Don Quixote, Which Was a Dream (29 page)

hierarchy except for that of gentleness and kindness. The anarchists, being nights, were knights.

'This is my dream of my night:

'My master has left me. He doesn't want me anymore. Minute after minute he doesn't come back for me.

'He had risen out of the bed where he had been lying, the liar, with me, where I am now lying, and threw his hands through his hairs into the air, not thinking that I had already fallen to the wayside.

'For the night before, he had come to me and come into me and come right after he had been fucking some other woman. She must have been some fucking bitch, for his skin was dripping and his clothes were half-put-on and torn.

'The woman he had been fucking was so old no person in her or his right mind would go near much less touch such wet tin foil. No one wants to hear the grunts and sounds they make when they do whatever they do. Old women must take on anybody, for no one will have them; they have to be willing to cover the most feelingless man with their deeply felt caresses.

'Having been abandoned for old age, I'm dying. It doesn't matter whether the man was a creep or a saint, good or evil. I am dying. The more he and she, increasingly wet, dived then plumbed their lust and feelings, the more I was separate from them. Whenever they came, I came as close to dying as a living person can come. Everything and, more important, everyone has been taken away from me. I was as good as dead.

'As soon as I was out of the way, a smell like that of death began to emanate from her growingly lustful armpits and nostril hairs. The nostrils in shame tried to retract from the rest of the nose. The remaining parts of neither of these fuckers paid any attention to the stench coming out of them, for they were so entwined.

'As soon as he was wrapped in this existence of smell, he wanted to eat her. But he respected old women, as his parents had taught him to do. So he turned to men.

'He began to eat a man. Being the same sex, the man began to eat him: equally they slapped each other, back and forth; equally open palms slapped heads shoulders backs, back and

forth; equally limbs and torso wrestled limbs and torso, back and forth.

'Being in freedom, with neither ties nor commitments, one simply, with no reasons, walked away from the other.

'The one who was left behind decided he would never again let another person touch him. He would never again allow himself to descend to the bottom or the emotional asshole. He would never again, while living, come close to death. In order to protect his living or self, he would enter a monastery.

'Since he must have nothing more to do with men - a type of feminism, or reverse feminism, - he would enter a nunnery.

'Having experienced a more powerful male than he had experienced, God, and so being even sicker of men than he was, the nuns left the man alone. In the nunnery, dead dwell among the dead. The dead nones live by chanting the same words over and over to nobody or by not communicating, by burning up their senses and incenses, and by bowing down to God.

'My master couldn't bear living in death. Since my master couldn't bear the coldness grayness and horribleness of this society, he died.

'My master has left me forever.

'There will be no more men in my life. That sexual ecstasy or orgasm which appears out of a simultaneous overcoming of the hatred, which is fear, of men and out of an actual play with the myth of rejection is no longer mine.

'I remember. But is what I remember this ecstasy which comes from a mixture of pain and joy, or a pure joy? Are my memories, whose sources might be unknown, actual glimpses of possible paradise?

'This, my first and final dream, is not the dream of capitalism.

'Suddenly, I heard my master's voice. "Shut up.

'"Where, where in hell - from Hell? - did you get your idea that I am Male?

'"Shut up, night.

'"Let the sun sink below its horizon so that there are no more stories, no more tracks, no more memories, night. What, in your darkness, fool night, do you think you remember?

'"What do you think, in your blackness, are your dreams?

'"Do you know, night, what I heard Satan said about Me? He said that I, the Lord God Almighty, am a whore - in fact that My Very Existence denigrates the name 'whore' - and that he has no respect for Me because I make love to old women, spinster virgins. That he personally would rather boil over in a fourteen-year-old cunt, even if it is rape, than hide beneath his mother's skirts. He's a real man whereas I'm a mealy-mouth hypocrite, dishonest. I, God, don't do anything directly. I promote morality while I lap at My Mother's cunt.

'"That if I, God, am so frightened that I have to moralize, I should moralize about and condemn Myself rather than other people."

'God continued condemning Him-or Herself: "So now that you know I'm imperfect, night, that you can't turn to Me: turn to yourself:

'"Because with every night's onset the sun sinks below its horizon, because there are no more new stories, no more tracks, no more memories: there is you, knight.

'"Since I am no more, forget Me. Forget morality. Forget about saving the world. Make Me up."

'Obeying these teachings - my last memories, - I said "Goodbye" to God the Monstrous Liar and Monster-Wonder and walked over to my horse. I took Rocinante's reins in my hand, for she was too old and worn-out to ride. The old woman. One should never ride an old bitch. I swore, though I had no one to whom to swear, for Rocinante doesn't understand Spanish, that I would never reveal the reality God had just revealed to me about God, - the gossip, - to anyone.

'The night fell.

'As I walked along beside Rocinante, I thought about God for one more minute and forgot it. I closed my eyes, head drooping, like a person drunk for so long she no longer knows she's drunk, and then, drunk, awoke to the world which lay before me.'