Jealousy

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  She knew she was about to be laughed at. She was. The laugh was rich, full of private enjoyment and secret knowledge. It was not mocking, but it was too intimate, and it made her hate the intrusive blonde whose name she wished she could remember, so she could chew her out properly. “You haven’t fed for months now. You still draw blood, but you don’t allow yourself to taste it.” This time, Kerry held her tongue, put her hand onto her dagger, and watched to make sure the other did not come any closer. If she had spoken, she wondered if she would be able to hear herself talking over the noise that her blood was making, roaring in her ears. This was starting to feel like her worst-case scenario, hardly a fair price to pay for a little mayhem at a braggart’s expense. “I think I’m the only one who noticed. It’s so much a part of your legend, this penchant you have for flaying someone with your cat-o’-nine-tails until the walls and innocent bystanders are spattered with blood, or using your knife to release the hot, sticky, salty fuel that feeds the heart, the lungs, and the brain. It appalls everyone so much that they don’t realize you’ve ceased to put your lips to the wound, to swallow what you’ve set free, or clean your blade with your tongue. But I do. I do. And I wonder why. Would you like to tell me why?” The leatherwoman shook her head so hard that the gesture looked painful. The nerve! What could they possibly have to talk about? She owed no one any explanations. When she spoke, it was not to the point: “Stay right where you are.” “I’m not here to assault you!” The tone was hurt surprise. “I’m not going to approach you without permission. I just want to have a little chat. I may want you to come to me, later, when we understand one another better. But I promise I won’t move one step from this spot, no matter what happens.” Was this some crazy kind of come-on, then, from a dominant who wanted to bottom for her? Kerry had received many invitations like these. Perhaps she was being paranoid. But if that was the case, her rule was that the other must make an explicit request. It would be insulting to anticipate such needs in a colleague. So they watched each other in renewed silence, taking measurements, making calculations. Like most women, the blonde did not seem to be able to hold her tongue. Kerry had braced herself when she saw that whorishly lipsticked mouth, with its bee-stung lower lip, open. But the woman only said, “I was in such a hurry to catch up with you that I left my cigarettes at the bar.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Abiding on this wise, it befell (even as we see it happen all day long that, how much soever things may please, they grow irksome, an one have overgreat plenty thereof) that Restagnone, who had much loved Ninetta, being now able to have her at his every pleasure, without let or hindrance, began to weary of her, and consequently his love for her began to wane. Having seen at entertainment a damsel of the country, a fair and noble young lady, who pleased him exceedingly, he fell to courting her with all his might, giving marvellous entertainments in her honor and plying her with all manner gallantries; which Ninetta coming to know, she fell into such a jealousy that he could not go a step but she heard of it and after harassed both him and herself with words and reproaches on account thereof. But, like as overabundance of aught begetteth weariness, even so doth the denial of a thing desired redouble the appetite; accordingly, Ninetta's reproaches did but fan the flame of Restagnone's new love and in process of time it came to pass that, whether he had the favours of the lady he loved or not, Ninetta held it for certain, whoever it was reported it to her; wherefore she fell into such a passion of grief and thence passed into such a fit of rage and despite that the love which she bore Restagnone was changed to bitter hatred, and blinded by her wrath, she bethought herself to avenge, by his death, the affront which herseemed she had received. Accordingly, betaking herself to an old Greek woman, a past mistress in the art of compounding poisons, she induced her with gifts and promises to make her a death-dealing water, which she, without considering farther, gave Restagnone one evening to drink he being heated and misdoubting him not thereof; and such was the potency of the poison that, ere morning came, it had slain him. Folco and Ughetto and their mistresses, hearing of his death and knowing not of what poison he had died,[235] bewept him bitterly, together with Ninetta, and caused bury him honourably. But not many days after it chanced that the old woman, who had compounded the poisoned water for Ninetta, was taken for some other misdeed and being put to the torture, confessed to this amongst her other crimes, fully declaring that which had betided by reason thereof; whereupon the Duke of Crete, without saying aught of the matter, beset Folco's palace by surprise one night and without any noise or gainsayal, carried off Ninetta prisoner, from whom, without putting her to the torture, he readily got what he would know of the death of Restagnone. [Footnote 235: Sic (_di che veleno fosse morto_), but this is probably a copyist's error for _che di veleno fosse morto_, _i.e._ that he had died of poison.]

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  John Leal says I should stop living with Will. But if I moved, I’d join the list of all those Will loves who failed him. One parent in Florida; the other ill, preoccupied with Christ. The God-shaped hole, Will calls it. He hears the church bells sing, but not to him. 28. WILL I exiled myself to the living room. The mattress on the thrift-store futon was so thin that its metal ribs jutted through. I slept on the floor instead, bundled in a plaid blanket. Late the fifth night, finding me like this, Phoebe insisted I come back to bed. No, I’m all right, I said. But you’re shivering. She pulled off the blanket; holding it like a cape, she took it to the bedroom. I waited as long as I could before giving in. She’d left my half of the bed unoccupied. Lulled by the shared warmth, I fell asleep. The following night, she started wearing more to bed than her usual cotton panties, adding a shirt, striped pajama pants, the clothed skin radiating heat, but still taboo. I couldn’t help imagining Phoebe with him. Paired, they flashed from the ceiling, shining billboard projections of his black-nailed toes fumbling up and down Phoebe’s muscled legs. He strained with effort. Thighs lifted to meet him, and he looped my girlfriend’s ponytail in his hand. With a hard tug, the way she liked it, he tightened the leash, Phoebe’s face shown smooth, fast, as if surging from the pool. – One evening, while she was at the Litton Street house, Julian came to the apartment. Will, how do you like Phoebe’s new friends? he asked, setting down a cellophane-wrapped ballotin. I don’t, I said. I thought she should see a therapist, but— It’s not something she’d do. No. She’s being ridiculous. It’s not as though she pushed Liesl from that railing. I think it’s selfish, all this bogus guilt. It isn’t Phoebe’s fault that Liesl died. Of course, it’s not. She didn’t kill Liesl, and her mother died in an L.A. traffic crash. It was an accident. People die. It happens. I blame the sackcloth bigots. Such a bad influence. This isn’t an exact parallel, but I’m reminded of the video artist I used to date, Elvis Floril. No one liked him. Elvis, the moral zero. But he was so talented. Is. I was infatuated. I couldn’t listen to what my friends had been telling me, until, like that, I did. The thing is, though, they kept trying. He was still talking when Phoebe returned home. I hadn’t said much; I didn’t tell Julian I had no idea she felt implicated in Liesl’s death. I couldn’t have admitted that she’d withheld what she’d confided in him, just as she trusted John Leal, taking his side, not mine, all the while picking a fictional God, a parent who died, Liesl—every single person, that is, but me, the Phoebe-loving fool who kept putting her first.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  [Gen 17:10–14 ; 21:2–4 ; 25:26 ; 29:31–35 ; 30:1–24 ; 35:16–26 ] 9 “The [ten elder] patriarchs, overwhelmed with jealousy, sold [their younger brother] Joseph into [slavery in] Egypt; but God was with him, [Gen 37:11 , 28 ; 45:4 ] 10 and He rescued him from all his suffering, and gave him favor and wisdom in the sight of Pharaoh, king of Egypt, and he made Joseph governor over Egypt and over his entire household. [Gen 39:2 , 3 , 21 ; 41:40–46 ; Ps 105:21 ] 11 “Now a famine came over all Egypt and Canaan, bringing great distress and our fathers could not find food [for their households and livestock]. [Gen 41:54 , 55 ; 42:5 ] 12 “But when Jacob heard that there was grain in Egypt, he sent our fathers there the first time. [Gen 42:2 ] 13 “And on the second visit Joseph identified himself to his brothers, and Joseph’s family and background were revealed to Pharaoh. [Gen 45:1–4 ] 14 “Then Joseph sent and invited Jacob his father and all his relatives to come to him, seventy-five persons in all. [Gen 45:9 , 10 ] 15 “And Jacob (Israel) went down into Egypt, and d there he died, as did our fathers; [Gen 49:33 ] 16 and [from Egypt] e their bodies were taken back to Shechem and placed in the tomb which Abraham had purchased for a sum of money from the sons of Hamor in Shechem. [Gen 50:13 ; Josh 24:32 ] 17 “But as the time [for the fulfillment] of the promise which God had made to Abraham was approaching, the [Hebrew] people increased and multiplied in Egypt, [Deut 10:22 ] 18 until [the time when] THERE AROSE ANOTHER KING OVER EGYPT WHO DID NOT KNOW JOSEPH [nor his history and the merit of his service to Egypt]. [Ex 1:7 , 8 ] 19 “He shrewdly exploited our race and mistreated our fathers, forcing them to expose their [male] babies so that they would die. [Ex 1:7–11 , 15–22 ] 20 “It was at this [critical] time that Moses was born; and he was lovely in the sight of God, and for three months he was nourished in his father’s house. [Ex 2:2 ] 21 “Then when he was set outside [to die], Pharaoh’s daughter rescued him and claimed him for herself, and cared for him as her own son. [Ex 2:5 , 6 , 10 ] 22 “So Moses was educated in all the wisdom and culture of the Egyptians, and he was a man of power in words and deeds. 23 “But when he reached the age of forty, it came into his heart to visit his brothers, the sons of Israel. 24 “And when he saw one [of them] being treated unfairly, he defended the oppressed man and avenged him by striking and killing the Egyptian.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  At last, to show her lover, to whom she had discovered everything and who was whiles somewhat vexed with her for this and had conceived some jealousy of Rinieri, that he did wrong to suspect her thereof, she despatched to the scholar, now grown very pressing, her maid, who told him, on her mistress's part, that she had never yet had an opportunity to do aught that might pleasure him since he had certified her of his love, but that on the occasion of the festival of the Nativity she hoped to be able to be with him; wherefore, an it liked him, he was on the evening of the feast to come by night to her courtyard, whither she would go for him as first she might. At this the scholar was the gladdest man alive and betook himself at the appointed time to his mistress's house, where he was carried by the maid into a courtyard and being there locked in, proceeded to wait the lady's coming. The latter had that evening sent for her lover and after she had supped merrily with him, she told him that which she purposed to do that night, adding, 'And thou mayst see for thyself what and how great is the love I have borne and bear him of whom thou hast taken a jealousy.' The lover heard these words with great satisfaction and was impatient to see by the fact that which the lady gave him to understand with words.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "Quite, Hammond, quite! But if someone starts making love to Julia, you begin to simmer; and if he goes on, you are soon at boiling point."... Julia was Hammond's wife. "Why, exactly! So I should be if he began to urinate in a corner of my drawing-room. There's a place for all these things." "You mean you wouldn't mind if he made love to Julia in some discreet alcove?" Charlie May was slightly satirical, for he had flirted a very little with Julia, and Hammond had cut up very roughly. "Of course I should mind. Sex is a private thing between me and Julia; and of course I should mind anyone else trying to mix in." "As a matter of fact," said the lean and freckled Tommy Dukes, who looked much more Irish than May, who was pale and rather fat: "As a matter of fact, Hammond, you have a strong property instinct, and a strong will to self-assertion, and you want success. Since I've been in the army definitely, I've got out of the way of the world, and now I see how inordinately strong the craving for self-assertion and success is in men. It is enormously over-developed. All our individuality has run that way. And of course men like you think you'll get through better with a woman's backing. That's why you're so jealous. That's what sex is to you ... a vital little dynamo between you and Julia, to bring success. If you began to be unsuccessful you'd begin to flirt, like Charlie, who isn't successful. Married people like you and Julia have labels on you, like travellers' trunks. Julia is labelled _Mrs. Arnold. B. Hammond_ ... just like a trunk on the railway that belongs to somebody. And you are labelled Arnold. B. Hammond, _C/o Mrs. Arnold. B. Hammond_. Oh, you're quite right, you're quite right! The life of the mind needs a comfortable house and decent cooking. You're quite right. It even needs posterity. But it all hinges on the instinct for success. That is the pivot on which all things turn." Hammond looked rather piqued. He was rather proud of the integrity of his mind, and of his _not_ being a timeserver. None the less, he did want success. "It's quite true, you can't live without cash," said May. "You've got to have a certain amount of it to be able to live and get along ... even to be free to _think_ you must have a certain amount of money, or your stomach stops you. But it seems to me you might leave the labels off sex. We're free to talk to anybody; so why shouldn't we be free to make love to any woman who inclines us that way?" "There speaks the lascivious Celt," said Clifford.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Much was the debate between the ladies and the young men; but ultimately they all took the king's counsel for useful and seemly and determined to do as he proposed; whereupon, calling the seneschal, he bespoke him of the manner which he should hold on the ensuing morning and after, having dismissed the company until supper-time, he rose to his feet. The ladies and the young men, following his example, gave themselves, this to one kind of diversion and that to another, no otherwise than of their wont; and supper-time come, they betook themselves to table with the utmost pleasure and after fell to singing and carolling and making music. Presently, Lauretta leading up a dance, the king bade Fiammetta sing a song, whereupon she very blithely proceeded to sing thus: If love came but withouten jealousy, I know no lady born So blithe as I were, whosoe'er she be. If gladsome youthfulness In a fair lover might content a maid, Virtue and worth discreet, Valiance or gentilesse, Wit and sweet speech and fashions all arrayed In pleasantness complete, Certes, I'm she for whose behoof these meet In one; for, love-o'erborne, All these in him who is my hope I see. But for that I perceive That other women are as wise as I, I tremble for affright And tending to believe The worst, in others the desire espy Of him who steals my spright; Thus this that is my good and chief delight Enforceth me, forlorn, Sigh sore and live in dole and misery. If I knew fealty such In him my lord as I know merit there, I were not jealous, I; But here is seen so much Lovers to tempt, how true they be soe'er, I hold all false; whereby I'm all disconsolate and fain would die, Of each with doubting torn Who eyes him, lest she bear him off from me. Be, then, each lady prayed By God that she in this be not intent 'Gainst me to do amiss; For, sure, if any maid Should or with words or becks or blandishment My detriment in this Seek or procure and if I know't, ywis, Be all my charms forsworn But I will make her rue it bitterly.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  18 ‘The priest shall then have the woman stand before the LORD , and let the hair of the woman’s head hang loose, and put the memorial grain offering in her hands, which is the jealousy offering, and in the hand of the priest is to be the water of bitterness that brings a curse. 19 ‘Then the priest shall have her take an oath and say to the woman, “If no man has lain with you and if you have not gone astray into uncleanness [while married], then be immune to this water of bitterness that brings a curse; 20 but if you have gone astray [while married] and you have defiled yourself and a man other than your husband has been intimate with you” 21 (then the priest shall have the woman swear the oath of the curse, and say to the woman), “The LORD make you a curse and an oath among your people when the LORD makes your thigh a waste away and your abdomen swell; 22 and this water that brings a curse shall go into your stomach, and make your abdomen swell and your thigh waste away.” And the woman shall say, “Amen. Amen (so let it be).” 23 ‘The priest shall then write these curses on a scroll and shall wash them off into the water of bitterness; 24 and he shall make the woman drink the water of bitterness that brings a curse, and the water that brings the curse will go into her and cause bitterness. 25 ‘Then the priest shall take the grain offering of jealousy out of the woman’s hand, and he shall wave the grain offering before the LORD and offer it on the altar. 26 ‘Then the priest shall take a handful of the grain offering as the memorial portion of it and offer it up in smoke on the altar, and afterward he shall make the woman drink the water. 27 ‘When he has made her drink the water, then it shall come about, that if she has defiled herself and has been unfaithful to her husband, the curse water will go into her and cause bitterness and cause her abdomen to swell and her thigh to waste away, and the woman will become a curse among her people. 28 ‘But if the woman has not defiled herself and is clean, then she will be free and conceive children. 29 ‘This is the law of jealousy: when a wife goes astray [while married] and defiles herself, 30 or when a spirit (sense, attitude) of jealousy and suspicion comes on a man and he is jealous of his wife; then he shall have the woman stand before the LORD , and the priest shall apply this law to her.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Catella, hearing this, without anywise considering who it was that said it to her or suspecting his design, forthright, after the wont of jealous folk, gave credence to his words and fell a-fitting to his story certain things that had already befallen; then, fired with sudden anger, she answered that she would certainly do as he counselled,--it was no such great matter,--and that assuredly, if Filippello came thither, she would do him such a shame that it should still recur to his mind, as often as he saw a woman. Ricciardo, well pleased at this and himseeming his device was a good one and in a fair way of success, confirmed her in her purpose with many other words and strengthened her belief in his story, praying her, natheless, never to say that she had heard it from him, the which she promised him on her troth. Next morning, Ricciardo betook himself to a good woman, who kept the bagnio he had named to Catella, and telling her what he purposed to do, prayed her to further him therein as most she might. The good woman, who was much beholden to him, answered that she would well and agreed with him what she should do and say. Now in the house where the bagnio was she had a very dark chamber, for that no window gave thereon by which the light might enter. This chamber she made ready and spread a bed there, as best she might, wherein Ricciardo, as soon as he had dined, laid himself and proceeded to await Catella. The latter, having heard Ricciardo's words and giving more credence thereto than behoved her, returned in the evening, full of despite, to her house, whither Filippello also returned and being by chance full of other thought, maybe did not show her his usual fondness. When she saw this, her suspicions rose yet higher and she said in herself, 'Forsooth, his mind is occupied with yonder lady with whom he thinketh to take his pleasure to-morrow; but of a surety this shall not come to pass.' An in this thought she abode well nigh all that night, considering how she should bespeak him, whenas she should be with him [in the bagnio].

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  3 “You shall send away both male and female; you shall send them outside the camp so that they will not defile their camp where I dwell in their midst.” 4 The Israelites did so, and sent them outside the camp; just as the LORD had said to Moses, so the Israelites did. 5 And the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 6 “Say to the Israelites, ‘When a man or woman commits any of the sins of mankind [against other people], thus breaking faith with the LORD , and that person is guilty, 7 then he shall confess the sin which he has committed, and he shall make restitution for his wrong in full, and add a fifth to it, and give it to [the person] whom he has wronged. 8 ‘But if the man [who was wronged] has no redeemer (relative) to whom the restitution may be made, it is to be given to the LORD for the priest, besides the ram of atonement with which atonement is made for the offender. 9 ‘Also every contribution pertaining to all the holy gifts of the Israelites which they offer to the priest, shall be his. 10 ‘And every man’s holy gifts shall be the priest’s; whatever any man gives the priest, it becomes his.’ ” The Adultery Test 11 Then the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 12 “Speak to the Israelites and say to them, ‘If any man’s wife goes astray (deviates) and is unfaithful to him, 13 and a man is intimate with her, and it is hidden from the eyes of her husband and it is kept secret, although she has defiled herself, and there is no witness against her and she has not been caught in the act, 14 and if a spirit (sense, attitude) of jealousy comes over him and he is jealous and angry at his wife who has defiled herself—or if a spirit of jealousy comes over him and he is jealous of his wife when she has not defiled herself— 15 then the man shall bring his wife to the priest, and he shall bring as an offering for her, a tenth of an ephah of barley meal; he shall not pour oil on it nor put frankincense on it [the symbols of favor and joy], because it is a grain offering of jealousy, a memorial grain offering, a reminder of [the consequences of] wickedness. 16 ‘Then the priest shall have her approach and have her stand before the LORD , 17 and the priest shall take holy water [from the sacred basin] in an earthenware vessel; and he shall take some of the dust that is on the floor of the tabernacle and put it in the water.

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  I don’t like what’s-his-name.” “Why not?” “I’m jealous. You’re my lover. He’s taken you away from me.” “He hasn’t taken me away. I’m your friend. I love you.” “Do you?” “Yes.” “Baby, I can’t talk anymore. Ava’s calling me to supper. Goodbye.” “Take care. Goodbye.” “Goodbye. You’re wonderful.”

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  “He excites me,” Annie declared. “I love his big blue eyes. They look like they’re going to pop out. And the cute way his teeth are gapped. He’s a real little dynamo. And that baby skin—I’ll bet he’s smooth all over. Well, I may be finding out tonight.” “Aren’t you going too fast? I think you’ve got sex on the brain,” I muttered. “And you don’t?” I pinched my mouth sourly and said, “Chinese is not exactly an easy major, Annie.” We fell into silence as we squeaked our way through the black sludge. The wind blew a shelf of snow off a low eave. “Are you jealous?” she asked. I glanced over and I could see from her reined-in smile and nearly crossed eyes that she wanted me to say yes. I ducked out by taking a higher philosophical line: “I’m not sure what jealousy is.” Then, bearing down on her as O’Reilly might: “Why are you so eager to wound me? Have I become a substitute father for you, someone who tortures you (in my case by not sleeping with you) and whom you must punish because you could never punish your real father?” And we were off. She and I ascribed the most appalling motives to each other out of some seemingly scientific zeal, but unlike a real scientific proposition, which can be verified or at least negated, ours submitted to no proof, since the very things being discussed were unconscious, hence unknowable. I say “things” because I hesitate to speak of them as feelings. An “unconscious feeling” strikes me as an impossibility; the one thing we know for sure is what we are feeling. At least now I believe that no one else can correct our feelings; they are pure, incorrigible. Always, at the onset of such a conversation, I had the half-thrilling, half-dreadful sensation of being cranked up to the first, highest hill of a roller coaster. We were scaring each other (“You want to castrate me,” or, “Have you looked at your incestuous feelings toward me?”), but the mutual attention was flattering, as when a lovely palm reader holds your hand, looks into your eyes, and predicts tragic eventualities. There was also a Talmudic fascination about the exercise. If the real horror of living is its failure to mean, to accumulate, then our constant decoding was a comfort, for it found design everywhere—still better, a design of one’s own making. It was easier for us to accept that we were sick than to acknowledge that we were powerless and life vapid. Of course, we would have been insulted if someone had accused us of cheating on an exam or confounding lie and lay, but we smiled charmingly when charged with wanting to murder our father—smiled and shrugged our shoulders. The attribution of Sophoclean passions to ditherers could only be heartening.

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  She shrugged and, opening her hands as though to show four aces, radiated all the uncomplicated happiness of a self-made genius. I envied her in a knotted way it took me a moment to untie. Yes, envied her clear picture of what she wanted to make and her strength in submitting to a discipline she’d invented. I wasn’t like her. Everybody said I was intelligent, but I feared I wasn’t artistic. Unlike the potter, I had lots of facility but no goal and very little taste. My mother had convinced me I was or would be “brilliant,” and her belief in me kept me writing. But I didn’t trust my own instincts. I didn’t know what I ought to feel. Just as school was ending, Maria drove up in her old station wagon to stay with me for a few days. She brought a bottle of Armagnac, a carton of cigarettes, and Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, which she finally hurled across the room in exasperation. “I like poems to be poetic and prose to be prosaic, religion to be prophetic and philosophy to be crystal clear. Give me Bertrand Russell any day.” The days were hot and the nights warm. Fraternity boys were staging panty raids on sorority houses, but there was nothing unconscious about such bacchanalias; everyone referred wearily to Bacchus. I’d never confessed to Maria that I’d joined a fraternity at all (although I liked the brothers and went to the house nearly every day). Now we stuck close to the Beat poets and chicks I’d collected—the lanky painter next door who copied Larry Rivers and strode the halls nude; his hearty “old lady” who’d thought he was complimenting her when he called her the Venus of Willendorff, until she saw a photo of the prehistoric fertility goddess; the New York poetess who proudly claimed she’d been conceived in Greenwich Village and whose father had fought in the Lincoln Brigade but now provided janitorial supplies to factories by day and attended Trotskyite meetings by night; the bearded sculptor with the eternal smile who roared with laughter when he fucked his girlfriend, another sculptor, up in the freezing tower of our boardinghouse. I feared Maria would find me dull. I kept making luncheon and dinner dates for us with my friends until she burst into tears and begged to spend one evening alone with me. We could sit for hours talking art, love, politics. Other women offered me as a man one kind of deference (my opinions prevailed) and expected another kind (their wishes were to be obeyed). Maria neither gave nor wanted such courtesies. She’d light my cigarettes and tell me I was a fool. She teased me when she overheard me agreeing coquettishly with every absurdity uttered by a handsome athlete.

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  I’d cry and hit myself out of anger.” “And now?” I asked, eager for the sequel. She shrugged and, opening her hands as though to show four aces, radiated all the uncomplicated happiness of a self-made genius. I envied her in a knotted way it took me a moment to untie. Yes, envied her clear picture of what she wanted to make and her strength in submitting to a discipline she’d invented. I wasn’t like her. Everybody said I was intelligent, but I feared I wasn’t artistic. Unlike the potter, I had lots of facility but no goal and very little taste. My mother had convinced me I was or would be “brilliant,” and her belief in me kept me writing. But I didn’t trust my own instincts. I didn’t know what I ought to feel. Just as school was ending, Maria drove up in her old station wagon to stay with me for a few days. She brought a bottle of Armagnac, a carton of cigarettes, and Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra , which she finally hurled across the room in exasperation. “I like poems to be poetic and prose to be prosaic, religion to be prophetic and philosophy to be crystal clear. Give me Bertrand Russell any day.” The days were hot and the nights warm. Fraternity boys were staging panty raids on sorority houses, but there was nothing unconscious about such bacchanalias; everyone referred wearily to Bacchus. I’d never confessed to Maria that I’d joined a fraternity at all (although I liked the brothers and went to the house nearly every day). Now we stuck close to the Beat poets and chicks I’d collected—the lanky painter next door who copied Larry Rivers and strode the halls nude; his hearty “old lady” who’d thought he was complimenting her when he called her the Venus of Willendorff, until she saw a photo of the prehistoric fertility goddess; the New York poetess who proudly claimed she’d been conceived in Greenwich Village and whose father had fought in the Lincoln Brigade but now provided janitorial supplies to factories by day and attended Trotskyite meetings by night; the bearded sculptor with the eternal smile who roared with laughter when he fucked his girlfriend, another sculptor, up in the freezing tower of our boardinghouse. I feared Maria would find me dull. I kept making luncheon and dinner dates for us with my friends until she burst into tears and begged to spend one evening alone with me. We could sit for hours talking art, love, politics. Other women offered me as a man one kind of deference (my opinions prevailed) and expected another kind (their wishes were to be obeyed). Maria neither gave nor wanted such courtesies. She’d light my cigarettes and tell me I was a fool. She teased me when she overheard me agreeing coquettishly with every absurdity uttered by a handsome athlete.

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  “Couldn’t it have been just an accident?” “Come on, Bunny. You’ve been in therapy.” Just as I was beginning to speculate, Lou whispered into the phone, “Bunny, you’re the one. I don’t want to marry Ava. I see what a mistake I’ve made. Will you wait for me?” “What do you mean?” “You’re the real love of my life. Do you love that boy?” “Who?” “What’s-his-name.” “Sean? I think so.” “And you don’t love me anymore?” “Lou, you’re my best friend.” “Really?” “Yes.” “I never had a friend. I don’t like what’s-his-name.” “Why not?” “I’m jealous. You’re my lover. He’s taken you away from me.” “He hasn’t taken me away. I’m your friend. I love you.” “Do you?” “Yes.” “Baby, I can’t talk anymore. Ava’s calling me to supper. Goodbye.” “Take care. Goodbye.” “Goodbye. You’re wonderful.” [image file=image_rsrc1CD.jpg] Sean didn’t want to be gay, and waking up beside me was too much evidence for him that he was becoming homosexual. I suggested that we start therapy together and go straight together—slowly, I hoped. Through Ava I found a psychotherapist named Dale who specialized in a treatment based on the idea that everyone at all times was playing a game. Sean and I were placed in separate groups in which all the other members were heterosexual. A group met once a week with Dale in her office, and one other evening without her in the apartment of a member. Unhappy marriages, celibacy, impotence, adultery, alcoholism, divorce, career frustration, the coldness of men and the hysteria of women, bankruptcy, friendships riddled by spite and envy—we watched the painful surfacing of all these problems. Like a team of midwives, we encouraged the birth of each memory. What came harder was the shrink’s theory that we must re-create among ourselves the hostilities that had divided but perpetuated our families. Listening to each other’s stories was no problem; that called on the familiar American skills of shocking confession and compassionate audition. But it was trickier to point a finger at a fellow member, a housewife from Scarsdale, and shout, “You’re trying to guilt-trip us by playing Poor Me.” We usually sought the origins of our pain in the unresolved conflicts of childhood. Those of us who had bad memories had to keep rereading the same old tea leaves. I was let off lightly. Since I was a homosexual, everyone knew what caused my disease (absent father and overprotective mother), so no one poked about for further explanations.

• From Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (1994)

  Jealousy is such a direct attack on whatever measure of confidence you’ve been able to muster. But if you continue to write, you are probably going to have to deal with it, because some wonderful, dazzling successes are going to happen for some of the most awful, angry, undeserving writers you know—people who are, in other words, not you. This is going to happen because the public herd mentality is not swayed by the magic that happens when mind and heart and muse and hand and paper work together. Rather, it is guided by talk shows and movie producers and TV commercials. Still, you’d probably like the caribou herd to run in your direction for a while. Most of us secretly want this. But maybe the herd is going to stuff itself on lichen and then waddle after some really undeserving writers instead. Those writers will get the place on the best-seller list, the movie sales, the huge advances, and the nice big glossy pictures in the national magazines where the photo editors have airbrushed out the excessively long eyeteeth, the wrinkles, and the horns. The writer you most admire in the world will give them rave reviews in the Times or blurbs for the paperback edition. They will buy houses, big houses, or second houses that are actually as nice, or nicer, than the first ones. And you are going to want to throw yourself down the back stairs, especially if the person is a friend. You are going to feel awful beyond words. You are going to have a number of days in a row where you hate everyone and don’t believe in anything. If you do know the author whose turn it is, he or she will inevitably say that it will be your turn next, which is what the bride always says to you at each successive wedding, while you grow older and more decayed. It can wreak just the tiniest bit of havoc with your self-esteem to find that you are hoping for small bad things to happen to this friend—for, say, her head to blow up. Or for him to wake up one morning with a pain in his prostate, because I don’t care how rich and successful someone is, if you wake up having to call your doctor and ask for a finger massage, it’s going to be a long day. You get all caught up in such fantasies because you feel, once again, like the kid outside the candy-store window, and you believe that this friend, this friend whom you now hate, has all the candy. You believe that success is bringing this friend inordinate joy and serenity and security and that her days are easier. She’s going to live to be one hundred and twenty, he’s never going to die—the people who are going to die are the good people, like you. But this is not true.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  34 And you will be [as unsteady] as one who lies down in the middle of the sea, And [as vulnerable to disaster] as one who lies down on the top of a ship’s mast, saying, 35 “They struck me, but I was not hurt! They beat me, but I did not feel it! When will I wake up? I will seek more wine.” Proverbs 24 Precepts and Warnings 1 D O NOT be envious of evil men, Nor desire to be with them; 2 For their minds plot violence, And their lips talk of trouble [for the innocent]. 3 Through [skillful and godly] wisdom a house [a life, a home, a family] is built, And by understanding it is established [on a sound and good foundation], 4 And by knowledge its rooms are filled With all precious and pleasant riches. 5 A wise man is strong, And a man of knowledge strengthens his power; [Prov 21:22 ; Eccl 9:16 ] 6 For by wise guidance you can wage your war, And in an abundance of [wise] counselors there is victory and safety. 7 Wisdom is too exalted for a [hardened, arrogant] a fool; He does not open his mouth in the gate [where the city’s rulers sit in judgment]. 8 He who plans to do evil Will be called a schemer or deviser of evil. 9 The devising of folly is sin, And the scoffer is repulsive to men. 10 If you are slack (careless) in the day of distress, Your strength is limited. 11 Rescue those who are being taken away to death, And those who stagger to the slaughter, Oh hold them back [from their doom]! 12 If you [claim ignorance and] say, “See, we did not know this,” Does He not consider it who weighs and examines the hearts and their motives? And does He not know it who guards your life and keeps your soul? And will He not repay [you and] every man according to his works? 13 My son, eat honey, because it is good, And the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste. 14 Know that [skillful and godly] wisdom is [so very good] for your life and soul; If you find wisdom, then there will be a future and a reward, And your hope and expectation will not be cut off. 15 Do not lie in wait, O wicked man, against the dwelling of the righteous; Do not destroy his resting place; 16 For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again, But the wicked stumble in time of disaster and collapse. [Job 5:19 ; Ps 34:19 ; 37:24 ; Mic 7:8 ] 17 Do not rejoice and gloat when your enemy falls, And do not let your heart be glad [in self-righteousness] when he stumbles, 18 Or the LORD will see your gloating and be displeased, And turn His anger away from your enemy.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Eric raised his eyebrows. “I guess she is. She thinks she is. I don’t know. What does it mean, to be in love? Are you in love with Ida?” “Yes,” said Vivaldo. Eric rose and walked to the window. “You didn’t even have to think about it. I guess that tells me where I am.” He laughed. With his back to Vivaldo, he said, “I used to envy you, you know that?” “You must have been out of your mind,” said Vivaldo. “Why?” “Because you were normal,” Eric said. He turned and faced Vivaldo. Vivaldo threw back his head and laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, son. Or is that a subtle put-down?” “It’s not a put-down at all,” said Eric. “But I’m glad I don’t envy you any more.” “Hell,” said Vivaldo, “I might just as easily envy you. You can make it with both men and women and sometimes I’ve wished I could do that, I really have.” Eric was silent. Vivaldo grinned. “We’ve all got our troubles, Buster.” Eric looked very grave. He grunted, noncommittally, and sat down again. “You’ve wished you could—you say. And I wish I couldn’t.” “You say.” They looked at each other and smiled. Then, “I hope you get along with Ida better than I did with Rufus,” Eric said. Vivaldo felt chilled. He looked away from Eric, toward the window; the dark, lonely streets seemed to come flooding in on them. “How,” he asked, “did you get along with Rufus?” “It was terrible, it drove me crazy.” “I figured that.” He watched Eric. “Is that all over now? I mean—is Cass kind of the wave of your future?” “I don’t know. I thought I could make myself fall in love with Cass, but—but, no. I love her very much, we get on beautifully together. But she’s not all tangled up in my guts the way—the way I guess Ida is all tangled up in yours.” “Maybe you’re just not in love with her. You haven’t got to be in love every time you go to bed. You haven’t got to be in love to have a good affair.” Eric was silent. Then, “No. But once you have been—I” And he stared into his drink. “Yes,” Vivaldo said at last, “yes, I know.” “I think,” said Eric, “that I’ve really got to accept—or decide—some very strange things. Right away.” He walked into the dark kitchen, returned with ice, and spiked his drink, and Vivaldo’s. He sat down again in his straight chair. “I’ve spent years now, it seems to me, thinking that one fine day I’d wake up and all my torment would be over, and all my indecision would end—and that no man, no boy, no male—would ever have power over me again.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Well,” said Loring, “as soon as you do have something, I hope you’ll get in touch with me. Richard thinks you’re tremendously talented and I’d certainly trust his judgment.” He knew that Ida was puzzled and irritated by the mediocrity of his response. He tried to pump up enthusiasm, and watching Ida’s face helped. He could not imagine what she thought of Ellis, and rage at himself, his jealousy, his fear, and his confusion, contributed a saving intensity to his evasive reply. Loring seemed more certain than ever that he was a diamond in the rough, and Ida more certain than ever that he was in need of hands to push him. And he himself felt, in a way he had not felt before, that it was time for him to take the plunge. This was the water, the people in this room; it impressed him, certainly, as far from fine, but it was the only water there was. Miss Wales now looked over toward him, but he avoided her eyes, giving all of his attention to Ida. “Let’s go,” he said, in a low voice, “let’s get out of here. I’ve had it.” “You want to go now? You haven’t talked to Miss Wales.” But he watched her eyes flicker toward the bar, where Ellis stood. And there was something in her face which he could not read, something speculative and hard. “I don’t want to talk to Miss Wales.” “Why on earth not? You’re being silly.” “Look,” he said, “is there someone here you want to talk to?” Oh, you idiot! he groaned to himself. But the words were said. She looked at him. “I don’t know what you mean. What are you talking about?” “Nothing,” he said, sullenly. “I’m just crazy. Don’t mind me.” “You were thinking something. What were you thinking?” “Nothing,” he said, “really nothing.” He smiled. “I don’t care. We can stay if you want to.” “I was only staying,” she said, “on account of you.” He was about to say, Well then, we can go, but decided that it would be smarter not to. The doorbell rang. He said, “I just wanted to avoid getting involved in a supper deal with any of these people, that’s all.” “But who,” she persisted, “did you think I wanted to talk to?” “Oh,” he said, “I thought if you were really serious about that singing business, you might have wanted to make an appointment with Ellis. I imagine he could be helpful.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  “I guess I just like to get beaten over the head.” They walked to the table. “This your first time in the Village, Leona?” “No, I’ve walked around here some. But you don’t really know a place unless you know some of the people.” “You know us now,” said Vivaldo, “and between us we must know everybody else. We’ll show you around.” Something in the way Vivaldo said this irritated Rufus. His buoyancy evaporated; sour suspicions filled him. He stole a look at Vivaldo, who was sipping his beer and watching Leona with an impenetrable smile—impenetrable exactly because it seemed so open and good-natured. He looked at Leona, who, this afternoon anyway, drowning in his bathrobe, her hair piled on top of her head and her face innocent of make-up, couldn’t really be called a pretty girl. Perhaps Vivaldo was contemptuous of her because she was so plain—which meant that Vivaldo was contemptuous of him. Or perhaps he was flirting with her because she seemed so simple and available: the proof of her availability being her presence in Rufus’ house. Then Leona looked across the table and smiled at him. His heart and his bowels shook; he remembered their violence and their tenderness together; and he thought, To hell with Vivaldo. He had something Vivaldo would never be able to touch. He leaned across the table and kissed her. “Can I have some more beer?” asked Vivaldo, smiling. “You know where it is,” Rufus said. Leona took his glass and went to the kitchen. Rufus stuck out his tongue at Vivaldo, who was watching him with a faintly quizzical frown. Leona returned and set a fresh beer before Vivaldo and said, “You boys finish up now, I’m going to get dressed.” She gathered her clothes together and vanished into the bathroom. There was silence at the table for a moment. “She going to stay here with you?” Vivaldo asked. “I don’t know yet. Nothing’s been decided yet. But I think she wants to—” “Oh, that’s obvious. But isn’t this place a little small for two?” “Maybe we’ll find a bigger place. Anyway—you know—I’m not home a hell of a lot.” Vivaldo seemed to consider this. Then, “I hope you know what you’re doing, baby. I know it’s none of my business, but——” Rufus looked at him. “Don’t you like her?” “Sure, I like her. She’s a sweet girl.” He took a swallow of his beer. “The question is—how much do you like her?” “Can’t you tell?” And Rufus grinned. “Well, no, frankly—I can’t. I mean, sure you like her. But—oh, I don’t know.” There was silence again. Vivaldo dropped his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about,” said Rufus. “I’m a big boy, you know.” Vivaldo raised his eyes and said, “It’s a pretty big world, too, baby. I hope you’ve thought of that.” “I’ve thought of that.” “Trouble is, I feel too paternal towards you, you son of a bitch.” “That’s the trouble with all you white bastards.”