Percival Everett - Damned If I Do

1 September

The tiger and I slept and morning came. I had been cold all night, but for some reason I was able to sleep through until light. The tiger got up and paced a circle around me. Then I heard the voice of the circus master of ceremonies. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away. But he came anyway. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but the master of ceremonies came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, calling me by my full name, telling me he was going to take me to my parents. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out some name I didn’t know. I cried out into the morning air. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at the man’s life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September

The tiger and I slept again until the sun was straight overhead and the heat was considerable. The tiger got up and paced circles around me once more. Then I heard the voice of Errol. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away. But he came anyway. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but my best friend came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that I was his best friend and that he would save me. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out Frannie’s name. I cried out into the afternoon air. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at Errol’s life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September

It was late summer, just days before school would start. That perfect time. The heat was just so.

The tiger and I slept again until the sun was starting down in the west. I could feel the air beginning to cool just a little. The tiger got up and paced circles around me once more. I had grown accustomed to it. Then I heard the voice of my mother. She was calling my name and I could tell she was drawing nearer. She got closer and closer and the tiger heard her, too. I called out to her and told her to stay away. But she came anyway, saying that I was a baby and that she loved me. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but she came anyway. The big cat hissed at her when she was in sight, but my mother came anyway. She was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that I was her reason for living. Then the tiger ran at her. The tiger bit into her stomach and she screamed out my father’s name. I cried out into the evening air. The tiger clawed at her face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at my mother’s life, licked up the red juice of her existence.

1 September

The night sky was lavender in the west and a deep purple in the east. It was late summer, just days before school would start. My mother’s body parts lay with those of Errol and the master of ceremonies.

The tiger and I had been sleeping again, our bodies touching. The air was stiffly cold and there was a persistent wind. The tiger got up, but did not pace this time, instead he sat beside me, sniffing the breeze. Then I heard the voice of my father. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away, told him what had happened to Mother. But he came anyway, saying that I was his son and that he would protect me. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but my father came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that he would save me. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out my name. I cried out into the night. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at my father’s life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September

The tiger was asleep. It was late summer, just days before school would start and it was snowing in the desert. I walked a circle around the sleeping beast, kicking through the bones and flesh of my life, the parts of my friend and my mother and my father and of someone I did not know, but who had come to try to save me. The blood of my father stuck to the sole of my shoe and made a kissing sound. I stepped on my mother’s delicate fingers.

RANDALL HALPERN RANDALL

189 Wayland Avenue, Apt. 51

Providence, Rhode Island

8:10 a.m., Sunday, November 23, 1980

Miss Holly Diehl

Apt. 41

189 Wayland Avenue

Providence, RI

Dear Holly:

I am distressed that it has come to this. I had hoped that there would be no reason for me to compose this letter, but it seems the matter at hand will not straighten itself out, considering this morning’s condition in the driveway rear of this building.

Please permit me to state MY SIDE of the matter in question!!!

My dear wife, a good woman who knits constantly and who makes baby booties for people she doesn’t even know, has enjoyed over 20 years of extremely peaceful and harmonious relations with the tenants in this building, and I certainly have tried my best to preserve such a condition in spite of some recent goings-on, such as door slamming by tenants on the fourth and sixth floors, etc.

We have attempted to quietly and without disturbing anyone else, on any floor, take care of the rubbish and/or garbage from our apartment … to the large green Dumpster, as detailed in our lease and yours … daily (not just weekends as you seem to have deduced per Claudia!). However, I usually do it … and a major reason is that Claudia suffered a fracture to her kneecap (patella) some time back when she fell on some ice outside the convenience store and had to wear a brace for weeks. And of course I have thrombophlebitis, as did our late president Mr. Nixon, two years ago throughout my left leg and must watch myself when descending the 87 steps down to the first floor and out the rear door of this building!!!

I contacted Mr. Harry Bottoms following your “to whom it may concern” note (which I still have in my possession) and asked him WHO was probably the nicest and most quiet and agreeable tenant in the building — aside from him and Lucy. He said without pause that it is YOU!!! That is WHY I could not understand HOW any such fine person would block the rear door to prevent passage to the big green Dumpster…… aside from the probability that the fire department could NEVER get in in case of a fire in the building!!! I remember vividly when those yellow lines were painted, and I NEVER saw any car in that area right up close blocking the door until your car was there!!!

You KNOW that once I stopped into your fine apartment and was received most cordially, and enjoyed speaking with you about your plants and collection of small dinner bells, etc. I could NOT somehow believe that it was YOUR car (never thought it was for one minute) that was blocking us from the Dumpster.

I was planning to seek you out for a discussion of the matter, but the condition, and it was a condition and not a situation as my wife insists, was so serious this morning that I had to state MY side of the case to Mr. Pluckett!!! I HOPE that this will be the end of it — and that my poor wife won’t have to cart our waste out and around, so publicly, around three (3) sides of the building to reach the Dumpster!!! Mr. Bottoms was just up here again — Claudia spoke with him at length only to discover that you and others have accused me of overreacting. Please do not speak about me further and I shall do the same for you.