cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第10章

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ew　work　from　a　prejudiced　viewpoint。
　　〃The　appellation　'Chironesque'　was　considered　as　a　derogatory　'literary'　term。　It　was　deeply　resented　by　Susan　Sontag；　who　said　so　in　The　Partisan　Review。　The　Galt　essay　wasn't；　in　all　fairness；　disrespectful；　but　Gait　stated　bluntly　that　Debierue　had　retrogressed。　He　claimed　that　'bicephalous　centaurlike　creatures'　were　clearly　visible　in　the　dozen　paintings　Debierue　had　shown　him。　And　this　forced　Gait　to　conclude　that　the　'master'　was　now　a　'teacher；'　and　that　didacticism　had　no　place　in　contemporary　art。　The　'purist'　view；　of　course。〃
　　〃Of　course。〃　Berenice　nodded。
　　〃At　any　rate…and　here　he　was　reaching　for　it…because　Chiron　the　centaur　was　the　mythical　teacher　of　Hercules；　and　other　Greek　heroes；　Gait　christened　the　period　'Chironesque：　This　was　a　cunning　allusion　to　the　classicism　Galt　detested；　elements　Galt　would've　considered　regressive　in　any　modern　painter。
　　〃Debierue；　of　course；　said　nothing。〃
　　Berenice　nodded　and　closed　her　eyes。
　　〃The　controversial　Galt　essay　was　well　timed。　It　rejuvenated　interest　in　the　old　painter；　and　the　'bicephalous　centaur…like　creatures；'　as　described　by　Gait；　made　the　new　work　resemble…or　appear　to　resemble…Abstract　Expressionism。　Some　wishful　thinking　was　going　on。　Nineteen　fifty…eight　wasn't　an　exciting　pictorial　year。　Except　for　a　handful　of　New　York　painters；　called　the　'Sidney　Janis　Painters；　after　their　dealer；　the　so…called　New　York　School　was　undergoing　a　transitional　phase。　And　Debierue　was　news；　of　course；　because　he'd　received　so　little　public　notice　in　recent　years。〃
　　Berenice　dropped　her　chin。　〃Uh　huh。〃
　　〃One　New　York　dealer　cabled　Debierue　an　offer　of　fifty　thousand　dollars　for　any　one　of　the　Chironesque　paintings；　sight　unseen。　Debierue　acknowledged　it　by　sending　back　a　blank　cablegram…with　just　his　type　signature。　The　dealer　took　advantage　of　the　publicity　by　blowing　up　a　copy　of　his　offer　and　Debierue's　reply　and　by　placing　the　photo　blowups　in　the　window　of　his　Fifty…seventh　Street　gallery。　Other　dealers；　who　aped　and　upped　the　original　offer；　didn't　receive　any　replies。
　　〃How　I'll　manage　it；　I　don't　know；　Berenice。　I　know　only　that　I'm　determined　to　be　the　first　critic　to　see　Debierue's　American　paintings；　and　I've　already　decided　to　call　it　his　'American　Period'！〃
　　But　I　was　talking　to　myself。　Berenice；　I　noticed；　with　some　irritation；　had　fallen　asleep。
　　
　　
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　　Despite　her　size；　and　she　was　a　large　woman；　Berenice；　curled　and　cramped　up　in　sleep；　looked　vulnerable　to　the　point　of　fragility。　Her　unreasonably　long　blond　lashes　swept　round　flushed　cheeks；　and　her　childish　face；　in　repose　and　without　makeup；　took　several　years　from　her　age。　Her　heavy　breasts　and　big　round　ass；　however；　exposed　now；　as　the　short　flimsy　nightgown　rode　high　above　her　hips；　were　incongruously　mature　in　contrast　with　her　innocent　face　and　tangled　Alice…in…Wonderland　hair。　As　I　examined　her；　with　squinty…eyed；　ambivalent　interest；　a　delicate　bubble　of　spit　formed　in　the　exact　center　of　her　bowed；　slightly　parted　lips。
　　Oh；　I　had　put　Berenice　to　sleep　all　right；　with　my　discursive　discussion　of　Jacques　Debierue。　With　an　impatient；　involuntary　yawn　of　my　own　I　wondered　how　much　she　had　understood　about　Debierue　before　she　had　drifted　off　pletely。　She　had　been　attentive；　of　course；　as　she　always　was　when　I　talked　to　her；　but　she　had　never　asked　a　serious　question。　Not　that　it　made　much　difference。　Berenice　had　a　minimal　interest　in　art…or　in　anything　that　bordered　on　abstract　thought…and　for　some　time　I　had　suspected　that　the　slight　interest　she　was　able　to　muster　occasionally　was　largely　feigned。　An　effort　to　please　me。
　　Except　for　her　adhesive　interest　in　me　as　a　person；　or　personality；　and　in　matching　sexual　frequencies；　I　wondered　if　anything　else　had　ever　stimulated　her　intellectually。　For　a　woman　who　had　majored　in　English；　and　taught　the　subject　（granted；　she　taught　on　a　high　school　level）；　she　was　surprisingly　low　on　insight　into　the　nature　of　literature。
　　No　one　could　accuse　her　of　being　well　read；　either。　Her　insights　into　literature　when　I　had；　on　occasion；　attempted　to　draw　her　out；　were　either　sophomoric　or　parroted　generalities　remembered　from　her　college　English　courses。　She　had　an　excellent　memory　for　plot　lines　and　the　names　of　characters；　but　for　little　else。
　　She　was　probably　a　poor　classroom　teacher；　I　decided。　She　had　such　a　lazy　good…natured　disposition　she　could　not　have　been　any　great　shakes　as　a　disciplinarian。　But　she　would　have　few　disciplinary　problems　in　a　city　like　Duluth；　where　teen…agers　were　polite　incipient　Republicans。　New　York　high　school　students　would　have　had　a　gentle　woman　like　Berenice　in　tears　within　minutes。
　　But　how　did　I　know？　I　didn't。　In　a　power　situation；　with　children；　she　might　inspire　terror；　fear；　and　trembling。　She　never　talked　about　her　work　and；　for　all　I　knew；　she　might　be　an　expert　in　grammar　and　a　veritable　hotshot　in　the　classroom。
　　The　persona　of　a　woman　in　love　is　highly　deceiving。
　　Did　she　feign　sentimentality　as　well　as　other　things？　She　cried　real　tears　one　night　when　Timmy　Fraser　sang　〃My　Funny　Valentine〃　at　the　Red　Pirate　Lounge…stretching　out　the　song　in　the　mournful　way　that　he　does　for　fully　ten　minutes。　Any　woman　who　fails　to　recognize　the　inherent　viciousness　of　Lorenz　Hart's　1930s　lyrics　has　a　head　filled　with　cornmeal　stirabout　instead　of　brains。　She　also　mentioned　once　that　she　had　cried　for　two　days　over　Madame　Bovary's　suicide。　Fair　enough。　Flaubert　had　earned　those　tears；　but　she　had　no　insight　into　the　style　of　the　novel；　nor　did　she　analyze　how　Flaubert　had　maneuvered　her　emotionally　into　weeping　over　the　death　of　that　poor；　sick　woman。
　　Knowing　this　much；　and　after　thinking　about　it；　I　realized　that　I　knew　very　little　about　her；　it　was　unreasonable　of　me　to　expect　a　wakeful　interest　from　Berenice　in　Jacques　Debierue。　Berenice　was　a　funny　valentine；　that　is　what　she　was；　and　her　chin　was　a　little　weak；　too。　In　a　vague　abstract　way　I　loved　her。　At　the　same　time；　I　wondered　what　to　do　with　her。　She　had　been　a　sounding　board　to　diminish　some　of　the　excitement　inside　me；　but　now　it　was　two　AM。　and　I　was　going　to　be　busy　today。　Busy；　busy。　Perhaps　if　I　used　her　right；　she　would　be　an　asset。　Wouldn't　it　help　to　have　a　beautiful　woman　in　tow　when　I　called　on　Debierue？　He　would　hardly　slam　the　door　in　the　face　of　a　strikingly　attractive　woman。　A　Frenchman？　Never　。　。　。
　　The　bubble　of　spit　ballooned　suddenly　as　she　exhaled；　and　inaudibly　popped。　Berenice　whimpered　in　her　sleep　and　tried；　wriggling；　to　find　a　more　fortable　position　in　her　chair。　This　was　impossible。　With　her　long　legs　cramped　up　under　her　rear　and　in　a　tight…fitting　canvas　officer's　chaiz　it　was　miraculous　that　she　could　fall　asleep　in　the　first　place。
　　I　stopped　rationalizing；　recognizing　what　I　was　doing…　rationalizing…and　prodded　Berenice's　soft　but　rather　flat　belly　with　a　stiff　forefinger。
　　〃Wake　up；　Audience；〃　I　said；　not　unkindly。
　　〃I　wasn't　asleep；〃　she　lied。　〃I　just　closed　my　eyes　for　a　second　to　rest　them。〃
　　〃I　know。　I　forgot　to　ask；　but　where　have　you　been　the　last　couple　of　days？〃
　　〃Here。〃　Her　eyes　widened。　〃Right　here。〃
　　〃Not　today　you　weren't。〃
　　〃Oh；　you　mean　today？〃
　　〃Yes。　Today。〃
　　〃I　was　at　Gloria's　apartment。　Honestly；　I　got　so　blue　just　sitting　around　here　all　alone　waiting　for　you　to　e　back　that　I　called　her。　She　drove　over　for　me　and　took　me　in。〃
　　〃I　thought　as　much。　Gloria　tried　to　pump　me　on　the　phone　when！　got　back。　I　thought　something　was　odd　about　her　phony　laughter；　but　couldn't　figure　it　out。　If　you　didn't　intend　to　go　back　to　Duluth；　why　did　you　take　your　bags　and　leave　that　weird　note　for　me？〃
　　〃I　tried　to　go；　I　really　did；　but　I　just　couldn't！〃　Her　eyes　moistened。　〃I　want　to　stay　with　you；　James。　。　。　don't　you　want　me　to？〃
　　I　had　to　forestall　her　tears。　Why　can't　women　learn　how　to　say　〃Good…bye〃　like　a　man？
　　〃We'll　see；　baby；　we'll　see。　Let's　go　to　bed　now。　We'll　talk　about　it　in　the　morning；　much　later　this　morning。〃
　　Berenice　rose　obediently；　crossed　her　arms；　and　with　a　sweeping；　graceful　movement　removed　her　shorty　nightgown。　No　longer　sleepy；　she　grinned　wickedly　and　crawled　onto　the　tumbled　Murphy　bed；　shaking　her　tremendous　stern　as　she　did　so。　I　smiled。　She　was　amusing　when　she　tried　to　be　coy　because　she　was　so　big。　I　undressed　slowly　and　crawled　in　beside　her。　The　air…conditioner；　without　enough　BTUs　to　cool　the　apartment　adequately；　labored　away…uh　uh；　uh　uh；　uh　uh。。。　。　As　a　rule　I　could　shut　the　sound　out；　but　now　it　bothered　me。
　　I　was　tense；　slightly　high　from　drinking　four　cups　of　black　coffee；　and　overstimulated　by　my　ability　to　recall；　with　so　little　effort；　the　details　of　Debierue's　career。　Three；　no；　four　days　had　passed　since　the　last　time；　and　yet；　strangely；　I　wasn't　interested　in　sex。　To　make　love　now　would　be　to　initiate　a　new　beginning　to　a　something　I　had　written　〃ending〃　to…perhaps　that　was　the　reason。　That；　or　my　unresolved　feelings　about　Berenice　now　that　I　was　on　the　verge　of　a　future…if　everything　worked　out　all　right…that　held　no　place　for　a　woman　who　was　interested　in　me　as　a　person。　Any　relationship　between　a　man　and　a　woman　that　is　based　upon　bodies　and　personalities　alone　can　lead　only　to　disaster。
　　It　was　a　premonition；　or　some　kind　of　precognitive　instinct　for　self…preservation；　I　should　have　heeded。　But　at　two　in　the　morning；　with　my　mind　still　reeling　with　matters　intellectual；　I　was　physically　unable　to　muster　enough　brute　bellicosity　to　toss　Berenice　and　her　suitcase　down　the　stairs。　She　was　loving；　too　loving。
　　The　inchoate　premonition；　or　whatever　it　was；　of　some　disaster；　froze　my　body　as　well　as　my　mind　into　a　state　of　flaccid　inaction。　Berenice　was　puzzled；　I　know。　When　none　of　her　usual　tricks　worked；　she　climbed　over　me　suddenly；　got　out　of　bed；　and　switched　off　the　floor　lamp。　Except　for　the　tiny　red　light　on　the　electric　coffeepot；　which　was　not　a　red；　baleful　staring　eye；　but　merely　an　effective　reminder　that　the　coffee　was　hot　if　I　was　not；　the　room　was　as　dark　as　my　thoughts。　We　had　never　made　love　in　the　dark　before。　I　didn't　know　about　Berenice；　but　such　a　peculiar　idea　had　never　occurred　to　me　in　my　lifetime。　It　is　too　impersonal　to　make　love　in　the　dark。　Your　partner　could　be　anyone；　anyone　at　all。
　　How　she　knew　this　I　don't　know；　but　the　gimmick　worked。　As　Berenice　whipped　her　head　back　and　forth；　stinging　first　my　chest　and　then　my　stomach　with　her　long　hair；　my　doubts　disappeared。　And　because　this　unseen　woman　became　any　woman；　and　was　no　longer　a　problem　named　Berenice　Hollis；　I　became　rigid　with　the　pain　of　need；　and　mounted　her　savagely。　Savagely　for　me；　because　I　am　usually　methodical　in　sexual　relations；　knowing　what　I　like　and　dislike。　Being　flagellated　with　long　hair　was　a　new　experience　for　me　as　well；　and　I　favored　Berenice　with　the　best　ride　she　had　ever　had。　She　climaxed　as　I　entered；　then　twice；　and　we　made　the　final　one　together。　She　bit　my　shoulder　so　hard　to　keep　from　mewing　（knowing　how　irritated　I　get　when　she　makes　animal　noises）　she　left　the　marks　of　her　teeth　in　my　skin。
　　Euphoric；　my　tenseness　dissipated；　the　thought　of　sending　this　big；　marvelous　woman　back　to　Min