Radix opened the kitchen door and stared down the passage way to the front
door. No doubt about it, there was someone out there. He could see a bulky
shadow behind the blinds. His heart rhythm picked up. Never before had he been
compelled to confront intruders. Should he advance to the shadow, or wait for
it to make the next move?
The shadow obliged by making scuffling sounds and now Radix could make out
two bodies, wrestling with each other, in some sort of violent embrace. It was the
force of bodies thrown against the door that Amarelle had heard.
He stepped out of his slippers and tiptoed to the door, a little apprehensive.
Two people were inside his building. He had to determine exactly what they were
up to. His hands raised one sleeve of the blinds and he peered out.
Not two fellows. A young man and young woman. Locked in embrace and fooling
around. The young woman's arms were around the man's neck, her hands caressing
his bald head.
Just neighborhood kids kissing inside his doorway. Harmless enough. Though why
couldn't they take their business elsewhere? If they kept shifting and shoving around
they might crack one of the glass panels. His hand searched the wall for the switch to
the outside light; he would surprise and embarrass them, make them go away.
At that moment the couple changed positions; the young man was struggling to
lift the thighs of the woman who stopped kissing him and now braced herself, her
head thrown back, as he rammed her against the door. Something else was going on
here.
Radix looked down. The young man's pants were hanging loosely onto his hips.
Drooping pants were becoming some sort of youth fashion. There was nothing
innocent now about the way the man's hips moved and the lifted skirt and the
woman's bared thighs; he'd been inside her all along; the banging was caused by
exactly his effort to brace her hips against some firm surface, like the glass-
panelled door!
She was a thin-faced young woman, still in high school. In fact they looked like
young people he'd seen hanging around outside, in sneakers and sweatshirts and
fancy hairdos; often idle, often high on marijuana joints, the odor of which
wafted into his living room from the stoop.
What should he do? They made no sound, not a yelp, not a groan of pleasure;
the two bodies concentrated on what was happening below their waists. Then the
young woman lowered her legs and they resumed kissing.
He'd never before watched two people doing this. He'd never before watched
anyone having sex in public. Sex standing-up! Whatever happened to bedrooms and
privacy? Already at age twenty seven he was beginning to feel alienated from the
young; mesmerized, too, by the way they sometimes hurt each other; chasing and
damaging their bodies and calling it play; the quick resort to shoving and profanity
to resolve conflicts.
He released the blinds, his heart racing at a new rate of consternation. He thought
of retreating but the floor boards creaked and that might betray his presence. If the
two out there discovered he'd b
een watching, he could imagine the boy pulling up
his pants, telling him to mind his own freaking business; and probably in a fit of
anger kicking in one of the glass panels on the door.
He'd have to speak to Blackwelder about fixing the door. Also he'd have to leave
the outside light on to discourage this couple, any couple, from using his doorway
space like this.
(from "Ah, Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 