Mercy (72 page)

occurs, I am in some trouble; but if I have five dollars in my

pocket I feel I can master most situations. M y astrology said

that M ercury was doing some shit and Saturn and things

would break and fall apart and I went to unlock the two locks

on m y door to my apartment and the first lock just crumbled,

little metal pieces fell as if it was spiders giving birth, all the

little ones falling out o f it, it just seemed pulverized into grains

and it just was crushed to sand, the whole cylinder o f the lock

just collapsed almost into molecules; and the second lock just

kept turning around and around but absolutely nothing locked

or unlocked and then there was this sound o f something falling

and it had fallen through the door to the other side, it just fell

out o f the door. It was night, and even putting the chain on

didn’t help. I sat with m y knife and stared at it all night to keep

anyone from breaking in. The crisis o f getting new locks made

me destitute and desperate and on such occasions I had to steal.

I always considered it more honorable to m yself than fucking;

less honorable to who I did it to; it was new to pick me over

them. I just knew I’d live longer stealing than fucking. O f

course I stole from the weak; who doesn’t? I had thought

fucking for money was stealing from the strong but it only

robbed me, although I can’t say o f what, because there’s more

wordlessness there, more what’s never been said; I’m not

formulated enough to get at it. I had a dog someone dumped

on me saying they were going to have it killed. It was so fine;

you can weave affirmation back, there can be a sudden miracle

o f happiness; m y dog was a smiling, happy creature; I thought

o f her as the quintessential all-Amerikan, someone w holly

extroverted with no haunted insides, just this cheerful, big,

brilliant creature filled with licks and bounces; and I loved

what made her happy, a stick, a stone, I mean, things I could

actually provide. I think making her happy was m y happiest

time on earth. She was big, she bounced, she was brown and

black, she was a German shepherd, and she didn’t have any

meanness in her, just play, just jum p, just this jo y . She didn’t

have a streak o f savagery. If there was a cockroach in the

apartment, a small one because we didn’t have the monsters,

she’d stand up over it and she’d study it awhile and then she’d

pick it up in her mouth and she’d carry it to her corner o f the

room and she’d put it down and sit on top o f it. She’d be proud

and she’d sit with her head held high while the awful little

thing would crawl out from under her and get lost in some

crack in the wall. Y ou ever seen a proud dog? They have this

look o f pride that could break your heart like they done

something for you the equivalent o f getting you out from

under an avalanche and they are asking nothing in return, just

that you look at the aquiline dignity o f their snouts. I got to say

I loved her more than m y heart could bear and w e’d go on

walks and to the park but the park near me was full o f broken

glass and winos and junkies and I was afraid for her, that she’d

hurt her feet. Y o u couldn’t really let her run or anything. She

ate a lot, and I didn’t, but I felt she had certain rights, because

she depended on me or someone, she had to; so I felt I had to

feed her and I felt I had to have enough m oney and I felt her life

was in m y hands and I felt her life was important and I felt she

was the nicest, most kind creature I ever knew. She’d sit with

me and watch the door when the locks fell apart but she didn’t

grasp it and I couldn’t count on her sense o f danger, because it

w asn’t attuned to the realities o f a w om an’s life. Someone

might be afraid o f her or not. Someone might hurt her. I’d die

i f they hurted her. I’d probably have throwed m yself on her to

protect her. I ju st couldn’t bear the thought o f someone

hurting her. Her name was Gringo, because the man who had

her and who named her w asn’t a fine, upstanding citizen, he

was degenerate, and I was afraid he would hurt her, and I was

afraid she would die, and I think there is nothing worse than

knowing an animal is being hurt, except for a child, for which

I thank God I don’t have one, even though my husband would

have taken it away from me, I know. If something’s in your

charge and it must love you then for something cruel to

happen to it must shatter your heart into pieces, by which I

mean the pain is real and it is not made better by time because

the creature was innocent and you are not; or I am not. I kept her

fine. I kept her safe. I kept her sleek and beautiful and without

any sores or any illnesses or any bad things on her skin or any

marks; I kept her gleaming and proud and fine and fed; I kept

her healthy and I kept her strong and I kept her happy; and she

loved me, she did. It was a little beyond an ignorant love, I

truly believe. She knew me by my reverence for her; I was the

one that lit up inside every time my eyes beheld her. I never

could train her to do anything but sit; usually I said sit a second

after she had done it, for my own self-respect; and she pulled

me about one hundred miles an hour down the street; I loved

her exuberance and could not condemn it as bad behavior; I

loved that she was sweet and extrovert and unhaunted and I

didn’t want any shadows forming on her mind from me

shouting or pulling or being an asshole in general; I couldn’t

romp but my heart jum ped when she bounced and wagged

and waved and flew like some giant sparrow heading toward

spring; and I counted on the respect pricks have for big dogs to

keep me safe but it didn’t always, there was always ones that

wanted to fight because she was big, because they thought she

was more male than them, bigger than them, stronger than

them, especially drunks or mean men, and there was men in

the park with bigger dogs who wanted their dogs to hurt her

or fight with her or mount her or bite her or scare her or who

made me m ove by threatening to set their dog on her to show

their dog was bigger or meaner or to make me move because I

was gash according to them and they was men. It’s simple and

always the same. I moved with a deep sense o f being wronged.

I shouldn’t have had to m ove but I couldn’t risk them hurting

her— more real life with a girl and her dog who are hurting no

one. The toilet was too small to take her into and I couldn’t

leave her loose in the hall because some man upstairs, a

completely sour person, hated her and kept threatening to call

all these different city agencies with cops for animals that

would take her away; but probably I w ouldn’t have left her

there anyw ay because I’d be afraid something unexpected

would happen and she’d be helpless; so she had to stay in the

apartment when I went to the toilet and I locked the door to

protect her. It’s unimaginable, how much I loved her. She was

so deep in m y heart I w ould’ve died for her, to keep her safe.

E very single piece o f love I had left in me was love for her;

except for revolutionary love. Y o u become the guardian o f a

creature and it becomes your soul and it brings jo y back to

you, as i f you was pure and young and there was nothing

rough or mean and you had tom orrow, really. She made me

happy by being happy and she loved me, a perfect love, and I

was necessary, beyond the impersonal demands o f the revolution per se. I had always admired the Black Panthers, with a

certain amount o f skepticism, because I been on the streets