I want to tell you about that time in Winnemucca . . . it was July & I was on my way to visit mother & I’d rolled into a Exxon in the middle of the day, Tuesday, I think, & the attendant asks if I’d like to visit the local whorehouse & I say, No, but, while I’m waiting for the bill, I think it might not be a bad idea with the temperature near ninety-eight & they’re bound to have air-conditioning & it’s just down the street & to the right, he says & I pull up in front & it’s a white clapboard house in the middle of the block, so I knock & the woman who opens the door is wearing a simple housecoat with flowers & clouds & a five pointed star on a very large gold chain & I tell her the gas station attendant & she brings me into a room filled with perfume & its darker than I expect & I have to blink a few times & take the seat she offers, not hers, but one at a bar where she sets up a cold beer & introduces me to a few of the women walking by & one, petite & young with frosted blond hair, sits on my left & another much darker who says she’s part Cherokee & full breasted sits at my right & one at a time then both at once they kiss my neck & want to know what I like best & would I like to come upstairs & see the rooms & maybe since it was so warm & they’re from Louisiana I might buy them a mint-julep & I do all around & we walk upstairs where they have a bath in each room & they take off all their clothes & so do I & we climb into the big tub & soap each other really well & rinse & climb onto the large round bed & first one then the other take their turn on me, first, with their hands & then with their mouths & occasionally they stop to kiss each other & fondle each other & I sip my beer & my mint-julep & I’m very hot & my cock is straining & one slips on a condom & eases me into her & the other comes from behind & begins to lick where I can’t see but can only feel & I don’t want this to end so we switch & I bury my head between the legs of the blond & the other takes me in her mouth & we switch again & I want this to go on but my time is almost up & I ask for more & pay more & they want to show me another part of the house & I don’t want this to end so I follow them naked & straining up another flight of stairs & I smell oranges & there’s Veronica from American History 102 & she’s straddling a large man with a hairy back & calling him Jack & it’s Jack Hammer from the science lab who could always make things explode & she’s sliding up & down on his prick & I think I smell roasted squid & tomatoes & onions & the girls have me between them again & take me to another room where I see mother watching a movie of two dogs fucking in the street & she’s eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream & nibbling lemon cookies & I call to her but she doesn’t seem to hear & the brunette with the full breasts has slipped her arm around me & is delicately probing my ass with a cool & slippery finger & I’m getting very excited again so we stop & the blond kneels down & now it doesn’t take very long with her squeezing me with her tongue & her hands on my balls & the brunette in my ass & as much as I hated it all to end I was going & would & could have & . . . & they just Stop! & now there are four of them & they lead me into another room where they’ve set up a film projector & they put me between them on another round bed & begin to massage me with oils & I smell almond & strawberry & the lights go out & the film begins to roll & they are the stars of the film with a donkey & a football team & each other on the beach & I see myself walking out of the swamp with my pet monkey, Archie, on my shoulder & in the next frame I have Barbara from Accounting on my lap & she’s pressing her naked breast against my mouth which opens & I begin to suck her nipple when a wave washes over us & there’s a blanket on white sand & it’s not Barbara on the blanket but these four girls from Winnemucca & I come by at a run with cops on my heels & they join me & run out the back door of the house & into a Buick Skylark & we’re down the road & headed toward the mountains where it’s cooler & we climb the first rise & the next & the next brings us to a hot spring with a cool stream that runs alongside & we climb into the bath & now there’s just Mona & me & it’s dark & I can hear the call of the loon across the lake & the swoop & swish of owls & up ahead the silhouette of a doe & her fawn & she suggests we walk & we do down the path to a lighted street at the edge of the town where my car is parked with the motor running & mother’s in the back working a crossword puzzle & Mona slips in & so do I & she wants to do it here on the street under the lamp so I let her but I want to too so we both do in a tangle of legs & the gearshift & we’re up-side down or at least I am when I hear a siren very far off & a bugle & the tramp-tramp-tramp of marching feet & when I look up we’re in the middle of a parade & mother’s in the lead & the girls from Winnemucca & Mona & I are on a bed & we’re naked & she’s on top & sliding up & down & the crowd is cheering & the band kicks it up a notch & I shift into first & head for the highway & a straight shot to Reno where I can start fresh & get pretty goods odds on whose in charge.

If I could tell you. If I thought you might believe me.

If I could remember.

1
I think she was alone. Yes. & I think there were two men or maybe women. It was hazy & I’m never certain anymore. & she seemed happy to be there. Very happy. But who can be sure? I carry my own weight, as they say & never intrude . . . but it was her, I swear. & I would do it again if I could but it’s too late. But, it was her, I swear & when they began to cross the bridge I noticed a light & then a sound I’m not used to & Yes. there was an explosion & there were flames & the building collapsed & all I remember was the cloud it raised & the eventual silence . . . & sirens – they came later & I looked down to see her again & she was gone.

2
It was a clear night. I remember. The moon was full & in spite of the glare from the city, there were even a few stars & I did see her. I’m sure. She was with a crowd from the opera or symphony. I don’t go anymore. & she was wearing a black leather trench coat, the kind you see in foreign movies from the 40’s & she was on the arm of a woman in red . . . Yes. A red smock, the kind a painter wears & they were kissing & I was entranced & then they stopped & the fire & the explosion & I ran & No. I haven’t seen either of them.

3
I know her. Yes! Very well. & she can’t be trusted. I remember a time when she could but that was years ago . . . That night, Yes. I remember. She was with him & they had left the party early, early enough to have been there. I know. I was there too. & the next thing I know, they were running & there was the explosion & the rush of hot air & I fell & when I could get up I saw them – I’m sure it was them – running away & laughing.

4
I was with her. Yes. Hand in hand. We had much to talk about & much to settle & it was between us & no one else & when we left the lounge we walked, as we’ve often done, to the park & stopped for a crepe & a coffee & after a while – oh, maybe thirty minutes, we walked to the river & started across the bridge & stopped to watch the passing skulls & the fisherman reeling in for the night & we walked further & it was then it happened & we fell to the road & held each other & I heard her pray.

5
Of course it was her. Who else do you think. She’s been planning this for months & she had the time & the connections. I should know. She confided in me. I’ve spent the last six months following her & to be sure, I’ve hired others & rented rooms close by . . . & to think you let her slip through . . . & Why? Why now? Why come with your lame excuses & theories & no one to back you up . . . where were you when I was there & ready & could have stopped it all – could have saved the day.

6
You must be nuts. Her. No way. She hasn’t been home let alone here for weeks. I know. I live next door & we usually have coffee in the morning & maybe a croissant or two & No. In fact, the last I time we met in the market & she was complaining about the heat & how a trip to the mountains was what she needed & asked me to feed her cat, Salome, but changed her mind & said an aunt would do it or she would take it to the kennel & now you ask me – Ha. Who do you think she is . . .? & if so, you are mistaken!

7
Women. I’m not certain how many but quite a few & after ten. Yes. I’m certain. The news was on in my car & I remember the chimes from St. Michael’s & they were walking & one had a lantern & swung it like a sensor & they stopped & formed a circle & one came to the center & picked a partner & held her close & the rest swirled around them & then the explosion & the smoke & I couldn’t see.

8
Why do you ask so many questions? & why do you look so hard for me? I’m here. I live where I’ve always lived & have not hidden from you or anyone else. But you insist on asking others instead of coming to me & I resent that. How dare you. You have no right. & Now. Here I am. What do you want of me? Is it that night? Is that what you want? To know that night . . . I’ll tell you but not because I think you deserve it . . . it’s for myself that I will tell you.

I was walking along the river & stopped for a cigarette when I saw a man rowing across the river which is odd since most rowers go up & down but this one was rowing across & when he disappeared in the fog I left for the café where they know me well & I sat in my usual seat near the door & when it happened, I don’t know, the windows shook & we all hid our faces & someone cried “God” & then the police & I don’t know what else.

9
May I speak? Thank you. In fact, there was no woman. Yes, that’s right. No Woman. In fact, there was no one on the bridge that night. How do I know? I’m the attendant for that bridge & at precisely ten o’clock I chained the gate to that walk & within an hour, all the others as well. If she was there – if anyone was on the bridge, they had to climb over my gate or swim & climb up & the current is strong – as you should know.

The giddy girls in their tight spring jeans swarm the coffee bars at five & tease the boys who pass & the men who give a quick glance & dart ahead. One comes to the door of the café & smiles in your face & says in perfect English, “I’ve seen you before” & you stop & hold out your hand & offer her a ride & she accepts & away you go in a rush of air up the mountain & she screams as if delighted but is not & demands to be home before the sun sets & you gear down but can’t quite make the grade & she hops off & sticks a raised finger in your face & wags her ass as she hops the metro for her quick escape & as usual the sun does set & as usual you walk down Casanova & stop for your wine at El Zapato where the band plays Night Train & takes you up to Harlem where the living is easy & the only mountain to climb is the bar stool you’re on & you order another & keep on going to the end of the line where Beatrice & Sofia help you down & carry you home for a full-blown exchange of sweat & champagne & you laugh & wave to all who pass & say out loud, “Honey, this here’s my world & my ticket to ride!”

As our train passes through the valley the men huddle at the windows to watch the women dance in the waning light. As the train picks up speed they dance faster, some run along side, one lifts her breast to be kissed, another lies down in the grass & spreads her body wide for he who has the nerve to come into her & the train passes onto a red plain where a town once stood & relics still burn & there’s a lone black horse & a wolf with green eyes & a boy with a whip & we’re in the canyon & half-way across & the bells begin & we hold ours ears (as we’ve been told) but they pry their way inside & there’s the clawing of the cat (as we’ve been told) & we reach for our lover’s hand & look into her eyes & wait for the wind that’s been promised & the patiently evasive moon . . .