Worlds

22. A Tangled Web We Weave

20 October. While I was finishing up the program for James’s group, my favorite FBI officer walked into the computing room. I told him I was working on a project for my Lobbies class, which gave me a little thrill. Marianne O’Hari, girl spy.

Hawkings had a short program and was finished by the time I got mine printed and bound, and we went out for coffee. Keeping the conversation safe, I mentioned next quarter’s Cultural Relativism tour—and was surprised to find that he’s going on it tool He’s been saving up money and leave-time for a couple of years.

Really mixed feelings about that. It will be nice to have somebody familiar along, and I like Hawkings well enough, for an American man. But I can imagine what he’d think about Will and James’s activities. (Actually, his reaction wouldn’t be simplistic, since he is an intelligent and politically “aware” person. But I don’t think he’d have a sense of humor about blackmailing senators.)

After coffee, we went to the gym, found partners, and fenced for an hour. He did self-defense style, two weapons, and his partner didn’t have a chance, from the one bout I watched. I lost all four of my own bouts, and managed to lunge into a stop-thrust and get stuck in the armpit, which still hurts. I’ll never be really good at it, but it is fun and lets off steam. Afterwards, I sort of wished they didn’t have separate showers for men and women. He looks so much like Charlie—do I miss him, in spite of everything? Maybe my body misses his body. Maybe I miss looking at naked men, or showing off my resistible secondary sexual characteristics.

I stared at that program for hours, and haven’t come up with any consistent pattern. I think the pattern does exist, but I’m just not a good enough mathematician to isolate it Maybe James will have me shot.

I’m tempted to throw the whole business out the lock. Interfering with the politics of a foreign country. Foreign planet. They could put me in jail.

Though I suspect they wouldn’t dare, so long as I personally don’t do anything blatantly illegal. It would be too good a news item. The U.S. claims to be a bastion of personal freedom. In fact, though, the civil disobedience laws of most states are so broad that they can arrest you for saying that the president of General Motors shits daily. And you can spend a long time waiting to come to trial. Will claims that there are tens of thousands of political activists rotting in jail.

What I’ll do is confront James directly, and tell him that I refuse to do anything either illegal or public; for this, he has my cooperation and silence. It will be valuable, seeing American politics from the underside.

21 October. Entertainment lab was a fascinating backstage look at a Broadway play. We went to the Uris Theatre, where they’re doing a revival of the 1998 musical Chloe. We got there at nine, and watched all the preparations for the 1:30 matinee; then watched the show from the orchestra pit—there being no orchestra, since the music was all old-fashioned electronics. It’s a supposedly funny story about suicide. I think a banjo might have pepped it up.

Jeff Hawkings asked me out to dinner tonight Life certainly does get complicated. I told him I had to pound the books, which was true, since I have to give the class on Steinbeck Monday. I had planned on eating out, sudden craving for pasta, but to keep my conscience clear I just got eggs and toast out of the machine. How can they make eggs and toast that give you indigestion?

Steinbeck won’t be hard, since I spent a week on him a couple of years ago in that “Tools for Social Reform” seminar. And having survived the Crane class helps.

Grapeseed tomorrow with Benny.

22 October. First snow of the year, of my life. I made Benny walk with me to the Grapeseed, even though it was sloppy and cold. The stuff is beautiful. Pictures don’t do anything. It’s the feel of it on your face and the crisp smell of the air. It gets on your eyelashes and doesn’t melt for a while.

Benny brought up the idea that our “inner circle” with James may be far from the innermost circle. He described the system of interlocking cells that the Communist party used in the United States last century, where no one knew the identity of more than a few other party members. It sounds logical.

I told Benny I didn’t think I wanted to go any deeper. There’s enough potential for trouble at James’s level. He agreed, outwardly, but was thoughtful.

The Grapeseed was more crowded than I’d ever seen it. Bad weather is good for bars, I guess, especially bars that specialize in conversation. They were serving hot buttered rum, which sounds great but tastes like someone had taken a drink and stirred it with a fried chicken leg.

Will showed up but was quieter than usual. When he was more or less alone with Benny and me, he explained that a friend of his had just died, evidently by her own hand. It was Katherine, who had been so aggressively non-violent at the meeting. She poisoned herself, with barbiturates and alcohol.

I’ve never understood that. I guess I’ve never been depressed enough, not even after the rape (“sexual battery,” but it will always be The Rape to me). I can accept voluntary euthanasia, at least intellectually, and am glad that New New offers it as an escape hatch, in case some day I’m very old and in constant pain. But I can’t imagine existential pain so great that a person my age would take her life. A square meter of earth, Dostoevski said; if all you had was a square meter of earth to stand on, and nothing around you but impenetrable fog, living would be preferable to dying. Did Katherine know something he didn’t?

Wish I hadn’t seen Chloe. Ghastly memory now.