VIII. CLICK

So who is this new kid you spend all your time with now?

 

Geryon’s mother turned to knock her cigarette ash on the sink then faced Geryon again.

 

He was seated at the kitchen table

 

with his camera in front of his face adjusting the focus. He did not answer.

 

He had recently relinquished speech.

 

His mother continued. I hear he doesn’t go to school, is he older?

 

Geryon was focusing the camera on her throat.

 

Nobody sees him around, is it true he lives in the trailer park—that where you

 

go at night?

 

Geryon moved the focal ring from 3 to 3.5 meters.

 

Maybe I’ll just keep talking

 

and if I say anything intelligent you can take a picture of it. She inhaled.

 

I don’t trust people who

 

move around only at night. Exhaled. Yet I trust you. I lie in bed at night thinking,

 

Why didn’t I

 

teach the kid something useful. Well—she took a last pull on the cigarette—

 

you probably know

 

more about sex than I do—and turned to stub it in the sink as he clicked the shutter.

 

A half laugh escaped her.

 

Geryon began to focus again, on her mouth. She leaned against the sink in silence

 

for some moments

 

gazing down the sight line into his lens. Funny when you were a baby

 

you were an insomniac

 

do you remember that? I’d go into your room at night and there you were

 

in your crib lying on your back

 

with your eyes wide open. Staring into the dark. You never cried just stared.

 

You’d lie that way for hours

 

but if I took you in the TV room you were asleep in five minutes—Geryon’s

 

camera swiveled left

 

as his brother came into the kitchen. Going downtown want to come? Bring

 

some money—

 

The words dropped behind him as he went banging out the screen door.

 

Geryon rose slowly,

 

closing the shutter release and pushing the camera into the pocket of his jacket.

 

Got your lens cap? she said as he moved past her.