the object of presage such as this. I am the one, and I would escape now … no. Perhaps I would have escaped this morning, before the rain let up enough to show me how the colors grows from ocher to gold to red, on the leaves of the single oak branch that stands before the green vines.
“Deep within the hills the church bells toll the new time of day, before it has been decreed for time to save an hour of daylight before winter. And, so, the town will live an hour longer tonight. But here, in our house away from the valley, the sound of the bells barely reaches us. We are foreigners among the locals, though our ancestors have inhabited this continent for centuries. The air feels heavy on this grey afternoon, the wind hurries on the darkness, the candles grow brighter beside the window.
“When the clock strikes five an hour early, then, I’ll go up into the attic to collect the objects of the spell I’m meant to cast. When I open up the cedar chest of my sister’s recollections, and I gather memories in purple petals of dried roses, fading in my hands, little pieces through my fingers, like the promises the young man made to her that crumbled when she touched them with her passion, then, I will feel none of the doubt I feel now, contemplating the prospect of his death beneath my hand.
“It was spring that brought him here, spring that drove him certain to attain my sister’s love. She was beautiful at dusk during the summer, when she sat, obediently, yet ignoring our advice. Her cheeks had blushed after our warning: don’t bend your will, retain your heart, but her lips were determined to receive him.
“The end of the summer made her swelter in her first signs of longing. Her breaths exhaled pain, and she trembled when she sang. Her sweetest voice tasted of honey, golden and heavy was my young sister’s desire.
“She slept without dreaming, passing from night to day merely to behold the sight of him again. Her lids lay still on her closed eyes, and we, sisters, watched while the moonlight bathed her.
“It was not in silence that we witnessed the weakening of her spirit. Yet our knowledge was not meant to reach her through words. She had chosen to test her life against the highest of all risks; she gave her heart to another and received emptiness in return.
“Now, she must travel alone and in pain, as she regains her strength. To fill up the void he created in her, she must grow complete: all of her must be inhabited by herself alone. She must feel no hope, be bound by no ties, before she can grow free again.
“She has gone, then, from this house on the first of October, and we sisters await the news of her triumph or death to reach us in a year’s time. The old songs are clear. We know that a man of this land who has taken the heart of a witch cannot live if she is to survive. There must be no hope to bind her will to his. Only in death shall such a man release his hold of her.
“The bells toll faintly, and the clock echoes with its chime. It is time to prepare the thorn that, on all hallows eve, will pierce the hand of the man. He will feel the sting as he dances and courts the young women in town. I shudder and reel. I curse my own fate. The red sprig of oak points toward my window; it bends in the rain. I must rise then, and prepare to avenge.
“Inside the deep cedar chest, I’ll smell the dried roses she kept from his gifts and touch the smooth satins she wore for his smiles, and I’ll taste all the tears she swallowed in silence; slowly, I’ll brew up the poison. In three days’ time, at midnight on hallows eve, he will die.”
(1979)
Fear
At government center i sat down exhaustedsat down exhausted and stared at the tracks.
i was sad. sad, because there were indentations along the subway cave and i knew what they were for.
i imagined myself, caught along the cave somewhere, running, inhaling the dusty air, breathing all that air full of dirt and soot, and running. running along the track, hoping to make it to the next stop before a train came by and flattened me. before a train zoomed by and whisked me off and threw me under the tracks and shredded me.
all of which couldn’t have been any worse than if those six huge, blond, white men had whisked me off into an alley (if they thought they should bother, that is) and raped me, for being a woman walking around the old city admiring the architecture, or for being a woman walking home carrying three bags of groceries, or for being a woman walking around the old city HATING THE ARCHITECTURE it wouldn’t matter to them.
but the point is (because there always is) the point is that if i had been caught in the cave of the subway i would have been able to stay alive, unshredded, by squeezing against one of those cutouts they have along the wall. there is one of those little spaces every so often just big enough for a person, that looks so much like the cutout space along a church wall, where st. anthony fits in, or the virgin— the point is (there must always be a point) that if i had been trapped in the cave of the subway, i would have been able to survive.
the point is that even in an unlikely place for a human being, such as the cave of the subway, men have made little st. anthony spaces for people to step into just in case they happen to be running along while there might be a train coming, threatening to shred them— the remaining point being (you see, a point did remain) that as i was walking along the incredible streets of the old city, without three grocery bags, without wearing alluring clothes, and without the thought of a man in my whole body, six of them leaped out behind me and quickened their step, started to talk about their pricks, started to laugh, walked around to look at me I scowled— they didn’t like that— i was admiring the architecture —so they let me alone for a block or two because I scowled and their pricks probably shriveled, the poor sensitive, easily shreddable things, and walked towards a more populated area, but before i could reach it, they were behind me again, figuring that they didn’t care whether or not i liked the architecture, or that i scowled, or wore unappealing (to pricks, that is) brown pants — they managed to get themselves adjusted to their roles, into their tracks, into their trainlike personalities, and they followed me down the street, around me and behind me, at top speeds, where no one had provided little st. anthony spaces for a person in peril to flatten her body against while the train passed!!
it was my fault.
what right did i have to walk around admiring anything, without a gun to protect me? without sharp claws and fangs to shred their dicks off? without fire in my breath to singe their very souls as they approached me? i tried to imagine the danger, to weigh rape against death and my muscles ached. to weigh rape against murder and my vagina tightened. to weigh rape against death against murder against life in pain against life in any possible shape against the taste of their blood in my teeth and my vagina tightened and i sweated and exuded the most hate i have ever hated and walked resolutely past the six of them toward the subway station clutching my key between my fingers ready to shred skin like i’d been doing it all my life.
(1981)
La virgen en el desierto
La señora había muerto sin decir casi una palabra a nadie, porque todo lo habíamos sabido a través de su hijo. Ella, de vez en cuando, dirigía una palabra a dos a mi madre, o tal vez se quejaba, aunque casi no se podía oír con el ruido del camión. Pero ahora lo escucho todo demasiado bien, y mientras yo pretendo conciliar el sueño en el dormitorio donde duerme mi hermana menor, los sollozos del muchacho que no ha dormido en cuatro noches no me llegan. Está callado en la cocina, sentado con mis padres; mamá siempre sabe qué decir. Yo no, yo no sé ni qué pensar, ni si debo dormirme o quedarme despierta, solo quiero que llore el muchacho delgado que no ha dormido en cuatro noches.
La señora llevaba el pelo largo en un moño, y mamá la tenía
