The Perfume Burned His Eyes

legs, she was wet between her legs, and I didn’t love her now. Not here. I don’t think she loved me. Her stockings made me feel sorry for her. Is that the same as pity? Is pity the same as compassion? Did her mom buy her the stockings? She brought my fingers inside her and pretended to like what I was doing. Okay . . . now I understood. She was acting. This was a performance for Smitty, that’s what he was paying for. His legs are so thin he must have some kind of disease. I look in her eyes but it’s not Veronica. She is the role she’s been hired to play. I get it. So am I me? This is a better explanation of Veronica’s motives, much better than her being a cult recruiter. But we have proven that she is a witch and has a connection to that underworld. The movie is over. I won’t say how it ended. It’s too repugnant. Criminal. The music is adding to my illness, the harmonies calculated to unnerve me. Veronica is naked now. Smitty’s hand in his shorts moves faster. I’ve never been with a completely naked woman before. Girl. I am a late bloomer but the hair on my chest is almost the same as Smitty’s. Stay awake, don’t pass out. My pants are being pulled down. Veronica took them off me. She tightens the shirt that’s twirled around my neck. It doesn’t hurt and I’m not choking. It’s just tight. The wheels of the projector are still spinning but there’s no image, only dirty white light. Now I don’t see Smitty. I don’t know where he is. Veronica lies back on the bed and pulls me on top of her using the noose that’s around my throat. She tightens it some more and I feel the pressure but I’m not choking. Will this be how they bring me under? Gizzy told Emil that the cult killed a baby that a junkie woman gave them in exchange for a week’s worth of heroin. He said they killed the baby with a silver dagger at midnight before or after Good Friday the thirteenth. Gizzy said they cut her (the baby was a girl) from the vagina to the center of her throat and the leader—the king or high priest—ate something out of the baby’s guts. Veronica bites my neck and I think I feel Smitty’s breath behind my head. Like sour milk and onions. The little bottle smells like ammonia. Veronica shifts her weight, I am inside her and no longer a virgin. I can imagine how wonderful this feels. I can imagine it but I can’t actually feel it. I feel something but it’s not pleasure. I feel pressure and friction, I feel moisture and heat. How old was the girl in the movie? Was that her first time? Was it her first movie? My legs are thin but not as thin as Smitty’s. I’m forgetting to do something. I’ve forgotten something. Smitty’s hand is the claw of a cannibal bird. Veronica turns her head away from me. In profile she looks much younger, like a junior high class photograph. Did I see that picture? There’s something I should be doing or said that I would do, what is it? If Smitty is going to stab me he should do it now while my head is buried in Veronica’s shoulder. I can smell her hair now. I wasn’t able to smell anything coming off her body until now. It’s the one comforting thing. Because everything else is foreign and strange, even the sounds she makes are not hers. They belong to the character. Let’s not forget that she is acting. We are almost finished. She will get dressed and be paid and we will go. I hope Veronica and I will start over from scratch. Not this, not what we’re doing this instant, but all of it, our whole friendship. Like none of today had ever happened. How much will he pay her? Is he paying me? Smitty is wiping himself with a napkin which he then balls up and tosses on the floor. What did they pay the girl in the warehouse? Smitty has backed away, retreated into a chair to get dressed. He’s drinking his drink and looks tired. Veronica has picked up on this. She holds me tight. Something shudders through her like a sob. She releases the shirt from my throat. We both wear the same runic symbols around our necks. “Let’s get dressed,” she whispers in my ear like a conspirator. Smitty coughs and shuts off the projector. The room goes dark but little streams of light sneak in through the window shades and I search for our clothes. I hand Veronica her shirt and stockings but she’s not looking at me. Smitty is almost dressed and stares at the floor. The record hits its last grooves and it’s too quiet in the dim room. My underwear is ripped. Not from today, but because it’s a very old pair. Smitty lights a cigarette and turns on a lamp. I’m not afraid anymore.

thirty-one

I left Al’s garage with the cash in my pocket and a can of orange Nehi unopened on the passenger seat. I pulled out of the driveway and onto the street and made a quick right onto 54th or 55th Street. I noticed a few drops of rain on the windshield. I made a left onto busy Eleventh Avenue and drove carefully to 57th Street, where I turned east to begin the crosstown trek.

The rain changed quickly from drizzle to downpour. Huge, angry drops pounded the metal top of the van. It was loud. I couldn’t hear anything but falling water. Slabs of rain dropped so thick I couldn’t see the car in front of me. I leaned forward as much as I could to get a better view. I was so far forward my