Downbelow Domino, Chapter Eighteen
April 6th, 200818.
Dear Rabbit,
Do you remember ere I called you that? Does ere mean that, “when”? I hope I’m using it right. Do you remember when I used to call you Rabbit? You the Rabbit and I your Cheshire and maybe the world was Alice, then, or maybe one of our toys. Maybe them all. Maybe we outgrew Alice, or fell into a dull lump of wishing for her to come. Maybe our Alice will be a grand mansion to which we move, to get away, to crawl away lost and ever.
Sometimes madness is wisdom, dear heart Michael: perhaps when you feel such urgings as arise in you, such lusts as drive you, you ought simply follow them and abandon the shame which pursues them. Perhaps we ought at last simply be governed by ourselves instead of others, do you not think? When you went off to war — oh Michael. Oh Michael when you allowed a piece of paper to move you across the country. Oh Michael.
Is it possible I have become lost without moving a whit? Can space be merely relative — have I moved because you have left, and I occupy a new space now, one without your shape?
I say Fuck the girl as You like, this Samantha, this judge’s daughter. fuck her as often as possible, fuck her well, trample the flower. I say ruin her deeply. ruin her and find she likes it not near so well as I did. If you dislike virgins so much, perhaps it is good that you are so adept at re-ducing their numbers.
I have done as you asked.
my name is button bright my name is button bright my name is BUTTON bright my name is button BRIGHT my name is button bright my name my name is yr,
Cheshire
#
Dear Cheshire,
I wonder would it pleasure you to know the number of times I engaged with maids, with serving women, with future debutantes, slaking my thirst for you before I finally took you.
I wonder sometimes if I waited too long, and others if I did not wait long enough. It is much like picking a fruit, say a peach or a plum. At any moment, plucking it from its tree is a wager — you may judge its current condition, but even expertise cannot tell you for certain if it is at its peak, with every moment thereafter one of degradation — or if that peak is yet on the horizon, forever unrealized should you consume it. Not only cannot you tell to look at it, but you will never know. A fruit picked, a fruit eaten, is a fruit beyond observation. Once it is interfered with, it cannot resume its natural course.
But one way or the other, the fruit needs to be picked before it drops to rot.
Now, as I have promised you — even, or especially is it?, at those times when you have insisted it is not a favor you require nor will use — I release you and permit you to find pleasure in the company of other men. Mind that I do not mean to the exclusion of our times together: but rather in amplification thereof.
There are stipulations, of course.
I mean you to take these stipulations quite seriously, oh Cheshire.
It is important that you not spoil your appetite. I therefore require that you first of all inform me of the nature of any unusual congress — any quirks of desire you encounter. We both may benefit from such shared explorations, and I think it a good way to learn of the world.
I furthermore discourage you from adopting a too-submissive role with any other man. I do not insist you be the aggressor, either before or after the initial seduction which catalyzes such romps. But do not let your will be too far bent to the desires of men of the world. In this, I look out for you much more than myself. In this, I resume my role as your elder brother first and for most.
Thirdly, I wish for you to retain your youthly proportions and enjoyable fit, and as such I require that you permit access to yourself only by men whose cocks are significantly smaller than my own. I would find it unpleasant to come home to a house left disheveled, as it were, a bed left rumpled with the bedclothes stretched out of their rightful shape. Given the option, choose length over girth. If you find yourself committed to a course of action involving an inappropriately endowed man, you will simply have him in your anus instead, or dispose of him with your mouth or hands. It is convenient that I have made sure you are well-versed in such arts.
Finally, you will sleep with no man who is a business associate of mine or a social acquaintance. I do not wish to hear of your adventures from the other side of the bed, should they not realize your surname.
I do, in fact, advise sex which is anonymous over that which is emotional. I find it has worked well for me, and I think you are masculine enough in spirit that you will find it equally enjoyable.
I will know when you disobey, sweet flower.
Remember too that you are young in the world: men will expect a girl of fourteen to be shy, to be timid. Do try and summon up some semblance of this, or you may addict them.
yr brother, yr love,
Michael.
#
Dear Mike,
The price you pay for having a father who was old when you were born is having to listen to such reminiscing, such wide-eyed looks at this modern age. The benefit, I think, is my long experience in matters of the world. I try very hard not to look down on you, Mike. I hope I succeed, and I invite you to make your complaints known to me when you have them. I try very hard not to treat you as a child, and to remember what it was like to be eighteen.
And so happy birthday, my boy. It is 1959, and you are a man in a world filled with rock and roll, hamburgers, and motorcycles. Such a world as this, such a strange and clever world.
It seems a good time to impart to you my advice concerning the finer flesh, the fairer sex, the matter of women.
I’m not going to embarrass you by repeating the essential facts we discussed years ago, nor by assuming you have no experience. You have dated several girls, and I have no doubt their fathers would have call to be upset with you. But you are a man grown now — you are of the age where your dalliances could become more serious, both emotionally and socially, not to mention financially — or biologically, shall we say.
Do bear with an old man, if I say something which seems obvious? Better to say what is not needed than need what is not said.
Keep your fingernails clean and frequently trimmed, not only for appearance’s sake but practicality. Likewise always have handy a good pair of gloves.
Take no special pride in robbing a woman of her virtue. Indeed, be cautious with virgins — once seduced, they are invariably more trouble than they are worth.
Do not smoke in a woman’s presence, or offer her strong drink other than wine. Do not spit, nor permit words harsher than damn or piss to pass from your lips to her ear.
Do not begrudge a woman for knowing more than you do in some subject or other. You are an intelligent man, intelligent enough that no one of any sex can be smart enough to make you feel dim. Remember, though, that being smart doesn’t make you correct: no more than being correct makes a man smart.
Engage a woman in conversation. Listen to what she says, and if you don’t like it, or don’t like the way she listens, find another woman. There is no beauty in the world whose shine will hide dullness forever.
When sleeping with a woman with no intent of pursuing a relationship outside the bedroom, choose one who is either not very smart or prides herself on being a libertine. Women of less than perfect appearance are often ideal for this, as they may be grateful for any attention you give them. Be cautious of exceptionally beautiful women who prove possible to bed without great effort, or whom you know to have bedded inferior men of low breeding: they want something from you, and if it isn’t money or vows, it is likely some emotional energy to fill a void within them which has caused a neurosis.
Never lie in complimenting a woman. If you can find nothing about her worth complimenting, then there is no motive to lie. The truth has a ring which cannot be forged, though it may under other circumstances be surrogated.
Suffer no abortions if you find your seed has taken root, but do not let yourself be pressured into marriage, either. Make an equitable and honorable arrangement. No woman benefits from marriage to a man who does not wish to be married to her.
When you do eventually have a child — and I think, if you are wise, the first time will be not less than six years from now and not more than ten — advise the doctor to deliver the birth by Caesarian section, for the comfort of your wife and yourself.
Do not speak ill of a woman to her father, and know a woman very well before speaking ill of her father to her — even if she begins the conversation.
If you must keep a mistress, or dally with more than one woman at once, ask yourself if each is giving you something the other or others don’t. If not, make certain that you have not simply fallen victim to habit. If you are spreading yourself among women in order to make it clear to each of them that you are not available for commitment, simply be sure to choose women with unique things to offer you.
Above all, Michael, remain a man. Mind a woman keeps her place. She may, especially in this modern century, express herself in ways which once would have been scandalous or unmannerly, and that is not a shameful thing: a strong woman is a woman you want to keep with you. But however strong she is, she must nevertheless cow to you when it comes down to the wire. The most vicious guard dog on the grounds must still scamper to heel when the master claps.
Love,
your father,
Michael Paul Van Der Linden
#
Dear Rabbit,
But oh I know twas all my own doing, me. Do you, doodly doo? With your Trampmantha, and your fetid little baby girl Clarissa. Oh, I should take them away from you. Oh, I should make you send them away. Keeping me here in your fuckhole. Keeping me here AS your fuckhole. Oh, my beauty bastard, you.
yr
fuck whore
yr love
yr
Cheshire
#
Dear Goofo,
The sky should crack I love you so.
#
Dear Michael,
I cannot believe you would marry a woman — not even a woman, a girl! younger than I! am I too old for you now, too used, too fucked, too soiled, too fucked, too dirty, tu fucked? — about whom you spoke with such contempt. It has made me most upset. If you would marry her — then how much must you hate me? Surely you love her barrels and bushels more than you do me, and so what things would you say of me that would make your comments on her seem shining compliments and sonnets of love?
You hateful boy, you prideful man, you wanton fuck. You want and fuck.
I’ve half a mind to tell Father. He’d never let you marry that Southern trash tramp slut cunt whore then, if he knew you’d been fucking me, fucking me since I was nine, oh you didn’t call it fucking you said we’d wait, said we’d wait until I was old enough, but it counts when it’s my mouth, Michael. It counts when you’re in my mouth, and when you check my tits every day to see if they’ve grown any, and when your fingers are inside me feeling me, like some experiment, like some curious thing, like some toy you haven’t found the workings of, oh, oh, oh it counts. Do you think Father would look easy and kindly on you, to know you’d waited until I was twelve? That for three years, I only tasted you and never bled for you?
He’d never let you then, never let you do anything, he’d send you to your room is what he’d do, he’d send you away, he’d lock you up, like a boy, not a man. You whore bastard tramp.
You know how I get when I’m so upset as this. You know how I do. Oh wasn’t it you, Michael, wasn’t it you that told me. I couldn’t get angry with you, oh I couldn’t ever. Father would know, you said, if I got angry with you Father would know, I must never show anger to my brother, mustn’t ever no, and so it was the boy I went for that one time, wasn’t it though? The banker’s boy, the one they found drowned in the rain barrel. But I cheated, Michael, just like you do. I made him you before he died. I made him be you, for the length of a tickle and the length of a blade — mmm.
I couldn’t be so careful this time. I just — you made me so upset, so do-don’t-ish, don’t you see? don’t you know? why does no one ever speak of this, of feeling like this, does the whole world walk around in bandages and elastics round their hearts, like a corset for the mind, binding until you cannot but barely breathe but oh ain’t you just a picture. Why are there so many soppy novels about this and that and the other but none about what’s real and true?
Michael my love, my love my love, Michael my love my love. Rabbit, Rabbit, give me your answer do — oh I’m half crazy, just for the love of you.
We had foie gras with dinner tonight, darling. It was lovely. I had mine on toast points with wilted greens and wine jelly and I wished you dead by fire and lightning.
But if I couldn’t be angry with you, it left only me. I think — I think I shall be repaired ere — does it mean that, “ere,” does it mean “before”? — you come back, but if not, you shall find my kisses less sweet. As perhaps you might anyway.
Oh Goofo oh, oh you son of a bitch. What you make me do for you, what I make us do for love.
ever,
always,
nothing,
Mia.
#
Michael, my rescuer,
I have news! Oh yes. Such auspicious news. It seems while I was in yr company, Father arranged a MARRIAGE for me! Oh, at last I join my brother in the bonds of holy matrimony. Oh, only not like that, dear.
No, not like that.
Don’t be silly.
yr sister, ever-loving, ever-dutiful,
soon to fill another man’s bed,
Mia.
#
Goofo,
Darling I really do think we must do something about YOU KNOW WHO (that is to say FATHER). I am writing this missive rather quickly while he stews in his whiskey, for we are in grave trouble and not least of all danger. He has somehow found our correspondence. I will not dance about but rather put it plainly: he knows first of all that we have been fucking for years, and second that we each of us have killed here and there. I do not know if he has quantities attached to either quelle scandal, but I am sure he will have choice words and perhaps more choice actions.
I take back every threat I ever made against you, every unkind thing. Michael, sweetheart, we must do something. You must do something. You are older, stronger, and a man. Help me.
Yr
Mia
#
Sweet heart,
I am to marry Samantha Montgomery. She is a sweet girl, if young. She is also with child. Arrangements are being made even as I write this. This shall be my life now: father and husband. You know, too, that it means I will come into the most substantial portion of my inheritance.
Nothing changes between us, dear sister, dear heart, nothing.
I swear it, and remain, always,
yr Rabbit, yr Goofo, ever yr Michael
#
Michael,
Love.
Heart.
Soul.
Torment.
Hate you.
#
Michael,–
rabbGoofo,
Tonight I have decided to hate you.
Do I need a reason?
Above me, far above me in yr HOUSE, yr DO MI NO, I can hear yr wife right now. Right now, that Mrs Samantha Van Der Linden, I can hear her moaning as you fuck her. She is moaning yr name, my Michael. She is moaning my man’s name. Too, too, I can hear the other one moaning, that one you gave me, bought me, the colored girl — is she African, you said? I don’t remember their countries over there any more — but her moans are of such a different timbre, her moans are hunger and ache and I suppose soon I shall tire of her again, and kill her, and send her away.
But I will make her you first, won’t I.
I cannot hurt you the way I can hurt the girl, Michael. But I can hurt you. And tonight, while I hear you fucking your wife, your stupid simpleton tramp of a wife — whom you swore to me, you SWORE you had no interest in and were marrying only because the stupid simple bitch took up pregnant — and if I can hear, so too I assure you can the maids and the butler and most especially special of all, your daughter, who should have been mine, she should have been mine– COULD HAVE been mine, but no, you had to plant her in stupid Trampmantha instead.
And so I will tell you first that I have twice had abortions, and one of them was most definitely yours.
And I will tell you also that Father knew nothing.
He knew nothing.
He suspected nothing.
Even the engagement was my own idea, although Father did believe he took it upon himself. I thought perhaps if I contrived to be married to another, you would finally put Samantha aside and take me instead, fight for me.
You did not.
And so I told you Father had discovered us. I forced you into action, you meek little boy of a thing, you simpering fool, you whining, mewling, weak sop of bread.
I forced you to do what you WANTED, what you needed, what everyone wants from the moment they can walk: to kill your father. You were so clever, weren’t you Michael, weren’t you Michael, so proud not only of your cunning but of your DARING! Oh you foolish thing! Your DARING! As if you truly were a war hero instead of a pampered fop stationed at officers’ clubs until the war politely excused itself from the room with downcast eyes and a cough to cover a mumble. As if burning a house as a man sleeps in it is any kind of daring.
I would even wager your tears at the funeral were real, as Father and the maid we’d made — maid we’d made, maid we’d made, made weed maid, mad wed mad — lay in their covered caskets, lowered into the earth. You didn’t think I’d seen, and truthfully I shouldn’t have, I never should have taken the risk. But I saw, oh, yes, I watched, coming out from my hiding spot in your precious Domino.
When first you told me of this house — of your plans to build me a house beneath Samantha’s house, which you didn’t call by that name but it’s how I think of it, “Domino, Samantha’s house,” with my own the downbelow — I was impressed, truly I was, but now I see it is only a cage. The symbolism is all too clear and blunt and clumsy for it to be anything but true. I am that which you bury, and dig up when you need to use my hole. Samantha is that mincing simple thing you’ve elevated.
You may bury me deep, Michael my love, and you may use me until the end of time and a tick beyond, but oh, oh Goofo, oh Rabbit mine, never ever forget the little girl who made you kill your father.
My name is Button Bright. I’m lost. I don’t know where I came from, and I don’t give a damn.
tonight,
and always,
beneath you,
yr
Mia