III. RHINESTONES
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Geryon straightened and put his hands quick under the table, not quick enough.
Don’t pick at that Geryon you’ll get it infected. Just leave it alone and let it heal,
said his mother
rhinestoning past on her way to the door. She had all her breasts on this evening.
Geryon stared in amazement.
She looked so brave. He could look at her forever. But now she was at the door
and then she was gone.
Geryon felt the walls of the kitchen contract as most of the air in the room
swirled after her.
He could not breathe. He knew he must not cry. And he knew the sound
of the door closing
had to be kept out of him. Geryon turned all attention to his inside world.
Just then his brother came into the kitchen.
Want to wrestle? said Geryon’s brother.
No, said Geryon.
Why? Just don’t. Oh come on. Geryon’s brother picked up
the empty tin fruit bowl
from the kitchen table and placed it upside down over Geryon’s head.
What time is it?
Geryon’s voice came muffled from inside the fruit bowl. Can’t tell you, said his brother.
Please.
Look for yourself. I don’t want to. You mean you can’t.
The fruit bowl was very still.
You’re so stupid you can’t tell time can you? How old are you anyway? What a jerk.
Can you tie your shoes yet?
The fruit bowl paused. Geryon could in fact tie knots but not bows.
He chose to pass over this distinction.
Yes.
Suddenly Geryon’s brother stepped behind Geryon and seized him by the neck.
This is the silent death hold,
Geryon, in war they use this for knocking out all sentries. With one surprise twist
I can break your neck.
They heard the baby-sitter approaching and Geryon’s brother stepped quickly away.
Is Geryon sulking again?
said the baby-sitter entering the kitchen. No, said the fruit bowl.
Geryon very much wanted
to keep the baby-sitter’s voice out of him. In fact he would have preferred
not to know her at all
but there was one piece of information he needed to get.
What time is it?
he heard himself ask. Quarter to eight, she answered. What time will Mom be home?
Oh not for hours yet,
eleven maybe. At this news Geryon felt everything in the room hurl itself
away from him
towards the rims of the world. Meanwhile the baby-sitter continued,
You better start getting ready for bed, Geryon.
She was taking the fruit bowl off Geryon’s head and moving towards the sink.
Do you want me to read to you?
Your mom says you have trouble going to sleep. What do you like to read?
Bits of words drifted past Geryon’s brain like ash.
He knew he would have to let the baby-sitter go through with this in her wrong voice.
She was standing before him now
smiling hard and rummaging in his face with her eyes. Read the loon book, he said.
This was cagey.
The loon book was an instruction manual for calling loons. At least
it would keep her wrong voice away
from words that belonged to his mother. The baby-sitter went off happily
to find the loon book.
A while later the baby-sitter and Geryon were sitting on the top bunk calling loons
when Geryon’s brother surged in
and landed on the lower bunk, bouncing everyone up to the ceiling.
Geryon drew back
against the wall with his knees up as his brother’s head appeared,
then the rest of him.
He clambered into place beside Geryon. He had a thick rubber band
stretched between his thumb
and index finger which he snapped on Geryon’s leg. What’s your favorite weapon?
Mine’s the catapult BLAM—
he snapped Geryon’s leg again—you can wipe out the whole downtown
with a catapult surprise attack BLAM—
everyone dead or else fill it with incendiaries like Alexander the Great he
invented the catapult
Alexander the Great personally BLAM— Stop that,
said the baby-sitter
grabbing for the rubber band. She missed. Pushing her glasses back up
onto her nose she said, Garotte.
I like the garotte best. It is clean and neat. An Italian invention I believe
although the word is French.
What’s a garotte? asked Geryon’s brother. Taking the rubber band from his thumb
she shoved it in her shirt pocket and said,
A short piece of cord usually silk with a slipknot in one end. You put it
around someone’s neck
from behind and pull tight. Cuts off the windpipe. Quick but painful death.
No noise no blood
no bulge in your pocket. Murderers on trains use them.
Geryon’s brother was regarding her with one eye closed his mode of total attention.
What about you Geryon
what’s your favorite weapon? Cage, said Geryon from behind his knees.
Cage? said his brother.
You idiot a cage isn’t a weapon. It has to do something to be a weapon.
Has to destroy the enemy.
Just then there was a loud noise downstairs. Inside Geryon something burst into flame.
He hit the floor running. Mom!