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GROVE COUNTY.
- THE QUARRY.
TO HOLD HIS FISTS CLOSED TIGHT, AS IF THE SKIN OF HIS PALMS HAD GROWN FAST TO THE STEEL HE CLASPED. TO KEEP HIS FEET STEADY, PRESSED DOWN HARD. THE FLAT ROCK AN UPWARD THRUST AGAINST HIS SOLES. NOT TO FEEL THE EXISTENCE OF HIS BODY, BUT ONLY A FEW CLOTS OF TENSION: HIS KNEES, HIS WRISTS, HIS SHOULDERS AND THE DRILL HE HELD. TO FEEL THE DRILL TREMBLING IN A LONG CONVULSIVE SHUDDER. TO FEEL THIS STOMACH TREMBLING, HIS LUNGS TREMBLING. THE STRAIGHT LINES OF THE STONE LEDGES BEFORE HIM DISSOLVING INTO JAGGED STREAKS OF TREMBLING. TO FEEL THE DRILL AND HIS BODY GATHER INTO THE SINGLE WILL OF PLEASURE. THAT A SHAFT OF STEEL MIGHT SINK SLOWLY INTO GRANITE. THIS WAS ALL OF LIFE FOR MACK, AS IT HAD BEEN IN THE DAYS OF THE TWO MONTHS BEHIND HIM.
HE STOOD ON THE HOT STONE IN THE SUN. HIS FACE WAS SCORCHED TO BRONZE. HIS SHIRT STUCK IN LONG, DAMP PATCHES TO HIS BACK. THE QUARRY ROSE ABOUT HIM IN FLAT SHELVES BREAKING AGAINST ONE ANOTHER. IT WAS A WORLD WITHOUT CURVES, GRASS OR SOIL. A SIMPLIFIED WORLD OF STONE PLANES, SHARP EDGES AND ANGLES. THE STONE HAD NOT BEEN MADE BY PATIENT CENTURIES WELDING THE SEDIMENT OF WINDS AND TIDES. IT HAD COME FROM A MOLTEN MASS COOLING SLOWLY AT UNKNOWN DEPTHS. IT HAD BEEN FLUNG, FORCED OUT OF THE EARTH. AND IT STILL HELD THE SHAPE OF VIOLENCE AGAINST THE VIOLENCE OF THE MAN ON ITS LEDGES.
HE LIKED THIS WORK. HE FELT AT TIMES AS IF IT WERE A MATCH OF WRESTLING BETWEEN HIS MUSCLES AND THE GRANITE. HE WAS VERY TIRED AT NIGHT. MACK LIKED THE EMPTINESS OF HIS BODY'S EXHAUSTION.
EVERY EVENING HE WALKED THE TWO MILES FROM THE QUARRY TO THE LITTLE TOWN WHERE THE WORKERS LIVED. THE EARTH OF THE WOODS HE CROSSED WAS SOFT AND WARM UNDER HIS FEET. IT WAS STRANGE, AFTER A DAY SPENT ON THE GRANITE RIDGES. HE SMILED AS AT A NEW PLEASURE. EACH EVENING LOOKING DOWN TO WATCH HIS FEET CRUSHING A SURFACE THAT RESPONDED, GIVING WAY AND CONCEDED FAINT PRINTS TO BE LEFT BEHIND.
THERE WAS A BATHROOM IN THE GARRET OF THE HOUSE WHERE HE ROOMED. THE PAINT HAD PEELED OFF THE FLOOR LONG AGO AND THE NAKED BOARDS WERE GRAY-WHITE. HE LAY IN THE TUB FOR A LONG TIME AND LET THE COOL WATER SOAK THE STONE DUST OUT OF HIS SKIN. HE LET HIS HEAD HANG BACK ON THE EDGE OF THE TUB, HIS EYES CLOSED. THE GREATNESS OF THE WEARINESS WAS ITS OWN RELIEF. IT ALLOWED NO SENSATION BUT THE SLOW PLEASURE OF THE TENSION LEAVING HIS MUSCLES. HIS MIND WANDERED TO THE MORNING WHEN HE MET A STRANGER ON THE PATH TO THE QUARRY.
HE ATE HIS DINNER IN A KITCHEN, WITH OTHER QUARRY WORKERS, SITTING ALONE IN A CORNER. THE FUMES OF THE GREASE, CRACKLING ETERNALLY ON A VAST GAS STOVE, HID THE REST OF THE ROOM IN A STICKY HAZE. HE ATE LITTLE, HE DRANK A GREAT DEAL OF WATER. THE COOL GLITTERING LIQUID IN A CLEAN GLASS WAS INTOXICATION. HE WAS THINKING OF A PAST TIME WITH JOHN. THEY HAD NOT BEEN TOGETHER FOR TWO YEARS NOW. MACK WAS READY, BUT NOT LOOKING FOR ANOTHER FRIEND, SUCH AS JOHN.
HE SLEPT IN A SMALL WOODEN CUBE UNDER THE ROOF. THE BOARDS OF THE CEILING SLANTED DOWN OVER HIS BED. WHEN IT RAINED, HE COULD HEAR THE BURST OF EACH DROP AGAINST THE ROOF. IT TOOK AN EFFORT TO REALIZE WHY HE COULD NOT FEEL THE RAIN BEATING AGAINST HIS BODY.
SOMETIMES, AFTER DINNER, HE WOULD WALK INTO THE WOODS THAT BEGAN BEHIND THE HOUSE. HE WOULD STRETCH DOWN ON THE GROUND, ON HIS STOMACH, HIS ELBOWS PLANTED BEFORE HIM. HIS HANDS PROPPING HIS CHIN, AND HE WOULD WATCH THE PATTERNS OF VEINS ON THE GREEN BLADES OF GRASS UNDER HIS FACE. HE WOULD BLOW AT THEM AND WATCH THE BLADES OF GRASS TREMBLE, THEN STOP AGAIN. HE WOULD ROLL OVER ON HIS BACK AND LIE STILL, FEELING THE WARMTH OF THE EARTH UNDER HIM. FAR ABOVE, THE LEAVES WERE STILL GREEN, BUT IT WAS A THICK, COMPRESSED GREEN, AS IF THE COLOR WERE CONDENSED IN ONE LAST EFFORT BEFORE THE DUSK COMING TO DISSOLVE IT. THE LEAVES HUNG WITHOUT MOTION AGAINST THE SKY OF POLISHED LEMON YELLOW. ITS LUMINOUS PALLOR EMPHASIZED THAT ITS LIGHT WAS FAILING. MACK PRESSED HIS HIPS, HIS BACK INTO THE EARTH UNDER HIM. THE EARTH RESISTED, BUT THEN GAVE WAY. IT WAS A SILENT VICTORY. HE FELT A DIM SENSUOUS PLEASURE IN THE MUSCLES OF HIS LEGS. HE RESISTED THE DESIRE FOR SEX WITH A MAN -- THE MAN ON THE PATH. BUT IT WAS A LOOSING BATTLE FOR HE WOULD NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN.
MACK SAT UP AND DID NOT MOVE FOR A LONG TIME. THEN HE SMILED, A SLOW SMILE WHICH LIT UP HIS FACE. A SMILE SAVED FOR SOMEONE SPECIAL. HE THOUGHT OF HIS DAYS GONE BY, OF HIS DESIRE, OF WHAT HE SHOULD BE DOING AND PERHAPS NEVER DOING AGAIN. HE WATCHED THE PAIN'S UNSUMMONED APPEARANCE WITH A COLD DETACHED CURIOSITY. SAYING TO HIMSELF: "WELL HERE IT IS AGAIN." HE WAITED TO SEE HOW LONG IT WOULD LAST. IT GAVE HIM A STRANGE, HARD PLEASURE TO WATCH HIS OWN FIGHT AGAINST IT. THEN HE SMILED IN CONTEMPT OF HIMSELF, AT HIS OWN SUFFERING. HE DID NOT REALIZE THAT HE SMILED AT HIS OWN AGONY. SUCH MOMENTS WERE RARE. BUT WHEN THEY CAME, HE FELT AS HE DID IN THE QUARRY: THAT HE HAD TO DRILL THROUGH GRANITE, THAT HE HAD TO DRIVE A WEDGE, BLASTING THE THING WITHIN HIM WHICH PERSISTED IN CALLING UP HIS DESIRE.
TONIGHT MACK GAVE INTO HIS DESIRES THERE IN THE GRASS, AND RETURNED TO THE HOUSE HE SHARED WITH THE OTHERS. MACK WOULD NOT BE WALKING THIS WAY TO WORK ON MONDAY AND GIVE UP HOPE OF SEEING THE MAN ON THE PATH AGAIN. THIS WOULD BE HIS LAST NIGHT WITH THE OTHER QUARRY WORKERS. HE HAD FOUND A ROOM IN ANOTHER TOWN, AND WAS MOVING INTO MRS. KEATING'S ROOMING HOUSE.