Dhalgren

second I thought she would pinch his crank. But she got into it anyway and clapped for him—

And I stopped, landing on both heels, jarred to the scalp.

I turned in the furor, looking for someone (Thinking: Where did it come from…? Why now…? What…? then throwing that away and just trying to hold on to it); Lanya, shirt open and flapping, breasts shaking, eyes closed under quivering lids, turned to me behind at least five chains. I reached through them and caught her shoulders.

Her eyes snapped wide.

'Michael…' I said.

'What?'

A chain pulled down across my arm; a prism nipped my wrist. Lady of Spain was at one end, hauling.

'Mike Henry…' I looked down between my elbows at the trampled grass. 'Michael Henry…?'

One of her bare feet moved. 'What's that?'

Very slowly, I said: 'My first name is Mike… Michael. My middle name is Henry.' I looked up. 'My last name — Fl…? Fr…?'

Lanya narrowed her eyes. Then she grabbed my forearm with the same hand her harmonica was in.

The edge bit; which brought me back: 'What did I say?'

But she was looking around us, among the others. 'Denny!'

'Lanya, what did I say?'

Her eyes snapped back to mine. She had a funny smile, intense and scared. 'You said your first name was—' around us they clapped—'Michael. Your second name—' they clapped again—'is Henry. And your last…?'

My jaw clamped so hard my head shook. 'I… I had it for a second! But then I…'

'It begins with 'F'.' She called again: 'Denny!'

'Wait a minute! Wait, I… no, I can't remember! But the first name—'

'— Michael Henry…' she prompted.

Denny ran up. 'What…?' He put a hand on her shoulder, a hand on mine. 'Come on, you wanna—'

'Tell him, Kid!'

I dropped Lanya's elbows and took both of Denny's.

He was breathing very hard. 'My name is Michael—' another clap—'Henry… something. I don't remember the last one now.' I took a deep breath (clap!). 'But two out of three is pretty good!' I must have been grinning pretty hard.

'Wow!' Denny said. He started to say a couple of other things, but finally just shrugged, grinning back.

'I don't know what to say either,' I said.

Lanya hugged me. She almost knocked me over.

Denny hugged us both, getting his head between ours and wiggling it back and forth and laughing. So Lanya had to hold him up with one hand. We all staggered. I put my arm around him too. Somebody pulled a chain against my back. It either broke or one of the people holding it let go. We staggered again.

Someone put hands against my back and said: 'Hey, watch it! Don't fall!' Paul Fenster — I hadn't even seen him among the spectators — was steadying me as we came apart.

Lanya said: 'It's all right if we fall, Paul. It's okay.'

Someone threw another length of chain into the circle. Mantichore and iguanadon caught it up, blundering together, casting ghost-lights. Clap!

'Hey, I like your school,' Denny said. 'I've been helping Lanya with her kids.'

'I was telling you about Denny, Paul? He was the one who suggested we take that class trip that turned out so well.'

Re-reading this single description of Paul Fenster between these soiled cardboards, this thought: Since life may end at any when, the expectation of revelation or peripity, if not identical to, is congruent with insanity. They give life meaning, but expectation of them destroys our faculty for experiencing meaning. So I am still writing out these incidents. But now I am interested in the art of incident only as it touches life… but I have written that at least three other places among these pages. What I haven't written is that, because of it, I am less and less interested in the incidence of art. ('Sex without guilt?' Entelechy without anticipation!) I just wonder would Paul have done anything differently that evening in the park if he'd known he was going to be shot in the head and neck four times, six hours later.

I said: 'I've never seen any children there. I've heard their voices. On the tape recorder. But I don't believe you ever had any real children in there.'

Lanya looked at me oddly.

Fenster laughed. 'Well, you brought us five of them yourself.'

'But there weren't any…' Inside, it felt like two disjoined surfaces had suddenly slipped flush; the relief was unbearable. 'I put five of them… in the school?'

'Woodard, Rose, Sammy…?' Lanya said.

'You remember,' Denny said. 'Stevie? Marceline?'

'I remember,' I said. 'I know who I am…'

'Michael Henry,' Denny said.

I put my hand on Fenster's shoulder. 'You go dance.'

'Naw, I'm not into the bare-ass bit.'

I frowned at the dancers; only fifteen or twenty were naked.

'Go on.' I pushed at him; he stepped back. 'You don't have to take your clothes off. You just go dance.'

Fenster looked at Lanya. To stand up for him? I flashed on him pulling her shirt closed across her breasts, buttoning the top button, patting her head, and walking away.

'Go ahead.' I was angry. 'Dance!'

'Come on, Kid,' Lanya said, taking my arm.

Fenster walked off now, laughing.

'You wanna sit down?' Denny asked.

'Come on,' Lanya said. 'Let's go sit down.'

Denny took my other arm; but I twisted to look back.

Fenster walked between the dancers, now pushed, now helping a girl wearing just a sopping T-shirt who fell against him, now ducking beneath one of the glittering lines pulled between bright creatures prancing at the tree.

'What are you trying to do?' Lanya asked.

'Take off my clothes. I don't need anything… anything now.' I tossed my boot on top of my vest. I lifted my chin and raised the seven chains and the projector. Links dragged my nipples. I held them up, swaying, and let go. Some hit my nose and cheek and ear. Some fell across my shoulder, and slid off, clattering, to the grass. I looked down to undo the twin hooks on my belt; pushed down my pants. Lanya held my arm so I wouldn't fall getting my foot out the cuff.

'Feel better?' Denny asked.

I tried to undo the clasp at the side of my neck. A file of insects, it felt like, charged down my belly, caught in the hair at my groin. The optic chain sagged around my ankle.

'I think you broke it,' Lanya said.

'I can fix it again,' Denny said. 'I got nails—'

'No,' I said.

From the commune, from the nest, and from the people who'd just come to watch, they clapped and leaped beside the fire. Seven more, barking, calling, and yipping, broke from the loose ring, turned among and beneath (one very black girl jumped over) the beaded chain that crossed and crossed the clearing. The heads of beasts blown out of light like glass broke scarves of smoke; our throats tickled from the harsh air.

Three silhouetted figures, heads together, came toward me, whispering. Copperhead, center, conferred with Raven and Cathedral. Raven and Copperhead were naked. (The different curl and color of their hair, suddenly bright at the sides of their heads with the fire behind them…) Copperhead had his hand on Raven's shoulder.

Copperhead was saying: 'Protection! Did you get that? Calkins asking for protection—?'