textfiles/magazines/HOE/hoe-0641.txt

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 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ "GNOSIS: SECOND INSTALLMENT" $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$          by: Kreid           $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$      HOE #641 - 5/17/99      $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
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                       [Continued from HOE #501.]

 - Part 3, Chapter 15

        I made my way down the stairs and out to the street and started
 walking down the sidewalk, wondering if what I said about going to church
 was a lie or not.  I couldn't really tell if I was compelled to go to
 church, or just compelled to get out of that girl... uhm... Katherine
 s apartment.  I decided that there was no way of me knowing.  Lately,
 justifying my actions and compulsions has been even more impossible than
 usual.  That's fine, of course, because I don't really talk to anyone
 anymore.  It's a lot better this way; there's a lot more room to be
 creative, I guess.

        So I walked down the sidewalk until I found a church.  It wasn't
 hard at all, really.  It was the building with the most cars parked in the
 parking lot.  It was a big brick building that looked like it had been
 built about a month ago.  The wooden double doors in the front were open
 and I heard an old man droning about ... I think he was talking about Jesus
 washing his feet.  There was a bench outside the church, on the sidewalk,
 and it faced into the street.

        Sitting on the bench by the church, there was an old bum, listening
 to the sermon and humming something that sounded like Amazing Grace, but
 wasn't.

        As I stood outside the church, apprehensively preparing myself to
 enter, the bum said to me, "If you sit down on this bench, you can actually
 hear the sermon better without having to deal with all that warmth inside."

        I replied, predictably: "Huh?"

        "The body heat."

        "What about it?"

        "It's really hot inside of the church because of all the people.
 It's crowded in there on Sundays.  You'll sweat."

        Easy for him to say; he was wearing a nice warm wool coat and I was
 wearing a T-Shirt.  It was chilly outside.

        "Everyone sits in there and sweats.  The place smells like sweat.
 It's too hot."

        This was getting to be too overwhelming for me.  I decided to leave,
 saying, "Well, okay.  Thanks for the advice," as I turned my back and
 started to walk away.

        "You can still hear the sermon on this bench..."

        "No, thanks anyway, I'll just... leave."

        "Sit on the bench and listen to the sermon!"  It was much too
 overwhelming.

        I cracked.  I couldn't handle it.  "okay," I mumbled, and sat next
 to the old bum in the wool coat.

        The first thing I noticed about him was that he smelled really good.
 He smelled like he wore cologne, which was strange, because he was
 obviously homeless.  I suppose he just had a very good body odor.  Some
 people have that, I've found.  They're usually women, though.  Actually,
 they're always women.  And it's usually not their body odor, it's more like
 the odor of the lotion they use on their face.  I've never smelled a man
 like this bum before.

        I sighed as I sat down and started trying to listen to the sermon
 about Jesus and foot-washing.  Of course, that didn't work out quite like
 I expected it to.  The bum started talking to me and then didn't stop for
 a very long time.

 [-----]

 - Chapter 16

	"I used to be in prison, myself!  Ever been in prison, kid?"

	"No."

        "I was in prison because I broke the law.  I used to run a speakeasy
 during prohibition.  The cops busted it and I went to prison."

	The man didn't look a day over 60.

        "When I was in prison, they took the prisoners out on a chain gang
 and all the prisoners had to dig holes, trenches actually, out in a field
 behind the prison.  I didn't know what the holes were for.  But there sure
 was lots of them!  You ever dug a trench, kid?"

        I silently shook my head.  Nope, no sir.  I wasn't lying, either.  I
 can't remember ever digging a trench in anything for any reason.

        "Well, it's friggin' hard work!  Out back behind the prison the
 ground had a lot of rocks in it and it was always frozen.  That's because
 the prison was in Canada.  It was a Canadian prison and all the other guys
 on the chain gang were Canadians.  We had to dig trenches from sun-up to
 sunset.  It was terrible!  By the end of the day, our backs would hurt like
 hell.  I'm sure nobody on that chain gang ever broke the law again after
 they got out of that prison.  That would be downright stupid, after having
 to dig all those holes and all!  We sure as hell learned our lesson.

        "Anyways, there was this one guy, on our chain gang, and his name,
 it was Joseph, but we all called him Joe.  He was the best digger on our
 Canadian chain gang.  He could dig sixty feet of trench in the time it took
 the whole rest of the chain gang to dig twenty feet.  He had arms like tree
 trunks but the rest of his body was pretty average.  Probably less than
 average, actually.  He still could have whooped all of our butts pretty
 easily, especially since we all had our ankles chained up and he had arms
 like tree trunks!  He never really got along with the rest of us chain gang
 boys, but we didn't mess with him too much, either, because of those tree
 trunk arms of his."

        The old bum kept looking away from me while he was talking, and
 staring at the sun or his shoes or other things which were obviously more
 interesting to him than my face.  He seemed really disconnected, definitely,
 although I couldn't quite figure out what he was so disconnected from.  The
 story went on as we both tried desperately to hold our focus:

        "Yeah, he was a strong-armed fellow, but his back was real fucked-up.
 That's because he never took any breaks, see, so his back was all hunched
 over and crooked from sun-up to sunset.  Pretty soon he couldn't straighten
 it up anymore.  The rest of us guys in the chain gang got kinda worried
 about the poor fellow, so I got elected to say something to him about it.
 I walked up to him one day, on one of my five-minute breaks, and started
 talking, while he kept digging with his back all hunched over.  It went
 like this:

        "I said to him, `Hey, you should take more breaks so your back
 doesn't get any worse,' and he said to me, `Fuck, man, I've got a
 twenty-year sentence.  I've served three years.  If I behave good, I can
 get out in twelve more.  That means I gotta dig hard.  The harder I dig,
 the faster I get out of here.  The faster I dig, the harder I get out of
 here.'

        "I didn't really get the last part of what he was saying to me, but
 I heard the guy.  I heard him pretty good.  I had a twenty year sentence
 myself, so I could almost relate to the guy.  I wasn't about to get my back
 all fucked-up like him, though.  It became clear to me that there was no
 sense in trying to talk sense into this guy, so I left him to his digging.
 I walked away without saying anything more.  And, what's more, I just
 happened to look down, just then, and I saw his trenches, and they were all
 crooked and fucked-up like his back, right?  They were all swervy like
 snakes.  The guy couldn't dig in a straight line.  I think he was two
 marbles short of a picnic, maybe, now that I'm thinking about it.

        "Anyway, I got out on parole in fifteen years.  From what I hear,
 though, Joe ended up serving the full twenty.  They never let him out, the
 poor guy.  I heard they were hard on him because he was in for murdering a
 couple kids.  By the time he hit 30 he looked like he was about 80.  Poor
 Joe.

        The old bum sounded like he was done with his story so I decided to
 chime in.  I said: "God, that's really terrible."

        "You wanna know the really crazy part of the story that I haven't
 told you yet?"

        I really didn't want to hear it. "Okay," I said.

        "I was there, in that story."  He opened his eyes real wide and
 glared at me in a very spooky way.

        I took a long pause and tried to sort this guy out inside my head.
 "Yeah, I know you were in the story.  You were on the chain gang.  You
 told me."

        "Yes, I was in the chain gang, all right.  I was the fastest digger.
 You see... I was Joe!"

        I was not impressed at all.  Confused, maybe.  His story had holes
 in it.  "So who was the guy you said you were originally?"

        He looked really confused, for once.  "What?  Who?"

        "Who came up to you and told you that you should take a break?"

        "Oh.  That never happened."  He put on a big frown after that.  Poor
 guy.

        I noticed that he had a bottle of wine in a paper bag at his feet,
 and naturally, I pointed at it and asked, "Can I take a sip of that?"  He
 nodded and I took a couple of sips.  It tasted really good.  Great,
 actually.  And I felt great, at that moment.  It felt great to take a break
 from all this religion; all this sobriety.

        I thanked the old bum for the wine and the story.  It was a nice way
 to spend a Sunday morning, but I'd had my fill.  I didn't want him to start
 up with any more sermons.  I got off the bench, and I walked home.

        I mean back to Katherine's.  Or my old place to get back all that
 stuff she took.

        I walked.  East.  I was losing time.

 [-----]

 - Part 4, Chapter 17
	
        I couldn't find my way back to Katherine's apartment for a long
 while.  It was easy to find my way to the church, I just hadn't thought
 about finding my way back before it was too late.  So I got lost.  And I
 got to thinking.

        I thought about a lot of shit.  Pointless to retell it, of course,
 but I will tell that my train of thought ended in a surprising conclusion,
 and that was that I realized that I hadn't eaten in days.

        I checked my pockets again, and I thought that I had thirty cents
 before, but now there was nothing in my pockets.  I think somebody in town
 must have stolen it off me; I was beginning to get very suspicious about
 all the God-fearing people in that quiet town.  I had lost all my trust in
 that old town (what the hell was it called?).  But, fuck me, I found myself
 in a vulnerable position.  I was lost and hungry.  So I sat down on a
 corner and begged for bread.

        Nobody gave me any bread, but I made 75 cents in about five minutes,
 real quick, so I decided to stop begging and go buy myself a donut.  There
 was a donut shop across the street that I had been staring at.  I ate the
 donut and felt pretty good about the town again.  Nobody even spoke to me,
 they just dropped coins in my hand.  It was wonderful.  And lucid.  No
 talking at all.

        I think it was the first time I had to beg for food.  Honestly,
 though, it was one of the most fulfilling experiences I've had in my life
 up to this point.  I promised myself at that donut shop that I would never
 let it happen to me again.  I'd sooner starve.

 [-----]

 - Chapter 18

        I almost forgot to mention how delicious that donut was.  It had
 strawberry jelly inside it.  My energy was completely replenished.  I
 conjectured then that maybe since I was expending so little energy, I
 didn't require so much food to keep me going.  The donut kept me just fine
 for quite a while.  And I felt really great.

        I was definitely skinnier now than I had been a week or two ago.
 My ribs were protruding and my hands seemed bony.  That doesn't account at
 all for how I felt, though.  My weight and my health were just two
 unrelated circumstances.  Before I ate the donut, I was a little weak, of
 course.  Afterwards I just felt as usual, that is, I didn't really feel
 like doing anything much.  That's all.

        So I ended up back at the old apartment building, and I thought
 about maybe going to see Elizabeth Moon, that other woman on the third
 floor.  By process of elimination, she had to be the one that I was looking
 for.  I sat under the stairs and thought about it.  Not for half as long as
 the last time I was there, but still, I considered it, and I considered
 some other things that were weighing on my mind.  It lasted maybe about
 fifteen minutes.  Then I got an impulse.  A sober impulse, in fact, to
 knock on Katherine's door right away and see if there was any alcohol left
 in the apartment.

        So I did; I knocked on the door, probably about fifty times.  Nobody
 was answering, and I felt like I was going to cry for some reason.  Then I
 checked the knob, which was impolite, probably, but the door was unlocked,
 so I went in.

        I scanned the apartment immediately and my eyes fell upon a
 half-full bottle of scotch.  I absolutely despise scotch, but at the time I
 was quite thirsty, so I picked up the bottle and took a good pull at it.
 Then it was a quarter-full, and I felt a lot better about my life.

	"Could you pour me one?"

        Huh?

        I turned around and saw Katherine sitting on the floor in the corner
 of the room.  I hadn't noticed her.  She seemed just as timid in her tone,
 only a lot less innocent.  I wasn't disappointed.  She was wearing the same
 pair of red underwear.  I wasn't at all surprised.  There was something
 very unreal about that girl, and whatever it was, I liked it a lot.  So I
 poured the rest of the scotch into an unwashed cup that rested nearby on
 the counter, and walked it over to her.  She grabbed it and took a very
 tiny sip.

 [-----]

 - Chapter 19

        That night, I didn't get very drunk at all, and I didn't even try to
 fuck Katherine again.  I felt like I was under too much pressure to do both
 of those things.  Katherine took all of her underwear off after she
 finished her glass of scotch which she had sipped at for at least an hour.

        I estimate it was an hour, at least.  That apartment is impossible
 to keep track of time in, but I'm sure it was about that long.  She didn't
 drink anymore, either, I guess because I wasn't, or maybe because she was
 already drunk; I could never tell, though.  She just sat there on the
 floor, all the damned night, naked, and with her legs wide open.  She
 didn't seem to be menstruating anymore.  I thought about how things in my
 life didn't seem to be progressing much lately.  I wasn't moving, of
 course.  I stared at her all night, and she stared right back, until we
 both passed out.

        When I woke up, I felt guilty for still having my clothes on,
 although I don't really know why.  I rarely feel guilty about anything.
 Katherine was wide awake, just where she had been sitting, buck naked, legs
 spread wide open, and staring at me as I came to my senses.  It was at that
 point that I concluded that she was insane.  There was always suspicion, of
 course, and there was always doubt, until that moment.  Now there was only
 certainty.  Now?

        My own sanity was always in question, especially then, but I was
 quite sure that I had been keeping sane.  My actions lately had been more
 than questionable, but I felt that my frame of mind had been intact, just
 because I had been completely aware of all the insanity, and I was, for the
 most part, in control of it.  And I knew that I would come out of all of
 this complete and alive, and soon.  Katherine, on the other hand, didn't
 seem to have that much control.  I didn't really love her at all that
 night, but I felt that morning that some day, I would.  She stared back at
 me.  What a lucky girl!

 [-----]

 - Chapter 20

        It was at that exact moment, as those same thoughts passed through
 my mind, when I realized that Katherine was dead.

        At first, it wasn't really a realization; it was more like
 conjecture.  It became realization when I noticed the pale blue tint that
 her flesh had taken on.  Then it became certainty when I felt no pulse
 inside her cold, dead wrist.

        The first thought that hit my mind after that was: _maybe I could
 have saved her life if I had fucked her_.  It made sense for a while, and I
 still haven't really dismissed the idea, but I would rarely mention it to
 anyone, had I told to anyone about it before now.  They would think that I
 had completely lost my mind, which I know that I have not.

        It made sense to me that the next thing I should do was find out how
 and when she died.  From what I knew, of course, that would be completely
 impossible to accomplish.  So I just sat there.  I kept staring at her,
 only then with less shame, knowing that she would never see me leering at
 her.  She stared back at me with her piercing, glazed eyes.  There was
 nothing I could do.

        There wasn't any alcohol left in the apartment.  I had to get out of
 there.  I thought again about knocking on Elizabeth's door, but I couldn't
 stay in the building any longer than I already had; so I left, wandering
 down the stairs and into the street.  Today I had even less to accomplish
 and even more to sort out than yesterday.  And I felt entirely guiltless
 about it.

        What was there that I could possibly do to save myself?  Down the
 sidewalk, I walked and walked and walked, eyes front, through a town no
 name.

 [-----]

        This will be continued.

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 [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!     HOE #641 - WRITTEN BY: KREID - 5/17/99 ]