William Vollmann - The Royal Family

I love you so much it hurts me, Strawberry heard him say (and she promptly repeated this to all the others). Sometimes when I look at you or talk to you I get all choked up—

The Queen smiled at him.

He swallowed and said: Often at night I dream that I’m kissing you, you know, between your legs… You’re so gentle and kind and good, I…

Tilting her head, she slid her middle finger into her mouth and began sucking it, sliding it in and out between her lips.

A lot of the time I — well, I don’t even think about you sexually. I just wish I could help you and make you happy, because, uh, I—

C’mere, said the Queen. Sit down or kneel down, I don’t care which. Close your eyes.

And she took her glistening brown finger from her mouth and on his forehead traced in saliva the secret Mark of Cain, which is the symbol of infinity.

He could see night by night how her heart opened to him, like one of those tightly wadded crumples of paper which falls into water and slowly swells, loosens, blossoms into a paper rose — even though it’s all unreal and underwater…

All night he lay in the Queen’s arms, sometimes sleeping, dreaming good dreams or bad. The bad dreams did not frighten him. It seemed that for the first time in many years he was able to stare down his own monsters. There they were; maybe someday he could even kill them. He clutched the Queen more tightly, until she groaned in her sleep. Wondering how she would change him, feeling already changed, he rode the long night into dawn. Clothed in calmness, he resolved to seclude himself no longer in fantasies, but to be grateful for all he had, and act usefully and respectfully.

Sparkles of sweat like mica upon a naked back, the Queen’s back, swelled into silvery droplets fragrant with cocaine and sadness; he drank them. Sometimes he felt the two of them to be not fully human, reaching, screaming. Legs up in the air, almost stridulated like crickets’, heads dipping down to genitals and back again, carried Tyler along, sometimes irresistibly, sometimes merely mechanically, so that whenever he went out from the Queen, covered with her odor, and began to think again, he’d say to himself: Our legs were not me. My legs were not me. My tongue and hands and penis were not me. So where was I? — Then he understood that he had been not only literally but also spiritually inside his Queen. He’d been hers. He’d lost himself to her. He’d been nowhere and everywhere. Walking past a no-name sashimi restaurant on Geary Street, he peered in the window and saw Japanese childrens’ skinny faces getting even thinner when they sucked at drinking-straws. This proved not that ingestion created hollowness, but only that one had to hollow oneself out in order to ingest. Legs went up, his or hers he could no longer tell, because sensation crackled through all of them with electric velocity. Were the dark hands or the pale hands his? When he was inside her cunt, there was no cunt anymore, and no cock, the hole being filled, the protuberance hidden; as it said in the Bible, they were one flesh. Her cunt was his. Where did she end? Lost in the cave of enlightenment, he had to grabble his way without that ambiguously useful perceptual eye known as consciousness; later he couldn’t remember what had happened to him, what he and the Queen had done; an hour or a night, it felt the same. Her eyes became the smoky barlight and slow headlights as smooth on the wet streets as lubricated condoms. (No condom, no problem! laughed Dan Smooth.) Where does anything end? Beneath a street-whore’s come-on of easy love lies a manipulative need, beneath which again waits a real ache for love. One night he was wandering upper Jones Street around Clay or Washington, rainy and almost silent, with only the cables humming and a distant car soughing like wind, and he could not remember who he was. Then he said: I believe in my Queen. I love my Queen. — The next thing he could remember, he was in the Mission district, which shone so brightly on a Saturday noon beneath a pastel sky. Was the Queen wise? How could he doubt it? The Queen of Spades, the black queen, the death-queen, the scary card, the wisest card in the deck, always turned up in whatever hand he got dealt — she loved him; she was his angel — sentimental slush! A piss-soaked bra lay in front of the Thor Hotel. He did the proper thing. He picked it up and carried it next to his heart as an offering to the Queen. He had no nightmares about Irene anymore.

The Queen would not be happy about this, Smooth whispered gleefully.

The video showed rainbow milk.

So that’s the Queen doing it with Henry, huh? said Domino with a brutal laugh. Too fuckin’ much!

They sat giggling at the strange, lurid bodies, strange movements as of grasses bowing in the wind, the man bowing and praying between the woman’s buttocks, leaning forward, leaning back. The couple’s arms became bloody amoebic pseudopods, hands flying out from their bodies, then rushing inwards to clutch at flesh once more.

That’s how you get a different effect, Smooth explained. You can do all kinds of stuff by that…

Domino’s mouth opened. She was fascinated by the seething bloody flashes.

Puddles of blue milk oozed together. Blue animals struggled with one another. Crumpled aluminum foil was moving and oozing up and down, the woman’s legs limp and sweaty on the man’s shoulders.

Now for Domino at least the footage began to grow tiresome, and she yawned and scratched at the long motorcycle scar on her leg while on Smooth’s television set two pairs of legs folded and knelt, revealing buttocks, rainbow crystals, flashing blue lines, stains on microscope slides, ice-maps. Two shapes approached each other and pulled away, bowing and weaving like water-plants. Green milk and heartbeats, blue milk running down breasts, holes and fissures swimming like X-ray fishes, all these entities imbued the pair’s sexual act with preciousness, just as in the Tenderloin after dusk every passing car momentarily transforms the pavement into a mirror of gold.

We’re all animals, you know… Smooth was saying thickly.

What do you want me to do now, blow you?

Smooth made a face. — You’re too old for me, Domino. You’ve grown cunt-hairs. Just sit there and entertain yourself.

But you’re going to take care of me, right? You’re going to pay me something…?

Only if you’ll listen to me talk about glistening assholes.

Talk about yourself then, said Domino, bored.

What kind of asshole do you have, sweetykins?

Oh, the shitty kind I guess. Don’t ya remember?

I have a really good feeling about this now, said Smooth. And there he goes. See how happy he’s making her? I almost want to cry. Maybe we should never have done this, Domino, but I always wanted to watch him with Maj. I was their matchmaker, you know. I brought them together. I love Maj. I love Henry…

I love money. When will you pay me?

Closeup. Closeup. Weird that the shape of those little lips makes such a difference, Smooth said.

Are you a misogynist? said Domino, whose voice sometimes contained the cool jingle of cablecar bells.

A misogynist? Sure.

I thought so. And you attack little kids…

Naughty, naughty! chuckled Smooth. I do not attack them. They attack me. They…

He was remembering how when his next-door neighbor’s child was nine she still wanted to ride on his neck, so he lifted her up onto his shoulders and she clamped her hot thighs around him. Later he was carrying her through the grass with her pressed up against him front to front, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and his folded arms against his stomach to make a seat for her. He couldn’t resist. He opened his arms and slid one hand under each of her buttocks. Saying nothing, the child clung to him more tightly, so he slid his right hand up under that pretty pink dress and began to rub her vulva, whose lips he could feel much more distinctly than a grown woman’s, because there was no hair. The child began to writhe in his arms, gripping him more and more tightly. She uttered strange cries like those of the retarded girl Sapphire. Then she sighed happily and laid her burning head upon his shoulder. That had been the best moment of Dan Smooth’s life.