The Diary of a Rapist. Evan S. Connell
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today. Some old woman praying in front of a candle at All Hallows when a Mexican hopped out from behind a statue of the Virgin, dragged her by the hair up the steps to the altar, tore off her clothes and was kicking her in the face when a priest appeared. Apparently no surprise to parishioners—they say it happens so often they usually go there to pray in groups. Too dangerous alone. Plenty of other examples, in fact so many I forget them in an hour.
So ends a typical Wednesday.
FEBRUARY 21
Sick of those greedy laborers outside the door every morning waiting for us to open—I can read their thoughts by the expression in their eyes—wondering what sort of mood Mr. Summerfield is in. Wondering if they’d be smart to come back later in the day when I won’t ask so many questions, just let them go ahead and collect the money. I know everything that goes through their empty heads. Wondering if maybe it would be smart to try a different window—try Mr. Clegg or Mr. McAuliffe or Mr. Rostov. They think they’re fooling me. I could give them some information on that account, but on the other hand why should I care if they’re trying to cheat the State?—so is everybody else. Evading taxes, swindling, etc. There isn’t much decency left in the world. Not very much. In my opinion whatever there was went up in a column of smoke above Hiroshima. We set the past on fire. Quite a performance all right. I more or less remember it. Ashes everywhere, still sifting down. Ideals smirched, avarice, self-righteousness—the Holy Sepulcher just one more milestone on the road to some cloudy Fulfillment. Fulfillment of what! Cheating, lying, riots, war, wax, oil, iron, sulfur, wine, papyrus & eternal slavery. Jesus Christ in Heaven.
I’m tired, sick at heart. Not much hope. Maybe suicide’s not wrong.
FEBRUARY 22
Washington’s Birthday. Bianca didn’t want to go, claimed she had to talk with Spach about organizing a teachers’ association of some sort. It was just one more excuse to avoid going anywhere with me, I wasn’t taken in by it but I really don’t care. Am used to being alone. Let her have tea and cookies with Spach, do as she pleases, get down on her knees in front of him if she cares to, it means nothing to me! Someday she’ll be damned for what she does. We pay for what we do in this world. Sooner or later the wheel comes full circle for us all.
Besides, it’s a good thing she didn’t go because she would have gotten bored in 5 minutes and insisted on leaving. Folk dancers, mandolin player, magician, Hollywood actors giving declarations of faith in America, only place on earth where there’s any freedom, etc. Sweetness and more sweetness. Crap! Make-believe. Also a long dull speech about constitutional guarantees and so forth by our ex-Governor. People in the grandstand were coughing, eating peanuts, yawning but then of course applauding when he was finished. I felt like vomiting on the platform, let them see what their beautiful nation really stands for. They ought to have a good look at America. No doubt it looks very nice from a distance, just be sure you don’t get too close. Then you find out. Bigotry, fraud, immorality—no use cataloguing it! In short, the whole business soured my stomach right from the beginning. Five thousand people getting to their feet to sing the national anthem and then recite the Pledge of Allegiance but I know what was in their hearts and in their minds. I know what they do every day and every night. I wonder if I was the only one who mouthed the words but didn’t utter a sound. No, probably there were others. Must be a few other people who realize how decayed this country is. Then that bitch in the bathing suit climbed up on the stage wearing a cardboard crown & carrying a scepter, went parading back and forth to show off her tits. No shame. No modesty. Program said she was a dramatics student at University of California—Mara St. Johns. She looked to me like one of those professional sluts from Hollywood. If she isn’t the symbol of American rottenness, what is? Program said she was active in the Presbyterian church! There’s hypocrisy for you Earl, but some day the wheel is going to come full circle for her too—for her and all the others like her. For the dirty things they do. Pretending to be what they’re not. In fact the longer I think about it the more it seems to me this whole nation is going to lie in ashes and lumps of pitch just as the Bible predicted. Was it there? Mmm—well, wherever. Doesn’t matter, message is the same. Nation that rules the earth shall go astray, future will see it deserted. Evil to increase a thousandfold. The sun shall shine by night and the moon by day! Blood come trickling out of wood. Stones make a roaring noise like the wind. People are going to be troubled and courses change. Sea will cast out its fish, birds fly off separately and One shall come to reign over us for whom those on Earth do not hope—but they will recognize his voice. Yes, indeed they will! And if that’s so who’s going to be surprised? After what we’ve seen the last few years?
Well, maybe I ought to ask Bianca. She’s always got an opinion no matter what the subject is. Too bad she didn’t want to attend the show, then I could explain my theory, find out what she thinks of it. Wish she’d wanted to go with me. Been so long since—feel so lonely. Wish we could have what we used to have. Three or four years ago we’d go out dancing but now she doesn’t ever come near me if she can avoid it.
What would happen if I apologized and tried to get in bed?
FEBRUARY 23
The other day I asked V if he thought there was such a thing as Love. Said there isn’t. Claimed it was an invention of poets, some lice-covered troubadours in southern France during the Middle Ages & ever since then we’ve believed it actually exists. I don’t know, don’t know what to think, what to believe. So confused. B hates me.
FEBRUARY 24
Sunday. She’s in Oakland visiting her sister & I’ve spent half the day marching around and around like a mechanical soldier with a key in my back. Nothing to eat since breakfast, then not much. Hungry but can’t make myself stop long enough to fix a meal. The weather’s nice & I guess everybody else is out enjoying the afternoon in Sausalito or Golden Gate Park. I’d give anything to be as average as that. Knowing you’re superior is a curse. Also, not having the opportunity to make use of my abilities makes it difficult to keep sense of proportion.
Around & around! Have drawn the shades so at least it’s dark. Feeling a little better, yet can’t decide what troubles me. Admit I’m still exasperated by the celebration, pageant, whatever it was. Should have reached up, grabbed one of her ankles and jerked her down off the stage. She was close enough, just above me. Could have reached up and pushed my finger right into that hairy mound. She knew it—glanced down at me. In fact that’s probably what she wanted me to do. Corruption. Filth. The whore of Washington’s Birthday. I’m not good enough for you, is that it? You glance down at me and walk away smiling. Well, I’m not going to forget you! Saintly nun. Ermine cloak and a pasteboard crown—Screw! I’d fix you if I had a chance, don’t think I wouldn’t. I’d give you a crown to wear. A jeweled prick. It’s what you deserve. It’s what you want, too, if I’m much of a judge.
B still isn’t back from Oakland, guess she might stay overnight. I wish she’d come home.
FEBRUARY 25
After work paid a visit to All Hallows Church, can’t say quite why except that it’s been on my mind since the Mexican attacked that old woman praying. No accident. He went there to show everybody something—yes, but what? What? What? Church was smaller than I expected, only about half visible through some ragged windblown palms on Dolores Street. Paint flaking off the rail, steps creaked. Could hardly pull the door open. Nobody inside. Candles burning in front of some statues. Priest came walking down the aisle toward me, his face black with suspicion until he saw that I was Respectable. Until he noticed I was dressed in a business suit, then he changed right away. Shook hands, etc. Chatted with him for a while, acted sympathetic to his problem. Hoodlums ransack the poorbox, says he. Amazed, outraged, I put on my show of anger, and he points to the boxes broken open & hanging along the wall. Boys not old enough to shave, says he, with switch blade knives prying open those boxes. Clasped my hands in disbelief. Absolutely can’t believe it! I exclaim. Collection envelopes stolen, says he. How awful! No respect for Anything these days. Etc. True, True & he wags his head. Tells me police cars cruise the neighborhood after every parish gathering doing our best to protect the flock,