I’m blaming Y’s condition on bad weather. I know I can be changed by it.
My mother used to get headaches before storms. I don’t know if Y is still mediating our talks with the weather.
It’s an unexpected 74 degrees in March. We didn’t pray for it. It came of its own accord, the aftermath of two weeks freezing cold. Y keeps it at room temperature.
Y is unnerved when the the climate oscillates.
Y wants to surrender himself but he is beyond help. The only one who seems to
help him somewhat is Nanny 5. She recovers eyes from numinous cadavers and carefully tells Y about it. The account of a young seventeen year old boy who killed himself with a bullet to the temple calms him down. He panics when Nanny 5 begins to speak about how beautiful and elastic the young man’s skin is. Nanny 5 hasn’t seen a young boy’s body since she was in her teens and it scares her.
Nanny 5 had two shitty molars removed. The infection went to her left eye that is distended. She said that she wanted to know what she was allowed to say and not to say because she didn’t want to hurt Y.
How are you, I said.
It is getting cool outside, Y said.
I prefer it to the humidity and the heat, I said.
I’m fine as long as I stay indoors, Y said
My skin cant handle the heat ,Y said.
You should stay indoors, I said
Y wants a stiff drink. He has a seamy glass on his bedside table. He spits in it. he wipes the fingerprints from the rim with his t shirt he looks like Anjelica Houston. He grabs a
whisky bottle with a red label from under the bedside table and fills his glass. He doesn’t think to offer me anything.
All I want is for you to give me a hand job, he said.
Nanny five smirked.
Y looks right through me and rolls his thick thumb on the mouth of his glass. He finishes the half full bottle.
I have something for you, he said.
He gave me a slip of paper with an upper east side address on it.
I want to you to go to this address, he said. They will give you the information we need.
I pity him for his singularity. I’m horrible company. I only want his approval and I hate myself for it. Nanny 5 wants to have a baby with me. I will never give her what she wants. I’m looking for love not a family. We are all disposable.
What the fuck are you brooding about, Y said
We’re all disposable, I said.
You’re a Marxist Y said. You make everything about power like how he did.
You’ve said that before, I said.
You’re a communist, I said.
I’m a child because I get angry that life is unfair
Y has the t.v. on mute. There is a thriller on. Movies are intolerable to Y unless they are
soundless. I have to admit there is something peaceful about a movie without sound.
Why hasn’t a contemporary film maker made a silent movie. I think there may have been one or two that have been made in the past decade.
Y mocks movies for having no levity or gravity without music.
I’m not a communist. I’m deluded and split and I have killed to please Y
but I’m not a Marxist. I don’t have any friends who are not on Y’s payroll which means they work under me.
He has bad luck, Y said
Nanny 5 smirked. Her dark skin is pockmarked. There are deep tribal scars on her cheeks. I saw a film about the cutting of young men and women in Africa. The young children were in a pool of blood. I saw blood and tears running down Nanny 5’s cheeks.
I wanted to give her whatever she wants, even a baby of her own. Not one of the babies that are used as mules by Y.
I’m not an idiot, I said.
Don’t say another word, Nanny 5 said.
Nanny 5 sticks her finger in Y’s asshole. She is surprised at how tight it is and how good it feel when it grips her finger. She yanks on his glum penis. He squirts. There is watery white come on her black forearm.
That’s a good man Nanny 5 said.
I vomit. I don’t know how it is going to end. It feels like Y wants me to have no control. I feel like he wants me to kill myself.
Get the information we need, Y said. I want you to kill the man who gives it you so he can’t give it to anyone else.
Y smile is omniscient.
Houston street isn’t the same, Y said. There are new buildings and new tenants. It breaks my heart to think about it. I don’t know who died, who is living more than they are dying, who is dying more than they are living, or where the bodies and the eyes and the memories go when they die. It takes me a day to do something and another day not to do something. The new tenants confound me. They have benefactors.