Memphis? We gotta finish with the kid
first, but Iвm too tired now. I gotta cop
some Zвs, Sergeant Ducky. Can you clam
it?"
I was terrified. A slug in the kill
jar?the sting of jasmine like carbon
tetrachloride?I curled away from Izzyвs
body, my skin electric with loathing. He
yawned and stretched. His arm looped
across my shoulders. His head lolled
against my chin. The feel of that clammy
bald spot. I tried to be the sun, huge,
distant, omnipotent.
Through the hole in my mind images
stuttered: Mayan priest pederasts;
surgeons, masked and gloved, their hands
in my bowels; Shaman shaking and shaking
his head; the Space People, the desert, my
father?Run! "Please let me out," I said,
one of me.
"Shit!" said Izzy. "I forgot this
happens." He stopped the hole with his
finger.
How did you do that? He didnвt hear me.
"Savvy, stop the car," said Izzy One-brow.
Sarvaduhka groaned and pulled onto the
shoulder. "We get no rest until heвs
cauterized."
I felt as if I were being buried alive.
The sudden constriction, even though it
produced a more normal-sized, more
workable mind, was suffocating. Izzy
amputated the world. As soon as the car
stopped, he pushed open the door and
shoved me out. He fell out on top of me,
wrestled me down. "Sarvaduhka!" he
shouted. "Help me."
"Is this legal?" the Indian said. I heard
his door open, then slam shut. He was
pressing me down. I was scrambling and
wheezing after something like breath or
like my name, or else I was trying to
cough it up. My name, too small for me,
