Day off. Despite the hot drive in the bus he was exhilarated to be back in Montreal. But who were the bastards responsible for tearing down the best parts of the city?
He visited his mother, was unable to make her understand he’d been away. Same horror as always.
He walked along Sherbrooke Street. The women of Montreal were beautiful. Launched from tiny ankles, their legs shot up like guided missiles into atmospheres of private height.
He formed wild theories out of pleats and creases.
Wrists, white and fast as falling stars, plunged him into arm-holes. Tonight they would have to comb his eyeballs out of all their hair.
He planted hundreds of hands in bosoms, like hidden money. Therefore he called on Tamara.
“Come in, old chappie, old.”
Smell of turpentine. Another batch of agonized self-portraits. “Tamara, you’re the only woman I can talk to. For the past two weeks I’ve gone to sleep with your mouth in my hand.”
“Flourishing. But he’ll never make a Compassionate P.”
“You smell delicious. And you’re so brown. Yummy.”
“Let’s be immoderate.”
“Good idea in any given situation.”
“Let’s praise each other’s genitalia. Don’t you hate that word?”
“For women. It’s good for men. Sounds loopy — things hanging. Makes me think of chandelier.”
“You’re great, Tamara. God, I like being with you. I can be anything.”
“So can I.”
And Shell with her open gift, it struck him, forced him into a kind of nobility.
“Let’s resort to everything.”
They left the room at five in the morning to eat a huge meal at the China Gardens. Laughing like maniacs, they fed each other with chopsticks and decided they were in love. The waiters stared. They hadn’t bothered to remove the paint.
Walking back, they talked about Shell, how beautiful she was. He asked Tamara if she would mind his phoning New York.
“Of course not. She’s something else.”
Shell was sleepy but glad to hear from him. She spoke in a little girl’s voice. He told her he loved her.
He took the early morning bus back to camp. Immortal Tamara, she walked with him to the terminal. After one hour’s sleep he called that real affection.