XXII. FRUIT BOWL

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table when Geryon opened the screen door.

 

He had taken the local bus from Hades. Seven-hour trip. He wept most of the way.

 

Wanted to go straight to his room

 

and shut the door but when he saw her he sat down. Hands in his jacket.

 

She smoked in silence a moment

 

then rested her chin against her hand. Eyes on his chest. Nice T-shirt, she said.

 

It was a red singlet with white letters

 

that read TENDER

 

               LOIN. Herakles gave it—and here Geryon had meant

to slide past the name coolly

 

but such a cloud of agony poured up his soul he couldn’t remember

 

what he was saying.

 

He sat forward. She exhaled. She was watching his hands so he unclenched them

 

from the edge

 

of the table and began spinning the fruit bowl slowly. He spun it clockwise.

 

Counterclockwise. Clockwise.

 

Why is this fruit bowl always here? He stopped and held it by the rims.

 

It’s always here and it never

 

has any fruit in it. Been here all my life never had fruit in it yet. Doesn’t

 

that bother you? How do we even

 

know it’s a fruit bowl? She regarded him through smoke. How do you think it feels

 

growing up in a house full

 

of empty fruit bowls? His voice was high. His eyes met hers and they began

 

to laugh. They laughed

 

until tears ran down. Then they sat quiet. Drifted back

 

to opposite walls.

 

They spoke of a number of things, laundry, Geryon’s brother doing drugs,

 

the light in the bathroom.

 

At one point she took out a cigarette, looked at it, put it back. Geryon laid

 

his head on his arms on the table.

 

He was very sleepy. finally they rose and went their ways. The fruit bowl

 

stayed there. Yes empty.