The Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson

his cheekbone scraping the wall.
     
    Looked around dully. Musicians gone. Tables empty. No lights on. Tango woman
     
    leaning over a glass while the gnome
     
    swept around her feet with a broom. He was dozing off again when he saw her rise
     
    and turn towards him.
     
    He jolted awake. Pulled his body upright inside the overcoat and tried to organize
     
    his arms casually on the front of his person.
     
    There seemed to be too many of them. In fact there were three since he had,
     
    as usual, woke up with an erection
     
    and today had no pants on (for reasons he could not immediately recall) but there
     
    wasn’t time to worry about this,
     
    she was drawing a chair up to the table.
Buen’día,
she said.
     
    Hi,
said Geryon.
     
    You American? No. English? No. German? No. Spy? Yes.
She smiled.
     
    He watched her extract
     
    a cigarette and light it. She didn’t speak. Geryon had a bad thought. Suppose
     
    she was waiting for him
     
    to say something about the music. Should he lie? Bolt? Try to distract her?
     
    Your singing
— he began and stopped.
     
    The woman glanced up.
Tango is not for everyone,
she said. Geryon did not hear.
     
    The cold pressure of the concrete wall
     
    against his back had tumbled him into a recollection. He was at a Saturday night
     
    high school dance. Basketball nets cast
     
    their stretchy shadows high up the walls of the gym. Hours of music had crashed
     
    on his ears while he stood
     
    at the wall with his back pressed against cold concrete. Jolts from the stage
     
    threw lit strips of human limbs
     
    across the dark. Heat bloomed. Black night sky weighed starlessly on the windows.
     
    Geryon stood upright
     
    within the rayon planes of his brother’s sports jacket. Sweat and desire ran
     
    down his body to pool
     
    in the crotch and behind the knees. He had been standing against the wall
     
    for three and a half hours in a casual pose.
     
    His eyes ached from the effort of trying to see everything without looking at it.
     
    Other boys stood beside him
     
    on the wall. The petals of their colognes rose around them in a light terror.
     
    Meanwhile music pounded
     
    across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being
     
    a self in a song.
     
    Well?
said his brother when Geryon came through the kitchen at five past midnight.
     
    How was it? Who did you dance with? Do any dope?
     
    Geryon paused. His brother was layering mayonnaise, bologna, and mustard onto
     
    six pieces of bread laid out
     
    on the counter beside the sink. Overhead the kitchen light shone sulfurous.
     
    The bologna looked purple.
     
    Geryon’s eyes were still bouncing with images from the gym.
Oh this time I decided
     
    to sort of just watch you know.
     
    Geryon’s voice was loud in the too-bright room. His brother looked at him quickly
     
    then went on piling up sandwiches
     
    into a tower. He cut the tower diagonally in half with a downthrust of the bread knife
     
    and piled it all onto a plate.
     
    There was one piece of bologna left in the plastic which he shoved into his mouth as he
     
    picked up the plate
     
    and headed for the stairs leading down to the TV room.
Jacket looks good on you,
     
    he said thickly as he passed.
     
    Clint Eastwood movie on the late show bring me down a blanket when you come.
     
    Geryon stood thoughtful for a moment.
     
    Then he replaced the lids on the mayonnaise and the mustard and put them back
     
    in the fridge. Threw the bologna wrapper
     
    in the garbage. Took a sponge and wiped the crumbs carefully across the counter
     
    into the sink and ran water
     
    until they disappeared. From the stainless steel of the kettle a small red person
     
    in a big jacket regarded him.
     
    Shall we dance?
he said to it— KRRAAK —Geryon came abruptly awake
     
    to gritty daylight in a tango bar.
     
    The gnome was slamming chairs upside down on the red tables. Geryon could not
     
    for the moment recall who she was
     
    this