The Diary of a Rapist. Evan S. Connell
of my own. Maybe I’m just afraid to defend myself. Don’t know for sure. Probably a good idea to have things out with her—let her know I’m not what she thinks I am. Oh, I could agree with her on certain points, admit I’m far from perfect, then point out that neither is she! No argument there & that would give us both a chance to discuss the situation. Ideas fester in silence, things get poisoned. Seems that we’re usually drifting into ugly positions without meaning it. Last Saturday those two—a thousand times since then I’ve seen that one with her fat legs spread beneath the table. Waving her knees while she sucked on a pencil. Frowning, then giggling as if she didn’t know! Glancing at me. Pulling at her skirt. Nobody’s going to tell me it wasn’t on purpose, she knew exactly what she was doing. Think how satisfying it would be to make her suffer. Slice into those pudgy warm thighs with a razor. Yes, then tell Bianca to put the blame where it belongs! Tell B to make them act decently. But of course she’s always enjoyed scolding me, it’s happened often enough. As a matter of fact B might have been in on that because she didn’t say a word when that little slut opened up, then when I was fool enough to get closer she was after me green with rage—except it wasn’t any sort of rage, it was Excitement. My lioness.
FEBRUARY 15
News report tonight says some divorcee in San Rafael woke up early this morning and saw a man standing beside her bed with a stocking mask over his face. According to the newscaster she got away. I doubt it. Have a feeling she was tied up with a sheet—almost as though I dreamed it. Trussed like a dainty white animal, tied into a sack so tight she could only move her toes, the Parts hanging out of the mouth—those hairy purple lips. Packed stiff as a sausage. Probably gagged & blindfolded so she looked like a mummy and couldn’t struggle. Flashlight, gloves, etc. Groans, whispers. Probably he used a knife. Makes me think of savages drawing pictures on walls of their cave showing animals with spears sticking out all over them, blood streaming down their sides. That’s how it was, she didn’t get away. Doubt if she wanted to get away. No proof that she struggled. After all, they get accustomed to being tied up, examined. Enjoying every minute of it. I know what they are. I’m tempted to tell Bianca, ask what she thinks. For a joke might ask how she’d like it if I crawled through a window some night after she’s gone to sleep. I could tie her to the bed. Then carve away! Yes, see how she likes it. Or shove in a broomstick—a bird on a spit! That would serve her right for what she’s done to me. Sits at her dressing table polishing her fingernails and realize I’m married to a hag with spots on her hands. Looks older than she is, maybe that’s the reason she takes it out on me. Those creases in her neck, hair getting stringy, teeth yellow from smoking & her eyes puffy. She looks at least forty years old and every day she’s cutting me into little parts. Another 6 months & there won’t be much left.
FEBRUARY 16
Saturday. Execution scheduled for Monday has been postponed. Legal squabbling. However, the chamber’s scrubbed and inspected, the metalware polished every week whether we’re having a sacrifice or not. I’d like to visit the place, chat with the men on Death Row. It sounds extremely interesting. McA says they’re allowed out of their cells two hours a day and are permitted to walk up and down the corridor and play table tennis, but are not permitted to see outside. No matter how long they stay there they don’t once see the water of the bay or the countryside—not from the moment they’re carted through the gate until they’re carted out again to be buried. Thinking about it puts me in a strange mood.
And so to bed.
FEBRUARY 17
Sunday. Bianca tutoring. Decided that I couldn’t put up with it. Went out, slammed the door, spent today riding around the city on one bus after another while attempting to organize my thoughts, gain control of myself. Bus to the beach was crowded, found myself pressing against a girl in beret and a red coat. She looked at me over her shoulder, I pretended not to notice. I must have looked as bland as a dish of pudding. Got off when she got off, followed, glared at her to see what effect it would have. She heard my steps I think but didn’t once glance back, walking faster and faster into the fog. Too bad it wasn’t night. Wanted to hit her on the back of the neck with something sharp. Amused me to watch her scurrying along clikety-clik. Pretended I didn’t exist, even so there wasn’t a doubt in my mind about her being afraid. Put my hand in my pocket, squeezing away, and she knew what I was doing. If it wasn’t what she wanted why had she darkened her eyes with cosmetics? Why? Lips painted, shaved legs. I’ll never believe they aren’t inviting us to do whatever we want to do. Shouted something at her. Remember being surprised at that because I wasn’t thinking about saying anything to her, wasn’t even planning to get close to her—then all at once the shout. She started running and right then I got wet and just stood there for several minutes looking around. Don’t know what happened to her, where she disappeared to. Don’t know why I stood there. Gazing around like a dog with an egg in its teeth, then strolled off. Most of all I can’t understand why I shouted. Had no intention of doing that. The more I think about it the more puzzled I am. As though somebody inside of me is actually the one who’s giving orders. Hmm! Don’t like this idea because I’ve always been proud of my self-control. Maybe that, too, is an illusion. If so, what’s left? If I can’t account for myself I’m nothing.
FEBRUARY 18
McAuliffe again asked to borrow money. Last time he asked I refused and felt guilty ever since, so this time lent it to him. $20—he swears he’ll pay it back next week. I hope so. Yes, I know he will.
Aside from that an uneventful day. Sun came out for a while—somebody said. I wouldn’t know. Blinds lowered as always. I never have understood the reason. If the Bureau doesn’t want us to know what’s going on outside why did they build those enormous windows? I ought to ask but Fensdeicke wouldn’t know either. It’s simply the policy, she’d say, and think it was odd of me to ask. No sense risking criticism. Blinds down permanently and there we are—ninety of us illuminated by those fluorescent tubes like so many insects. I think it would be more cheerful working inside a casket. If a laborer comes through the door dripping and leaves a puddle on the linoleum I can make a guess about the weather, otherwise no telling. Overcast when I walked into that mausoleum this A.M. and overcast when I was released at 5. If the sun came out today I’d have to take somebody’s word for it.
What else? Photograph in the paper of a woman in New York or someplace back there being carried out of a burning hotel. She was unconscious, at least it looked that way, her head flung back. Nightgown had blown apart & showed precious little triangle of flesh as white as cheese. Thinking about it makes me nervous, I ought to stop. If not I know what I’ll do. Reminds me of McA talking about that hotel chambermaid who was held prisoner for several weeks and tortured. He claims her little Passageway was stuffed full of lighted cigarettes, but of course he may have invented the story just to see how I reacted. In either case I was careful not to reveal my thoughts.
Otherwise? The usual. Deadly tedium. That’s just how I feel. Sluggish. Depressed. Bored. I don’t know what to do. Try to comprehend what goes on around me day and night but it’s hopeless. I’m shoved to the Left, dragged to the Right. How long has it been since anybody on earth asked for my opinion about anything? What difference does it make what I believe or what I want? Does anybody listen? Nobody even sees me.
FEBRUARY 19
Washington’s Birthday next Friday, something to be grateful for. B’s school and the office both close. I could ask if she’d like to see the parade, or go to Aquatic Park for the program. Possibly both, although there’ll be a crowd. We’ll have to go early to get a seat in the grandstand. It’s worth a try.
Enough for tonight. I’m worn out. Might be wise to conceal this. She doesn’t care what I do, just the same I think she’s curious and might come in here while I’m away, pry around. All right, Earl, think of a secret place.
FEBRUARY 20
According to news on TV we’ve developed a missile they say is capable of carrying more Death & Destruction than ever before in all human history. Looks like pretty soon we’re going to be able to split the world