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第9部分（第1页）

do；？　Vanessa　instructed；　peering　through　the　lens　of　her　digital　video　camera　to　see　if　the　light　was

okay。　？Can　you　clear　some　of　that　shit　off　your　desk？？

Dan　swept　his　arm　over　the　desk　and　sent　pens；　paper　clips；　scraps　of　paper；　rubber　bands；　books；

empty　packs　of　unfiltered　Camels；　matchbooks；　and　empty　Coke　cans　crashing　to　the

brown…carpeted　floor。　They　were　filming　in　Dan？s　room　because　that　was　where　he　usually

worked。　Besides；　it　was　a　straight　shot　through　the　park　from　Constance　Billard　on　East

Ninety…third　Street　between　Fifth　and　Madison　to　Dan？s　apartment　building　on　West　Ninety…ninth

Street　and　West　End　Avenue。

？And　maybe　take　your　shirt　off；　too；？　Vanessa　suggested。Making　Poetry　was　going　to　be　about

the　artistic　process；　illustrating　that　whatdoesn？t　go　into　the　work　is　just　as　important　as　what　does。

There　would　be　lots　of　shots　of　Dan　crumpling　up　paper　and　throwing　it　angrily　across　the　room。

Vanessa　wanted　to　show　that　writing？or　creating　anything；　for　that　matter？wasn？t　just　a　mental

exercise：　it　wasphysical　。　Plus；　Dan　had　these　great　little　muscles　in　his　back　that　she　couldn？t　wait

to　get　on　film。

Dan　stood　up　and　peeled　off　his　plain　black　T…shirt；　tossing　it　onto　his　unmade　bed　where　the

Humphreys？　fat　old　cat；　Marx；　lay　asleep　on　his　back　like　a　furry　beached　whale。　Everything

about　the　apartment　Dan　shared　with　his　father；　Rufus；　an　editor　of　lesser…known　Beat　poets；　and

his　little　sister；　Jenny；　was　unmade；　falling　apart；　or　at　the　very　least　pletely　covered　with　cat

hair　and　dust　bunnies。　It　was　a　large；　bright；　high…ceilinged　apartment；　but　it　hadn？t　been　properly

cleaned　in　twenty　years；　and　the　crumbling　walls　were　gasping　for　a　new　coat　of　paint。　Dan　and

his　father　and　sister　rarely　threw　anything　away；　either；　so　the　sagging　furniture　and　scratched

wooden　floors　were　strewn　with　old　newspapers　and　magazines；　out…of…print　books；　inplete

decks　of　cards；　used　batteries；　and　unsharpened　pencils。　It　was　the　kind　of　place　where　your　coffee

got　cat　hair　in　it　the　minute　you　poured　it；　which　was　a　problem　Dan　dealt　with　constantly　because

he　was　pletely　addicted　to　caffeine。

？Do　you　want　me　to　face　the　camera？？　he　asked；　sitting　down　on　his　worn　wooden　desk　chair

and　swiveling　it　toward　Vanessa。　？I　could　hold　the　notebook　in　my　lap　and　write　like　this；？　he

demonstrated。

Vanessa　knelt　down　and　squinted　through　the　camera　lens。　She　was　wearing　her　gray　pleated

Constance　Billard　uniform　with　black　tights；　and　the　brown　shag　carpet　felt　bristly　against　her

knees。　？Yes；　that？s　nice；？　she　murmured。　Oh；　just　look　how　pale　and　smooth　Dan？s　chest　was！　She

could　see　every　rib；　and　that　nice　line　of　tawny　peach　fuzz　that　ran　up　his　belly　to　his　navel！　She

inched　forward　on　her　knees；　trying　to　get　as　close　as　possible　without　ruining　the　frame。

Dan　bit　the　end　of　his　pen；　smiled　to　himself；　and　then　wrote；She？s　got　a　shaved　head；　she　wears

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