Chapter 7
Janie had spent the entire day in the underprivileged section of Port Harris. She had interviewed many people, both men and women, and in some instances, young girls and boys. She had secured a lot of data for her report. It seemed that poor people were willing to talk about their sex life with few inhibitions. She was glad. She had feared this part of her work, but it had gone well.
It was nearly dark when Janie stopped at a cheap restaurant for a cup of coffee and to check over the information she had secured. Sipping her coffee, she decided on one more call, and she decided that she would make it in the very worst part of the bad section of town. It seemed the honest way to secure a true cross-section of opinions and attitudes.
Janie put her notes back in her briefcase and let her mind wander. She remembered Adam Longfellow and his friends and her rejection of his advances. She wondered how it had been possible for her, for she had been filled with drugs, enough, surely, to push her toward Adam, or any man, for a sexual interlude. But she had resisted. She had not given herself. And she was sure that in some way it was because of David Chalmers and the affection for him that she found growing within herself. He had called her several times, but he had made no offer of a date or any arrangements for an opportunity to be with her. He encouraged her to finish her work, said he was available if she needed him for anything, and that was all. Perhaps she was being optimistic, she cautioned herself. Perhaps David Chalmers had a dozen women who intrigued him more than one sociologist. Perhaps.
Janie finished her coffee. She paid for it, picked up her briefcase, then left the restaurant. It was dark, and Janie almost decided against this last interview. But then she saw that she was only two blocks from the section she wanted and she decided to walk to it, leaving her car parked by the restaurant.
The streets were dirty and Uttered and Janie wondered why this was always one of the symbols of poverty. There were many answers that she had already learned from textbooks, but none of them seemed adequate for her. Was it a show of hostility for society? she wondered. Was it perhaps a way to snub one's nose at authority, in this instance, city authority? Was it carelessness? Laziness? What? Janie shook her head and walked on, hoping that she would find a willing subject at the first house where she would stop.
Janie chose an old frame structure, dilapidated, the gray paint on the framework chipping off, the stairs broken and dangerous.
She maneuvered her way up the broken steps, stepped carefully across the front porch, then reached through a broken screen door to gently tap on the other door. In a moment she heard footsteps. And then the door was opened.
A young man faced Janie. He smiled. He was of medium height and dark, of some foreign extraction she guessed. His eyes were candid. They stared at the bulge her breasts made against her thin blouse.
"Well, hello," he said, slurring the words in a lurid way as his eyes busied themselves over the rest of her body.
"Hello," Janie said. "I'm Jane Kent and I'm conducting interviews about a subject that I have an obligation to report. I wonder if I might come in and talk to the lady of the house-or, if she's not available, the man of the house."
The man's eyes turned suspicious looking. "Are you from the health department?"
"Oh, no," she said.
"Welfare department, maybe?" he asked.
"No, not the welfare department either," she said, smiling. "I don't represent any city department-only myself. But I am a sociologist."
"If you're not from the city, what do you want with us then?" the man asked.
"I want to interview you."
"About what?"
Janie hesitated, then said, "About your habits-about your sex habits."
First, the man looked startled, then he grinned. "You're kiddin', " he said.
"No, I'm not," she said.
"But the old lady ain't home."
"I can interview you if you'll let me," she said.
His eyes went up and down her body. "I'll let you, okay, but let's make it snappy, eh?" Janie nodded.
The man opened the door wide, then stood aside. Janie entered the house. It was a mess, a frightful mess. Dirty dishes of several days duration were piled on the table and in the sink and on the floor. There was a baby crib piled high with dirty clothes.
"Sit down," the man said, motioning to a couch that had broken springs sticking out.
Janie moved to the couch. She suddenly realized that the man was alone in the house. On the porch, she had heard a baby cry, but now she heard the sound again and Janie realized that it came from next door. She was alone with the man. She felt a little frightened. The man brought a stool over to Janie's feet, then lowered to it, perching himself at her feet like a child in front of his teacher. His eyes continued to be busy bees over her body, touching at her breasts and waist and hips, and at her legs.
"Okay, go ahead, ask me something about sex," the man said, grinning. "I'll answer anything you ask me."
"Well, I have a set of questions here," Janie said. She reached to where she had placed her briefcase on the floor next to the couch. As she reached and extracted the papers that she wanted, she became aware of the top parts of her breasts exposing themselves above her blouse. The man was aware of it too. He peered at the opening in her blouse intently.
"All right, here we are," Janie said, trying to be casual.
The man laughed.
She looked at him, then turned away for his eyes were wicked and teasing and looked directly at her.
Janie stared at the questions in her notebook. She knew them well, but she stared at them as an excuse not to look directly at the man.
"How old are you?" Janie asked.
"Twenty-six," he replied.
"Married?"
"Yeah."
"How long?"
"Six or seven years, I think."
"All right," she said, glancing at him. "And where do you work."
"I don't."
"Oh."
"I'm on welfare-you know what welfare is, heh."
"Yes."
"Ask me something else-something better," he said, leaning back on the stool and hooking one bent leg with his hands while he continued to stare at Janie.
"Yes, I will," she said. "Do you have any children?"
"Six."
"Oh, my, how nice," she offered.
"It ain't nice at all. It's always a mistake, and my old-lady is always careless-careless like hell, she is."
"Well, yes, I see."
"Come on, ask me about that sex stuff you said you were going to."
"I'm getting to that," Janie explained. Then she asked, "Did you have relations with your wife before you were married?"
He looked puzzled, then said, "Naw, it's always been the same, she's got her relations, I got mine."
"I mean, did you have sexual relations with your wife before you were married."
"Oh, yeah, lots of times. We lived together for a couple of years. You know, trying it out." He laughed hard.
Something in the way the man laughed warned Janie that she had better hurry and have the interview ended. Suddenly she felt terribly frightened. She wanted to be out of the house and away from the man. It was dark outside; there were no lights inside; there was only the man perched on the stool at her feet.
"Well, thank you for the information," Janie said.
"That will do fine. And-and thank you." He scowled. Then he struck his hand out and clapped it on Janie's knee. "Naw, that ain't all.
You said you wanted to ask me some questions-that was nothing-now ask 'em, goddamn it, or don't you think I'm good enough to give you the smart answers that you want. I'm good enough, I tell ya. I sure as hell am."
"Of-of course you are," Janie said.
"Then ask some goddamn questions."
Janie's mind whirled with indecision. If she asked more questions, the man might interpret it as seductive behavior, and if she didn't ask some, he might become angrier, more hostile, even do her bodily harm. She couldn't think of the right thing to do and, she doubted that in a situation such as this, anything would be right.
"Ask the questions," the man said again.
"Just give me a moment to collect my thoughts," she said.
"Sure, sure, go right ahead. Collect all you want. And in the meantime, I'll get us a glass of wine."
"No-please--. "
"You'll like it," he said. "I promise you."
Janie was completely flustered. She wanted to run and leave the house, but she was afraid to. And she was afraid to stay. She looked around the room as if seeking some avenue of escape. There were many, but the man, only a few paces away in the open kitchen, kept looking at Janie. She was sure that he would leap at her if she made a move.
In a moment, the man returned with two tall glasses of very red wine.
"Here, you'll like this. I made it myself," he said.
Janie accepted the glass. It was now so dark that she could only make out the dark form of the man. But his eyes seemed to burn through the darkness. Then he came closer and reassumed the stool as his seat.
"Go ahead-drink," he commanded.
Janie raised the glass to her lips and took a tiny bit of the wine.
"Naw, not like that," the man said. "Drink it down-fast-take a big swallow."
Janie took some more of the wine. This time she took enough to notice the burn it caused at her throat. It was very sour and bitter.
"Good, hey?" the man said
"Yes. It's-very good," Janie said.
The man laughed, then he raised his glass and downed the entire contents of the glass.
"Wine is good for the blood," the man commented. He dropped the glass on the floor next to his stool.
"Yes, I've heard that too," Janie said, hoping that she sounded calm and conversationally inclined.
"And blood is good for a man-good blood in a man makes him love a woman good." He paused, then laughed very hard, saying through the laughter, "Hey, that should be one of your questions, hey?"
"It's-interesting," Janie said. She paused, then placed the glass on the floor beside the couch. "And now I really have to go."
Janie started to rise from the couch, but the man's hand shot out and pushed hard against her thighs, forcing her to sit again.
"You ain't goin' no place, lady," he growled. "Not yet."
"But I must leave. I'm late now."
"I won't keep you long," he said.
Janie started to protest again, but words would not form in her throat. And then it was too late for words. The man's hand lashed out again, this time catching Janie's blouse in a hard grip. The man twisted the material into a knot, then jerked her hard toward him, pulling her off the couch, making her fall in a position that stretched her on the floor, her head in his lap.
"Please-, " she cried.
"Shut up."
"But--. "
"I said to shut up!"
Janie tried to raise from her prone position, but the man's hand gripped her tighter and pushed hard against her breasts, forcing her back to his lap.
"You just be quiet, bitch," the man hissed. "Don't act so uppity up with me. I know you snotty bitches, all right. Coming down into this part of town-pretending to be askin' questions-all that crap-heh, there's only one thing any of you snotty bitches ever come down here for and that's this." He dropped his free hand to himself and made an obscene gesture.
Janie, breathing hard, turned her head away from the man.
"Look at me, goddamn it," he shouted.
Janie turned and looked up into his face. Then she arched, tensed all her body, hoping that this sign of her resistance would be enough to make the man free her. It was not. He held her tighter. He laughed again. Then, with his free hand, he reached for the hem of Janie's skirt. He gripped it and jerked it high, so high that it bunched around her waist and exposed her naked thighs and hips and legs.
"Ah, what a bitch," the man exclaimed, looking down at the white of her flesh. "Well, one thing I'll say for you bitches, you know where to come to get it."
Janie started to plead again, but she stopped abruptly. The man's hand was at her thighs, pressing, pushing, jamming, wrestling to make a lodging. And then they succeeded, did so because Janie knew that it was hopeless to resist. He touched her, then touched again, jamming his hand hard this time.
Janie turned her head away. Then she felt the grip at her blouse slacken, even as the other contact the man made with her increased in intensity.
For a moment, she thought she was about to be set free. But it was not so. The man pushed off from his stool, forced her to her back upon the floor, then became a dark shadow hovering over her. He brought his other hand away from her. He bunched her skirt higher around her waist and set her feet in the position he desired. Then he lurched and jammed himself to her.
Janie felt his body with hers and felt absolutely no sensation from it. The man groaned and lurched and shot himself to her again and again, and she had no doubt that in his neighborhood he was considered a superior lover. But it meant nothing to her. She was without response for the stranger's mighty effort upon her body.
"Come along," he groaned. "Goddamn it, come along with me-move-move-move, you bitch, move-move-move!"
Janie could not. And did not. And in a few minutes it was over as the man made a final lurching motion, groaned a curse, collapsed upon her, stayed there a moment, then rolled off her body as he mumbled new curses, all of them directed to her and her unresponsiveness to him.
Janie scrambled to her feet. She smoothed her skirt down. She felt hurt and raw and dirty. But when the man moved, she turned, picked up her briefcase, and quickly dashed from the house, from the man, from the neighborhood and the corruption of it.
Safely home in her house, Janie wondered again about the wisdom of continuing the final stages of her survey. It had already cost her heavily: It would no doubt continue to take its toll of her feelings until it was completed. But complete it she would, no matter what the cost.