The Autobiography of Red Read Online Free PDF Page B

lashed the wings tight.
     
    Then put his jacket back on.
You seem moody today Geryon anything wrong?
     
    said Herakles when he saw Geryon
     
    coming up the basement stairs. His voice had an edge. He liked to see Geryon happy.
     
    Geryon felt his wings turn in, and in, and in.
     
    Nope just fine.
Geryon smiled hard with half of his face.
So tomorrow Geryon.
     
    Tomorrow?
     
    Tomorrow we’ll take the car and drive out to the volcano you’ll like that.
     
    Yes.
     
    Get some photographs.
Geryon sat down suddenly.
And tonight—Geryon? You okay?
     
    Yes fine, I’m listening. Tonight—?
     
    Why do you have your jacket over your head?
     
    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
     
    Can’t hear you Geryon.
The jacket shifted. Geryon peered out.
I said sometimes
     
    I need a little privacy.
     
    Herakles was watching him, his eyes still as a pond. They watched each other,
     
    this odd pair.
     
     

XVI. GROOMING
     
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    As in childhood we live sweeping close to the sky and now, what dawn is this.
     
     
    ————
     
    Herakles lies like a piece of torn silk in the heat of the blue saying,
     
    Geryon please.
The break in his voice
     
    made Geryon think for some reason of going into a barn
     
    first thing in the morning
     
    when sunlight strikes a bale of raw hay still wet from the night.
     
    Put your mouth on it Geryon please.
     
    Geryon did. It tasted sweet enough. I am learning a lot in this year of my life,
     
    thought Geryon. It tasted very young.
     
    Geryon felt clear and powerful—not some wounded angel after all
     
    but a magnetic person like Matisse
     
    or Charlie Parker! Afterwards they lay kissing for a long time then
     
    played gorillas. Got hungry.
     
    Soon they were sitting in a booth at the Bus Depot waiting for food.
     
    They had started to practice
     
    their song (“Joy to the World”) when Herakles pulled Geryon’s head
     
    into his lap and began grooming
     
    for nits. Gorilla grunts mingled with breakfast sounds in the busy room.
     
    The waitress arrived
     
    holding two plates of eggs. Geryon gazed up at her from under Herakles’ arm.
     
    Newlyweds?
she said.
     
     

XVII. WALLS
     
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    That night they went out painting.
     
     
    ————
     
    Geryon did an early red-winged LOVESLAVE on the garage of the priest’s house
     
    next to the Catholic church.
     
    Then passing down Main Street they saw fat white letters (recent) on the side
     
    of the post office. CAPITALISM SUCKS .
     
    Herakles eyed the paint supply dubiously.
Well.
He parked in the alley.
     
    After crossing out the white letters
     
    neatly with a bar of opaque black he encircled it in an airy red cloud
     
    of chancery script.
     
    CUT HERE . He was quiet as they got back into the car.
     
    Then down the tunnel
     
    to the on-ramp for the freeway. Geryon was bored and said he couldn’t see any
     
    good spaces left,
     
    got out his camera and went off towards the sound of traffic. Up on the overpass
     
    the night was wide open
     
    and blowing headlights like a sea. He stood against the wind and let it peel him
     
    clean.
     
    Back at the tunnel Herakles had finished printing his seven personal precepts
     
    in vertical black and red over a fading
     
    stenciled LEAVE THE WALLS ALONE and was down on one knee scraping
     
    the brush on the edge of the can.
     
    He did not look up but said,
There’s some paint left—another loveslave?—no
     
    let’s do something cheerful.
     
    All your designs are about captivity, it depresses me.
     
    Geryon watched the top of Herakles’ head
     
    and felt his limits returning. Nothing to say. Nothing. He looked at this fact
     
    in mild surprise. Once in childhood
     
    his ice cream had been eaten by a dog. Just an empty cone
     
    in a small dramatic red fist.
     
    Herakles stood up.
No? Let’s go then.
On the way home they tried “Joy to the World”
     
    but were