Relief

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.

Page 24 of 88 · 20 per page

• From Querelle (1953)

  241 I QUERELLE morphosed his friends into bracelets, necklaces, gold watches, earrings. Thus turning one of his feelings-friendship-into cash with some success, he put himself wi thout the pale of any man's judgment. That transmutation concerned only himself. Anyone who tried to make him "cough up the stuff again" would commit an act of grave-desecration. Thus Gil's arrest caused Querelle considerable grief, but at the same time he was keenly aware of becoming almos t physically encrusted with all the imaginary jewels and gold that symbolized the money acquired with Gil's help. It is our contention that the mecha nism we have just described is a very common one in our time. It is one that can be seen functioning in everybody's conscious ness, not only in those who have attained an awareness of their complexity. Nevertheless it should be pointed out that Querelle who needed to have all his resources at his disposal any given moment was thus obliged to rely more or less constantly on extracting them from his own inner contradictions. .. When Dede had told him about the fight.between the two brothers, gleefully dwelling on the insults Robert had been hurling at Querelle, Mario at once experienced a feeling of tremendous deliverance while not yet knowing from what it was he had been saved. It originated in a sudden and as yet hazy notion that Querelle had had something to do With the murder of the sailor called Vic. It was hazy, because the dominant feeling was one of relief, sweetness and light. Mario felt himself saved, by this single, far from lucid idea. Slowly, and taking this sense of salvation for his point of departure, he then established effective connections between that murder and what he thought he knew about homosexuals: if it were true that Nona had buggered him, then Querelle had to be a "queer." An d that immediately made him a very plausible candidate for the murderer of that or any sailor. l\1ario's fantasies about Querelle were inaccurate, no doubt, yet they enabled him to discover the truth . Continuing his musings about Querelle and the murder, he immediately came up against the idea regarded as quite

• From Querelle (1953)

  "It is, too. But only if I have your word that you won't mention me." Mario gave his word. Already he had abandoned his precautions, forgotten the plan to effect a mystical reconciliation with the underworld : he could not resist the chance to act as a policeman. He decided not to interrogate Querelle about the source of his information or about its reliability. He trusted the sailor. Very rapidly they decided what measures had to be taken to keep Querelle's name out of it forever. "Get that kid of vour .I s on his track. But see that he doesn't suspect anything." One hour later wlario gave Dede orders to go to the railroad station and keep a watch on all departing trains. He was to notify Police Headquarters as soon as he caugh t sight of Turko. He sold GiL By that act Dede detached himself from the world of his fellow beings. That was the beginning of his ascension, the meaning of which the reader has already been informed about. On board Le Vengeur Quereiie went on serving the officer, but the latter seemed to despise him, and this caused Querelle some degree of pain. Having been the target of armed aggression, the Lieutenant felt proud enough to develop a taste for adventure. In his diary we find the following statement: I feel in no way inferior to this young and marvelous hoodlum. I resisted. I was ready to die. 258 I JEAN GENET 0 0 0 To reward him for his assistance in Gil's arrest, the Police Commissioner entrusted him with special, almost official, assignments. It became his task to watch for youthful shoplifters, sailors and soldiers, in the Monoprix department store. As Dede rode the escalator, putting on his yellow leather gloves, he had the feeling of truly being "on his way up." He was an agent now. Everything was there to carry, to transport him. He was sure of himself. Getting off at the summit of his apotheosis, the store Boor on which he was to begin his new career, he knew that he had arrived. He had his gloves on, the floor was horizontal, Dede was master of his domain, free to be either magnanimous or a swine.

• From Querelle (1953)

  195 I QUERELLE ,.. before the real fight. It was necessary, he knew, to concentrate all his energy on th is incident, caused by a suspicion that he was a thief or a smuggler, so that any idea of his being a real crimi· nal would expire of its own accord, for lack of sustenance, the other one's energy having been used up on those other, boring ideas. He parted his lips and the wind rushed in with torrential strength, \Vith the plenitude and cylindrical exactitude of a nice large·caliber prick. "Is that so." C4Yeah." Qu erelle's stare poked Mario in the eyes like the spoke of an umbrella: "If that's all right with you, maybe you can step outside. I've got to talk to you." "Sure, let's go." Mario strove to sound as much as possible like the tough guys with whom he liked to associate. They went outside. Querelle turned in the direction away from the city and walked a few st eps in silence. It was dark. Beside him, perhaps half a step behind, l\1ario walked hands in pockets, his left clutching a crumpled handkerchief. · "How far we going?'' Querelle stopped � looked at him. "\Vhat is �t you want from me?" "As if you didn't know." "\Vhat proof have you got?" "Nona told me about it, what more do I need? And if you let Nona screw you, why should I act all coy about it?" Querelle felt the blood rush to his heart, from the very points of his fingertips. In the dark, he turned so pale he looked almost transpar ent: th is cop was no cop. Querelle himself was neither a murderer nor a thief: there was no danger. He opened his mouth to burst into laughter. He restrained himself. An enor· mous sigh rose from his innards, up into his throat, to shut his mouth like a wad of cotton. He wanted to kiss Mario, give

• From Escape (2007)

  As my children felt safer and more secure, I began to hear more stories about Merril and Barbara’s abuse. One of my daughters told me about being molested by her half brother. Patrick told me about the night Barbara beat him so hard, he thought he was going to die. He was even afraid after he told me what happened because he didn’t want his half brothers to hate him for telling. It was one abuse story after another. The kids continued to unload stories for about a year. It was painful for me to listen, but I knew that their mental health depended on my ability to hear and validate what they’d endured. After two and a half years of waiting, the Section 8 housing voucher came through in November 2005. I went on an orientation to learn the details, and when it was over I sat in my car and cried. I was only going to have to pay $70 a month for rent. For the first time in my life, I had breathing room. No longer would all my money have to go to housing expenses. Knowing I’d have $500 left over after I paid my utilities and other expenses felt like an unbelievable windfall. By Christmas, I learned that Merril had moved his entire family into Warren Jeffs’ compound in Texas. At that point he had fourteen wives and about forty children who were still young enough to be living at home. The one person who was left behind was his wife Faunita, who was put in a mental institution in Flagstaff, Arizona. She was told she was unworthy to participate in the kingdom of God. In the spring of 2005, the state of Utah seized the assets of the FLDS, which were worth $110 million. The assets—all in real estate—were part of a trust called the United Effort Plan, or UEP. It has been set up by the FLDS as a charitable trust. The UEP owned all the homes in the community. Warren Jeffs used the trust to his advantage by putting assets in the names of his cronies, who would then sell them and give Jeffs the money. Since there was never really any oversight until the state went after it, the UEP was like a personal ATM for Warren Jeffs. Jeffs, who had been in hiding for more than a year, did not try to defend himself when Utah went to court to gain control of the UEP trust. He knew if he showed up, he would be arrested on the state and federal charges that had been leveled against him. Once the court gave control of the trust to the state of Utah, legally Warren Jeffs was cut off at the knees. Utah, Arizona, and the FBI were all pursuing him, and his assets were unavailable to him.

• From Querelle (1953)

  Insolence is simply an expression of our confidence in our wit, our speech. Lieutenant Seblon's innate cowardice was merely due to his physical recoil from any strong male, and to his certainty that he would be defeated : thus he had to compensate for it by an insolent attitude. At the time of the decisive scene (which, according to the habitual rules of narrative logic, we ought to have put at the end of this book) , his encounter with Gil at Police Headquarters, he approached the Police Commissioner in a manner that was high and mighty at first and then switched to the openly insulting. It was only too evident that he had recognized Gil as his attacker. He denied this only out of his adherence to a kind of "freethinking" that had taken hold of him ever since he had gotten to know Querelle. It had developed in him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed, quite vertiginously and devastatingly. The Lieutenant was more of a freethinker than all the Querelles in the Navy, he was the purest of the pure. He was able to sustain his newfound convictions to such a rigorous degree exactly because they did not involve his body, only his mind. When he saw Gil sitting on the bench, leaning against a radiator, Seblon immediately realized what they wanted him to do : incriminate and thus stamp out this boy. But within himself, a very light breeze began to blow, down among the grasses ( "a breeze, hardly a zephyr," it said in the diary ) : it grew stronger, it inflated hin1, and finally emerged in generous gusts through his vibrant mouth-or voice-in a torrent of words. "Well, do you recognize this man?" "N o, . su, I d o t no " . "By your leave, Lieutenant-! do understand the reasons you probably have for saying that, but this is a matter of criminal justice. Besides, I won't be too hard on him, in my report." The fact that the cop had recognized his generosity spurred the Lieutenant on to further sacrifices. It elated him. 210 I JEAN GENET "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me there. My deposition is equally based on my concern for justice. How could I accuse an innocent man?" Standing in front of the desk Gil hardly heard any of this. His body and his spirit disappeared in a kind of gray mist of dawn, which was what he felt himself turning into. "Do you really think I would not be able to recognize him? The fog wasn't all that dense, and his face was so close to . , m1ne . . .

• From Escape (2007)

  I didn’t have many cards left to play. I couldn’t have Jeremy bring my two children back to me. That had already been tried once. I began calling my friends to see if I could find someone who’d make the three-hour drive out with LuAnne and Andrew. I offered a night at the motel and said we could also hang out in the mineral springs. Two days later, LuAnne and Andrew returned. Merril was livid. He told me that there would be consequences for my behavior. “Carolyn, if you are going to insist on doing things the way you want, then you’re not someone I can have confidence in. You’re throwing your future away only to satisfy yourself.” I tried to be calming and told Merril I was so sorry and had no idea he would be so upset. But secretly I was pleased because I had outmaneuvered him to keep my children safe. Jeremy and I worked nonstop on cleaning up the motel, which was infested with roaches and scorpions. The linens were filthy and the rooms needed repainting, but I didn’t care. We were safe and out of Colorado City. After two months, I think Merril began to notice that I wasn’t begging him for time off and didn’t act as though I missed being at home. Merril ordered me to start coming home every other weekend, which I did. Betty missed us and—with Merril and Barbara’s approval—came to spend a week at the motel. I think they encouraged her to report back to them about me. It was an awful time. Betty was nine and came with her two half sisters. All three of them were deliberately rude and refused to clean up any of their messes. I had no control over Betty because whenever there was a conflict between us she went running to her father and used him to sabotage me. Warren Jeffs had strictly forbidden television and movies once he took over. Betty told Merril that I let the younger kids watch TV, which was true. It was the only way I could keep them occupied while I was cleaning rooms. I would turn it on, and when Betty came into the room she turned it off and the kids would get into trouble because they then had nothing else to do. It was madness. She was out to sabotage me whenever she had the chance Arthur was eleven and came to see us during the summer. He was tanned and getting taller. I was proud of the way he was developing. Arthur was the classic type-A personality who always did well in school and prided himself on being a hard worker. Like many first-born children, he was highly motivated and very determined to do whatever was necessary to reach his goal. He had a quiet but steadfast ability to persevere. I always marveled at him because even as a little boy he’d known which way he was headed.

• From Escape (2007)

  Early in May 2006, Warren Jeffs’ name was added to the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. He was charged as an accomplice to rape in Utah, on two counts of having sexual contact with minors in Arizona, and for unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. The FBI felt that national publicity might help to bring him in, and a reward of $100,000 was offered for his capture. “I have a corner of my state that is worse than [under] the Taliban,” said Utah’s attorney general, Mark Shurtleff, after Warren Jeffs became one of the Ten Most Wanted. Warren, who had been in hiding now for two years, had long preached that he would be taken like Christ and crucified. But the end, when it came, on August 28, 2006, was far less dramatic. The car that he was traveling in was pulled over on a routine traffic stop because it lacked adequate registration. Inside were wigs, dozens of cell phones, and $50,000 in cash. Warren Steed Jeffs, fifty, was under arrest. My beautiful stepdaughter Naomi, one of Ruth’s daughters, was with him. She was taken into custody that night with Warren and his younger brother Isaac, but charges were not filed against the two of them. I was stunned, thrilled, overwhelmed, and surprised that he was caught so soon after he went on the Ten Most Wanted list. The fact that he was caught driving a red car—a color he had banned—amused me. Warren had always been a complete hypocrite. He forced the community to live under rules he ignored. I had just gotten home from taking my children to school when the news broke. The phone didn’t stop ringing. I talked all day to friends and family. We were so glad he was finally behind bars. When I saw him on television for the first time, my heart began racing and it felt hard to breathe. I hadn’t realized how much of a hold he had on me and how even just the sight of him could send fear streaming through my body again. It was hard to think that such a meek-looking man could impose so much terror on so many. Seeing him walk into a court in custody was an unbelievable milestone for me. While there was tremendous relief that Warren was finally in jail, there was still a mountain of questions. Who was going to take over the FLDS now that Warren was behind bars? What was going to happen to the families that had been split apart on Warren’s orders? Would men be free to return to their wives? Could the “lost boys” come home? Would people realize how betrayed they had been and insist on justice and change? Was this the beginning of the end for the FLDS?

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  Then he put on his boots, still naked, collected a dustpan and broom, and swept a few glass fragments from the floor. Then he leaned down to inspect what was in the sink, and whistled. “You better get a new one,” he said. With the glass gone, cold air was swirling into the apartment. Lionel saw the air raise goose bumps down Charles’s back and thighs, little ridges of flesh. “Thanks,” he said. “Do you think you got it all?” “You might run a vacuum over it if you’ve got one, but I think you’ll live.” Charles leaned down to kiss Lionel then, gripped the backs of his thighs and lifted him easily. “Your knee,” Lionel said. “You’re not a physio.” Lionel wrapped his legs around Charles and let himself be carried back to bed. Charles stomped in the boots. “Stay,” Lionel said later, when Charles was getting dressed. “Can’t,” Charles said. “I have to go.” “Stay.” “I’ll be back,” Charles said. He kissed Lionel’s forehead and then his mouth and he was gone out the door. Lionel drew his blanket around himself and lay down. “I have to go anyway,” Lionel said, and the only answer was the quiet of his apartment, the soft rattle of snow striking the kitchen sink. LITTLE BEAST SYLVIA HAS BLOWN UP HER LIFE. She slices potatoes into screaming hot water and chants, “Take it back, take it back, take it back.” Out in the living room: regular thudding. She has agreed to let the twins have fries for lunch if they are quiet and good while they color. The boy’s whine trails each of the thuds. She’s been played. Sylvia drains the hot water, and then plunges the sliced potatoes into an ice bath. The water numbs her fingers and wrists. Starch turns the water hazy, and the potatoes go slick like something hauled out of the sea. When her hands turn white, she pours off the cold water and blots the potatoes dry. Then she rubs them down with salt and garlic butter she made herself. And into the oven. She feels productive, virtuous. Her reward is to close her eyes for just a moment. She dips into the brief dark of her eyelids, feels that woozy elation like holding her breath and letting it go. She drifts, sways. She considers, not for the first time this week, Hammond, the breakup. The doomed trip they took up to see her mother last month, how they’d they fought all the way there and back. The farm had done nothing to ease their splintering. All they’d done was move the location of the argument, not defuse the argument itself. Then she’d left him and that was that. But now, standing in the kitchen, she considers the permanence of that choice and how easy it had been to make in the end. So swift.

• From The Sexual Outlaw (1977)

  They separate within the glaring lights, to their cars. The cops move away, motor growling. As he drives to his apartment—the youngman following in his car—Jim glances at his watch. Before long, dawn will come in a blue arc. Jim has a sense of—… Of having survived the night. On the street, the outlaws scattered by the cops wait in their cars. The lone old man still stands anxiously by the tunnel. VOICE OVER: The Gay Threat VOICE OVER: The Gay Threat “WHAT IS THE REAL GAY THREAT?” I've asked the mixed audience I'm addressing. Earlier, in balking at an overt call for sexual revolution on the streets, I backed off. But I know only too well the commitment, the dangers, the sacrifices. You don't recruit. I go on: Since we are not child molesters, nor seducers of the straight—but a stop-gap against overpopulation—and since it is very possible that we are more law-abiding (dismissing sex laws) than the straight population, and since we have abundantly enriched humanity, how then are homosexuals a threat? Biblical arguments do not hold. Scriptural admonitions are used entirely selectively. That route is clearly subterfuge. There are, in fact, two very real threats that the gay world poses to straight society. One is of course psychic— the fear of being what religion, laws, doctors have wrongfully branded, condemned, persecuted, prosecuted, punished, forbidden. The second is that an acceptance of homosexuality-including, importantly, its tendency toward promiscuity-would result in a traumatic questioning of what, in the extreme, becomes oppressive within the heterosexual norm. Why one wife? One husband? Why not lovers? Why marriage? Why sex with only one person? Why not open sex? (Even the mere knowledge of it threatens, since gay promiscuity is invisible to all but the participants and voyeuristic cops.) Why only relationships? Why, necessarily, children? The heterosexual would thus be questioning, not hetero-sexuality itself, no, but the stagnant conformity of much of his tribal society. 4:08 A.M. The Apartment. “Y ou GOT WEIGHTS HERE ?” the youngman asks enthusiastically inside Jim's apartment. “Yeah, this is where I work out” Jim leads him to that room. He draws heavy drapes against the sky which will soon lighten. They begin tossing the weights about—not in a strict workout but only to heighten their awareness of their own and the other's special bodies. Jim is very proud of his much more muscular body. He pumps his muscles easily, wallowing in the obvious admiration of the youngman. Yet, with an unwelcome stab of hurt, Jim can't help noticing … that the other's body … though just beginning to sprout muscles … has a luminous velvet smoothness … that only … the very young… possess. Jim thinks: He looks like me when I was—… Turning away from the youngman, Jim pumps his body frenziedly, fully.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  Charles nodded. He pushed off the door and leaned against the wall. The kitchen light fell through the doorway into the hall where they stood, separating them. “It’s nice you do things for each other,” Lionel said. “I really put my foot in my mouth.” “I’m in one piece. You may continue with your conscience intact.” “Really, man, if I fucked up, you can tell me.” “In my experience, nobody wants to hear that they fucked up.” “We should probably go back.” “We?” Lionel shook his head. “You can do whatever you want. I think I’ll hang out here for a while.” Charles sighed then. There, resting his cheek against the wall, he looked a little helpless. Lionel mirrored him, turning, resting his cheek against the cool plaster. “You mind if I hang?” “Suit yourself. Not my house,” Lionel said, but then he saw it. Relief. Charles was shy too. “Okay, tough guy.” Lionel felt their breathing sync. The eye contact had reached the point of being ridiculous, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or uneasy. Lionel wasn’t even sure if they were seeing each other anymore. His own eyes had gone slightly crossed, and Charles broke up into blurry segments. But they were in another moment apart. They had returned to their own tempo, just the two of them. Lionel felt free of other people’s expectations for how he should act and be. He felt free of his expectations for himself. It was like kindness, as simple as that. They went back to the party. Charles stopped behind Sophie. She rubbed his arms. The host reached again for Lionel’s hand and pulled at him. “You okay?” the host asked. Lionel sat on the arm of the chaise. The host’s hands were greasy from dinner, and he’d stretched his feet across the laps of the couple. They were leaning forward now, each of them having a different conversation with the androgynous person, talking over each other in a hash of references to Dostoyevsky and Planned Parenthood: “People only think they like Tolstoy better, but he’s basically J. K. Rowling. Dostoyevsky is the real genius.” “Like, we’re this fucking close to being totally defunded. Skip a latte and make a damn donation, right?” “Okay, but, like, I’ve tried. Where should I start?” “Sure, but one person can’t do anything against the vast political machine of American empire.” “Honestly, I think telling someone where to start with an author is kind of a slippery slope to fascism.” “That’s what they want you to think. Like, imagine if MLK had just stayed home because it was hard.” “I personally think Crime and Punishment is better, but hey, what do I know anyway?” “I’m fine,” Lionel said. “Just getting over a bug.” “You’re not contagious, are you?” someone asked. Lionel looked up and saw that it was the chubby man from before, sitting on the floor next to Sophie’s chair. “It’s flu season.” “I don’t think it’s contagious,” Lionel said.

• From Escape (2007)

  Jeffs refused to appear in court to answer those charges. Federal charges were filed against him for fleeing to evade prosecution. With armed zealots guarding him, plenty of money, and a network of FLDS safe houses in the United States and Canada, Warren Jeffs managed to conceal his whereabouts. Federal and state authorities were also wary of triggering another Waco and did not want to move on Jeffs in a situation where many others might die. Even though he was in hiding and on the run from the law, Jeffs still wielded power through tapes, phone calls, and messages he relayed back to the community. From time to time he would appear to perform a marriage. But these were rare and secretive moments that people learned about only after they had occurred. By the time he dropped off the radar, Jeffs had effectively wiped out any opposition to his reign. Those men who were left behind—men like Merril—were total disciples. Merril’s devotion to Warren Jeffs had never wavered over the years, even as the community sank to deeper levels of extremism. During the winter of 2005, I was driving home with Betty and Merrilee on a snowy day. A car in the opposite lane swerved into mine. I turned my van to the side of the road to avoid a collision, but the car still crashed into the back of my van. The children weren’t hurt, but I had terrible back and shoulder pain as a result. I went to see a chiropractor, who said that area was too tight to work with and adjust. He sent me to a massage therapist, Lee Bird, who turned out to be a godsend. Lee was learning Feldenkrais massage, which is based on a belief that new connections can be formed between brain and body that can help retrain the nervous system. During the course of my treatments, I told Lee about Harrison and how hard it was for me to still lift him. Going on a hunch that Feldenkrais might help Harrison, Lee offered to treat him for free. I was desperate to find more help for Harrison. He had improved greatly during our first two years in Salt Lake but now seemed to be on a plateau. Harrison began seeing Lee three times a week, and within months he began crawling correctly. A few months after that, Lee had Harrison on his feet. He couldn’t walk alone, but he could take a few steps if he was well supported. This felt miraculous. Harrison had always screamed in the past when he was placed in a standing position. Now not only could he crawl, he could climb. His newfound mobility made him happier and easier to handle.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  She pulled the freezer door open and stuck her head inside like she’d done it a thousand times before. She took out a blue ice pack, offered it to Charles. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” he asked. Her eyes narrowed again, this time lighting upon Lionel. She dropped the ice pack in the middle of the floor, and it spun around on its back like a helpless turtle. They all watched it come to a stop. “Maybe your new buddy can help you,” she said. “Easy, Sophie.” “You’re so selfish.” “You’re the one who wanted to be here. I’m here.” She said nothing after that, just watched Charles another moment or two. Then she went back into the living room, and Lionel felt he could exhale. All through that exchange, he had been holding his breath. And he’d seen them bare their teeth at each other. Was that what it meant to be with someone? Was that what it meant to care? Charles stood stiffly. Lionel could hear his knee popping. “What did I say about assholes?” Charles said, and then he left the kitchen, too, shaking his head as he went. Lionel drank the rest of his rosé in peace. He brushed the ice pack with his foot, and sent it spinning around again. When it came to a rest, he spun it in the opposite direction. • • • Everyone went out into the backyard, even though it had started to snow; there was nothing to see but the glare of the lampposts through the trees and the bright blue light from the neighbors’ shed. They passed around a joint someone had brought. “Analog vaping,” the host said. “Love it.” Lionel reached out through the porch railings and combed through the fat flakes of snow that drifted downward through the night. Their delicacy as they melted made him want to cry. The host smelled like wine and pot, sweet and a little musky. He squatted next to Lionel, and they bumped shoulders. “Do you want to stay over tonight?” the host asked. “To properly celebrate.” Lionel knew he meant Do you want to have sex? He asked it loud enough for others to hear, but quiet enough to suggest that there was some seriousness to the query. Lionel looked out at the other people’s faces and wondered what they would do if he said yes. “Hmm,” he said instead. There, with their faces pressed close and the smell of smoke in his hair, Lionel felt that if things had been slightly different he might easily have said yes and let himself be pulled under. If only for the possibility that the host’s good luck and good life might rub off on him. Charles sat on a stool and Sophie leaned down against his back. She had her arms around his neck, but she was watching Lionel. She was not quite smiling at him. No, not that.

• From Escape (2007)

  Two weeks later Merril and I faced off again in a Salt Lake City courtroom. Merril had retained Rodney Parker, an attorney who had made his fortune defending the FLDS in court. Parker acted as though this was all a big joke, and maybe to him it was. But I think I caught him off guard when he looked at me for the first time. I didn’t look like some wack job. Women who fled the FLDS were always portrayed as totally insane and under the influence of the devil, and while Parker could tell I was scared, he also realized I wasn’t crazy. The judge read the complaint. I think she felt like the circus had just rolled into her courtroom and was unfurling its tents. Rodney Parker argued that Arizona should have jurisdiction over this case. The judge corrected him and said that Arizona could release it to Utah and she would request that. Parker did not seem prepared for this. He started arguing about the order of protection. My attorney made a motion to speak with the judge. He told her Merril had threatened me by saying my “existence was on the line” in front of three police officers standing nearby. Parker looked stricken and turned to Merril and started talking. He hated being unprepared in court, but Merril had obviously not been completely forthcoming with him. A few days later I learned that my case would be heard in Utah. A big win. Dan Fisher helped me get my children into public schools. (Bryson was too young and Betty and Arthur weren’t emotionally ready.) We both thought that even if it was only for a few weeks, connecting with other children and wearing normal clothes would help normalize them. It also would help me gauge where they were academically and what grade would be appropriate for them come fall. Betty and Arthur refused to give up their FLDS clothing. Betty was incensed that her siblings were going to dress in worldly ways and go to worldly schools. She interfered whenever possible. She was angry, argumentative, and mean to me. I finally asked my younger sister Karen to let her stay at her house. I couldn’t handle the stress or problems Betty was creating for the rest of us. Karen was ten years younger than I and my full sister. She was in an arranged marriage but she and her husband both fled. I felt that I was finally standing on solid ground—until my attorney told me that Merril should be allowed to have visiting rights with my children. I didn’t like the idea, but Doug told me that Merril had rights as their father and if I kept him away, it could work against me in court. That might have been true in a more normal case, but in reality, Merril was a danger to my children. I should have pushed harder.

• From Escape (2007)

  A doctor was yelling orders and people were moving fast. I had never been in so much pain. It felt like every cell in my body was screaming for oxygen. I felt such thirst, no amount of water would have quenched it. If the worst pain I’d ever had during childbirth had been a 10, the pain I felt now was at 100. The pain, noise, and chaos were too much. I decided to let go. I could hear the doctor’s voice in the distance saying, “We’re losing her, we’re losing her!” I was slipping under the waves of pain and chaos. The doctor’s voice sounded farther and farther away. Then it got louder. “Carolyn! We know you have eight kids! We are not going to let you die. You are not going to die on us!” At that moment I started fighting to come back. It felt like sledgehammers were hitting me on all sides. My thirst was unbearable. I started begging for water. I was told I couldn’t have any because I was going back into surgery. When I awoke again I could see the colors of a brilliant sunset through a window in the ICU. I took a deep breath. The sun was setting and I was still alive. The pain was almost gone now. I still had four IVs and was receiving blood through a central line. My entire body was swollen. I felt like a beached whale. An ICU doctor came and talked to me. He said they’d almost lost me. A nurse came in with more blood, and I asked her how many pints I’d received. She checked. Sixteen. The surgeon came in the next morning and told me what had gone wrong. When he took out the baby he’d noticed that the placenta had grown through the scar tissue of a previous C-section. He’d cut around the scar and then tried to repair the uterus. He hadn’t done a hysterectomy because he knew about our religious beliefs. He was confident he’d repaired the uterus. But apparently the placenta had grown beyond the scar tissue and into the uterus. When the placenta was delivered, I bled out, and the doctor did an emergency hysterectomy to save my life. I couldn’t believe that after four high-risk pregnancies the reason I’d almost died was because the doctor was trying to preserve my uterus! I was glad it was gone! A nurse asked me if I wanted to speak with a grief counselor after my hysterectomy. I looked at her as if she were crazy. I loved every one of my children and would never give up a single one. But my hysterectomy felt like a get-out-of-jail-free card. I smiled at her and shook my head. “Eight is enough. Believe me, there’s no grief.” Bryson was three pounds ten ounces and doing really well. He needed to be in the hospital for a few weeks, but the pediatrician didn’t think he’d have any problems.

• From Escape (2007)

  I told Paul I had no problem being alone and that there was no way I’d ever consider polygamy again. I’d fought hard for my freedom and I knew I might have to fight hard for the rest of my life, but there was no way I’d go back to polygamy. Paul wanted me to look at the positives. But frankly, I didn’t think there were any. I told Paul I appreciated everything he had done for me. He and Lodeen had offered me a hand up instead of a handout, and I was deeply grateful for that. But that was it. I wasn’t interested in anything else. For the first time in my life, a man respected me when I said no. Paul said he still needed my help at his business if I was willing to continue. I didn’t really want to work for someone who wanted to marry me, but I didn’t know what else to do. My job was enabling me to survive. I continued working, and he never said anything about marriage again. The job went so well—I brought in $30,000 in past-due accounts for them—I realized my abilities hadn’t been wiped out by the trauma of the last year or my PTSD. What I knew I needed was work I could do from home. There was no way I could support my family on a teacher’s salary. I decided to become an accountant. I could do that from home and make my own hours. I looked into graduate school at the University of Utah and realized I needed to pass the GMAT test in order to apply. I signed up for a GMAT prep class and started going on Saturday mornings. It was hard to find the time to study, but I was thrilled to be using my brain again and doing something for myself. One Saturday I started getting dressed for school but didn’t put any energy into it. I just didn’t care. When I looked in the mirror I thought I looked awful. I was wearing black jeans and a big heavy sweater. My hair was frizzy from a new perm. But so what? Then a strange and unfamiliar feeling came over me. I had a sense that I was going to meet the love of my life that day. I wasn’t looking for the love of my life! That was what was so unsettling. I knew everyone in the class already. I was running late and brushed the thought off as something crazy. That day we had a substitute teacher. He introduced himself as Brian and said he had an MBA from Harvard. That got my attention. I’d never met anyone who’d gone to an Ivy League school. He was good-looking and clearly very fit.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  He looked happy. Pleased. A woman in white shorts stood next to a tall bush with a muted expression. “Sophie,” Charles said. “Sophie wanted to come.” “Which one is she?” “The blond one.” Lionel turned his head enough to look through the kitchen doorway and out into the living room. “The flexible one?” Charles nodded. He pushed off the door and leaned against the wall. The kitchen light fell through the doorway into the hall where they stood, separating them. “It’s nice you do things for each other,” Lionel said. “I really put my foot in my mouth.” “I’m in one piece. You may continue with your conscience intact.” “Really, man, if I fucked up, you can tell me.” “In my experience, nobody wants to hear that they fucked up.” “We should probably go back.” “We?” Lionel shook his head. “You can do whatever you want. I think I’ll hang out here for a while.” Charles sighed then. There, resting his cheek against the wall, he looked a little helpless. Lionel mirrored him, turning, resting his cheek against the cool plaster. “You mind if I hang?” “Suit yourself. Not my house,” Lionel said, but then he saw it. Relief. Charles was shy too. “Okay, tough guy.” Lionel felt their breathing sync. The eye contact had reached the point of being ridiculous, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or uneasy. Lionel wasn’t even sure if they were seeing each other anymore. His own eyes had gone slightly crossed, and Charles broke up into blurry segments. But they were in another moment apart. They had returned to their own tempo, just the two of them. Lionel felt free of other people’s expectations for how he should act and be. He felt free of his expectations for himself. It was like kindness, as simple as that. They went back to the party. Charles stopped behind Sophie. She rubbed his arms. The host reached again for Lionel’s hand and pulled at him. “You okay?” the host asked. Lionel sat on the arm of the chaise. The host’s hands were greasy from dinner, and he’d stretched his feet across the laps of the couple. They were leaning forward now, each of them having a different conversation with the androgynous person, talking over each other in a hash of references to Dostoyevsky and Planned Parenthood: “People only think they like Tolstoy better, but he’s basically J. K. Rowling. Dostoyevsky is the real genius.” “Like, we’re this fucking close to being totally defunded. Skip a latte and make a damn donation, right?” “Okay, but, like, I’ve tried.

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  That day or the next, after a tedious drive through a land of food crops, we reached a pleasant little burg and put up at Chestnut Court—nice cabins, damp green grounds, apple trees, an old swing—and a tremendous sunset which the tired child ignored. She had wanted to go through Kasbeam because it was only thirty miles north from her home town but on the following morning I found her quite listless, with no desire to see again the sidewalk where she had played hopscotch some five years before. For obvious reasons I had rather dreaded that side trip, even though we had agreed not to make ourselves conspicuous in any way—to remain in the car and not look up old friends. My relief at her abandoning the project was spoiled by the thought that had she felt I were totally against the nostalgic possibilities of Pisky, as I had been last year, she would not have given up so easily. On my mentioning this with a sigh, she sighed too and complained of being out of sorts. She wanted to remain in bed till teatime at least, with lots of magazines, and then if she felt better she suggested we just continue westward. I must say she was very sweet and languid, and craved for fresh fruits, and I decided to go and fetch her a toothsome picnic lunch in Kasbeam. Our cabin stood on the timbered crest of a hill, and from our window you could see the road winding down, and then running as straight as a hair parting between two rows of chestnut trees, towards the pretty town, which looked singularly distinct and toylike in the pure morning distance. One could make out an elf-like girl on an insect-like bicycle, and a dog, a bit too large proportionately, all as clear as those pilgrims and mules winding up wax-pale roads in old paintings with blue hills and red little people. I have the European urge to use my feet when a drive can be dispensed with, so I leisurely walked down, eventually meeting the cyclist—a plain plump girl with pigtails, followed by a huge St. Bernard dog with orbits like pansies. In Kasbeam a very old barber gave me a very mediocre haircut: he babbled of a baseball-playing son of his, and, at every explodent, spat into my neck, and every now and then wiped his glasses on my sheet-wrap, or interrupted his tremulous scissor work to produce faded newspaper clippings, and so inattentive was I that it came as a shock to realize as he pointed to an easeled photograph among the ancient gray lotions, that the mustached young ball player had been dead for the last thirty years.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  A rectangle of pale light unfurled down the stairs as the host pressed the door open on screeching hinges. “Shit, it’s cold out here. You walk all this way?” Lionel climbed the stairs and tried to arrange his stiff face into a friendly expression, the effort of which made his scalp tingle. He had walked only part of the way, about ten minutes in all. The bus had dropped him on the other side of Orton Park. When the host realized that Lionel wasn’t going to answer, he said, “Well, you’re right on time.” “I didn’t have a chance to go to the store—I just got back,” Lionel said. The several pairs of shoes in the front hall indicated to him that this was not the small gathering he had thought it would be. It also indicated that he was not right on time, but he knew that already. “Long trip?” The host wrapped his arm around Lionel’s lower back and pulled at him until they were very close, at the threshold of the apartment, but not yet inside. “Good?” “Couple weeks,” Lionel said. “Sorry for not being in touch more.” “It’s a busy time,” the host said in a way that wasn’t entirely not passive aggressive. Lionel turned his head a little out of reflexive guilt, and the host’s dry lips grazed the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” Lionel said. “It’s good to see you. Let’s talk tonight. Catch up. It’s been forever.” “Yeah, let’s.” A few of the guests sat around on mismatched chairs and on the floor, holding plates of damp vegetables and grains. The improvised nature of the gathering diluted the strangeness he felt standing there alone, because although he was clearly a latecomer, the rest of them didn’t seem to belong to one another in the way that friends sometimes could. There was no operating logic to their association that he could see. They were all awkward, anxious strangers in the host’s living room. He waved to them, and they waved back. Their having seen him and his having seen them moved him. Lionel felt alive, in the world. The larger, noisier contingent of guests assembled their food in the kitchen. Lionel waited his turn, watching as they pirouetted and collided. They touched the smalls of each other’s backs and shoulders. Men and women. They hugged and kissed and pressed against each other. Looped arms and hooked thumbs into each other’s pockets. They poured wine and spooned things onto each other’s plates. The loud whack of plastic trays and the tinkle of ice, the hiss of seltzer.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  Do you want me to come?” “Excuse me?” “Hello, Space Cadet Sasha, do you want me to come?” Alek held the phone out from himself and regarded it. It had never occurred to him that his brother might want to come and be with him, to be in any way involved. He had never considered that possibility, and now, faced with it, he didn’t know what to do with it. “You don’t have to.” “I know—but do you want me to? I can. It must be scary.” There was a gentleness in his voice then, a gathering calm, and he didn’t seem like Alek’s brother at all. “It’s not like I’m dying,” Alek said, and Grigori seemed to relax. “Yeah. You’re not. It’s fine. You’re fine. But if you need . . . well, you know. It’s fine.” “It’s fine,” Alek said. There was a silence over the line, but Alek found it comforting. There was a time when he might not have, when silence would have meant being frozen out, lined up for trouble. But tonight, on the street, in the snow, it was enough. It was enough. It was enough. “Okay, Sasha. Okay. Good night,” Grigori said. “Good night,” Alek said. Once the call clicked off, Alek held up the phone and took a picture of the capitol, all lit up, the snow falling through the streetlights, slanted and whirling. The photo had a reddish tint to it, like a faded wine stain. He looked at the photo for a long time, cropping out a car and the awkward corner of a building, but then he deleted the photo. He turned in the direction of the lake and took a photo of that instead. It was blurry, hazy from the night and from the phone’s weak zoom lens. Grayed out, slashed through with black and white. He texted the photo to Igor and Grigori. He watched for a moment, until dots appeared below it, suggesting that they were typing, and then disappeared. They appeared again and again they disappeared. The snow was still falling. It landed on his fingers and the screen. Melted as the dots rose and fell. They were like a score. He could hear a kind of music to them. Each time they punctured the silence, it was a different note they played. He walked home and sat for a little while in the living room without turning on the light. Igor texted him: nice . Alek texted back, thx. U alright? Ok Nice U? Good School okay? Yeah U? Good Nice Coming home? Maybe. Expensive Me too Maybe Christmas? Nice Haha U happy out there? U? Haha. Nice FILTHY ANIMALS Milton and Nolan stew in the musky heat of Milton’s basement, sipping lukewarm coffee from styrofoam cups.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  Back in the care facility, his mother had told him that his aunts and uncles down home, which was what she called her own hometown in eastern Georgia, thought his current state was because he’d been ripping and running with all them white kids at school and math camp. His aunts and uncles saw his desire to kill himself as an extension of all those things they didn’t like or understand—how he talked, how he saw things—and they blamed his father and his father’s ways for that. It was dumb. It was pointless. It was nobody’s fault. Things happened. When he cracked the door open, he didn’t immediately see anyone. It was only after emerging fully into the narrow hallway, lined with photos of the host and his family, that Lionel saw Charles leaning against a shut door with his eyes closed. “You good?” Charles asked. “Looks like I should be asking you that.” “I didn’t want to come to this thing.” “Then why did you?” Lionel rested his back against the wall. Directly across from him was a photo of the host as a child, head thrown back in ecstasy. He looked happy. Pleased. A woman in white shorts stood next to a tall bush with a muted expression. “Sophie,” Charles said. “Sophie wanted to come.” “Which one is she?” “The blond one.” Lionel turned his head enough to look through the kitchen doorway and out into the living room. “The flexible one?” Charles nodded. He pushed off the door and leaned against the wall. The kitchen light fell through the doorway into the hall where they stood, separating them. “It’s nice you do things for each other,” Lionel said. “I really put my foot in my mouth.” “I’m in one piece. You may continue with your conscience intact.” “Really, man, if I fucked up, you can tell me.” “In my experience, nobody wants to hear that they fucked up.” “We should probably go back.” “We?” Lionel shook his head. “You can do whatever you want. I think I’ll hang out here for a while.” Charles sighed then. There, resting his cheek against the wall, he looked a little helpless. Lionel mirrored him, turning, resting his cheek against the cool plaster. “You mind if I hang?” “Suit yourself. Not my house,” Lionel said, but then he saw it. Relief. Charles was shy too. “Okay, tough guy.” Lionel felt their breathing sync. The eye contact had reached the point of being ridiculous, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or uneasy. Lionel wasn’t even sure if they were seeing each other anymore. His own eyes had gone slightly crossed, and Charles broke up into blurry segments. But they were in another moment apart. They had returned to their own tempo, just the two of them. Lionel felt free of other people’s expectations for how he should act and be. He felt free of his expectations for himself. It was like kindness, as simple as that.