stands up and pulls out a silver clip fat with new money. He drops a few bills on the bar and says he will see me later. I watch him walk away and I wonder who he’s running from.
Jude is exactly as I imagined. Mostly naked and reading a magazine. The green icebox beneath one bare foot. I bend and kiss her toes and listen but the icebox isn’t ticking.
Your face is sweating, she says. Is it the pain?
I sit down across from her and look out the window. The train is going west, chasing the sun.
Jude, I say. The bartender told me this train is going to Los Angeles.
That’s right. Then we take another train down to El Paso.
She goes back to her magazine. She licks her finger and turns the pages slowly. They crackle with alarming volume. Everywhere I look there’s a sign that says NO SMOKING. I stare at the green icebox that may or may not contain a piece of me. The key is in my pants pocket. But I am no closer to opening the icebox than I was yesterday. Nothing good would come of such a betrayal. Something would only perish. My flesh, my strange feelings for Jude.
It seems like a roundabout way to get there. We could have rented a car and gotten there tonight.
What’s the rush? she says. Relax. This is like a honeymoon.
You’re a scream. Isn’t our merchandise perishable?
Oh, that. Listen to me. That is no ordinary icebox. The kidney is vacuum-sealed and encased in a brick of dry ice. You could thaw it next summer and it would be as good as new.
Beautiful.
Your teeth are chattering, she says.
My head is floating on warm black water like a dirty life vest.
That note you left me at the hotel, I say. Why did you want to see me?
I don’t know, she says. I was feeling daffy and I thought I might give you your kidney back. But then I changed my mind. The money was more tempting.
You. You are such a good liar.
I did give it back to you. Eventually.
No. I took it from you.
Irrelevant, isn’t it?
I wrap my arms around my belly, suddenly cold. The pain is very bad, I say.
Jude smiles and reaches for her medical gear. I watch her prepare a hypo with the liquid Valium. She holds it to the light and I see it’s a lovely gold color. Jude crosses the compartment and straddles my clenched knees. A length of rubber tube between her teeth like a rose. Give me your arm, she says.
I bare my left arm and I think of dogs. When a dog meets another dog in the park, the weaker dog rolls over and exposes his genitals, his naked belly. The stronger dog can rip open his belly and eat his genitals if he chooses. The weaker dog trusts him not to do so. Jude ties off my arm with the rubber tube and quickly finds a fat blue vein. The shot spreads through me, cold and then warm and I’m at the edge of dream and sleep. I feel myself slipping but I want to stay awake and still dream. Every sound and smell is hazy and somehow clarified and Jude’s dark yellow skin is hot and porous and unstable as dry sand. I kiss and lick greedily at her breasts and fumble with the straps of her bra and my mouth is wet and I realize I’m weeping. Jude ties my wrists together with the rubber tube and pushes me back against the seat and I think oh I’m going to like this but she whispers hush, hush. She strokes my hair until I fall asleep.
seventeen.
And it’s possible that I followed Rose home that night. She dropped me off at the Hotel Peacock and I watched her drive away. I hailed a cab and said with a crooked smile, follow that car. It was a long silent drive, snowflakes hypnotically rushing at the headlights. Her little red truck pulled into a curved driveway and disappeared behind snow-covered bushes. The address was 1013 Alpine, a red and white house with a round front door. I told the driver to stop. I gave him fifty dollars and asked him to forget he ever saw me. I walked up to her door, weak from blood loss but alive with the rush and promise of her. Rose opened the door and she wasn’t surprised to see me. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her lips were wet, as if she had been washing her face when the doorbell rang. She wore faded green and black pajamas; the shirt was missing two buttons and her belly showed white. She pulled the door open and I limped past her and I smiled when I saw the cat. He was a fat bastard, gray and black with Persian blood. He lounged in a windowsill and regarded me with disdain. Rose said his name was Castro. I took a seat on the couch and it felt very good to sink into the soft cushions; I became weightless for a moment. Rose asked if I was hungry and I said I would love some ice cream. She smiled and disappeared. I opened my suitcase and took out the 9mm; I touched my lips to the silent metal and asked the gods for luck and forgiveness. I slipped the gun between two pillows as Rose returned. She had a gallon of cookie dough ice cream and two spoons. We passed the ice cream back and forth and shared our spoons and watched the evening news without sound.
I wanted to kiss her, to taste her mouth and it was hopeless. I wondered if she would feel my pain at all and slowly pulled the gun from the pillows.
I hear voices but I’m blind. Something soft and translucent covers my eyes and I try to remove it but my wrists are still bound. Jude is talking to someone, another woman. Jude is so cold. She measures her words like spoonfuls of salt. The other woman is asking for something. She is almost begging but not quite. There’s too much hate in her voice, liquid and untouchable as mercury. The voice is familiar.
I never went to the little Hobbit house and chatted with any real estate agent about copper plumbing and afternoon light and a lovely baby’s room. That was a false memory. That was something Lucy did. When she was trying to get pregnant she often went looking at houses and station wagons and patio furniture. Lucy must have told me about that little house with the gargoyle birdbath. I was never there. I was at Eve’s apartment that day; I wore a black ski mask and I climbed the fire escape like a monkey. I pushed open her window and found her in bed with Georgia. They were so graceful together, so sweet. And I knew I wouldn’t need my gun. I pulled Georgia from Eve’s arms and pressed my knife to her throat. I gave her the duct tape and watched, impatient and hot, as Georgia fumbled with the tape. She was furious, breathing through her teeth as she taped Eve’s hands and feet together. I was sick with desire. Georgia came at me spitting and slashing; she was very strong and finally I punched her in the throat. She dropped to the floor, gasping. I dragged her to the bathroom and shoved a rag in her mouth. I hoped she would suffocate because I couldn’t bear to kill her. I went back to Eve’s room and took off my pants. She lay silent, waiting. I cut the tape from her feet and rolled her onto her belly.
I wake again and my hands are free. The cloth covering my face is a red gauze scarf of Jude’s. It smells of honey and dirt. I sit up and flex my hands. The compartment is empty. The green icebox and Jude’s black bag are gone. I am terribly thirsty, as if my tongue were cut out and replaced by a chunk of rotten wood. I go to the sink and fill my belly with tepid, sterile water. I splash my face and take a look in the mirror and I see that my reflection is misproportioned, its movements unrelated to my own. If I concentrate I might appear normal. I examine my teeth, blunt and white and all present. I stroke my beard and consider shaving it but I decide it makes me look less gaunt and malnourished. My hair is growing back, blond and fine. I wet my hands and slick it back. I change into a clean shirt and go to look for Jude.
I’m sorry. I tell myself not to be sorry, not to care. But I can’t help it.
There’s a woman sitting on a bench across from me. It could be the woman I saw talking to Jude. Her face is buried in a magazine. She has short, muscular legs in white stockings. A short gray dress. She crosses her legs and smoothes the nylon along one thigh with her palm. The dress slips and I see the lace of a garter. My knees weaken. My wife used to wear a garter when she was feeling like a dirty girl.
Phineas, did you hear what I said?
I close my eyes and hold them shut.
What? What did you say?
It wasn’t rape.
Eve, please. Listen to me. The man who did this is dead. He’s dead.
No, she says. It wasn’t rape.
Okay, I say. It’s okay.
This might sound crazy, she says. But sometimes I think it was a woman. A very strong woman.
I open my eyes and the woman is gone. The crossed white legs and flash of garter were an illusion. I turn to look at Jude. She still sleeps, her face innocent and dreaming and I tell myself nothing sounds crazy.
What did she look like? What color was her hair?
I’m sorry, Eve says. I don’t know.
What about the police? What do they think?
They think I’m in shock and I’m nineteen. They think I’m a lesbian.
I love the cops.
They asked me a thousand questions about you, she says.
And Georgia is missing, I say.
It was Georgia, she says.
I don’t say a word. I watch Jude sleep. I can hear Eve breathing. I tell her to lock her doors, to be careful of strangers. I tell her I can’t talk anymore.
The phone buzzes in my hand. I hang up and call the hospital again. I ask for the emergency room and I am put on hold. The same void. The same churning in my belly. I watch Jude sleep and finally a sexless voice comes on the line. Emergency room. Can I help you?
I need to speak with Rose.
I’m sorry. The voice coughs, or chokes. Rose?
Rose White. She’s an intern. A student.
Perhaps you would like to leave a message.
Perhaps perhaps perhaps.
Excuse me, sir?
I want to speak with her.
Hold on. And papers rattle. A metallic whine and other voices distorted, underwater. A male voice comes on the line, suspicious and cold. He asks me to identify myself.
I know who I am. Who are you?
The voice hesitates, then tells me that there is no one in the emergency room named Rose White.
I’m hearing things. The ticket clerk chews a breath mint and I hear the delicate crunch of teeth against bone. A boy with gold hair is tossing pennies at a wax paper cup and the coins ring against the floor like high heels. An old woman with pale, stretched cheeks has sewage in her lungs and every time she takes a breath, I can hear the liquid rattle in her chest. I didn’t have the wrong address when I went to the little Hobbit house to meet Rose. The Blister got there before me with a crew of federal agents dressed up like exterminators and plumbers. She opened the door with a trusting smile and they swarmed inside and devoured her. They drugged her and rolled her up in a faded Turkish rug that she found at a flea market for a real bargain and stuffed her into an unmarked white van. Then they emptied her house and surgically erased all evidence of her existence. They left the FOR SALE sign in her yard and sent the real estate agent along to deal with me.
The phone is buzzing, disconnected. I say thank you and feel myself slinking. I sit down with my back against the wall and watch Jude sleep. I close my eyes and see a brightly colored beach ball, kicked and punched and abused by sunburned drunks until it is nearly ragged, deflated. Soon the ball is pulled high by the wind and allowed to drift for a while.
I feed my last quarter into the machine and dial Moon.
He grunts, hello. And I try to sound casual, uninterested. I ask him to look into the disappearance of a young woman named Rose White.
Are you kidding.
I am silent for a long time and Moon asks if I’m okay.
It’s important, I say.
Moon wants to know where I’m calling from and I hang up on him.
sixteen.
The sound of metal against metal. The train doesn’t move. Jude sits with her eyes closed and her gloved fingers pressed to her temples. It’s been thirty minutes since they allowed us to board and nothing is happening. I sit across from her and I see a woman in a ski mask with her fist between Eve’s thighs. I wonder when the bar will open. A tall glass of vodka with ice might empty my head. I was drinking the very same thing the night I met Jude.
Why did you choose me? I say.
Her eyes become green slits. What?
At the hotel. Why me and not the bald guy with the gold watch? The midget with bad teeth or the transvestite behind door number three?
Jude smiles and I realize that my feelings will be hurt if it was pure chance. She removes one glove and bites the edge of her fingers. The tip of her tongue, fleshy and pink.
Don’t be offended, she says. But you were an easy target. You were weak and disoriented and I knew you were the one as soon as I saw you.
It was fate, then.
Did you think it was your smile? Your sexy blue eyes, maybe.
Maybe.
*
I slide down in my seat and stare at her until a bright red dot appears between her eyes. I close my eyes and I still see the dot. I tell myself I will put the bullet there, when the time comes. I will kill her. I will kill her. But I’m such a liar.
I was wondering about Pooh, I say.
What about him?
Before you killed him. What did he say, exactly?
Jude removes the other glove and looks at her watch.
We should be leaving soon.
I cross the compartment to sit beside her. I slip my left hand between her narrow thighs and stroke her with my middle finger. The black pants are so tight. The heat from her body is intense and I remember she’s menstruating.
What did Pooh say? I’m just curious.
Jude moves her hips against my hand. It wasn’t rape, she says.
Her breath is quick and I wonder if she’s even wearing panties.
Pooh was never there. It was a woman, I whisper.
Oh, that’s nonsense.
She is surging against my hand. I feel sick. I think I might come in my own pants.
I heard a rumor, I say. A sexy bit of gossip. An angel walked into a hospital in Colorado Springs and turned in a lost kidney. It was used to save a little boy.
Don’t believe it, she says. Don’t.
I pull my hand away and wipe it across my jeans. Jude lets her head sink back against the foam cushion. Her face and throat are flushed, her hands limp as sleeping birds.
Why did you choose me. Why?
There’s a knock at the door and the train begins to move.
A young black guy in a stiff blue suit. Tickets, please.
I give him the tickets and ask for directions to the lounge car.
Jude doesn’t want a drink. She takes her boots off and unbuttons her blouse. Her bra is red lace and again I see blood when I look at her. And something else catches my eye; around her neck is a small, tear-shaped black locket that I’ve seen before. Pooh took it from Eve as a souvenir, a trophy. And Jude took it away from him. I wonder just how stupid she thinks I am. I place my hands on the sides of my head to keep it from spinning off. I’m ten years old and I’m soaking wet. I’m standing in the rain and I refuse to believe that the sun isn’t shining. Look around, I say. It’s coming down in fucking ropes.
What are you talking about? she says.
Nothing.
I have a headache, she says.
Lucy used to have awful headaches. She would go blind. There was nothing I could do for her and I hated her for it. I go to the sink and soak a washcloth in cold wa
Jude drapes it over her eyes and says thank you.
I want to kiss you, I say.
You stink of guilt, she says.
The lounge car has curved windows, like bubbles in the roof. The sky is blank. I take a seat at the bar and ask for vodka with orange juice. I figure the vitamins will be good for me. The bartender is at least a hundred years old and he pours my drink with trembling hands.
*
Henry takes a seat on the stool next to me. I barely recognize him. His ragged white hair is slicked back with gel that looks hard to the touch. He is dressed in a charcoal gray suit, with a crisp white shirt and black tie. My wedding ring winks at me from his creased and sun-hardened left hand.
He smiles. Greetings, brother.
Henry, I say. Care for a drink?
It’s too early for me. Coffee, he says.
I didn’t know you were taking the train.
Didn’t I mention it?
I gaze at the pale orange drink before me and I remember Jude’s strange lament. The blood of a stranger must be spilled. The bartender places a cup and saucer on the bar and pours the coffee without spilling a drop. I watch Henry dump several packets of sugar into his cup but no cream.
No, I say. I don’t think you did.
Oh, well. It is the only way to travel. Unless you’re in a hurry, that is.
The stranger could be anyone. It could be me.
In the mirror behind the bar I see Jude. She lies on a narrow bed in our compartment, black silk legs bent like a grasshopper. She is hot and has taken off her shirt. One red bra strap falls from her shoulder. She lazily flips through a magazine. She unbends her legs and rests her bare feet on the green icebox that contains my kidney. Shouldn’t we hurry, I say. Before the ice melts.
She smiles at me. Oh, please. Don’t worry so much.
Henry is looking at me, amused. Do you always talk to yourself?
My teeth are chattering and I sip my drink. There’s no kidney in that icebox. It’s money or a bomb or a sock full of dirt. I should wait until she falls asleep and have a look. I do have the key. But if it is my kidney I might fuck it up by exposing it to the world. And if it’s a bomb, then Jude is a liar and I will have to kill her. I don’t want to kill her. I have loved two women and one of them is already dead.
Not always, I say.
Henry finishes his coffee and runs one hand through his stiff, plastic hair.
How is your new identity working out? I say.
He smiles. It’s not bad, brother. There’s a truckload of details to consider, though. What’s my favorite color, my birthday. What do I eat for breakfast and how do I take my coffee. Where am I from and all that shit. My wife’s name and what does she look like. Speaking of which. I saw that little tiger lily you’re with and riddle me this, is she as mean as she looks?
I smile. She’s mean, I say. I turned my back on her once and she cut me open.
Henry laughs. The best woman is like a gun.
Henry is a good actor. He could talk trash and tell lies about women and baseball and money with anybody. I want to tell him it’s unnecessary but something stops me. I don’t trust him yet. After a while he stands up and pulls out a silver clip fat with new money. He drops a few bills on the bar and says he will see me later. I watch him walk away and I wonder who he’s running from.
Jude is exactly as I imagined. Mostly naked and reading a magazine. The green icebox beneath one bare foot. I bend and kiss her toes and listen but the icebox isn’t ticking.
Your face is sweating, she says. Is it the pain?
I sit down across from her and look out the window. The train is going west, chasing the sun.
Jude, I say. The bartender told me this train is going to Los Angeles.
That’s right. Then we take another train down to El Paso.
She goes back to her magazine. She licks her finger and turns the pages slowly. They crackle with alarming volume. Everywhere I look there’s a sign that says NO SMOKING. I stare at the green icebox that may or may not contain a piece of me. The key is in my pants pocket. But I am no closer to opening the icebox than I was yesterday. Nothing good would come of such a betrayal. Something would only perish. My flesh, my strange feelings for Jude.
It seems like a roundabout way to get there. We could have rented a car and gotten there tonight.
What’s the rush? she says. Relax. This is like a honeymoon.
You’re a scream. Isn’t our merchandise perishable?
Oh, that. Listen to me. That is no ordinary icebox. The kidney is vacuum-sealed and encased in a brick of dry ice. You could thaw it next summer and it would be as good as new.
Beautiful.
Your teeth are chattering, she says.
My head is floating on warm black water like a dirty life vest.
That note you left me at the hotel, I say. Why did you want to see me?
I don’t know, she says. I was feeling daffy and I thought I might give you your kidney back. But then I changed my mind. The money was more tempting.
You. You are such a good liar.
I did give it back to you. Eventually.
No. I took it from you.
Irrelevant, isn’t it?
I wrap my arms around my belly, suddenly cold. The pain is very bad, I say.
Jude smiles and reaches for her medical gear. I watch her prepare a hypo with the liquid Valium. She holds it to the light and I see it’s a lovely gold color. Jude crosses the compartment and straddles my clenched knees. A length of rubber tube between her teeth like a rose. Give me your arm, she says.
I bare my left arm and I think of dogs. When a dog meets another dog in the park, the weaker dog rolls over and exposes his genitals, his naked belly. The stronger dog can rip open his belly and eat his genitals if he chooses. The weaker dog trusts him not to do so. Jude ties off my arm with the rubber tube and quickly finds a fat blue vein. The shot spreads through me, cold and then warm and I’m at the edge of dream and sleep. I feel myself slipping but I want to stay awake and still dream. Every sound and smell is hazy and somehow clarified and Jude’s dark yellow skin is hot and porous and unstable as dry sand. I kiss and lick greedily at her breasts and fumble with the straps of her bra and my mouth is wet and I realize I’m weeping. Jude ties my wrists together with the rubber tube and pushes me back against the seat and I think oh I’m going to like this but she whispers hush, hush. She strokes my hair until I fall asleep.
seventeen.
And it’s possible that I followed Rose home that night. She dropped me off at the Hotel Peacock and I watched her drive away. I hailed a cab and said with a crooked smile, follow that car. It was a long silent drive, snowflakes hypnotically rushing at the headlights. Her little red truck pulled into a curved driveway and disappeared behind snow-covered bushes. The address was 1013 Alpine, a red and white house with a round front door. I told the driver to stop. I gave him fifty dollars and asked him to forget he ever saw me. I walked up to her door, weak from blood loss but alive with the rush and promise of her. Rose opened the door and she wasn’t surprised to see me. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her lips were wet, as if she had been washing her face when the doorbell rang. She wore faded green and black pajamas; the shirt was missing two buttons and her belly showed white. She pulled the door open and I limped past her and I smiled when I saw the cat. He was a fat bastard, gray and black with Persian blood. He lounged in a windowsill and regarded me with disdain. Rose said his name was Castro. I took a seat on the couch and it felt very good to sink into the soft cushions; I became weightless for a moment. Rose asked if I was hungry and I said I would love some ice cream. She smiled and disappeared. I opened my suitcase and took out the 9mm; I touched my lips to the silent metal and asked the gods for luck and forgiveness. I slipped the gun between two pillows as Rose returned. She had a gallon of cookie dough ice cream and two spoons. We passed the ice cream back and forth and shared our spoons and watched the evening news without sound.
I hear voices but I’m blind. Something soft and translucent covers my eyes and I try to remove it but my wrists are still bound. Jude is talking to someone, another woman. Jude is so cold. She measures her words like spoonfuls of salt. The other woman is asking for something. She is almost begging but not quite. There’s too much hate in her voice, liquid and untouchable as mercury. The voice is familiar.
I never went to the little Hobbit house and chatted with any real estate agent about copper plumbing and afternoon light and a lovely baby’s room. That was a false memory. That was something Lucy did. When she was trying to get pregnant she often went looking at houses and station wagons and patio furniture. Lucy must have told me about that little house with the gargoyle birdbath. I was never there. I was at Eve’s apartment that day; I wore a black ski mask and I climbed the fire escape like a monkey. I pushed open her window and found her in bed with Georgia. They were so graceful together, so sweet. And I knew I wouldn’t need my gun. I pulled Georgia from Eve’s arms and pressed my knife to her throat. I gave her the duct tape and watched, impatient and hot, as Georgia fumbled with the tape. She was furious, breathing through her teeth as she taped Eve’s hands and feet together. I was sick with desire. Georgia came at me spitting and slashing; she was very strong and finally I punched her in the throat. She dropped to the floor, gasping. I dragged her to the bathroom and shoved a rag in her mouth. I hoped she would suffocate because I couldn’t bear to kill her. I went back to Eve’s room and took off my pants. She lay silent, waiting. I cut the tape from her feet and rolled her onto her belly.
I wake again and my hands are free. The cloth covering my face is a red gauze scarf of Jude’s. It smells of honey and dirt. I sit up and flex my hands. The compartment is empty. The green icebox and Jude’s black bag are gone. I am terribly thirsty, as if my tongue were cut out and replaced by a chunk of rotten wood. I go to the sink and fill my belly with tepid, sterile water. I splash my face and take a look in the mirror and I see that my reflection is misproportioned, its movements unrelated to my own. If I concentrate I might appear normal. I examine my teeth, blunt and white and all present. I stroke my beard and consider shaving it but I decide it makes me look less gaunt and malnourished. My hair is growing back, blond and fine. I wet my hands and slick it back. I change into a clean shirt and go to look for Jude.