Joy

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 A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  Cork was pretending to be shocked by the innocent improprieties that so excited my stepmother. I could tell Mrs. Cork had palled around with real screwballs, even unwed couples—it was just a sense I had. When I took her out one day in a motorboat alone, she and I happily discussed opera. We cut the motor and drifted. I relaxed and became animated to the point of effeminacy; she relaxed and became coarser. “Oh, my boy,” she promised me in her brogue, “you want to hear fine singing, I’ll play you my John McCormack records, make you weep your damn eyes out of their bloody sockets. That ‘Lucevan le stelle,’ it’ll freeze your balls.” I shrieked with delight—we were conspirators who’d somehow found ourselves stranded together here in a world of unthrillable souls. I dreamed of running off and becoming a great singer; I walked through the woods and vocalized. Tonight we had not yet made our rapport explicit, but I was already wise to her. She had through circumstance ended up not on the La Scala stage but in this American cottage, married to an affable, overweight businessman. Now her job was to ingratiate herself with people who would help her husband in his career (lawyer for industry); she was retaining just enough brogue and temperament to be a “character.” Characters—conventional women with minor eccentricities—flourished in our world, as Mrs. Cork had no doubt observed. But she’d failed to notice that the characters were all old, rich and pedigreed. Newcomers, especially those of moderate means, were expected to form an attractive but featureless chorus behind our few madcap divas. “Time for bed, young fella,” my father said at last. Downstairs I undressed by the colored light of the glass-brick bar and, wearing just a T-shirt and jockey shorts, hurried into the dark dormitory and slipped into my cot. Nights on the lake are cold even in July; the bed had two thick blankets on it that had been aired outside that day and smelled of pine needles. I listened to the grown-ups; the metal vents conducted sound better than heat. Their conversation, which had seemed so lively and sincere when I had witnessed it, now sounded stilted and halting. Lots of fake laughter. Silences became longer and longer. At last everyone said good night and headed upstairs. Another five minutes of moaning pipes, flushing toilets and padding feet. Then long murmured consultations in bed by each couple. Then silence. “You still awake?” Kevin called from his bed. “Yes,” I said. I couldn’t see him in the dark but I could tell his cot was at the other end of the room; Peter was audibly asleep on the cot between. “How old are you?” Kevin asked. “Fifteen. And you?” “Twelve. You ever done it with girls?” “Sure,” I said. I knew I could always tell him about the black prostitute I’d visited. “You?” “Naw.

• From The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) (2)

  But Cupid being now healed of his wound and Maladie, not able to endure the absence of Psyches, got him secretly out at a window of the chamber where hee was enclosed, and (receiving his wings,) tooke his flight towards his loving wife, whom when he had found, hee wiped away the sleepe from her face, and put it againe into the boxe, and awaked her with the tip of one of his arrows, saying: O wretched Caitife, behold thou wert well-nigh perished againe, with the overmuch curiositie: well, goe thou, and do thy message to my Mother, and in the meane season, I will provide for all things accordingly: wherewithall he tooke his flight into the aire, and Psyches brought her present to Venus.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  Like them she must remain eternally young—hence her flamboyant clothes and gestures and hectic displays of energy (the middle-aged imagine the young are energetic). Later, much later, when I was sixteen and eighteen and twenty, I’d meet her downtown where she worked at a museum and we’d go off in the middle of a dim winter afternoon to a deserted bar and drink manhattans (I remember because they were the first drinks I ever ordered). Another afternoon I attended a madrigal concert she sang in at the public library, something planned in conjunction with an exhibition of one page from the hand of that monster Gesualdo. There she was, breasts half-exposed and working, eyes turned inward, trembling upper lip rising on one side until it had suddenly been everted, her face painted an unlikely yellow and her hair dyed a brittle blue-black, her clothes still “youthful” but now so out of date that the few members of the audience under twenty-five would have had no idea what she was signifying. They might have thought that she was an émigrée wearing the national costume of Estonia and that these songs—these gliding transits, startling rhythms and suave, uncomfortable harmonies—were folk songs in need of a pitch pipe. One afternoon over manhattans I confessed to Marilyn I was gay and she told me she was, too, and that she and Fred had known all along that I would be, even when I was eleven. “And Fred? Was he gay?” “Oh yes. Didn’t you know? I thought we all knew about each other,” Marilyn said as she redrew her eyes in the compact mirror. “Well, I knew you both liked me and that I felt good with you, better than with most grown-ups.” “Then why did you stop coming by the shop? Waiter, another round.” “Because my mother told me I couldn’t see you anymore. The old ladies in our hotel told my mother that you and Fred were Communists and living in sin.” Marilyn laughed and laughed. “Of course the truth is we’re both Catholics and gay and never touched each other. Perhaps those ladies even knew the truth but—but”—shriek of laughter—“assumed that communism and living in sin, that those two things together equaled being gay.” I was wearing a Brooks Brothers sack suit of black and brown twill that ran on the diagonal and a soft felt fedora from Paris, and this getup, which seemed so stylish to me, cast our conversation into the light of an excited urbanity, as did the cocktails, no doubt. Elevated tracks ran outside above the bar, and whenever a train passed by, our table trembled under our elbows and the glasses, accidentally touching each other, registered the shock in a muted chime. The light in the bar was as murky as old water in an aquarium dimmed by storms of fish food beat up by lazy fins.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Foster called, tapping his watch. “All right, Monty!” Mrs. Foster said. Then, quietly, to Suzanne and Miri, “Betsy has sniffles. It could be the beginning of something, or nothing. But check on her every half hour after she goes to sleep, okay?” “Okay, sure,” Miri said and Suzanne nodded. Mrs. Foster kissed Penny and Betsy. “You girls be good.” “Joanne!” Mr. Foster called, and this time Mrs. Foster hurried to the door. Once they heard the door close behind them Suzanne let out a sigh. As soon as their mother was out of sight, the girls started racing through the house. Miri chased them, a game they loved. “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe, catch a tiger by the toe. Which little tiger will I catch first?” The girls shrieked until Miri caught one, then the other, carrying them back to the living room. When they calmed down Suzanne painted their toenails and Miri brought them milk and gingersnaps from the kitchen. Later, when they were in their twin beds, tucked in just so, Miri and Suzanne took turns reading to them from a stack of library books. Mrs. Foster had been a first-grade teacher before the girls were born and stressed the importance of reading aloud to children. After that, Suzanne turned on the radio, both girls took out the homework their mothers thought they’d finished earlier and settled down on the living room floor. Mr. and Mrs. Foster returned happy, holding hands. It must have been a good movie. Usually Mrs. Foster asked for details of how the evening had gone. But not tonight. Mr. Foster drove them home, each with $1.50 in her pocket, a bonanza! Now that the holidays were over, Miri was saving her babysitting money for her ninth-grade prom dress. She figured $15 would do it, including shoes. When Mr. Foster started humming a tune, Suzanne leaned close to Miri and whispered, “I’ll bet they went to a motel instead of a movie.” This thought had never occurred to Miri. Why would a married couple go to a motel when they said they’d be at the movies? No, Miri didn’t believe it. She was sure Rusty would never do such a thing. Not that she was married. She didn’t even have a boyfriend. And Miri liked it that way. CapricornBorn on January 15, you are a natural leader and problem solver. You have the intelligence to understand any situation and the discipline to follow through in pursuing a solution. Coupled with the trait of great loyalty, it makes you respected by all who know you. There is no better friend to have than a Capricorn. —BY THE MIDDLE of the month Fred knew Miri so well he’d jump up and down, barking, the minute he saw her. She’d scoop him up, letting him lick her face. Unless she had an after-school activity, she’d meet Mason at Jefferson High and walk him down to Edison Lanes.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  “I’ll go first,” I said. Although I put lots of spit on him and me, he still said it hurt. I’d get about half an inch in and he’d say, “Take it out! Quick!” He was lying on his side with his back to me, but I could still look over and see him wince in profile. “Jesus,” he said. “It’s like a knife all through me.” The pain subsided and with the bravery of an Eagle Scout he said, “Okay. Try it again. But take it easy and promise you’ll pull out when I say so.” This time I went in a millimeter at a time, waiting between each advance. I could feel his muscles relaxing. “Is it in?” he asked. “Yep.” “All the way in?” “Almost. There. It’s all in.” “Really?” He reached back for my crotch to make sure. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Feel good?” “Terrific.” “Okay,” he instructed, “go in and out, but slow, okay?” “Sure.” I tried a few short thrusts and asked if I was hurting him. He shook his head. He bent his knees up toward his chest and I flowed around him. Whereas face to face I had felt timid and unable to get enough of his body against enough of mine, now I was glued to him and he didn’t object—it was understood that this was my turn and I could do what I liked. I tunneled my lower arm under him and folded it across his chest; his ribs were unexpectedly small and countable, and now that he’d completely relaxed I could get deeper and deeper into him. That such a tough, muscled little guy, whose words were so flat and eyes so without depth or humor, could be so richly taken—oh, he felt good. But the sensation he was giving didn’t seem like something afforded by his body, or if so, then it was a secret gift, shameful and pungent, one he didn’t dare acknowledge. In the Chris-Craft I’d been afraid of him. He had been the usual intimidating winner, beyond excitement—but here he was, pushing this tendoned, shifting pleasure back into me, the fine hair on his neck damp with sweat just above the hollows the sculptor had pressed with his thumbs into the clay. His tan hand was resting on his white hip. The ends of his lashes were pulsing just beyond the line of his full cheek. “Does it feel good?” he asked. “Want it tighter?” he asked, as a shoe salesman might. “No, it’s fine.”

• From The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) (2)

  In saying these words shee came to me to bed, and embraced me sweetly, and so wee passed all the night in pastime and pleasure, and never slept until it was day: but we would eftsoones refresh our wearinesse, and provoke our pleasure, and renew our venery by drinking of wine. In which sort we pleasantly passed away many other nights following.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  feed on, so did I see more than a thousand splendours draw towards us, and in each one was heard: Lo! one who shall increase our loves. 9 And as each one came up to us, the shade appeared full filled with joy, by the bright glow that issued forth of it. Think, reader, if what I now begin proceeded not, how thou would’st feel an anguished dearth of knowing more, and by thyself thou shalt perceive how it was in my longing to hear from these concerning their estate, soon as they were revealed unto my eyes. “O happy-born, 10 to whom grace concedeth to look upon the Thrones of the eternal triumph ere thou abandonest thy time of warfare, 11 by the light that rangeth through all heaven are we enkindled; and therefore if thou desire to draw light from us, sate thee at thine own will.” Thus by one of those devout spirits was said to me, and by Beatrice: “Speak, speak securely, and believe as thou would’st deities.” “Verily, I see how thou dost nestle in thine own light, and that thou dost draw it through thine eyes, because they sparkle as thou smilest; 12 But I know nor who thou art, nor why, O worthy soul, thou art graded in this sphere, which veileth it to mortals in another’s rays.” 13 This I said, turned towards the light which first had spoken to me; whereat it glowed far brighter yet than what it was before. Like as the sun which hideth him by excess of light when the heat hath gnawed away the tempering of the thick vapours, so by access of joy the sacred figure hid him in his own rays, and thus enclosed, answered me in such fashion as chanteth the following chant. 1. Angels and men. 2. Cf. Canto iii. 3. “To apply to some other good purpose what has been vowed, would only be like giving the proceeds of oppression or plunder in charity.” 4. Regulations as to substitution or “redemption” are found in Exodus xiii. 13, xxxiv. 20, and Numbers xviii. 15-18. But the subject is most fully treated in the last chapter of Leviticus. 5. In popular estimate, “the silver key of knowledge and the golden key of authority.” But Aquinas says more accurately: “for either of these [i.e., to decide that the penitent is fit to be absolved, and actually to absolve him] a certain power of authority is needed; and so we distinguish between two keys, one pertaining to the judgment as to the fitness of him to be absolved, the other pertaining to the absolution itself.” Cf. Purg. ix. 6. Both Jephthah (Judges xi) and Agamemnon sacrificed their daughters. 7. “If ignorant and unauthorized ‘pardoners’ and others tempt you to light-hearted vows and offer you easy terms of remission, do not be so senseless as to be misled by them. The blessing of the Christian dispensation is turned into a curse by such as do the like, and the very Jews have a right to make a mock of them.” Cf. Canto xxix. 8. The Equator is the swiftest part of the heaven (Conv. ii. 4). The equinoctial point is the germinal point of the Universe (Par. x). The sun is the source of all mortal life (Par. xxii). Dante’s words may apply to any of the three; but since, at the date of the Vision, the sun is at the equinoctial point, they all coincide. 9. Cf. Purg. xv. 10. Cf. Cantos viii (note 3), and ix (note 9). 11. The Church on earth is militant; only in heaven triumphant. 12. The last reference to the features of a blessed spirit, as discerned by Dante, in any of the revolving spheres. 13. Mercury is so near the sun as to be seldom visible.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  C A N T O X X As when the one light of the sun disappears, the heaven is straightway rekindled by many stars, so when the one voice of the eagle ceased the many beings that composed it, shining yet more brightly, burst into an angelic chime of many notes, which was followed by a murmuring as of falling waters, gathering once more in the neck of the eagle into a single voice. The eagle declares that the six lights which forms its pupil and eyebrow are the greatest of all, and goes on to enumerate them, using, in most cases, rich and pregnant circumlocution, but expressly naming Ripheus the Trojan, that there may be no room to misconceive a statement so incredible as that he (as well as Trajan, the heathen emperor, already indicated by a paraphrase not to be misunderstood) is in heaven. Then once more the eagle bursts into rapturous song, and when it pauses, Dante, though he knows that the spirits read his inmost thoughts as we on earth see colour through a sheet of glass, yet can not restrain the utterance of his amazement at the presence of these two heathen; whereon the eagle declares that both of them died in the true faith, Ripheus in Christ to come and Trajan in Christ come; and so explains the former case as to suggest that revelations may have been vouchsafed to other righteous Pagans. So little do men fathom the divine counsels! Nay, the redeemed souls, as they look on God, know not yet who shall be the saved; and in this very limitation of their knowledge they rejoice, for it is a point of conscious contact with the will of God. Thus, as the souls of Trajan and Ripheus glint responsive to the eagle’s discourse, Dante receives sweet solace partly from the thought that he knows not, after all, how many of the supposed heathen are in truth saved, and partly from the spectacle of the souls in bliss rejoicing in the limitations of their knowledge no less than in its conquests. WHEN HE who doth illumine all the world descendeth so from our hemisphere that day on every side is done away, the heaven which before is kindled by him only, now straightway maketh itself reappear by many lights wherein the one regloweth. 1 And this act of heaven came to my mind when the ensign of the world and of its leaders within its blessed beak was silent; because all those living lights, far brightlier shining, began songs which from my memory must slip and fall. O sweet love, smile-bemantled, how glowing didst thou seem in those flute holes breathed on only by sacred ponderings! 2 When the dear and shining stones, whereby I saw the sixth heaven gemmed, had imposed silence on the angelic chimes, meseemed to hear the murmuring of a river which drop-peth clear from rock to rock and showeth the abundance of its source.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  A net was dumped at my feet and I saw that cold life arc, panic, die. Tommy knew one of the old guys, who gave us a couple dozen fish, which we took back to the Wellingtons’ place. At midnight everyone was in bed, but Tom decided we were hungry and had to fry up our smelt right now. The odor of burning butter and bitter young fish drew Mrs. Wellington down from her little sitting room where she dozed, watched television and paged through books about gardening and thoroughbred dogs. She came blinking and padding down to the kitchen, lured by the smell of frying fish, the smell of a pleasure forbidden because it comes from a kingdom we dare not enter for long. I was certain she would be gruff—she was frowning, though only against the neon brightness of the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” she asked in what must have been at last the sound of her true voice, the poor, flat intonations of the prairies where she’d grown up. Soon she was pouring out tall glasses of milk and setting places for us. She was a good sport in an unselfconscious way I’d never seen in a grown-up before, as though she and we were all part of the same society of hungry, browsing creatures instead of members of two tribes, one spontaneous and the other repressive. She seemed to bend naturally to the will of her son, and this compliance suggested an unspoken respect for the primacy of even such a young and scruffy man. My own mother paid lip service to the notion of male supremacy, but she had had to make her own way in the world too long to stay constant to such a purely decorative belief. After the midnight supper Tommy started to play the guitar and sing. He and I had trekked more than once downtown to the Folk Center to hear a barefoot hillbilly woman in a long, faded skirt intone Elizabethan songs and pluck at a dulcimer or to listen, frightened and transported, to a big black Lesbian with a crew cut moan her basso way through the blues. The People—those brawny, smiling farmers, those plump, wholesome teens bursting out of bib overalls, those toothless ex-cons, those white-eyed dust bowl victims—the People, half-glimpsed in old photos, films and WPA murals, were about to reemerge, we trusted, into history and our lives. All this aspiration, this promise of fellowship and equality, informed Tom’s songs. We worried a bit (just a bit) that we might be suburban twerps unworthy of the People.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  I have a few other things to press.” “I don’t mind. Bring them down.” Ruby gathered a pair of shorts, two skirts, and an off-the-shoulder blouse. She ran down the stairs with them just as the doorbell rang. She pulled the door open, expecting to see Aunt Emmy. Instead it was Dana, Ruby’s best friend, another long-legged dancer. Dana burst out laughing. “You look cute,” she said, reminding Ruby her face was still covered in gray clay. “Dana, you’re frozen,” Ruby’s mother said, greeting her daughter’s friend. “A cup of coffee or tea?” “Thanks,” Dana said, “but I’m okay.” Dana followed Ruby up the stairs. They’d met and roomed together on the national tour of Kiss Me, Kate. Ruby wasn’t sure she’d ever have that much fun again. “Looks like you’re all packed,” Dana said. “Almost. I was just finishing wrapping presents for my mom and dad.” “Give me the ribbon. I’ll do it. You get that goo off your face. I can’t take you out for a holiday drink like that.” “We’re going out for drinks?” “We are.” Ruby passed the red and green ribbon to Dana. “Give me ten minutes. So long as I’m back for supper with the family. You should stay. My mother’s making pierogi.” “I love your mother’s pierogi.” “She’ll be happy to have another guest. Aunt Emmy’s driving in from Elizabeth.” “With handsome Uncle Victor?” “Afraid the handsome fireman has to stay at home. He’s on duty. Anyway, he’s old enough to be your father.” “I like older men.” “My uncle is off-limits.” “As if I don’t know.” They laughed as they walked arm in arm to Billy’s, the tavern on the corner, where they sat in a booth. Ruby’s skin was glowing from the facial. Without makeup she could pass for a high school student. “What can I bring you lovely ladies?” Billy asked. Billy was bald, short and round, but he moved fast. “Two hot toddies,” Dana said. “With pleasure, though neither one of you beauties looks old enough to be legal.” He knew they were. Billy had known Ruby’s family since before she was born. Knew she’d turned twenty-two over the summer, just before her father’s surgery. Billy knew almost everything about her family, and he kept it to himself. When they were served, Dana held up her glass. “Cheers. Here’s to a great year for both of us!” Ruby clinked glasses with her. “I’ll second that.” They talked for forty-five minutes over a second hot toddy, taking turns feeding nickels into the jukebox. When they tired of holiday songs they started on Broadway musicals, singing along with “Why Can’t You Behave?,” reminding them of their good times on the road and entertaining the few customers who were seated at the bar. When it was time to leave, Billy called, “Have a good trip, Ruby.” “Thanks, Billy. And don’t let my father have more than one, if anyone brings him in.” “Don’t worry, sweetheart.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  He thought she had a good shot. A movie musical wouldn’t hurt, either. Maybe Danny Thomas would put her in his next picture. Nothing wrong with pulling a few strings while she was dating his brother. “What time’s your plane, babe?” Jimmy asked. “Last time I checked it was two hours late.” She looked down at the watch Paul had given her for her birthday, a pink-gold Bulova. The tiny hands told her it was almost ten-thirty. “Oops, I’m supposed to be at the airport before noon,” she said, collecting her things and paying for the ice cream soda. Jimmy leaned in to give her a goodbye kiss on her cheek. At the last second she turned her face so his kiss landed on her lips, surprising him. “Mmm…strawberry…” Jimmy said, licking his lips, making Ruby laugh. “Have a good trip, babe, and come back soon.” “You know I will.” Ruby blew him a flirty kiss. Ruby loved to travel. Give her an airline ticket and she’d be on the next plane. She liked staying at hotels, where someone made the bed for her every day and brought her clean towels. Even when the hotels were less than classy, even when they were on the sleazy side, which was often, she still liked being on the road. MiriJust before noon Rusty found Miri still asleep in her bed. She shook her gently. “Come on, honey…get up! Let’s go to an early show at the Elmora.” Miri rolled over but didn’t open her eyes. “Hurry or we’re going to miss it.” Being the only child meant Miri was often her mother’s companion. And if Rusty wanted to go to the movies today, she’d go with her. After all, it was her birthday. Miri threw on dungarees, a turtleneck, a heavy sweater over that and thick white socks. She tied her saddle shoes, ran the toothbrush over her teeth, not bothering to brush up and down the way Dr. Osner had taught her, pulled her hair back sloppily and got into her winter jacket, mittens, red and black striped Rutgers scarf and fuzzy earmuffs. Miri and Rusty walked the mile up to the Elmora Theater. No bright winter sun today. Just gray sky and freezing cold. Until this year Miri could still get into the movies for a quarter, but not anymore. This was both good and bad. Good because she looked older, bad because she had to pay full price for a ticket. She’d be the first of her friends to turn fifteen, the age at which she was sure life would fall into place and at least some of her dreams would come true, starting with the strange enchanted boy from last night’s party. At the concession stand Rusty bought a Milky Way for Miri, not bothering to ask if Miri had had a proper breakfast, which she hadn’t, and a box of Goobers for herself.

• From The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) (2)

  Know thou, that now thou art safe, and under the protection of her, who by her cleare light doth lighten the other gods: wherefore rejoyce and take a convenable countenance to thy white habit, follow the pomp of this devout and honorable procession, to the end that such which be not devout to the Goddes, may see and acknowledge their errour. Behold Lucius, thou art delivered from so great miseries, by the providence of the goddesse Isis, rejoyce therefore and triumph of the victory of fortune; to the end thou maist live more safe and sure, make thy selfe one of this holy order, dedicate thy minde to the Obsequy of our Religion, and take upon thee a voluntary yoake of ministrie: And when thou beginnest to serve and honour the goddes, then thou shalt feele the fruit of thy liberty: After that the great Priest had prophesied in this manner, with often breathings, he made a conclusion of his words: Then I went amongst the company of the rest and followed the procession: everie one of the people knew me, and pointing at me with their fingers, said in this sort: Behold him who is this day transformed into a man by the puissance of the soveraigne goddesse, verily he is blessed and most blessed that hath merited so great grace from heaven, as by the innocencie of his former life, and as it were by a new regeneration is reserved to the obsequie of the goddesse. In the meane season by little and little we approached nigh unto the sea cost, even to that place where I lay the night before being an Asse. There after the images and reliques were orderly disposed, the great Priest compassed about with divers pictures according to the fashion of the Aegyptians, did dedicate and consecrate with certaine prayers a fair ship made very cunningly, and purified the same with a torch, an egge, and sulphur; the saile was of white linnen cloath, whereon was written certaine letters, which testified the navigation to be prosperous, the mast was of a great length, made of a Pine tree, round and very excellent with a shining top, the cabin was covered over with coverings of gold, and all the shippe was made of Citron tree very faire; then all the people as well religious as prophane tooke a great number of Vannes, replenished with odours and pleasant smells and threw them into the sea mingled with milke, untill the ship was filled up with large gifts and prosperous devotions, when as with a pleasant wind it launched out into the deep. But when they had lost the sight of the ship, every man caried againe that he brought, and went toward the temple in like pompe and order as they came to the sea side.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  I was so happy alone and in the woods, away from the dangers posed by other people. At first I wanted to tell someone else how happy I was; I needed a witness. But as the great day revolved slowly above me, as the scarlet tanager flew overhead on his black wings to the distant high trees, as an owl, hidden and remote, sounded a hoot as melancholy as winter, as the leaves, ruffled by the wind, tossed the sun about as though they were princesses at play with a golden ball, as the smell of sweet clover, of bruised sassasfras leaves, of the mulch of last year’s duff flowed over me, as I crushed the hot, sweet blueberries between my teeth and then chewed on an astringent needle from a balsam, as I sensed the descent of the sun and the slow decline of summer—oh, I was free and whole, safe from everyone, as happy as with my books. For I could thrive in the expressive, inhuman realm of nature or the expressive, human realm of books—both worlds so exalted, so guileless—but I felt imperiled by the hidden designs other people were drawing around me. The tender white bells of the flower by the rotting stump, the throbbing distillation of blue in the fringed gentian, the small, bright-green cone of the Scots pine—these were confidences nature placed in me, wordless but as trusting as a dog’s eyes. Or the pure, always comprehensible and sharply delineated thoughts and emotions of characters in fiction—these, too, were signs I could read, as one might read a marionette’s face. But the vague menace of Ralph with his increasingly haggard face, this boy at once pitiable and dangerous, who had already been caught twice this summer attempting to “hypnotize” younger campers and was now in danger of expulsion, who studied me at meals not with curiosity, much less with sympathy, but with crude speculation (Can I get him to do it? Can he relieve me?)—this menace was becoming more and more intense.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  Cork was pretending to be shocked by the innocent improprieties that so excited my stepmother. I could tell Mrs. Cork had palled around with real screwballs, even unwed couples—it was just a sense I had. When I took her out one day in a motorboat alone, she and I happily discussed opera. We cut the motor and drifted. I relaxed and became animated to the point of effeminacy; she relaxed and became coarser. “Oh, my boy,” she promised me in her brogue, “you want to hear fine singing, I’ll play you my John McCormack records, make you weep your damn eyes out of their bloody sockets. That ‘Lucevan le stelle,’ it’ll freeze your balls.” I shrieked with delight—we were conspirators who’d somehow found ourselves stranded together here in a world of unthrillable souls. I dreamed of running off and becoming a great singer; I walked through the woods and vocalized. Tonight we had not yet made our rapport explicit, but I was already wise to her. She had through circumstance ended up not on the La Scala stage but in this American cottage, married to an affable, overweight businessman. Now her job was to ingratiate herself with people who would help her husband in his career (lawyer for industry); she was retaining just enough brogue and temperament to be a “character.” Characters—conventional women with minor eccentricities—flourished in our world, as Mrs. Cork had no doubt observed. But she’d failed to notice that the characters were all old, rich and pedigreed. Newcomers, especially those of moderate means, were expected to form an attractive but featureless chorus behind our few madcap divas. “Time for bed, young fella,” my father said at last. Downstairs I undressed by the colored light of the glass-brick bar and, wearing just a T-shirt and jockey shorts, hurried into the dark dormitory and slipped into my cot. Nights on the lake are cold even in July; the bed had two thick blankets on it that had been aired outside that day and smelled of pine needles. I listened to the grown-ups; the metal vents conducted sound better than heat. Their conversation, which had seemed so lively and sincere when I had witnessed it, now sounded stilted and halting. Lots of fake laughter. Silences became longer and longer. At last everyone said good night and headed upstairs. Another five minutes of moaning pipes, flushing toilets and padding feet. Then long murmured consultations in bed by each couple. Then silence. “You still awake?” Kevin called from his bed. “Yes,” I said. I couldn’t see him in the dark but I could tell his cot was at the other end of the room; Peter was audibly asleep on the cot between. “How old are you?” Kevin asked. “Fifteen. And you?” “Twelve. You ever done it with girls?” “Sure,” I said. I knew I could always tell him about the black prostitute I’d visited. “You?” “Naw.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  I thanked her and I said I hoped I’d see her soon. For a moment it seemed as though it would be the most natural thing to kiss her on those full, soft lips (had I not seen her a moment ago covertly pop some scented thing into her mouth to prepare for just such an inevitability?). Her eyes were veiled with her awareness of her own beauty. I suppose I suddenly liked myself and I could see a light in which I’d be plausible to others. My love for Tommy was shameful, something I was also proud of but tried to hide. This moment with Helen—our tallness on the moon-lashed porch, the cool winds that sent black clouds (lit by gold from within) caravelling past a pirate moon, a coolness that glided through opening fingers that now touched, linked, squeezed, slowly drew apart—this moment made me happy, hopeful. An oppression had been lifted. A long apprenticeship to danger had abruptly ended. After I left her I raced home through the deserted streets laughing and leaping. I sang show tunes and danced and felt as fully alive as someone in a movie (since it was precisely life that was grainy and sepia-tinted, whereas the movies had the audible ping, the habitable color, the embraceable presence of reality). I was more than ready to give up my attraction to men for this marriage to Helen Paper. At last the homosexual phase of my adolescence had drawn to a close. To be sure, I’d continue to love Tommy but as he loved me: fraternally. In my dream the stowaway in the single bunk with me, whom I was trying to keep hidden under a blanket, had miraculously transformed himself into my glorious bride, as the kissed leper in the legend becomes Christ Pantocrator. When I got home my mother was in bed with the lights out. “Honey?” “Yes?” “Come in and talk to me.” “Okay,” I said. “Rub my back, okay?” “Okay,” I said. I sat beside her on the bed. She smelled of bourbon. “How was your date?” “Terrific! I never had such a good time.” “How nice. Is she a nice girl?” “Better than that. She’s charming and sophisticated and intelligent.” “You’re home earlier than I expected. Not so hard. Rub gently. You bruiser. I’m going to call you that: Bruiser. Is she playful? Is she like me? Does she say cute things?” “No, thank God.” “Why do you say that? Is she some sort of egghead?” “Not an egghead. But she’s dignified. She’s straightforward. She says what she means.” “I think girls should be playful. That doesn’t mean dishonest. I’m playful.” “———” “Well, I am. Do you think she likes you?” “How can I tell? It was just a first date.” My fingers lightly stroked her neck to either side of her spine. “I doubt if she’ll want to see me again. Why should she?” “But why not? You’re handsome and intelligent.” “Handsome! With these big nostrils!”

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  Kevin took my hand. He was sitting next to me in the dark. I had scooted forward on the cushion to give the others more room. Now our linked hands were concealed between his leg and mine. Just as I’d almost given up on him with his Vaseline, he placed that hot hand in mine. I could feel the calloused pads on his palm where he’d gripped the bat. Outside, the half-moon sped through the tall pines, spilled out across a glimpse of water, hid behind a billboard, twinkled faintly in the windows of a train, one window still lit and framing the face of a woman crowned by white hair. Dogs barked, then stopped as the trees came quicker and quicker and pushed closer to the winding road. Only here and there could a house light be seen. Now none. We were in the deep forest. The change from scattered farms to dense trees felt like an entry into something chilled and holy, a packed congregation of robed and mitered men whose form of worship is to wait in a tense, century-long silence. Kevin had made me very happy—a gleeful, spiteful happiness. Here we were, right under the noses of these boring old grown-ups, and we were two guys holding hands. Maybe I wouldn’t have to run away. Maybe I could live here among them, act normal, go through the paces—all the while holding the hand of this wonderful kid. Back in the basement, we three undressed under the glaring Ping-Pong light. Peter stumbled out of his clothes, which he left in a puddle on the floor. His shoulders were bony, his waist tiny, his penis a pale blue snail peeping up out of its rounded shell. He mumbled something about the cold sheets and turned his face to the wall. Kevin and I, at either end of the long, narrow room, undressed more deliberately, said nothing and scarcely looked at each other. Lights out. Then the long wait for Peter’s breathing to slow and thicken. The silence was thoughtful, like a pulse heard in an ear pressed to the mattress. Peter said, “Because I don’t want to … squirrel … yeah, but you …” and was gone. Still Kevin waited, and I feared he too had gone to sleep. But no, here he was, floating toward me, the ghost T-shirt on his torso browner from today’s sun. With the Vaseline jar in hand. The cold jelly with its light medicinal odor, which warms quickly to body temperature. As I went in him, he said straight out, as clear as a bell, “That feels really great.” It had never occurrred to me before that sex between two men can please both of them at the same time.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  and if from smoke fire is argued, this forgetfulness clearly proves fault in thy desire otherwhere intent. 14 But now my words shall be naked, so far as shall be meet to discover them to thy rude vision.” Both more refulgent, and with slower steps, the sun was holding the meridian circle, which varies hither and thither as positions vary, 15 when did halt, even as he halts who goes for escort before folk, if he finds aught that is strange or the traces thereof, those seven ladies at the margin of a pale shadow, such as beneath green leaves and dark boughs, the Alp casts over its cool streams. 16 In front of them I seemed to behold Euphrates and Tigris welling up from one spring, and parting like friends that linger. 17 “O light, O glory of human kind, what water is this that here pours forth from one source, and self from self doth wend away?” At such prayer was said to me: “Pray Matilda that she tell it thee”; and here made answer, as he doth who frees him from blame, the fair Lady: “This and other things have been told him by me, 18 and sure am I that Lethe’s water hid them not from him.” And Beatrice: “Haply a greater care that oft bereaves of memory hath dimmed his mind’s eyes. But behold Eunoë, which there flows on; lead him to it, and as thou art wont, requicken his fainting virtue.” As a gentle soul that maketh no excuse, but makes her will of the will of another, soon as it is disclosed by outward sign, so the fair Lady, after I was taken by her, set forth, and so Statius with queenly mien did say: “Come with him.” If, reader I had greater space for writing, I would sing, at least in part, of the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but forasmuch as all the pages ordained for this second canticle are filled, the curb of art no further lets me go. I came back from the most holy waves, born again, even as new trees renewed with new foliage, pure and ready to mount to the stars. 1. Ps. lxxix, beginning: “O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance; thy holy temple have they defiled; they have laid Jerusalem on heaps.” 2. Christ’s words to his disciples: “A little while, and ye shall not see me; and again, a little while, and ye shall see me, because I go to the Father” (John xvi. 16). 3. See the preceding canto. Dante applies to the Church (corrupted as it was in his time) the words used by John in Rev. xvii. 8: “The beast thou sawest was, and is not.” 4.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  And that Love which first descended to her, singing: Hail, Mary, full of grace now spread his wings before her. The divine canticle was answered from every side by the blest Court, so that every face thereby gathered serenity. “O holy Father, who for my sake acceptest being here below, leaving the sweet place wherein thou sittest by eternal lot, what is that angel who with such delight looketh our Queen in the eyes, enamoured so he seemeth all aflame?” So did I turn again unto his teaching who drew beauty from Mary, as from the sun the morning star. And he to me, “Exultancy and winsomeness as much as there may be in angel or in soul, is all in him; and we would have it so, for he it is who brought down the palm to Mary, when the Son of God willed to load him with our burden.

• From The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses) (2)

  coursing and hunting. When night was come, we took cover of the darkness, and brought Thrasyleon’s cage and our forged letters, and presented them to Demochares. When Demochares wonderingly beheld this mighty bear, and saw the timely liberality of Nicanor his friend, he was glad, and commanded his servant to deliver unto us that brought him this joy ten gold crowns, as he had great store in his coffers : then (as the novelty of a thing doth accustom to stir men’s minds to behold the same) many persons came on every side to see this bear, but Thrasyleon (lest they should by curious viewing and prying perceive the truth) ran often upon them to put them in fear, so that they durst not come nigh. Then the people said. with one voice: ‘ Verily Demochares is right happy, in that, after the death of so many beasts, he hath gotten, in spite of fortune, so goodly a bear to supply him afresh.’ He commanded that with great care his servants should put him into the park close by, but I immediately spoke unto him and said: ‘Sir, I pray you, take heed how you put a beast tired with the heat of the sun and with long travel amongst others which (as I hear say) have divers maladies and diseases; let him rather lie in some open place of your house, where the breeze blows through, yea nigh to some water, where he may take air and ease himself, for do not you know that such kind of beasts do greatly delight to couch under shadow of trees and dewy caves, nigh unto pleasant wells and waters?’ Hereby Demo- chares, admonished and remembering how many he had before that perished, was contented that we should put the bear’s cage where we would. More- over we said unto him: ‘ We ourselves are determined to lie all night nigh unto the bear, to look unto him, 169 LUCIUS APULEIUS cavea ista excubare noctes, ut aestus et vexationis incommodo bestiae fatigatae et cibum tempestivum et potum solitum accuratius offeramus. ‘ Nihil in- digemus labore isto vestro ;’ respondit ille * Iam paene tota familia per diutinam consuetudinem nutriendis ursis exercitata est.'

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  There were plenty of volunteers, many of them parents, and they divided the children into groups by age. She and Harriet and two of the mothers took the four- to seven-year-olds and handed out Dixie Cups to get things going. Right away a little girl shouted, “I got Lassie!” She licked the cover of her Dixie Cup clean to show Leah. Another began to cry. “I want Lassie, too.” “Let’s see who you have,” Leah said, wiping the child’s tears. “Go ahead and lick it clean so we can see.” She did and held it up to Leah. “Ooh, you have Natalie Wood!” Leah told her. “You’re lucky because Natalie Wood is a very famous movie star, and look how pretty she is. And you know what? She was a movie star when she was your age.” “I’m six.” “Well, that’s swell. Six is a good age to be.” When Henry arrived with the photographer, who didn’t look old enough to drive, Leah took off her apron, smoothed out her blue dress and reapplied her lipstick. Harriet, who knew Leah and Henry were seeing each other, whispered, “You look good enough to be the photo on a Dixie Cup.” “As good as Lassie?” Leah whispered. “Nobody can compete with Lassie.” Leah laughed, then clapped her hands to get the children’s attention. “Boys and girls,” Leah said. “This is Mr. Henry Ammerman. He’s a reporter for the Elizabeth Daily Post and he’s going to write a story about us.” She liked saying his name out loud. Henry Ammerman. When she did, Henry waved at the children. “And this is Todd Dirkson,” Henry said of the boy photographer. “He’s going to take a picture. Maybe you’ll see it in tomorrow’s paper.” Todd held up his Speed Graphic, so the children could see his camera. Henry and Todd conferred, then suggested they gather around the piano. Leah sat down and began to play the introduction to “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” She motioned for the children to sit on the floor around her. Some were still eating their Dixie Cups with the little wooden spoons, some faces were already smeared with chocolate frosting from the cupcakes. Harriet ran around with a damp cloth trying to wipe their faces clean, knowing the parents would want their children to look their Sunday best in the paper. “All eyes here, please,” Leah said, as she continued to play and sing. “Then one foggy Christmas eve, Santa came to say…” Half of the children sang along with Leah, the other half were more interested in the camera or looking out the windows. Todd clicked while Leah was at her most animated. Henry waited until she’d finished the song, then called, “Thanks, everyone. Thanks, Miss Cohen!” “You’re very welcome, Mr. Ammerman!” “Happy holidays, Miss Cohen!” “Same to you, Mr. Ammerman.” Oh, she really, really liked Henry Ammerman! She might say loved but she was superstitious about using that word too soon.