Shame

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 161 of 267 · 20 per page

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Her mother and brothers, seeing and hearing all this, turned upon her husband and said to him, 'What meanest thou, Arriguccio? This is not that so far which thou camest to tell us thou hadst done, and we know not how thou wilt make good the rest.' Arriguccio stood as one in a trance and would have spoken; but, seeing that it was not as he thought he could show, he dared say nothing; whereupon the lady, turning to her brothers, said to them, 'Brothers mine, I see he hath gone seeking to have me do what I have never yet chosen to do, to wit, that I should acquaint you with his lewdness and his vile fashions, and I will do it. I firmly believe that this he hath told you hath verily befallen him and that he hath done as he saith; and you shall hear how. This worthy man, to whom in an ill hour for me you gave me to wife, who calleth himself a merchant and would be thought a man of credit, this fellow, forsooth, who should be more temperate than a monk and chaster than a maid, there be few nights but he goeth fuddling himself about the taverns, foregathering now with this lewd woman and now with that and keeping me waiting for him, on such wise as you find me, half the night and whiles even till morning. I doubt not but that, having well drunken, he went to bed with some trull of his and waking, found the twine on her foot and after did all these his fine feats whereof he telleth, winding up by returning to her and beating her and cutting off her hair; and not being yet well come to himself, he fancied (and I doubt not yet fancieth) that he did all this to me; and if you look him well in the face, you will see he is yet half fuddled. Algates, whatsoever he may have said of me, I will not have you take it to yourselves except as a drunken man's talk, and since I forgive him, do you also pardon him.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Although Titus was ashamed to consent to this, namely, that Sophronia should become his wife, and on this account held out yet awhile, nevertheless, love on the one hand drawing him and Gisippus his exhortations on the other urging him, he said, 'Look you, Gisippus, I know not which I can say I do most, my pleasure or thine, in doing that whereof thou prayest me and which thou tellest me is so pleasing to thee, and since thy generosity is such that it overcometh my just shame, I will e'en do it; but of this thou mayst be assured that I do it as one who knoweth himself to receive of thee, not only the beloved lady, but with her his life. The Gods grant, an it be possible, that I may yet be able to show thee, for thine honour and thy weal, how grateful to me is that which thou, more pitiful for me than I for myself, dost for me!' These things said, 'Titus,' quoth Gisippus, 'in this matter, an we would have it take effect, meseemeth this course is to be held. As thou knowest, Sophronia, after long treaty between my kinsfolk and hers, is become my affianced bride; wherefore, should I now go about to say that I will not have her to wife, a sore scandal would ensue thereof and I should anger both her kinsfolk and mine own. Of this, indeed, I should reck nothing, an I saw that she was thereby to become thine; but I misdoubt me that, an I renounce her at this point, her kinsfolk will straightway give her to another, who belike will not be thyself, and so wilt thou have lost that which I shall not have gained. Wherefore meseemeth well, an thou be content, that I follow on with that which I have begun and bring her home as mine and hold the nuptials, and thou mayst after, as we shall know how to contrive, privily lie with her as with thy wife. Then, in due place and season, we will make manifest the fact, which, if it please them not, will still be done and they must perforce be content, being unable to go back upon it.'

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  She started talking about hoping to visit Seoul. I should be able to picture it, she said. But I left when I was an infant, and I haven’t visited it once. People tell me I’m the whitest Asian girl they’ve met. I think they figure it’s a compliment. I’ve heard it as one. Will, I used to take pride in knowing so little about what I’m from. John Leal calls it self-hatred, and it is. He’s right. I don’t want to be this kind of a person. I nodded, though I had trivial points I might have raised. Small cavils I left unvoiced. The fact that she’d hop on a plane to go to Seoul, but not to visit me, in Beijing, as she’d promised: that was one. I also could have brought up, but didn’t, the fact that he wasn’t even Korean. His mother, she’d object. She— He’s half. Well, yes. But still. – The more I heard of Phoebe’s confessions, the less certain I felt as to how I should respond. Exhibit 1.1: the lineup of men. I hadn’t known. They’d predated me, she said, but I couldn’t help seeing the oil of all the hands, like starfish prints, staining Phoebe’s skin. I trusted Phoebe, I did; I also noticed, though, that she looked at him as if at a riddle she had to solve. I told myself I was mistaken. I’d had a newlywed friend at Jubilee, Ivan, whose wife had trouble being faithful. His wits love-honed, he learned to predict who she’d pick next. She had a specific type, he explained. Baseball-capped toughs with stiff posture, the kind of shits who start parking-lot fights. Before long, he could tell before she did. It was what ended the relationship: he accused his wife of sleeping with a best friend’s husband. But she hadn’t, not yet. He refused to believe the denial, until, giving in, she turned to what he’d pointed out. – John Leal told us we’d have to attend a protest in Manhattan, a pro-life march. It’s taking place this Saturday morning, he said. I know it’s not much notice, but Christ is asking us to be with Him. John Leal outlined a plan he’d established with local churches, to drive to New York with people, supplies, and then he swept into one of his wild soliloquies, telling us again about the time he’d helped a desperate girl in the gulag abort a half-foreign child. Though he saved the girl’s life, he still wept if he thought about the fetus he pulled out, its recognizable fist.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  This is what I do, I thought. It’s who I am. I hurt those I love. In the morning, I left a note on Julian’s table. I woke up feeling unwell, it said. I took the first train back to school. 22.WILLI half-ran through Platt courtyard, taking the diagonal path. On the frozen lawn, a small group huddled around a picnic table, cigarette tips burning. I rushed past while someone slung a girl across his back. Help, she wailed. I paused, uncertain. Put me down, you big dolt, she said, but then she let out a howl that rolled into a laugh. I kept going. I made it to the Hilcox gate with less than a minute left. I’d switched a night shift to be here. I opened my coat to let in the cold. It was several minutes past the assigned time, then six. Fifteen. Don’t be late, he’d said. White disembodied masks floated toward me, cloaks rustling. Close those eyes, Will. I was blindfolded, wrists tied behind my back. Instructed to walk, I took a few steps, hesitant. I was pushed, lifted into a tight space. I touched rough, short-piled fabric, then a metal ridge: I’d been put in a car trunk. The chilled glass of a bottle nudged my palm. Drink this. I forced down a harsh liquid, and then I was told to tuck my head in. The lid banged shut. The engine surged, then settled. Tasting bile, I held it back. I’d attended Jejah meetings a month before John Leal said I could be initiated. In all this time, I’d taken part in nothing more alarming than long-winded Bible studies. I hadn’t heard a single confession. No one dug holes, and even John Leal’s talk of hearing God sounded like orthodox delusion, the usual born-again cant. But if Jejah evinced signs of being less fanatical than I’d thought, I wasn’t relieved. I intended to be let in. If I could learn what, exactly, had attracted Phoebe, which conjuring tricks he’d used, I’d be able to prove his show wasn’t real. Watch his hand, I’d explain. That flick of a wrist. I’d practiced His illusions, as well; expert, I could pull Phoebe free. The car stopped, and then the trunk opened. I had trouble staying upright. I swayed, blind, while invisible hands impelled me forward. I felt a rush of warmth: we’d gone inside. Sounds echoed; voices, chanting. I listened to find Phoebe, but I couldn’t. Still clothed, I was led into a lukewarm pool. I was told to take a deep breath, and strong hands pushed my shoulders down. I plunged in. The blindfold slipped. I saw the light-spangled tiles, John Leal’s blue-veined feet. It was peaceful, the water like soft glass. When he let go, I almost wished he hadn’t.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I tipped back my head. The pills split time. I flopped on the wet lawn to cool down. Light spilled from open doors. Drunks lurched, spun. Silhouettes flared into detail, then fizzled out again. I woke late, head muddled. Lunch lasted hours. I piled up invitations. I switched roles with Julian, taking him places. He followed along, gleeful. Don’t forget, though, he said. I’ve called dibs on you. Hands off, I tell them. She’s all mine. – Oh, but I wasn’t. Before Will, I had, for instance, the squash recruit who liked sucking toes. The poet who kept a ball pit in his suite’s living room. Girl bait, he said. The jazz flautist. Phil, who pissed in the hall closet because, late at night, he believed it to be a bathroom stall, and Tim, who lined his room with emptied wine bottles, like trophies. But no, I don’t mean to be glib. I got in the habit, with friends, Julian, of turning one-night flings into stories. The truth is, I wince if I think of that first month at Edwards. I recall it in pieces: ill-lit body parts, spit-glossed penises. Pinched nipples. Elbows and bad aim. They’d wheeze, then mild pain. Is that all right? they’d ask. I lied, to be kind. I drank a lot. In bars, I left full drinks unattended. Then, I gulped them down. If I failed to be careful, she might notice. She’d have to come back. One night, I put on the shortest dress I owned, and then I sat on a low wall on the edge of campus, legs dangling. Red lights spotted the intersection. I watched the crowd pass, thinking, Pick me up, until someone did. He didn’t have protection. It’s fine, I said. Go ahead. Downtown, in a split-level dive called Levi’s, I fell into conversation with Greg, a local, a high-school dropout in his thirties. I’d first met him because he sold Julian drugs. I went home with Greg, then I let him tie me to his bed. He fucked me through a hole he razored open in my tights. I shared a bottle of gin with him; I felt light-headed, ill, until I woke in a hospital bed. I was brought in throwing up, a nurse explained. No, I’d come in an ambulance. I had a little too much alcohol, but I’d be all right. The hospital had given me fluids. Hush, doll, she said. You’ll be fine. It was late, almost morning. I left the bed when a man behind the partition began yelling. I was still in the previous night’s clothes, though with ankle-length hospital socks covering my feet. Torn tights chafed my crotch. I walked the half-mile home, the sidewalk cold through thin fabric. Mica specks, like felled stars, prickled the stone. But most of it was filth. I avoided broken glass, ripped foil bags. Slicks of fresh dog shit.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I felt as if I didn’t exist. Nietzsche says shame is inventive, but— I don’t care what Nietzsche said. Will, I don’t want you to try to impress us, parading borrowed quotations—don’t tell us why, after having read Nietzsche, you think lying happens. Tell us why you lied. I was ashamed, I said. I wanted a new life, so I invented it. It helped, too. I wish I hadn’t lied to you, Phoebe, but with anyone else, if the option came up, I’d do it again. I paused until I saw him nod. Keep going, he said. I didn’t look at Phoebe, though I felt she was listening. I pointed everything I said in the single direction of my girlfriend, sitting with the others. This went on, lasting hours at a time. I kept explaining, while they’d interrupt. They’d ask questions, pushing me to tell more than I intended—in principle, they. Most often, though, it was him. Nights ended with John Leal pacing the hearth, agitated, his odd, zigzag gait picking up speed as he preached. He told us that, while still enrolled at Edwards, he’d founded a Christian group that pulled in hundreds of students; he implied he’d led large-scale rallies, charismatic revivals. Since the gulag, he’d lost interest in big crowds. Instead, the Lord had called him, His apostle, to this more private kind of service. Here, he said, like this. With us. But I could picture his stage act. He’d have flaunted how close he felt to the Lord. It was, I realized, one of his principal tricks. I want to tell you about God, he said, then did. He performed his religion, discalced, talking to Christ. Mid-sentence, he broke into ecstatic song. Filled with the Spirit, he said. Tall firelight lapped at the ceiling while he signaled to each of us in turn; he shouted, flinging up his arms. Most would-be Christians, he said, insist too much on faith. But all God looks to find in us is desire. If we want Him, belief spills in. It rises to His level, and it will fill the void. Isn’t that right, Lord. Real faith isn’t about laws, moral prohibitions. No, Lord. He cited early Christians, the saints who’d received His visions. Like them, he heard God’s voice. He’d seen His face, and lived. But all this could be made available to us, if we tried. – Even before she joined Jejah, I valued what clues I could find. I’d studied, for instance, the handful of old novels she’d brought from L.A. Soft with use, they proved Phoebe’s claim that she used to love reading. She’d underlined words, filled margins, the penciled notes fading. I asked why she’d stopped; I lost interest in it, she said. I’d examined the glyphs as I might have a coded map, directions to Phoebe’s shining, inmost psyche, that visible opacity, which showed itself in allowing me to sight it hiding. Privation is lust; isolation, desire. I craved what she withheld.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Instead, he butted his face up to mine, so close I felt his breath. Will, he said. Oh, Will. He’d learned, he said, that I was full of questions. So, I was confused about his time in the gulag—which, all right, it had been a bewildering time for him, as well. Given I hadn’t lived through it, how much more so for me. But why hadn’t I brought my questions to him? It grieved him that I could still be this prideful. Think, he said, of John the Baptist telling us he couldn’t touch the latchet of his Lord’s shoes. I still hadn’t learned how to be a disciple. It was high time I did. If, that is, I had it in me. I should kneel, he said. He handed me a thin rag; he told me to wipe the others’ shoes, then his feet. I cleaned each muddied shoe. Melted ice soaked cold into my jeans. I held his foot, working the rag through his toes. Flecks of tissue gleamed, like nacre, in the cracked skin. I was trying to think. His time in the gulag, he’d said. It was what I’d asked Phoebe. The question about Mina, but we’d been walking home. We’d left John Leal at his house. If he hadn’t, how’d he— I glanced at Phoebe, but she looked down. She’d turned red. Phoebe didn’t blush often. If she did, the cause tended to be physical. She’d had too much alcohol, or it was hot. Phoebe hadn’t been drinking, though. It was a cold morning. Each breath showed white. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but she still couldn’t look at me. She’d gone to him with what I’d said. – It was past the time the march should have begun, and people were losing patience. I’ll give it five minutes, then I’m calling it quits, a man said. Placards leaned against a building wall. I saw John Leal talking to people I didn’t recognize. With a nod, he stepped on an upended crate. His mouth moved. In that hubbub, I couldn’t pick out his words. Phoebe apologized again, tearful. It’s all right, I said, but she had more she wanted to explain. It’s fine, I said. Hoping she’d calm down, I kissed Phoebe’s head. I was intent on listening to John Leal’s speech: I was curious what his effect would be with this large an audience, if they’d respond as we did. He lifted his head, pitching his voice. . . . hands splashed with blood, he said. We’re all here this Saturday morning, and I know I don’t need to tell you the truth that an unborn child has a heartbeat before it’s a month old. I don’t have to tell you that, within the first three months of fetal life, a human infant’s strong enough to grip a hand. But I’m not sure if it’s done much good, all this truth.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Hand-sized, a spot of red throbbed past, the new hostess’s zodiac tattoo. It veiled the side of her neck. The last girl had quit in less than a month. I pushed ahead, telling Paul that maybe he should give a shit, since it was possible I’d dated a girl who, well, if any of this became public knowledge, guests might—but before I could finish, he slapped the bar top, his rings clinking zinc. The crayfish he’d pulled out lifted its petaled tail; he took it up by its midsection, dropped it in the box. Kendall, I tell you I’ve got no questions, it means I’ve got no questions, he said. You think you know a thing I don’t? Let me tell you what happened the month those towers fell, when a pack of drunk kids chased the wife with a pistol, yelling, Muslim, go home. The wife’s from fucking Sevilla, she’s no Muslim, just because she likes to tan in the salons these kids think they’ll decide who belongs. I don’t give a fuck what you do outside this place. Got it? But what I do care about, what makes this laissez-faire ass of mine pinch tight, I care so much, is that I’ve worked in this business since I was knee-high to a shitball, but you think I’d set you up with Piero with no clue what I’m doing. You think I’m stupid? No, I said. Is that right? I don’t think you’re stupid. Bravo, kid, he said. He patted my face, his palm brine-scented. Go be useful. Tell Joel I’ll come in to talk in five. When I returned to the dining room, Paul was in high spirits, gossiping about the new hire, who, he professed, had worked in fetish porn films. I’m almost certain, he said. It’s possible it makes this girl a more skillful hostess, but then again it’s possible it doesn’t, so you’ll have to watch the girl extra close, Kendall. He was riffing about challenging sexual positions when I interrupted him. Paul, you don’t mean this, I said. He chuckled, glancing at his phone. What’s that? he asked. I appreciate what you said about, I’m grateful—Piero helped, Paul, but the way everyone here talks about women, I don’t think it’s respectful. They keep quitting. Tilting back on his heels, Paul smiled. I thought I was about to lose the job; instead, he said, It’s cute. The child’s speaking up. I’ll give you a tip, though. If you’re hoping to wipe down that soul of yours, do it on your own time. Don’t fucking waste mine. –

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I did think, during this break, to look him up online. I found a couple of local-interest articles, Edwards Herald squibs. John Leal, so I learned, while he was still a student, had gotten into a late-night fistfight with a Noxhurst local, one so violent that he’d been jailed. No charges had been pressed; John Leal, released. It looked as though the college had then suspended him. Expelled, perhaps: I couldn’t find him listed with his graduating class. The more recent article featured protests he organized with local churches. He’d marshaled a pro-life group that knelt each morning in front of the local women’s clinic, Phipps. It was the largest abortion-providing clinic in New York. Jo was mentioned; Ian, too. I told Phoebe what I learned, but she didn’t sound interested. Of all the futile causes, she said. She hadn’t seen him, not since he’d invited us to his house. – During the fall term, I’d applied for a part-time Edwards research position with David Ling, a Nobel-lauded economist. It paid less than waiting tables, but it would, of course, help me with future jobs. I started working with him when I returned to Noxhurst, and I lived through a week of trying to do both before I realized I had to cut back at Michelangelo’s. The night I planned to tell Paul, he pitched a deboned tilapia fillet at a line cook’s head. Missing its target, the fish hit the wall, then slid down, trailing oil. It fell to the linoleum, slumped into its tail. I was going to be fired, I thought. But instead, when I told Paul I had no choice but to work less, he asked if this meant I was giving notice. If you’re quitting on me, you little shit, I’ll have your balls, he said. I’ll wrap them up like quail eggs. I’ll tie on a blue ribbon to match, I’ll send them compliments of Paul Conti to— No, I just need to cut down my hours. I’ll find someone to fill in. More insults followed, but he sounded tired, listless, as though forced to recite old lines. Christ, all right, he said, as long as he didn’t notice the change. Once home, I pulled out a bottle of gin. I finished the first glass, and I was pouring a second when I heard the rush of footsteps. Phoebe swept in, jingling the keys I’d had copied. She held a paint-striped mask; a floor-length cape swung and trailed around her legs. I’ve come straight from a costume party, she said. In Liesl’s suite. It was so hot, but I kept the mask on until I left. I think I should get a prize. No one except Julian could figure out who I was. What did you tell them? That I’m the queen of Tajikistan. I abdicated the throne to enroll here. Tajikistan, I said. I don’t think it has a queen. Will, that’s my point.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  3 Indeed, none of those who [expectantly] wait for You will be ashamed; Those who turn away from what is right and deal treacherously without cause will be ashamed (humiliated, embarrassed). 4 Let me know Your ways, O LORD ; Teach me Your paths. 5 Guide me in Your truth and teach me, For You are the God of my salvation; For You [and only You] I wait [expectantly] all the day long. 6 Remember, O LORD , Your [tender] compassion and Your lovingkindnesses, For they have been from of old. 7 Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; According to Your lovingkindness remember me, For Your goodness’ sake, O LORD . 8 Good and upright is the LORD ; Therefore He instructs sinners in the way. 9 He leads the humble in justice, And He teaches the humble His way. 10 All the paths of the LORD are lovingkindness and goodness and truth and faithfulness To those who keep His covenant and His testimonies. 11 For Your name’s sake, O LORD , Pardon my wickedness and my guilt, for they are great. 12 Who is the man who fears the LORD [with awe-inspired reverence and worships Him with submissive wonder]? He will teach him [through His word] in the way he should choose. 13 His soul will dwell in prosperity and goodness, And his descendants will inherit the land. 14 The secret [of the wise counsel] of the LORD is for those who fear Him, And He will let them know His covenant and reveal to them [through His word] its [deep, inner] meaning. [John 7:17 ; 15:15 ] 15 My eyes are continually toward the LORD , For He will bring my feet out of the net. 16 Turn to me [LORD ] and be gracious to me, For I am alone and afflicted. 17 The troubles of my heart are multiplied; Bring me out of my distresses. 18 Look upon my affliction and my trouble, And forgive all my sins. 19 Look upon my enemies, for they are many; They hate me with cruel and violent hatred. 20 Guard my soul and rescue me; Do not let me be ashamed or disappointed, For I have taken refuge in You. 21 Let integrity and uprightness protect me, For I wait [expectantly] for You. 22 O God, redeem Israel, Out of all his troubles. Psalm 26 Protestation of Integrity and Prayer for Protection. A Psalm of David. 1 V INDICATE ME, O LORD , for I have walked in my integrity; I have [relied on and] trusted [confidently] in the LORD without wavering and I shall not slip. 2 Examine me, O LORD , and try me; Test my heart and my mind. 3 For Your lovingkindness is before my eyes, And I have walked [faithfully] in Your truth. 4 I do not sit with deceitful or unethical or worthless men, Nor seek companionship with pretenders (self-righteous hypocrites).

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  16 He turned to her by the road, and said, “Please come, let me lie with you”; for he did not know that she was his daughter-in-law. And she said, “What will you give me, that you may lie with me?” 17 He answered, “I will send you a young goat from the flock.” And she said, “Will you give me a pledge [as a deposit] until you send it?” 18 He said, “What pledge shall I give you?” She said, “Your seal and your cord, and the staff that is in your hand.” So he gave them to her and was intimate with her, and she conceived by him. 19 Then she got up and left, and removed her veil and put on her widow’s clothing. 20 When Judah sent the young goat by his friend the Adullamite, to get his pledge [back] from the woman, he was unable to find her. 21 He asked the men of that place, “Where is the temple prostitute who was by the roadside at Enaim?” They said, “There was no prostitute here.” 22 So he returned to Judah, and said, “I cannot find her; also the local men said, ‘There was no prostitute around here.’ ” 23 Then Judah said, “Let her keep the things (pledge articles) for herself, otherwise we will be a laughingstock [searching everywhere for her]. After all, I sent this young goat, but you did not find her.” 24 About three months later Judah was told, “Tamar your daughter-in-law has played the [role of a] prostitute, and she is with child because of her immorality.” So Judah said, “Bring her out and let her be burned [to death as punishment]!” 25 While she was being brought out, she [took the things Judah had given her and] sent [them along with a message] to her father-in-law, saying, “I am with child by the man to whom these articles belong.” And she added, “Please examine [them carefully] and see [clearly] to whom these things belong, the seal and the cord and staff.” 26 Judah recognized the articles, and said, “She has been more righteous [in this matter] than I, because I did not give her to my son Shelah [as I had promised].” And Judah did not have [intimate] relations with her again. 27 Now when the time came for her to give birth, there were twins in her womb. 28 And when she was in labor, one [baby] put out his hand, and the midwife took his hand and tied a scarlet thread on it, saying, “This one was born first.” 29 But he pulled back his hand, and his brother was born first. And she said, “What a breach you have made for yourself [to be the firstborn]!” So he was named Perez (breach, break forth). [Matt 1:3 ] 30 Afterward his brother who had the scarlet [thread] on his hand was born and was named Zerah (brightness).

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Julian, help, I said. In minutes, I’d packed a small bag, hopped in a taxi, and claimed an aisle seat in the air-conditioned train to New York. With a short walk, I exited the station. I hailed a second cab, which sped downtown. It dropped me in front of his building. Up the last flight of stairs, then I fell in Julian’s arms. Give me that bag, he said. I’ve made big plans. He didn’t say, I told you so. We walked to a bistro, and piled into a red banquette. Julian’s friends traipsed in, including his boyfriend. Hahn’s a poet, Julian had explained. He bartends on the side. Phoebe, I’m afraid to jinx it, but—I haven’t felt like this in so long. I made sure to sit next to Hahn. He kept quiet, so I asked questions; I joked, I teased, until I had him laughing. Since Julian loved this Hahn, I would, too. Bills paid, we rode taxis to a karaoke place, then crowded into a private room. I have bonbons, Julian said. He distributed round pills, blithe with the pleasure of giving. I flicked a switch, to see what would happen. Disco-ball lights, jewel ovals, slid along the walls. Hahn and I duetted, hitting each note. I high-fived him, and I downed soju. People sang, while I kicked up a dance. Time flared. I sat with Hahn again, his arm tight at my waist. I leaned into the hold, liking his strength, then I felt his hand shift, warm, inside the shirt. He’d slipped, I thought. But his hand pushed up. He gripped breast flesh, and pinched it. Everyone was singing. I stood; I went to Julian, who hadn’t noticed. He touched his lips to the side of my head. I should tell him, I thought. But in that small box of a private room, I’d insisted on dancing. No one had joined me as I performed. Will often recalled the night I’d met him, how I’d looked, hands raised. Phoebe, I could have watched all night, he said. It’s just that I love to dance, I said, with a shrug. I’d known full well what I was doing, though. I’d felt his attention pull taut, alert, like a long puppet string. I tugged it; his eyes moved, helpless. In the spotlight I’d compelled, Will’s wide-eyed stare, I came back to life. I hadn’t tried to flirt with Hahn, but I had. He’d believed I wanted him to touch me; then, when he put his hand into my shirt, I hadn’t protested. Instead, I’d let Julian’s boyfriend admire me. This is what I do, I thought. It’s who I am. I hurt those I love. In the morning, I left a note on Julian’s table. I woke up feeling unwell, it said. I took the first train back to school. 23. JOHN LEAL He wasn’t just his Lord’s child: he often had to be His substitute. Proxied liaison, latest in the line of soloist prophets.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 462: Or "his" (_a sè_).] [Footnote 463: Or "thine" (_a te_).] [Footnote 464: Lit. "hope" (_sperare_). See note, p. 5.] [Footnote 465: _i.e._ I would have her in common with thee.] When Titus heard Gisippus speak thus, the more the flattering hopes given him of the latter afforded him pleasure, so much the more did just reason inform him with shame, showing him that, the greater was Gisippus his liberality, the more unworthy it appeared of himself to use it; wherefore, without giving over weeping, he with difficulty replied to him thus, 'Gisippus, thy generous and true friendship very plainly showeth me that which it pertaineth unto mine to do. God forfend that her, whom He hath bestowed upon thee as upon the worthier, I should receive from thee for mine! Had He judged it fitting that she should be mine, nor thou nor others can believe that He would ever have bestowed her on thee. Use, therefore, joyfully, thine election and discreet counsel and His gifts, and leave me to languish in the tears, which, as to one undeserving of such a treasure, He hath prepared unto me and which I will either overcome, and that will be dear to thee, or they will overcome me and I shall be out of pain.' 'Titus,' rejoined Gisippus, 'an our friendship might accord me such license that I should enforce thee to ensue a desire of mine and if it may avail to induce thee to do so, it is in this case that I mean to use it to the utmost, and if thou yield not to my prayers with a good grace, I will, with such violence as it behoveth us use for the weal of our friends, procure that Sophronia shall be thine. I know how great is the might of love and that, not once, but many a time, it hath brought lovers to a miserable death; nay, unto this I see thee so near that thou canst neither turn back nor avail to master thy tears, but, proceeding thus, wouldst pine and die; whereupon I, without any doubt, should speedily follow after. If, then, I loved thee not for otherwhat, thy life is dear to me, so I myself may live. Sophronia, therefore, shall be thine, for that thou couldst not lightly find another woman who would so please thee, and as I shall easily turn my love unto another, I shall thus have contented both thyself and me. I should not, peradventure, be so free to do this, were wives as scarce and as uneath to find as friends; however, as I can very easily find me another wife, but not another friend, I had liefer (I will not say _lose_ her, for that I shall not lose her, giving her to thee, but shall transfer her to another and a better self, but) transfer her than lose thee. Wherefore, if my prayers avail aught with thee, I beseech thee put away from thee this affliction and comforting at once thyself and me, address thee with good hope to take that joyance which thy fervent love desireth of the thing beloved.'

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  3 But [as for me personally] it matters very little to me that I may be judged by you or any human court [on this point]; in fact, I do not even judge myself. 4 I am aware of nothing against myself and I feel blameless, but I am not by this acquitted [before God]. It is the Lord who judges me. 5 So do not go on passing judgment before the appointed time, but wait until the Lord comes, for He will both bring to light the [secret] things that are hidden in darkness and disclose the motives of the hearts. Then each one’s praise will come from God. 6 Now I have applied these things [that is, the analogies about factions] to myself and Apollos for your benefit, believers, so that you may learn from us not to go beyond what is written [in Scripture], so that none of you will become arrogant and boast in favor of one [minister or teacher] against the other. 7 For who regards you as superior or what sets you apart as special? What do you have that you did not receive [from another]? And if in fact you received it [from God or someone else], why do you boast as if you had not received it [but had gained it by yourself]? 8 [You behave as if] you are already filled [with spiritual wisdom and in need of nothing more]. Already you have become rich [in spiritual gifts]! You [in your conceit] have ascended your thrones and become kings without us; and how I wish [that it were true and] that you did reign as kings, so that we might reign with you. 9 For, I think, God has exhibited us apostles at the end of the line, like men sentenced to death [and paraded as prisoners in a procession], because we have become a spectacle to the world [a show in the world’s amphitheater], both to angels and to men. 10 We are [regarded as] fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ; we are weak, but you are strong; you are highly esteemed, but we are dishonored. 11 To this present hour we are both hungry and thirsty; we are continually poorly dressed, and we are roughly treated, and wander homeless. 12 We work [for our living], working hard with our own hands. When we are reviled and verbally abused, we bless. When we are persecuted, we take it patiently and endure. 13 When we are slandered, we try to be conciliatory and answer softly. We have become like the scum of the world, the dregs of all things, even until now. 14 I do not write these things to shame you, but to warn and advise you as my beloved children.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  20 Then Hamor and Shechem his son came to the gate of their [walled] city [where the leading men would meet] and spoke with the men of the city, saying, 21 “These men are peaceful and friendly with us; so let them live in the land and do business in it, for the land is large enough [for us and] for them; let us take their daughters for wives and let us give them our daughters [in marriage]. 22 “But only on this condition will the men consent to our request that they live among us and become one people: that every male among us become circumcised just as they are circumcised. 23 “Will not their cattle and their possessions and all their animals be ours [if we do this]? Let us consent [to do as they ask], and they will live here with us.” 24 And every [Canaanite] man who went out of the city gate listened and considered what Hamor and Shechem said; and every male who b was a resident of that city was circumcised. 25 Now on the third day [after the circumcision], when all the men were [terribly] sore and in pain, two of Jacob’s sons, Simeon and Levi, Dinah’s [full] brothers, took their swords, boldly entered the city [without anyone suspecting them of evil intent], and they killed every male. 26 They killed Hamor and his son Shechem with the edge of the sword, and took Dinah out of Shechem’s house [where she was staying], and left. 27 Then Jacob’s [other] sons came upon those who were killed and looted the town, because their sister had been defiled and disgraced. 28 They took the Canaanites’ flocks and their herds and their donkeys, and whatever was in the city and in the field; 29 they looted all their wealth, and [took captive] all their children and their wives, even everything that was in the houses. 30 Then Jacob said to Simeon and Levi, “You have ruined me, making me a stench to the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites and the Perizzites!

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I wondered when they’d reveal the punchline behind this evening. When, not if, I still thought. Philip asked where I was from; the girl, Jo, smiled. I started reciting lies I’d been telling since the first day in Noxhurst, the half-truths ballooning until, in moments, I turned into a different Will again, floating above the usual Kendall problems. I cut the strings. I had the balloonatic’s glee. Timelines cracked, shifted; my father pulled his emptied seat to the table. My mother’s little rental house sailed south from dull, meth-addled Carmenita to the hills of Los Angeles, expanding mid-flight into an open villa with the kind of misshapen pool no one but the rich would have. It lit up at night. I swam in its blue fire. While I talked, the mulled wine’s spiced heat coiled into me, melting caution, as on that first hot fall afternoon when I climbed three flights up Latham Hall, dragging bags. I’d found my suitemates in the living room, five men in polo shirts: about to go eat, they said, inviting me along. We shook hands. They were all sophomores, like me, but they’d been friends as freshmen. Jovial, polite, offering help with the luggage, they asked about my trip to Edwards: if I’d flown, or driven. I took the bus, I said. Well, multiple buses—from California— For a long instant, they looked alike, faces tight with surprise. By the time they rallied, I’d revised how I should be. My mother’s Pasadena family, rich but dissolute, had misspent the last of its fortune when she was still old enough to recall the luminous idyll she’d lost, and I could use the hacienda memories. Palm trees rising tall, June-night operas at the Hollywood Bowl. I drew on this inherited longing. I filled in peripheral details that helped me settle into who I was: that pool, for instance, the occasional fat plop as fruit from sunlit citrus trees ripens, drowns. In this life of blue honey, I don’t think of the waste. I lap; I crawl. Navel oranges shine from the tiles like medallions. A hired man whistles, fishing out the rot. No one lacks food, or falls ill. I tried to ask questions of Philip, as well. But he acted preoccupied, glancing past my head. The next time his eyes flicked up, I turned, too—I saw the figure at the doorsill, a clean white apron knotted around his waist. I saw him float; I looked again, and it was the filth, a half-inch of skin stained black at his soles, the heels split, flaking. Noticing I’d seen him, he nodded. He walked toward us, holding wine-glass bouquets in his fingers. He wasn’t tall, but his shoulder muscles strained against a plain white shirt. His wrist bulged where he’d tied a red string, letting it dig in. With his hair brushed to stand upright, a high plume, I had the sense of a surfeit of energy, not quite contained, like a child’s color-book illustration escaping its lines.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  His one job, it’s to strut around, let the little kids take pictures with him. They’d shout like he was this big hero. Not so hard, right? But then one day he felt sick, so he took off his head to throw up, and this one kid who noticed, he lost his shit. See, the kid believed my cousin was the cartoon. From the kid’s angle, Mickey had ripped off his own head. Like that, my cousin lost his job. Why? Because he busted the illusion. His boss told him, Idiot, you should have thrown up in your costume. Will, at times, I look at you, I can tell you’re not faking it right. I want you to act like this place is a magic kingdom. Do you get what I’m saying? I said I did. He picked up his gold pen again. The first diners traipsed in, a trio of women collapsing rain-slick umbrellas. The host assigned them to my section. Writing down drink orders, I considered Paul’s speech. He wasn’t criticizing my table-waiting abilities. Otherwise, I wouldn’t still have this job, let alone the night shift. But I should try acting more like him, I thought. Slap backs as he did, dispersing jokes, high spirits. It’s often all people want, urging a change: be like me, shaped in this image. – Guests blew in from the street, wind-spun, gasping for alcohol. They ate, paid, and left, fast, letting the tables go. It worked to my benefit, but I didn’t understand people who finished, then rushed out. If I’d paid to eat at a restaurant like Michelangelo’s, I’d dawdle. I’d sip a tall limoncello, let waiters refill the glass. I was about to drop a five-top’s check when the pinstriped man in my section’s last open table stopped me. His wife had questions about the veal chop. Of course, I said. The kitchen had run low on the dish, a point I emphasized. If he wished to have it, I should put in the order as soon as possible. Instead, he elicited details about the preparation while his wife flipped through the wine list, silk dress pleats glinting. I’d have liked to watch how light played on the gas-blue of the dress. The left dress strap pulled taut across the dip of the woman’s collarbone like a bridge traversing a ravine, and one could imagine following its arched, liquid line, sliding a hand back, down until the first swell of buttocks—but I had a job to do. I kept my attention on the man as I answered his questions. If I say I want it rare, is that something your chef will give me? he asked. Yes, sir, he— I can’t eat veal that isn’t rare. You’ll hear it bleat. With that, he smiled.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  But why hadn’t I brought my questions to him? It grieved him that I could still be this prideful. Think, he said, of John the Baptist telling us he couldn’t touch the latchet of his Lord’s shoes. I still hadn’t learned how to be a disciple. It was high time I did. If, that is, I had it in me. I should kneel, he said. He handed me a thin rag; he told me to wipe the others’ shoes, then his feet. I cleaned each muddied shoe. Melted ice soaked cold into my jeans. I held his foot, working the rag through his toes. Flecks of tissue gleamed, like nacre, in the cracked skin. I was trying to think. His time in the gulag, he’d said. It was what I’d asked Phoebe. The question about Mina, but we’d been walking home. We’d left John Leal at his house. If he hadn’t, how’d he— I glanced at Phoebe, but she looked down. She’d turned red. Phoebe didn’t blush often. If she did, the cause tended to be physical. She’d had too much alcohol, or it was hot. Phoebe hadn’t been drinking, though. It was a cold morning. Each breath showed white. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but she still couldn’t look at me. She’d gone to him with what I’d said. – It was past the time the march should have begun, and people were losing patience. I’ll give it five minutes, then I’m calling it quits, a man said. Placards leaned against a building wall. I saw John Leal talking to people I didn’t recognize. With a nod, he stepped on an upended crate. His mouth moved. In that hubbub, I couldn’t pick out his words. Phoebe apologized again, tearful. It’s all right, I said, but she had more she wanted to explain. It’s fine, I said. Hoping she’d calm down, I kissed Phoebe’s head. I was intent on listening to John Leal’s speech: I was curious what his effect would be with this large an audience, if they’d respond as we did. He lifted his head, pitching his voice. . . . hands splashed with blood, he said. We’re all here this Saturday morning, and I know I don’t need to tell you the truth that an unborn child has a heartbeat before it’s a month old. I don’t have to tell you that, within the first three months of fetal life, a human infant’s strong enough to grip a hand. But I’m not sure if it’s done much good, all this truth. What point it’s had, if you and I aren’t saving lives. Wind gusted, flapping nylon jackets. Instead of trying to talk across the noise, he held up his palm, indicating he’d wait. More people turned in his direction. The Lord is calling us, he said. But we’ve failed, you and I, in following Him.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I let him talk. Paul was downstairs, in his office. If this man had been his friend, I’d have known it by now. When I could, I apologized again. I offered cocktails, gratis; I mentioned the suckling-pig ravioli, the Michelin critic who’d extolled Michelangelo’s poached quail. I convinced him to substitute the quail for veal, but when I brought him the martinis he sent them back. I fetched a second round; he told me to wait. His round lips parted for the rill of clear liquid. He took more sips. The drink’s fine, he said, but I’ll switch waiters. I misheard him, I thought. But there was no mistaking his satisfied face, the gin-wetted lips widening with a grin. I’ll find someone else, I said. I turned away, but not before he muttered to his wife. She chortled. It was the first time she’d emitted a sound. I found Isabel, one of the other waiters, frothing hot milk into a tin. I asked if she could take the table. I’m falling behind, I explained. She looked up from the machine, surprised. I have a full section, too, she said. Please, Isabel, I said. She’d trained me during my first week here, and still passed along helpful hints. Push the branzino. That three-top tips badly. Watch out for Paul tonight. I tried to keep a light tone, but I hoped she knew I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t urgent. I took the foamed milk; I poured it into the waiting cups. I’ll owe you, I said. She shook her head. Earrings swiveled, thin feathers. Sure, all right, she said. I returned to the other tables, but what had been an even, yielding night lost its swing and give. I fell behind. I dropped wine-bloodied napkins. Though I listed specials or balanced plates, I kept hearing the wife’s laugh. Then, standing up, a man pushed back into my shins. Careful, he said, as if I’d shoved into him. I apologized. I went to the bathroom, leaned on the sink. The basin burned white in the glass. No loss occurs in isolation, and a side profit of the faith that I missed at times like this was how easily, while Christ shone in each face, I loved. If hatred cuts both ways, to forgive can be a balm, and I often missed, as I would a friend, the more tranquil person I now had no reason to be. I opened the spigot. I washed my hands, then face; eyes closed, I saw my mother wringing out long, baptized hair, twisting it into a rope. Released, the strands flew loose, flicking wet silt. She picked me up, my legs swinging. I thought I felt His elation in her hold, glimpsed it in the silt-sparked light.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Julian was living in Manhattan. I could have gone to him, except that, like Will, he’d objected to the plan of staying in Noxhurst. I predict anguish, he’d said. Phoebe, you’re a capable girl, but I’m afraid being alone isn’t a skill. It’s a disposition. I didn’t want to prove him right; still, one night, I had to call him. Julian, help, I said. In minutes, I’d packed a small bag, hopped in a taxi, and claimed an aisle seat in the air-conditioned train to New York. With a short walk, I exited the station. I hailed a second cab, which sped downtown. It dropped me in front of his building. Up the last flight of stairs, then I fell in Julian’s arms. Give me that bag, he said. I’ve made big plans. He didn’t say, I told you so. We walked to a bistro, and piled into a red banquette. Julian’s friends traipsed in, including his boyfriend. Hahn’s a poet, Julian had explained. He bartends on the side. Phoebe, I’m afraid to jinx it, but—I haven’t felt like this in so long. I made sure to sit next to Hahn. He kept quiet, so I asked questions; I joked, I teased, until I had him laughing. Since Julian loved this Hahn, I would, too. Bills paid, we rode taxis to a karaoke place, then crowded into a private room. I have bonbons, Julian said. He distributed round pills, blithe with the pleasure of giving. I flicked a switch, to see what would happen. Disco-ball lights, jewel ovals, slid along the walls. Hahn and I duetted, hitting each note. I high-fived him, and I downed soju. People sang, while I kicked up a dance. Time flared. I sat with Hahn again, his arm tight at my waist. I leaned into the hold, liking his strength, then I felt his hand shift, warm, inside the shirt. He’d slipped, I thought. But his hand pushed up. He gripped breast flesh, and pinched it. Everyone was singing. I stood; I went to Julian, who hadn’t noticed. He touched his lips to the side of my head. I should tell him, I thought. But in that small box of a private room, I’d insisted on dancing. No one had joined me as I performed. Will often recalled the night I’d met him, how I’d looked, hands raised. Phoebe, I could have watched all night, he said. It’s just that I love to dance, I said, with a shrug. I’d known full well what I was doing, though. I’d felt his attention pull taut, alert, like a long puppet string. I tugged it; his eyes moved, helpless. In the spotlight I’d compelled, Will’s wide-eyed stare, I came back to life. I hadn’t tried to flirt with Hahn, but I had. He’d believed I wanted him to touch me; then, when he put his hand into my shirt, I hadn’t protested. Instead, I’d let Julian’s boyfriend admire me.