William Vollmann - The Royal Family

Outside, Strawberry, said the tall man

Justin, I—

I said outside, you stinkin’ bitch.

That’s right, Justin, that’s right. You tell ’em! Now get on them crutches an’ come over here. Yeah. That’s right. Bend over my bed. And kinda pull the curtain around us so… Yeah. Now listen, I’m not playin’ you when I say this. You wanna ex that bitch who been keepin’ you down?

The tall man swallowed hard. — No, he said.

I’m not talkin’ about that silly piece of white trash. She’s not oppressin’ you; she’s just encumberin’ you. I know you can bump her off. I wouldn’t never insult you, Justin, by offerin’ my help there. No, I’m talkin’ about that Queen bitch. I don’t mind a little head to head with that bitch.

No, the tall man said.

I don’t approve of you, but you got a lot of guts. I respect you. A little drive-by, roll-by, tooty-shooty, hear what I’m sayin’? A black man, a brother, shouldn’t never be the slave of no bitch.

Justin said: Awright, my brother, good to talk to you, okay?

Hey, baby, be cool, okay? croaked the older man.

Justin Soames, your ride is here, said the nurse.

The tall man hobbled downstairs, ignoring Strawberry, who hurried after him.

You holding on, Justin? Tyler said. Beside him, Domino picked at her fingernails.

Uh huh, said the tall man. I don’t feel nothin’.

Hey, Dom, hey, Henry, said Strawberry a little too eagerly. We sure appreciate this…

Well, aren’t you just the prettiest berry in the whole damned patch, said Tyler with a cornball smile.

Cut it out! giggled Strawberry. Stop touchin’ me, homes!

Justin turned around, scratching his bearded lips, and said: If my old lady was to talk to me like that, I’d slap the shit out of her. I’m talkin’ to you.

Oh, quit bossing her around, said Domino.

Who the fuck you think you are? and the tall man raised one crutch as if to strike her, too. She slunk back.

What a lovely, lovely reunion, chuckled Tyler, narrowing his eyes. Strawberry, don’t you think they ought to get married?

Strawberry was silent.

Well. Guess I’m the one who has to carry on all the conversation around here. Justin, you got any stuff?

Had me some pretty good morphine.

Morphine’s the best, laughed Domino nervously, still watching the tall man’s crutch. Tyler was immensely saddened to see her fear. It was as if she, too, now acknowledged that the Queen’s world must soon end, at which time her erstwhile clan of brothers and sisters would again scatter to the darkness, becoming predators who preyed upon each other. — And you know what else? she babbled on. That fuckin’ lithium. What the fuck do they use it for? For fuckin’ depression or schizophrenia or what the fuck. It’s better than fuck. And — and — and…

What’s she on? sneered the tall man. Meth? Shit, I didn’t know she could even score a dime bag of goddamn boogie weed without me. Where’s that faggoty car at?

Shaking his head, Tyler drove them back among the Tenderloin’s striped and tanned and glowing building-rectangles all stacked together like playing cards where on all sides was proclaimed the gospel of HOTELS — MOVIES — XXX except where it said LIQUORS or THUNDER — LIQUOR — BEER — WINE — ATM CARD, and the tall man smiled sallowly, warmed by vagrant beams of barroom light exuded from rows of Old Crow bourbon bottles behind ever so many counters, liquid glowing as yellowly as the slanted stacks of oranges and lemons in the produce markets of Mission Street, and through his rearview mirror Tyler saw the tall man begin to lick his lips.

Back in Canaan again, yessir, Tyler said. Back in the land of Cain.

Domino, wearied almost to death of Tyler, whom she watched steadily driving with his grey hands almost rosy thanks to reflected light while his windshield wipers fended off the world, and in equal parts wearied of Strawberry and the tall man because she thought she knew them so well as to preclude any future novelty or even change, tried to imagine herself somewhere else, as she usually did when, for instance, she was naked and on top of or beneath some strange man. At those times she never pretended that she was with anybody special or kind; all that she wanted was to curl safe in some recess which she could no longer even visualize, maybe one of those mellow bars with black leather seats where the patrons smoke cigars and drink single malt Scotch out of glasses not much larger than the ampoules of precious drugs, someplace where the tall man wouldn’t threaten her and Tyler couldn’t play his stupid games and Strawberry… Her brothers and sisters, once close enough for her to touch, were rising up into distant and malignant pillars of night.

Apprised of almost all the intimate characteristics of Strawberry which it is possible for one person to learn about another, Domino was sure that she knew her in her unapproachable soul. She knew what Strawberry’s breath smelled like during her period, and she knew every dimple of her flabby buttocks. She knew the slow, high, Japanese sounding moans which Strawberry uttered whenever she was making love with the tall man, whose own cries were deep metallic monotones like windgusts jetting low between the still skyscrapers of the financial district at dawn. She also knew the moans which Strawberry made when she was with other men, her trick moans, Domino called them, which sounded equally plausible and very well might have been equally pleasurable for Strawberry but which were emitted in a lower key, almost approaching the tall man’s cries. Another of Strawberry’s peculiarities was that her moans never ever coincided with those of whatever man was inside her, but alternated with them like echoes, as if Strawberry were faking them or needed to go her own way or simply experienced joy between instead of during thrusts. Domino had watchdogged Strawberry when customers were iffy; she’d lived with her, double- and triple-dating with her, and so when it came to Strawberry the blonde considered herself a woman of experience. And, like most experiences, this one nauseated her. She longed to forget everything she knew about Strawberry. She hated the tall man and Tyler even when she needed and even loved them. Like the crazy whore, who took shelter in her craziness, and the false Irene, who hid in self-stupefaction, Domino felt embarrassed and revolted by the world around her. Longing to be anywhere but here, she licked her lips and thought about heroin, crack, Sapphire’s clitoris…

Hey, I’m speakin’ to you, Dom, you skanky white bitch. I said, what the fuck you on?

One time on lithium I got so shitfaced, Domino continued rapidly, glaring at the tall man out of the corner of her eye, and you know I was around all you fucked up people doing what you fucked up people normally do, so I should have been sad. But I couldn’t get this shiteating grin off my face. I kept saying, hey, I’m sorry, I know I should be sad but I’m happier than shit.

So what’s the plan, now, Justin? Tyler interrupted.

Whatever it takes.

Where do you want me to drop you?

Where the fuck you think?

Strawberry, Domino, you want to work or you want to hang with the Queen?

Strawberry cleared her throat and said: I, uh—

Stay the fuck out of my business! the tall man screamed, rubbing his leg.

I get it, Tyler said sarcastically.

The tall man continued not to look at him, and Tyler, suddenly furious, concluded that it must be true what Domino was always sneering into his ear — namely, that the tall man had no love for him whatsoever and therefore used him and mocked him as the cruelest of johns mock their whores. Months ago, Tyler had thought he knew how to deal with him. The Queen was a very big bitch, the tall man used to self-importantly whisper. This was the only sort of lying in which Tyler had ever caught him, this weak struggling to be glamorous. He could have told Tyler that he was a bigshot himself, or even that he was friends with bigshots, but he didn’t set his sights so high. His boss, the Queen, whom he loved and perhaps feared, was glorious enough. But he had never really gotten along with any members of the royal family except for Strawberry, off and on, and of course Maj herself who was now so frequently to be seen walking down the street with her arm tightly about Tyler’s waist and his arm around her shoulder with his fingers gripping her upper arm and her dark face turned toward him as he clung to her, watching the street with his right hand in the pocket of his jacket. To the tall man, Tyler looked shy, maybe even ashamed. He seemed to be gazing away from her.