William Vollmann - The Royal Family

Tyler said: Justin, I have a question.

What?

Why is it that when I try to be polite and respect you and do you favors like picking you up at the goddamned hospital and ask about how you’re feeling and what your plans are, you don’t even say what’s up? Are you that selfish? Are you that far gone?

He’s sick, Henry! whispered Strawberry nervously. By the way, I found this tape player in the women’s bathroom. I’m gonna give it to the Queen…

Ignoring her, the tall man leaned forward and said in tones both earnest and bland, and maybe contemptuous also: You think you can see the agony of the black man?

What are you talking about?

How come you never invite me over? You been in all the Queen’s tunnels and you never took me anywhere.

Well, I didn’t know that you—

You got a place?

Sure, Justin. Sure I do.

Probably some million dollar white man place.

Oh, give me a break, said Tyler narrowing his eyes.

A concrete-hued fog protected the Tenderloin from unnecessary light, like some grey rock beneath which bugs and worms could safely crawl, to say nothing of the Tenderloin’s wheelchair kings who rolled beneath those elegant old white skyscrapers, yes, white against a silver-white sky, and the chin-up street kings who stalked the filthy sidewalks, watching the men in crutches approach to do them reverence, and meanwhile the cars snored in between it all, ignored by everyone unless their windows were down for business. The silhouette of a garage mechanic in coveralls bent over a truck hood on Olive Street, and a black girl in a white wool cap and a white quilted jacket approached him. Then they were gone, and so was the rain forest mural on the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell Theater. If Tyler didn’t put on the brake soon, they’d be all the way to Frenchy’s adult bookstore.

I said, you think you can see the agony of the black man? Hell, no. Not even you. I like you, Henry. You my friend. You don’t talk down to me. But you can’t never understand—

Don’t I bear the Mark of Cain, too? asked Tyler, staring into the tall man’s face and narrowing his eyes. Don’t you think that I—

Strawberry cleared her throat and said: I, um, I heard they’re gonna put up a big red fence at the end of Haight Street so that the homeless people can’t sleep there in the park no more. Don’t you think that’s fucked? I mean, I really really—

Cut that Mark of Cain shit, the tall man told Tyler. We all disgraced on this world. I don’t even care about that no more. But you ain’t never been treated like I been treated. You ain’t never felt the agony that every black man feels.

What’s that supposed to mean? said Tyler. How can you know what the agony of the black man is? Are you that cocksure a sonofabitch, that you can speak for all black men? What can you see?

I can see this, motherfucker. I can see the burning buildings and the crack-addicted babies and—

Who burned the buildings down? Who addicted those babies? Was it me? Was it my mother? If some tart like Chocolate gives birth to seven babies and they’re all addicted, why is that my fault? Why’s that the agony of the black man? Why isn’t it your fault or Chocolate’s fault?

You disrespectin’ me, Henry? I know you disrespectin’ Choc, an’ she’s a sister. If you wasn’t dickin’ the Queen right now, you just might be dead.

All right, fine. Let’s forget it.

You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve to talk shit to me.

Come on, Justin, whispered Strawberry, he’s your friend…

Shut the fuck up, bitch! he screamed, and punched her in the face. Domino, who was sitting in the front seat, looked away. Tyler bit his lip and wiped tears out of his narrowed little eyes.

I’m happier than shit, Domino mumbled.

I’m glad you’re happy, said the Queen, who was squat, dark and perfect like some tarnished bronze crocodile figurine from ancient Nubia. Now you can go back to your partyin’… An’ if you want anything—

I want Sapphire’s little booty! the blonde screeched.

Ah, said the Queen.

Above Seventh by the V.D. clinic there were two jet trails, and the sunglare was so white upon the gilded diamonds of the church dome.

Sir, you’re too close to the counter, said the woman. Please step back behind the yellow line.

The tall man pushed his wool cap up and silently obeyed her. He felt afraid.

Sir, we can’t track you with the name you gave us, the woman went on. You have to give us your real name. We’re completely confidential. No one can release any information without your approval… — and she slid a clipboard toward him with a worksheet on it, requesting date of birth, full name, and suchlike personal matters. She nodded at him to pick it up.

He took his waiting slip in his hand — letter U, it was — and laid it gently down beside the clipboard.

OK, thank you very much, he said. His leg ached.

You mean you don’t want your test results?

That’s right.

OK, fine, she said with a shrug.

Maj, I want to talk you, the tall man said. His sunglasses were as big and dark as a skull’s eyesockets.

About what?

About this problem that I have.

Shoot, said the Queen.

In private.

You gals go over there behind those cars. An’ Domino, you take Sapphire. Chocolate, you too. Don’t lemme catch you listenin’. That’s a good gal. You all go an’ have a good time, smoke yourselves out… Allrightie now, Justin, what is it? You know I can’t fault you for sayin’ whatever it is you gotta say. You was never a liar nor a coward. An’ remind me to get Sapphire some shoes. You doin’ okay?

No.

I figured. You wanna quit me?

I don’t know.

Same old same old! she laughed bitterly. Sometimes I feel like it almost be scandalous, you know, me out here for everybody an’ no support. An’ without me an’ my rep * you’d all be—

We’d all be what? said the tall man.

Smiling grimly, the Queen fell silent, and they stood gazing across the corner at Strawberry and Chocolate in front of the Cinnabar, Chocolate in white shorts with her dreadlocks rich and shiny as she stood crossing and uncrossing her long brown legs at the passing cars while Strawberry sipped at a sodacan; then before the Queen knew it her two girls were chuckling and dancing round each other whispering and hugging and then a small packet changed hands.

They say that the ten percent we gotta give you, you don’t give it all back. They say you featherin’ your own nest, Maj.

So it’s about bread. That what it’s about for you, Justin?

They say you took that bread.

Myself, huh? All by myself?

But just then Beatrice came running from Larkin Street, on her face a radiant look, and she did not know that the Queen and the tall man were having a private conversation and she was too happy to comprehend the other women’s warning cries because the old man who’d been with her had adored her and given her three hundred dollars all good cash money without any retribution at the end so that Beatrice felt at long last proven sweet as a pastry, hot as a candle, bright as the sun! just as the death’s-head the master of ceremonies had cried out in Merida so long ago, in words which Beatrice had snipped down to fit her shyly uncovered self so that she could dance in the air forever without anyone’s sufferance or legal permission and she was so filled and swollen with love that her joyousness outswelled the edemas in her abscessed varicosed legs and she could soaringly strut like all the Mayan girls who by virtue of the three stripes of floral embroidery on their long white dresses (which is to say, their Marks of Anti-Cain) had long since become angels. The Queen smiled and made a kissing face. Beatrice flew into her arms. Absently stroking the other woman’s long, greying hair, the Queen said to Justin: So. You want to quit? Or you want to bring me down?