It went through me like a knife. It was all I had left. Naturally, I longed for a bleached-blond, mink-coated Mama who played bridge, or at least for a dumpy brunette PTA Mom in harlequin glasses and Red Cross shoes. It was hopeless. Love does matter. Or at least I thought he was kind. And they have to stir things up all the time and keep bloody busy just to prove to themselves they’re not dead. At 6 a.m. we landed at Frankfurt Flughafen and shuffled out into a rubber-floored lounge which, for all its gleaming newness, made me think of death camps and deportations. I could feel Adrian’s semen slimy between my legs and leaking out into the chlorinated pool. Horst Hummel ran a printing business out of a tiny office in the old town. Maybe she wants him to wake up and see how lonely she is. I didn’t fill, a few sparse brownish-red curls (not even blonde, for all that I was a natural blonde), and information about sex gleaned from all-night marathons with Randy and her best friend Rita. And his death was my death too. Adrian and I danced the next five or six sets-until we were exhausted, soaked, and ready to go home together. “The trouble with existentialism is” (I said this as we were driving down the autostrada) “that you can’t stop thinking about the future. At times I felt like Scheherazade, amusing my king with subplots to keep the main plot from abruptly ending. Or could we? I was in despair. Brian not only had no empathy for my unhappiness; he had no awareness of it. They were gazing into each other’s eyes as if the secret of life were to be found there. Why? chloe: Well it would be better than reading a goddamned magazine all the time. I had to read Goodbye, Columbus to learn the word shtarke and The Magic Barrel to hear of a paper called The Forward. It was Bennett I wanted. “Nobody can tell anyone anything,” I said. The explanation didn’t quite content me. Lovemaking. I could tell he was turned on by the way Adrian had pursued me. Gradually I stopped trying to disguise myself. The rest of the story is mostly denouement. There’s black-bearded Dr. Stanton Rappoport-Rosen who recently gained notoriety in New York analytic circles when he moved to Denver and branched out into something called “Cross-Country Group Ski-Therapy.” There’s Dr. Arnold Aaronson pretending to play chess on a magnetic board with his new wife (who was his patient until last year), the singer Judy Rose. Slowly I began to prize hearing my own thoughts. Don’t you see why so many people are getting so fucking fed up with analysis? To pretend that you don’t need love when you do; or you like your work when you know quite well you’re capable of better. That’s just your fucking brother-in-law… It isn’t really incest.”, “It scarcely counts at all,” Lalah said contemptuously, “but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it seem more lurid on paper.” (Lalah hated my writing even then.). And the daughter, too. The frizzy halo of pubic hair, the purple labia, the pink alarm button of the clitoris-but never enough! “Actually I didn’t, but thanks anyway, I’ll be OK. Don’t worry. We watch the great bronze horses rearing out of the fountain. “Dear Mrs. Jones,” I began. In 1945, when they were still militarists, they had hated Americans for winning the war. It was getting dark. Bennett was marked by death, up to his neck in it. Click to see our best Video content. She had little to contribute in the way of sophistication, but made up for this by means of her blind loyalty to us and the flattering way in which she aped our most florid affectations. She never knows what he’s thinking. She holds him tightly. Let’s just forget it.”, “Forget the fact that you turned on me? And I was too tired and harassed to react with subtlety. I was about as worldly as a goddamned eight year old. With heigh! Poor benighted Gillian’s mother had insisted on a baby Jesus and a virgin birth. Except the story. We went upstairs to wash away the sins of the night before. They were designed to prove that I was not just an ordinary woman. I’m really disappointed in you… Well, I guess it won’t be the first time I’ve been disappointed in a woman. Lalah (the other middle daughter after me) was four years younger and had married a Negro. He didn’t even remember the events which had sent him to. Just sloshing around in the primeval slush and worshipping dung beetles and fucking when the mood struck us? And each new poem is a new vehicle, designed to delve a little deeper (or fly a little higher) than the one before. Perhaps someday I’d lose it altogether. They’re just like writers. I had not packed with the expectation of traveling alone. If anything, its stubby tip betrays the genetic contribution of some pig-faced Polish thug who raped one of my great-grandmothers during some long-forgotten pogrom in the Pale. But his body is not for her. I mean, I remember there were certain girls who made me feel good-but feeling good scared me. In the corner of the room is a closet. “This soft?” He turned it down so that it was barely audible. “You’ll go to heaven!” he screamed, and then he grabbed my hand and started leading me toward the window. Schizophrenics were the true poets. The doctors were preaching. Gradually I got braver and was able to bring my feelings and my writing into some sort of uneasy alignment. “Yes,” the doctor said sternly. It wasn’t until I was settled, facing a nice little family group-mother, daddy, baby-that it dawned on me how funny that episode had been. chloe: Isadora’s always reading something. My mother had always said how womanly she felt in Italy. It was the only time in my life when I was able to have exuberant, affectionate sex with someone without convincing myself that I was in love. We told long stories about our pasts, embellishing, embroidering, and dramatizing in the manner of novelists. “Bob-if s me-Isadora-I’m in Paris. Your parents choked you-not me! “You see, Professor Stanton, I started studying eighteenth-century English literature because I love satire, but I think I want to write satire not criticize it. The History of the World Through Fucking. I was still shaking from that little interchange when I spotted a hugely pregnant Randy behind the glass barricade in the airport. And then he came over and sat down on the bed. I would discover I was pregnant. Those crescendos! The wind was sharp and cold. It went: “How you like Lebanon? At first her puzzled doctor thought she was cheating, so he had her make careful lists of everything she ate. The longest day of the year was a special moment. It would subsume everything. At least we’d be honest. (Executioner asks condemned’s forgiveness before the ax falls.). are living here on the sixth floor (seventh to you) of a charming seedy dump called the Hotel de la Harper while we look for cheaper digs. Stuffy Cunard would not give us a cabin together unless we produced written proof of matrimony (which, of course, we didn’t have). What if we were all controlled by complex machines which were controlled by other complex machines which were controlled by other complex machines? Many whirring minutes later, we arrived on the sixth floor. Not just medieval history and Roman history, not just Renaissance philosophers and early church fathers, not just lay and investiture, pipe rolls and Political Augustinianism, Richard the Lionhearted and Rollo, Duke of Normandy, not just Abelard and Alcuin, Alexander the Great and Alfred the Great, not just Burckhardt and Beowulf, Averroës and Avignon, Goliardic poetry and Gregorian reform, Henry the Lion and Heraclites, the nature of heresy and the works of Thomas Hobbes, Julian the Apostate and Jacopone da Todi, the Nibelungenlied and the history of nominalism-but also wine vintages and restaurants, the names of all the trees in Central Park, the sexes of the ginkgos on Morningside Drive, the names of birds, the names of flowers, the dates when Shakespeare’s children were born, the exact spot where Shelley drowned, the chronology of Charlie Chaplin’s movies, the exact anatomy of cows (and consequently how to choose cuts of meat in the supermarket), the lyrics to every song Gilbert and Sullivan ever wrote, the Köchel listing of every Mozart composition, the Olympic champions in every sport for the past twenty years, the batting averages of every leading American baseball player, the characters in every novel by Dickens, the date the Mickey Mouse watch was first introduced, the dates and styles of vintage cars and how many of each were left and who owned them (Bugattis and Hispano-Suizas were his favorites), the kind of armor worn in the sixteenth century (and how it differed from armor of the thirteenth century), the way frogs fornicate and conifers mate, all the positions of sex in the Kama Sutra, the names of all the torture devices of the Middle Ages, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum. The enormity of his betrayal leaves me speechless. I felt like I’d been socked in the jaw. “You mean you sat there the whole time talking about freedom and unpredictability and you knew you had plans to meet Esther? “I’m not going to tell you about all the other men I’ve fucked,” I said, being brave. “She threw me out and tossed my clothes to me in the hall. Should I plead for sympathy, saying my lover dumped me? “Yes, but if you’ll excuse me Professor Stanton, it does seem that all this criticism is out of keeping with the spirit of Fielding or Pope or Swift. By some roadside. He smiled crookedly and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say “no harm in trying.”. (I never have been sure.) Beneath the wise-ass cynicism and pseudo-sophistication was the soupiest romanticism since Edward Fitzgerald impersonated Omar Khayyam. When we got off the train it was so misty and I was so sleepy that if someone had marched me into the Channel I wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to resist. Esther goes into these long gloomy silences and I never know what she’s thinking. So it’s actually work, n’est-ce pas? I was writing. She’s no old fuddy-duddy like the other mothers. What I really want is to get laid. And Charlie wanted Sally. We are sailing away. Leave. It will never be the same. I shrank back into her walk-in closet, looking in vain for something ordinary. Jill Siegel, on the other hand, was a member of the group not so much for class as out of charity. “She just ran off with some Englishman,” I could hear my friends in New York saying, not without envy. His parents stepped in then, not to help but to harass. I was the one they counted on to write out their fantasies. My sisters were different. “I’m going to bed.”, (She puts her face to the cold floor.) And perhaps even drive off laughing. He pushes her away. Oh Isadora, you are getting crusty. When all was said and done, it was all you had. There were footsteps down the hall. In return for this lifetime liability, I call her Jude. Judging from her letters, Salome Weinfeld (named for her grandpa Sol?) And pinches in the stacks of Butler Library. He was designing families of ceramic animals chained together with tiny gold chains. And I wouldn’t have babies! The hostess was black (you still said “Negro” then) and in some fashionable sell-out profession like advertising. Both were traps. Oh I have certain memories: my grandmother lathering my hands between hers and saying she was washing away “the Germans” (her punning synonym for germs). But all I felt was indifference. “I’ve only come to take a bath?” Naked as I was, could I be noncommittal? That’s called fidelity. “You are Mrs. America at the Congress of Dreams,” he says, “and I want to love you as hard as I possibly can and then leave you.”. You weren’t even provided, like European girls, with a philosophy of cynicism and practicality. She likes the warmth and hardness of his back. Then he said that he wanted to set my poems to music, so I met him for dinner. I explored Heidelberg like a spy, finding all the landmarks of the Third Reich which were deliberately not mentioned in the guidebooks. As I approached the lectern and Mrs. McIntosh held out a scroll to me, I realized that I was not merely graduating but was to receive some special honor. from my family. A dark spot of blood glistened on the floor. I felt his body pounding against mine, his stiff prick was filling every inch of my womanly canal and I could have screamed with pleasure. I closed my eyes and gyrated inside the music. frost is the preferred mage leveling spec. And after you die, the plot is not your concern. My version, Brian’s, his parents’, my parents’, the doctors’, the nurses’, the social workers’… There were an infinite number of versions, an infinite number of realities. But which floor was it on anyway? We have plenty of time.”. I was saying no and liking it. Olive trees rush by the window. Why are you always trying to be such a goddamned social worker? I thought of all those mornings in New York when I had awakened with my husband and felt just as lonely. Of course my mother had a rationalization for it all-a patriarchal rationalization, the age-old rationalization of women seething with talent and ambition who keep getting knocked up. It wasn’t fancy, but it had a swimming hole, a snack bar, a place where you could shower. “Christ-it’s like ice,” he said. When the chips are down and I’m alone with a man for days on end, then I realize more than ever how unliberated I am. this bristling little “He’d been married to a Catholic midwife from Liverpool,” I imagined myself writing. “Look-we might just do a communal thing-you and me and Bennett. But that first lonely year, I was unable to write and I had few friends. I was the only one who ever gave you support and encouragement and this is all you can do in return-go running after some asshole Englishman and whining to me about not knowing what you want. Foggy and half-dazed as I was, I knew to keep my legs together. At the club he introduced us to one of his friends as his “four wives,” and I had such a creepy feeling that I wanted to go home then and there. The base of the couch would rise around you and become a coffin, and six black-suited analysts would carry you off (and throw jargon on your open grave). They constantly seethed with resentment. Forgive me for trying to upset your safe little marriage.” He turned the key in the ignition and started the car for emphasis. Was that where it all led? “Hurry-they’re pushing ahead to the front of the line!” bleated one matron in accents redolent of Flatbush, overlaid with Scarsdale and the New School. They appear to be mother and grandmother and granddaughter. (At least if I have kids I’ll never make the mistake of having more than one. Likewise Tristram Shandy.). I couldn’t get a clear picture of him. A world of widows. Why don’t we all sit down and have a group grope about it? SHADES OF GRAY: No A thankless husband-next, a faithless lover-. She looked just about ready to tent down with him. As time went by, I embellished it to suit my head. The money he earned from this work was negligible, but he lived mainly on the income from a trust fund his father had set up for him. “My superego is soluble in Europe,” I say. evil). But why didn’t he ever kiss? “What-me worry?” asks the Arab. We came to know dozens of major and minor airports in Germany and France and Italy, because at that point in the day when the second round of beers wore off and my massive depression reared its ugly head once more (along with secondary symptoms of headache and hangover), I would panic and command Adrian to drive me to the nearest airport. Anti-Semitism was part of the problem, but there was also the possibility that radical students at the University of Vienna would decide to stage demonstrations. I stared at the white cliffs of Dover for two bleary-eyed hours while we lined up waiting to have our passports stamped. Of course he turned out to have no authority whatsoever In the matter, but I didn’t know that till later. And the people seduced by your work are usually seduced for all the wrong reasons. I was terrified of the tremendous power it had over me. Adrian stretched out on the grass and squinted up into the sunlight. Abel and Chloe had one son, Adam, who was blond and blue-eyed and obviously the favorite grandchild. A man under the bed. “You’re a real primitive,” I sneered, “a natural man.”. “You don’t know a thing about having kids.”. In exasperation, I started tossing the clothes out onto the floor. Bennett’s child. We came to realize how little married couples see of each other once they crawl into the bourgeois box. Some play the devil, and then write a novel. How he got to a school like Oberlin rather perplexes me, as it perhaps perplexed him. I left a trail of evidence everywhere I went. Already I was attracting the kind of quizzical glances a woman alone attracts. Great big salty drops were running down my face and into the corners of my mouth. Should I make a brave front of it and say my husband drowned in jargon in Vienna? We did not part enemies. But that was all I knew. “You have to get away from him,” Bennett said, “and back into analysis. And Bennett was the vehicle for it. Lalah and Chloe (who are sharing one set of bunks) are not supposed to know-being, my mother thinks, too young-so Randy and I engage in some conspiratorial trips to the drugstore for supplies and go sneaking around the cabin looking for places to hide them. I knew very well what he was doing, but it had taken a few seconds to register. He was only at half-mast and he thrashed around wildly inside me hoping I wouldn’t notice. Tears have such a comforting taste. What possibilities remained open to me? At the moment I say it, I really do agree. Fucked from the front by me, from the rear by Bennett. Either I was a nymphomaniac (because I wanted to be fucked more than once a month) or else it was just that I was so unattractive. I turned the lock and pulled the light cord. Enter a strange procession of opposite numbers. The Wife of Bath’s advice to lecherous wives: always accuse your husband first. Never, I once read, begin a letter with the personal pronoun. You sit there the whole time keeping tabs, making mental notes, imagining people as books or case histories- I know that game. Getting to the hotel was like one of those dreams where you have to get somewhere before something terrible happens but, inexplicably, your car keeps breaking down or going backward. That’s important. He was convinced that Adrian “only” represented my father, and in that case it was kosher. He was in Fire Island. We didn’t move. In the café, I sat next to my suitcase and ordered another beer. This time she was adamant. Was it all air in a stretched skin? He didn’t look like a shrink at all. What all the ads and all the whoreoscopes seemed to imply was that if only you were narcissistic enough, if only you took proper care of your smells, your hair, your boobs, your eyelashes, your armpits, your crotch, your stars, your scars, and your choice of Scotch in bars-you would meet a beautiful, powerful, potent, and rich man who would satisfy every longing, fill every hole, make your heart skip a beat (or stand still), make you misty, and fly you to the moon (preferably on gossamer wings), where you would live totally satisfied forever. We talked. software All software latest This Just In Old School Emulation MS-DOS Games Historical Software Classic PC Games Software Library. Graduate school was supposed to be the thing that you got “under your belt” (like a baby?) The spray in your face. I had lost weight during our strange journey but I was still rather too fat for fashion; not obese but just about ten pounds too plump to get away with a bikini. “I guess I always just assumed that the male ego was so fragile you had to coddle it-”, “Well mine isn’t so fragile. At least if they’d come out openly and said: We loved Hitler, one might have weighed their humanity with their honesty and perhaps forgiven them. I also don’t think you understand a thing about women.”. I tell you what I think.”, “That’s a lie. Count Vronsky was charming in the Russian fashion. My guilt only showed how thoroughly bourgeois and contemptible I was. Would I turn back into earth and become a flower or a fruit? An American couple. No “lady writer” subjects for me. If there’s one thing I’m not good at, it’s self-concealment. Ordinariness was a plague you had to ward off in every possible way. Sometimes I think it’s just that you know I’m poor, that I want to write books and don’t give a damn about practicing medicine-unlike your rich American doctors.”, “On the contrary, your poverty appeals to my reverse snobbery. My father is a still good-looking man who seems about fifteen years younger than his sixty years, is vain about his physique and thinning hair, and walks with a springing up-and-down motion which has also become my characteristic walk. As it turned out, the flight to Beirut was designed to stir all my various paranoias. As long as you didn’t come via Israel, you could travel in Lebanon as if it were Miami Beach-which, in fact, it somewhat resembles, down to the abundance of yentas. No. papa (looking up from his debate with Jude): Disgusting. I wanted to see him hoist on his own petard-whatever the hell that means. Some ordinary American girl out of Seventeen Magazine? I began to publish poems in small literary magazines during my senior year in college (where I won most of the poetry prizes and edited the literary magazine). I sensed that Charlie was more snobbish than he was intelligent. I thought of them as writers, as authorities, as gods who knew and were to be trusted completely. But it was clear that if I failed, my own life would be over. All my unborn babies drying up! Huck Finn without a raft. One of Bennett’s T-shirts. Often he would write these ten-page wonders on the very morning they were due. Repetitive, self-destructive patterns preferably-but any sort of pattern would do. I could never forget that either. He looked at me long and searchingly. (What else indeed? I hated them. And long drunken kisses in roachy New York kitchens over pitchers of warm martinis. What in God’s name were we waiting for? Is it the good turtle soup or merely the mock? You’d still be rewriting one poem over and over. “Maybe you don’t understand what it means to be a woman,” he countered. Her huge haunches cause her to occupy almost half of the vacant center seat. What I learned from those columns foreshadowed what I was later to learn in my “real writing.” I started out being clever and superficial and dishonest. Adrian snore, hating myself for my disloyalty, and unable to get relaxed enough to sleep. And fucking. He was supposedly going home to conduct an oratorio at some arts festival, but this was still uncertain. Another man with a long beard was about to blow him. If we looped and zigzagged and went round in circles, it was because our itinerary took its shape not from landmarks or Michelin three-star attractions, but from my own vertiginous moods-and, to a lesser extent, Adrian’s. 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