Then he decided to turn Catholic.
”
“This is true, Dominick?” the doc asked
.
“He converted?”
“Yes.”
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WALLY LAMB
“How old were you and your brother at the time, please?”
“Nine, maybe? Ten? I doubt very much that she was confiding in him about—”
“
That’s when he started going to Mass every morning. After work.
He worked third shift, and he’d get off and go right to early Mass. He was
buddy-buddy with the priests. He used to do all their yard work free of
charge. Change the oil in their cars. . . . As if acting like their slave was
going to get him into Heaven. As if THAT was going to erase the way he
treated us. He used to make Dominick and me shovel snow over at the
rectory and the convent and we could never take any money for it. One
time, the nuns gave us a box of ribbon candy—my brother and me—and
when we got home, Ray made us turn right around and go down to the
convent and give it back to them.
”
“That is accurate, Dominick?” Dr. Patel asked.
I nodded. Closed my eyes. “Neither of us even
liked
ribbon candy. You’d think that by this time, the statute of limitations—”
“
It was my favorite kind of candy, too. Ribbon candy. . . . You know
what it was? Why he had it in for me? Because it began to dawn on him
that it was
me
God had chosen. Not
him
. Not Mr. Mass Every Day. It
made him nervous, too: that the one person he had picked on all his life
was a prophet of the Lord Jesus Christ.
”
“
Did that make him jealous? Knowing that you had been singled out
by God for something special?
”
“Extremely
jealous. The thing he doesn’t realize—that nobody realizes—is that it’s a terrible burden.
”
“
What is, Mr. Birdsey? Would you explain what the burden is?
”
“
Knowing! Seeing things!
”
“
Seeing what, Mr. Birdsey?
”
“
What God wants. And what He doesn’t want.
” Deep sigh
.
“
He
doesn’t WANT us to go to war against Iraq. He wants us to love one
other. To honor HIM, not the almighty dollar. This country, right from
the very beginning, has . . . Look at our
history
! Look at Wounded Knee!
Look at slavery!
” He began to sob. “
He wants me to lead the way. To
show people that their greed is . . . But how am I supposed to do that
when they’ve got me under house arrest?
”
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“
When
who
has you under house arrest, Mr. Birdsey?
”
“
I just want to wake people
up
! That’s all. I’m just trying to do God’s
bidding. That’s why I did
this
.
”
“Did what?” I said. “What’s he talking about there?”
Dr. Patel tapped a finger against her wrist.
“
But nobody understands that it was a
sacrifice
. Not even Dominick.
He says he understands, but he doesn’t. He’s so mad at me.
”
“
I’ve talked to your brother several times now, Mr. Birdsey. He’s concerned about you, but he’s not angry.
”
“
Then why hasn’t he come to visit me?
”
I closed my eyes, as if not seeing the tape recorder in front of me would make his voice go away.
“
You don’t remember? He can’t visit you until his security clearance
comes through. It’s a policy here. Your brother wants very much to see you,
and he will as soon as he can.
”
“
Oh.
”
“
You remember now?
”
“
I forgot.
”
“
Mr. Birdsey?
”
“
What?
”
“
Did your stepfather ever abuse you in other ways?
”
Long pause
.
“
Yes.
”
“
Would you tell me about that, please?
”
Deep sigh
.
“
One time he made me walk on glass.
”
“
Yes? Continue, please.
”
“
He broke glass all over the floor—the kitchen floor—and then he
made me walk across the room. I had to get stitches. Had to walk on
crutches. You should have seen the bottoms of my feet.
”
I held my hand up for her to stop the tape. “That was an
accident,
” I said. “I remember the exact time he’s talking about. Ray had one of his little temper tantrums and he threw a jar on the floor—a canning jar—and then later on Thomas accidentally stepped on one of the pieces and cut his foot. But it was an
accident
!”
“I see. How often did Ray have these ‘temper tantrums’?”
“What? I don’t know. Not that often. But don’t you see how he’s I Know[264-339] 7/24/02 12:45 PM Page 278
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WALLY LAMB
twisting it around? Thomas? Same as the sled thing. He’s taking these
accidents
and—”
“You sound protective, Dominick. Do you feel protective of your stepfather?”
“No!”
“Of your family’s privacy then?”
“I’m not ‘protective’ of anything. I’m just saying that Ray didn’t bust glass all over the floor and then say, ‘Okay, Thomas! Walk on this because you’re Jesus’ right-hand man.’ I thought you
wanted
my insight. I thought that’s what this was all about.”
“It is.”
“Then what are you accusing me for?”
“Accusing you?”
“Or . . . psychoanalyzing
me
or whatever.
I’m
not the patient.”
“
He used to open up my closet and urinate all over my clothes. My shoes,
too. He was always doing that—pissing into my shoes. . . . Nobody else
knew about it. He said he’d kill me if I told anyone.
”
“
Mr. Birdsey, why did your stepfather urinate on your clothes?
”
A pause. “
That was nothing. That was the least of it.
”
“
He did worse things?
”
“
Much, much worse.
”
“
What did he do that was worse?
”
“
He used to tie me up and then stick things up my rear end.
”
“Jesus! Why . . . why are you
dignifying
this? If Ray knew he was saying stuff like this, he’d—”
“
What kind of things, Mr. Birdsey?
”
“
Sharp things. Pencils. Screwdrivers. One time he took the handle of a
carving knife and—
”
“All right, stop it! Stop that goddamned thing! I can’t—just
stop
it!” I lurched forward and stopped the fucker myself.
We both sat there, waiting for my breathing to calm down.
“Dominick?”
“
What?
”
“What your brother said has upset you very much. Hasn’t it?”
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I laughed. “Oh, hell, no. Let’s see now. My mother used to get raped and we sat around and watched. Ray used to stick screwdrivers up his butt. This is real easy to listen to, Doc. Piece of cake.”
“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
I turned and faced her. “What the fuck difference does it make what
I’m
feeling? I’m not the one having these sick, perverted—”
“You seem angry. Are you angry, Dominick?”
“Am I
ANGRY
? Yeah, you could say that. I’m fucking
FURIOUS,
okay?”
“Why?”
I could feel myself letting go into the rush of it—passing the point of no return. That’s the one thing I understood about Ray: that sometimes rage could feel as good as sex. Could be as welcome a release.
“Why am I
ANGRY
? I’ll tell you why I’m
ANGRY,
okay? Because right now I should be over on Gillette Street finishing a paint job I should have finished three
fucking
weeks ago. But where am I? I’m in a
fucking
maximum-security nuthouse listening to my
fucking fucked-up
brother talk about . . . about . . . and she says to me, ‘Why don’t you ever stop thinking about him and think about me, Dominick? Put
me
first instead of your brother.’ . . . Jesus fucking Christ! When is this shit going to—”
“Dominick? Who is ‘she,’ please?”
“Joy! My girlfriend! I’ve been carrying him on my shoulders my whole
fucking
life and she goes, ‘Why don’t you ever take care of me?’ Well, I’ll
tell
you why! I—”
“Dominick, please lower your voice. It’s very good for you to let out this anger, but why don’t you sit down and take a few deep breaths?”
“Why? What are deep breaths going to do? Make him less crazy? Make his fucking hand grow back?”
“It would just make you calm down a little and—”
“I don’t
want
to calm down! You asked me why I’m angry and now I’m telling you! Do you know what it’s
LIKE
? Do you have any
IDEA
? I’m fucking forty years old and I’m still—”
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“Dominick, if you don’t lower your voice a little, the security staff will—”
“Other people go to the library and get
BOOKS,
right? Check out
BOOKS.
But not
my STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLE BROTHER
!
Not
HIM
! He goes to the library and cuts his fucking hand off for Jesus! And you want to know something? I got fucking
CONNIE
CHUNG
calling me up! I got some stupid bloodsucker from New York wants to be his fucking
BOOKING
agent! And I can’t—”
“Dominick?”
“You want to know what it’s like for me?
Do
you? It’s like . . . it’s like . . . my brother has been an anchor on me my whole life. Pulling me down. Even
before
he got sick. Even
before
he goes and
loses
it in front of . . . An
anchor
! . . . And you know what I get? I get just enough rope to break the surface. To breathe. But I am never,
ever
going to.
. . . You know what I used to think? I used to think that eventually—you know, sooner or later—I was going to get away from him. Cut the cord, you know? But here I am, forty years old and I’m still down at the nuthouse, running interference for my fucking . . . Treading water. It’s like . . . like . . . And I
hate
him sometimes. I do. I’ll admit it. I really hate him. But you know something? Here’s the
really
fucked-up part.
Nobody
else
better say anything—nobody
else
better even look at him cross-eyed or I’ll . . . And the thing is, I think I finally
get
it, you know?
I finally
get
it.”
“Get what, Dominick?”
“That he’s my
curse.
My
anchor.
That I’m just going to tread water for the rest of my whole life. That he
is
my whole life! My fucking, fucked-up brother. I’m just going to tread water, just breathe . . . and that’s it. I’m
never
going to get away from him!
Never!”
There was a knock on the door. “Not now, thank you,” Dr. Patel called out.
“The other day? Last week, it was? I went to the convenience store. My girlfriend says, ‘We’re out of milk, Dominick. Go get some milk.’ So I go to the convenience store and I put a gallon of milk on the counter and this clerk—this fat fuck with orange hair I Know[264-339] 7/24/02 12:45 PM Page 281
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281
and a pierced nose—he’s just . . . he was just
staring
at me like . . .
like I’m . . .”
“Like you were what?”
“Like I’m
him
!
Thomas.
Which I . . . Which I probably
will
be before I’m through. I mean, we’re twins, right? It’s going to happen eventually, isn’t it?”
“What, exactly, do you think is going to happen, Dominick?”
“He’s going to pull me under. I’m going to drown.”
I did her stupid breathing exercises. Laced my fingers like she instructed and rested them on my belly. Filled my stomach with air like a balloon. Breathed out in a long, steady stream. In again. Out.
It felt stupid, but I did it. And by the sixth or seventh breath, it worked. Calmed me down. Brought me back.
“It frightens you, doesn’t it, Dominick: the thought that you, too, could become mentally ill? How could it
not
have frightened you all these years? His brother? His twin?”
De-
fense!
De-
fense!
“It’s not like . . . Look, I’m not saying he
never
hit her. Ray. He did. It’s just—”
The office door banged open—so loudly and abruptly that the doc and I both jumped. “Jesus!” I snapped at Sheffer. “You ever hear of knocking?”
“At my own office door?” she shot back.
She threw a stack of files on her desk. Took in the tape recorder, the warning look I caught Dr. Patel giving her, the way I guess I must have looked right about then. Sheffer looked a little whipped herself.