Exiles in America(31)

gerous things that needed to be said.

“I don’t think that,” said Zack. “I never thought that. I love you. It’s not

pity. It’s love. What else do you want from me? Do you want me to hate you?

Fear you?”

“I want you to respect me.”

“I respect you. More than you respect yourself.” Zack’s anger was back,

taking control. “You are so spoiled. You’re a good teacher, students love you,

but it’s not enough. You got to be a famous painter. And you’re not, so you’re

pissed at the world. You got to have a grievance. If you don’t have a grievance,

you feel cheated.”

“What do you know about it? Not a damn thing. You are so fucking re-

pressed. I can’t say boo to you for fear you’ll go to pieces. You white-bread

Southern Wasps. You don’t know how to argue.”

“And you do? Don’t give me your Jewish soul crap, because I see enough

of all types to know we’re all screwed up, and Jews handle anger as badly as

everybody else.”

Arguing on the phone alters a fight, disembodies it. Your body is no longer

afraid of anger because you can’t hit the other person. And so you feel free to

say anything, even the worst thing.

“Yeah, you know so much about soul,” sneered Daniel. “So much about

love and sex. Which is why the great love of your life is a dumpy history pro-

fessor.”

Daniel was jealous? That’s what this was about, jealousy?

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

7 1

“Not that it matters,” said Zack, “but I broke off with my history profes-

sor. Last month. I’m not seeing him anymore.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter,” said Daniel without a pause, not sur-

prised in the least. “Because my anger with him wasn’t about him but what he

represented.”

“Yes? And what did he represent?”

“The fact that you don’t love the body the way that I love the body. That

you could love him proved how much you hate the body. We were never right

for each other.”

Zack was stunned by the last sentence. They were never right? He didn’t

know what to say. And while he was silent, his anger built up. Then it broke

out.

“Don’t give me that mind-body dichotomy bullshit! It’s not like you’re Mr.

Happy Animal Body. Or like I’m Mr. All Brain and No Body. You might want

to be all body and no brain, which is why you want to get away from me. But

it won’t work, Daniel. You’ll be just as miserable without me.”

“No, Zack. Sorry. I’ve been down here three months, and I’ve never been

happier. I hate to say it, but life without you is so much easier. It’s less com-

plicated. I like being the new kid in town. I like being single. I feel lighter and

freer than I’ve felt in years.”

Zack was speechless again. Then he said, “You know what I say? I say fuck

you. You were always more trouble than you were worth. I can’t believe that

I wasted ten years of my life with such a lightweight.”

“And you’re a ball and chain, Zack. A fucking ton of bricks. And I say fuck

you and good riddance. And fuck you and good night!”

And Daniel hung up, not slamming the phone but coldly clicking it off. He

disappeared into the sad, outer space roar of a dial tone.

Zack lowered the receiver. What just happened? How had they gone from

anger to apology to more anger to the complete burning of bridges? The psy-

chiatrist could reconstruct the argument, but it was a common fool who had

said those things. Daniel struck a nerve when he accused Zack of hating the

body. It was like calling him bad sex. But Zack never thought that he was

great sex, and their love had never been about sex.

7 2

C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m

With Daniel no longer on the line, Zack could not blame Daniel, he could

blame only himself. He felt like he’d just committed murder. He feared he

wouldn’t sleep a wink that night. Nevertheless, when he fell into bed, he

dropped like a rock, exhausted, into a black ocean of sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he knew what he should do. He can-

celed his appointments and called National car rental. By ten o’clock, he was

on the New Jersey Turnpike, headed south. He hated driving, he drove so

rarely, but it seemed the right penance, a four-hundred-mile meditation exer-

cise that would put him in the right frame of mind for saying goodbye to

Daniel. That’s what he intended to do. You don’t terminate a decade of your

life over the phone. It was too easy. He had said goodbye only to the sound of

Daniel, the idea of Daniel. If he were truly saying goodbye, he must do it face-