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Authors: Tama Janowitz
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were a few sprouts of hair with a lot of skull in between. Dull lizard eyes. He was dressed in some sort of shabby camouflage. A terrible odor, reminiscent of cauliflower and old cheese . . .
"I'm great!" I said. "My work is going fantastically, I'm designing a giant altarpiece, ten by twenty feet long—see, I've applied to build a chapel in Rome, right near the Vatican. And I have a feeling I'm going to get the grant. But the real reason I'm excited is that I'm going to have a kid. Would you believe it? Me. Marley Mantello—" Meanwhile my voice trailed off. The guy obviously wasn't doing too well. I felt embarrassed to run into him like this, in my black Italian sweater with neon-blue stripes like an early Frank Stella, my elegant rumpled old jacket, my gold, angelic hair. There was a pause. I thought at least the guy would congratulate me.
"Didn't you hear, Marley?" he said.
"Hear what?" I said.
"You must have heard."
"No."
"I'm not doing so well, Marley," he said. "I have cancer."
"Cancer!" The word leapt out of my mouth before I had a chance to close it up.
----
"Yes, Marley," he said listlessly. "Kaposi's sarcoma. You really didn't know?" I shook my head, taking a step backward toward the Campbell's soup. He took a step closer to me. His thick tongue crept out of his mouth and gave his lips a lick. "Well, Marley, I haven't been feeling well for about a year. Two months ago I went to a specialist in Boston. I had these giant purple welts all over my body. It's the first, contagious stage of AIDS, Marley." He stepped forward and clasped the edge of my coat.
"Wow!" I said. I shot backward about a foot.
"Don't worry," he said. "It takes intimate contact to spread it. But you know, Marley, at least now I know I'm not a hypochondriac. Of course, this isn't exactly helping to increase the value of my paintings. Who wants to buy something by an unknown artist who's got AIDS?"
"God, Larry, what can I say? Are they . . . doing anything for you?"
"Oh, I'm on chemotherapy. I had a course of radiation treatment. That's why I lost my hair. Does it look very bad?" I tried to shake my head. "You know what, Marley? Since I've gotten it, I can't have sex with anyone . . . and I'm horny as hell!" He leaned forward like a leering, toothless old lion in the zoo, sighting a toddler with a pop.
"Well, Larry, best of luck—" I edged away.
"Ah, don't worry, Marley. I know which side my butt is breaded on. I'm going to use this to get one hell of a lot of publicity. Don't catch anything now, you hear?" For I was backing off rapidly. Unable to find the insect repellent, I purchased my eggplant-chocolate-chip ice cream and staggered out of the store.
He had cancer, and the first stages of AIDS! All I could think was that this probably meant I would get it next: he had said it was contagious. Thank God soon my son would be born. Someone to visit me in the hospital. Poor Achilles, he would be fatherless, as I had been. Tears came into my eyes, thinking about the kind of life he was going to have ahead of him. Before
----
I knew it I was walking alongside the Hudson, preoccupied with my thoughts.
An offering to the gods! I threw my ice cream into the water. The river was gray and choppy. I buried my hands in my pockets and wrapped my scarf around my nose, looking out. I could see all kinds of gooey things swimming around in the water, all sorts of primordial, primeval sludge. It was the land of the dinosaurs, out there in the water, with giant amoebas and lobster tails sashaying back and forth. Everything was alive, even though the water was so cold there were chunks of ice in it.
There were globules eating oil—these were the hungry enzymes from millennia ago that had survived through this day —and invisible lizards slithering through the waves. And volatile guy that I was, a great feeling of joy and happiness swept over me. I was not some primitive sponge or barnacle or anchorite. I was not Larry, walking around with a
"I'm great!" I said. "My work is going fantastically, I'm designing a giant altarpiece, ten by twenty feet long—see, I've applied to build a chapel in Rome, right near the Vatican. And I have a feeling I'm going to get the grant. But the real reason I'm excited is that I'm going to have a kid. Would you believe it? Me. Marley Mantello—" Meanwhile my voice trailed off. The guy obviously wasn't doing too well. I felt embarrassed to run into him like this, in my black Italian sweater with neon-blue stripes like an early Frank Stella, my elegant rumpled old jacket, my gold, angelic hair. There was a pause. I thought at least the guy would congratulate me.
"Didn't you hear, Marley?" he said.
"Hear what?" I said.
"You must have heard."
"No."
"I'm not doing so well, Marley," he said. "I have cancer."
"Cancer!" The word leapt out of my mouth before I had a chance to close it up.
----
"Yes, Marley," he said listlessly. "Kaposi's sarcoma. You really didn't know?" I shook my head, taking a step backward toward the Campbell's soup. He took a step closer to me. His thick tongue crept out of his mouth and gave his lips a lick. "Well, Marley, I haven't been feeling well for about a year. Two months ago I went to a specialist in Boston. I had these giant purple welts all over my body. It's the first, contagious stage of AIDS, Marley." He stepped forward and clasped the edge of my coat.
"Wow!" I said. I shot backward about a foot.
"Don't worry," he said. "It takes intimate contact to spread it. But you know, Marley, at least now I know I'm not a hypochondriac. Of course, this isn't exactly helping to increase the value of my paintings. Who wants to buy something by an unknown artist who's got AIDS?"
"God, Larry, what can I say? Are they . . . doing anything for you?"
"Oh, I'm on chemotherapy. I had a course of radiation treatment. That's why I lost my hair. Does it look very bad?" I tried to shake my head. "You know what, Marley? Since I've gotten it, I can't have sex with anyone . . . and I'm horny as hell!" He leaned forward like a leering, toothless old lion in the zoo, sighting a toddler with a pop.
"Well, Larry, best of luck—" I edged away.
"Ah, don't worry, Marley. I know which side my butt is breaded on. I'm going to use this to get one hell of a lot of publicity. Don't catch anything now, you hear?" For I was backing off rapidly. Unable to find the insect repellent, I purchased my eggplant-chocolate-chip ice cream and staggered out of the store.
He had cancer, and the first stages of AIDS! All I could think was that this probably meant I would get it next: he had said it was contagious. Thank God soon my son would be born. Someone to visit me in the hospital. Poor Achilles, he would be fatherless, as I had been. Tears came into my eyes, thinking about the kind of life he was going to have ahead of him. Before
----
I knew it I was walking alongside the Hudson, preoccupied with my thoughts.
An offering to the gods! I threw my ice cream into the water. The river was gray and choppy. I buried my hands in my pockets and wrapped my scarf around my nose, looking out. I could see all kinds of gooey things swimming around in the water, all sorts of primordial, primeval sludge. It was the land of the dinosaurs, out there in the water, with giant amoebas and lobster tails sashaying back and forth. Everything was alive, even though the water was so cold there were chunks of ice in it.
There were globules eating oil—these were the hungry enzymes from millennia ago that had survived through this day —and invisible lizards slithering through the waves. And volatile guy that I was, a great feeling of joy and happiness swept over me. I was not some primitive sponge or barnacle or anchorite. I was not Larry, walking around with a
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