Page 29 - Contrast1968

of blood from his mouth replaced by a disgusting green bile
which just oozed out until it seemed as though it would choke
him.

The gun was cold in my hands and I had a crazy compul-
sion to drop it and run--from it, from Martin, from this
revoltingly pitiful animal at my feet. (Wiping yourself off
with old newspaper from a garbage can money's gone and smell
awful and nothing to wash away that taste of puke of blood
that taste of death.) What I did do however was carefully
place the muzzle of the thing behind the horse's ear and
squeeze (this blob of hair and bone and flesh this horse
this man is alive breathing eating making love walking
running running running) tightly (he is in pain but nonethe-
less a live horse man woman brother sister father spic friend)
and fire the gun (this horse this man is dead).

The only thing to break the silence was the sound of
Martin getting sick in the bushes behind me. I tossed the
spent gun and turned to see my horse tearing away in the dis-
tance, frightened by the shot. I felt a chill and realized
that I was soaked with blood.

I walked back to Martin's place alone, getting lost a
few times along the way and by the time I got there he was
waiting for me with a change of clothes and a hot shower. We
passed a long wordless glance and as soon as he went to his
room to change I swiped a bottle of whiskey from somewhere and
poured a long, purifying drink.

I took a towel from the closet and stepped into the
Shower, knowing it would take a lot of scrubbing before I
would be clean again.

Cary Wolfson