William Vollmann - The Royal Family

Well, I’m sellin’ my candy right in the Tenderloin, an’ one night this ho on Taylor Street she tells me about the Queen. Is it the truth or is it a lie? I know I would go to find out, so I go to where I see this big flock of girls standin’ under the streetlight, an’ I look an’ I look an’ I can’t hardly believe it ’cause I see no pimps. An Chocolate here, she says to me, am I happy? I tell her: You wanna hear about me an’ happy? Huh. Last time I was happy I can’t even remember. Ain’t that a shame, she says. An’ I say, that’s a shame. Well, bein’ introduced to Maj, that was the happiest time I can… I guess the way I’m built, I just need to feel the power helpin’ me. In Narcotics Anonymous they say trust your higher power. We seen with our own eyes that Maj is Queen. Our Queen is our higher power. An’ she is also just my fun friend. Just a fun-loving friendly person that loves me an’ cares for me. You know what? You very rarely find people that is deep inside their own heart. There’s nobody else.

Yes, I did have a boyfriend. ’Bout a month ago I got rid of him. He was no good for me, same like all of ’em here. Maybe I dream of some man sometimes, not a nigger but a decent black man. I’m attracted to black men. (Actually, I haven’t dreamt in I don’t know how long, ’cause I haven’t slept in a while.) But why should anybody be attracted back to me? I don’t feel that special. ’Cause now my Queen’s gone. I don’t want ’em to look at me. Even when I be out there on streets in a skimpy dress an’ no underwear just for my business an’ their cars slow down to give me the once over, I wanna cry out Why do they keep lookin’ at me like that? Then I know. It’s not my booty they wanna be lickin’ with their eyes. It’s that they see my Mark burnin’ an’ flamin’ so they can’t miss it even if they want to. That’s why sometimes even women drivers slow down to look me over from my head to my toes. I want to say I’m sorry. Everybody’s just thinkin’ we’re fucked up. Well, they’re right. I can only say I–I—I’m enticed by your acknowledgements.

The entire time that Kitty was talking, she kept pulling condoms out from between her breasts, and milking herself unconsciously.

Past the buzzer, a revelation: Authority, in an ecstasy of sanctimonious prayer, would until the end of time keep busy destroying monsters. Tyler saw phony-wood desks, an industrial tape dispenser; staplers, and staple-removers everywhere. A vending machine’s front comprised a rectangular glass eye. Everywhere he looked, some poster or other explained how sad and tricky this world was: PARENTING IS DIFFICULT — TO HELP YOU COPE, TALK ABOUT IT. No wonder so many parents made mistakes, then.

That’s a nice poster, said Tyler to the secretary.

Sir, I’m actually quite busy this morning, the secretary said, adjusting her headset (that microphone should be closer to your mouth, Tyler wanted to explain).

Why, what a coincidence! cried Tyler heartily. So am I!

Well, then, said the secretary, how about if you do your job and I’ll just do mine.

Your job must be difficult, too, said Tyler, pointing to the poster.

Excuse me? the woman said.

Can I help you cope, baby? You feel like crying on my shoulder?

My, aren’t we hostile today, the secretary said. I hope you get busted big time.

On her desk, a buzzer rang.

All right, Mr. Tyler, she said. You can go in now.

With or without Vaseline? Tyler wondered aloud.

You’re disgusting, said the secretary. If you have any kids I hope we take them away forever.

No sweat, said Tyler. You and I can always make some more. I know how to do it. I’m an abuser from way back.

In the next room, tables and chairs were set up as if for a family conference. There were two baby seats. A pair of handcuffs hung from a pipe. There was a big white plastic crate of toys: trucks, a plastic bowling ball, miscellaneous government-issue snuggly things with flame-retardent stickers. Here, perhaps, the uncomprehending children were peeled away from their abusive parents.

Today the FBI was comprised of a man and a woman in business suits. They were very charming. Tyler could see that they knew how to deal with the public.

Dan Smooth sat facing them across the table, his fingers open like those of a small child playing patty-cake.

Tyler said: Are you okay, Dan?

I’ve had better days, but these FBI turds aren’t going to break me. I appreciate your coming by, Henry, I really do. The reason I’m late, well, I’m not actually late…

So what’s going on? said Tyler to the FBI agents.

Would you like some coffee, Mr. Tyler? the woman said.

No thanks. What kind of trouble is Dan in?

Three guesses, laughed Smooth greyly.

Just as when during a special session with Domino the living drops fall slowly from the candle, making a sizzling noise when they hit, then in warm silence spreading into the man’s flesh, the warmth becoming painful and tender, so the various burning stimuli which Tyler had already encountered in this place began to make his stomach ache. The ambiance of the situation, which many people would have called “serious,” preoccupied him more than he would have liked. Disposed, as always, to meet disrespect with defiance, he nonetheless decided that for the sake of expediency (that is, of a happy ending), he would accept some degree of degradation, like the Queen’s girls, who gave head to unwashed men and were always telling each other to be careful. This is not to say that he regretted his rudeness to the secretary, especially since her words had been uncalled for; in this deeper sanctum of officialdom, however, rank domination would probably have to be swallowed, in order to avoid a force-feeding.

Well, strictly speaking, Mr. Tyler, you’re not really a part of the actual investigation process, the FBI woman said.

Imagine that, said Tyler. Nice blouse you have on.

In other words, Mr. Tyler, we’re going to need some time alone with Mr. Smooth, for his own protection and ours.

Dan, you want me to stay or go?

Do what they want, his friend said dully. I’ve been through this so many times before. They always get their way…

Dan, are you okay?

You’re going to have to leave now, Mr. Tyler, the woman said. You’re welcome to take a seat in our waiting room if you’d like.

Count me in, said Tyler. That sure is the prettiest little waiting room I ever did see.

And, Mr. Tyler, I’d appreciate it if you let Sheila work. You seem to have made her upset.

Are you going to shoot me? said Tyler. I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.

The FBI stood waiting for him to go, so he said: Dan, if you need me, call me.

The FBI man laughed and said: If you hear any screaming, come running in.

Tyler went back to the room of posters, winked at the tense, rigid secretary, and sat down as close to the door as he could. The secretary didn’t take her eyes off him. The FBI woman closed the door. Tyler watched the minute hand on the clock, smacking his lips as loudly and vulgarly as he could to irritate the secretary. He farted. — Terribly sorry, he said to the secretary. It’s a disease that all of us child molesters have. — The minute hand on the clock went round and round.

After a long time, the FBI man came out and said to Tyler confidentially while sharpening a pencil: This guy’s got nothing to worry about. There’s nothing to implicate him, not even remotely. He’s wasted his money on a lawyer. He’s not the suspect.