On other mornings I am visited by a prickling suspicion, haunting the periphery of my mind, that perhaps this self-harrowing is a distraction from some true, instinctive beastliness. I vowed to form a structure for my retreat, fold my tents and creep into my ecumenical shelter, conjure up some idol powerful enough to hold me to it: silence, abstinence, and solitude. I hoped some gift of strength would enable me to remain there.

But even then, at that hour of epileptic misery, fifteen years after my last sight of them, if Sam or Carlotta had knocked, would I not have leapt up, told them my tale with humorous fugues, and then taken them out for a drink to hear their tale in return?

The Hung Far Low

Nobody had packed. There were rugs and shawls draped over the mattress. Long dresses hung in the closet. Strewn blue jeans and little boxes. A lot of carved wood boxes from Mexico with mother-of-pearl flowers enlaced on the lids. Indian blankets, a bottle with big feathers sticking out of it. And the dog. I’d seen her around campus. A tall, skinny, black dog.

“Half greyhound,” Carlotta said. “Her name is Angelina.”

When we came in, the house was dark and we could hear thumps and sharp yelps. Carlotta yelled, “Angelina!” The thumps got louder. The yelps turned into barking. Carlotta opened a door and the big stupid dog came out, slobbering and wagging and pissing all over. Carlotta shut her in the kitchen while we took armfuls of their stuff to the car.

I carried out a beaded curtain and a box of seashells, lots of clothes and rugs. Carlotta swept it all into fast piles. We dumped it all into the trunk of the car and the floor of the back seat. The dark street stayed dark. The light from the front door of the house shone down on the dented Rambler. Sam and Rennel conferred about the red telephone. They definitely wanted to take it but they argued whether to cut the cord or disconnect the wires from the outlet. Carlotta made a last trip out with a stack of records. When she came back the sky was lightening. We stood watching Rennel and Sam argue. Finally Rennel yanked the cord out of the wall; he clenched his jaw and stretched his neck, turning so we could see his hands and arms working. Sam carried the phone to the car. Carlotta got the dog out of the kitchen.

I sat in back with Angelina as we drove to Sam’s house. The sun was just up, bright on the roofs. The street was still cold in shadow. Sam and Rennel went looking for a screwdriver while Carlotta and I carried things up. We dumped everything on the floor.