SAY THAT AGAIN?"
"SIZE DOES MATTER," SHE SAYS, WHILE LOOKING OUT THE WINDSHIELD.
"DOES OR DOESN'T?" I SAY, FOLLOWED BY A SHORT LAUGH. ALTHOUGH I HEARD WHAT SHE SAID AND KNOW THE TONE, IT STILL GRATES. I ACCELERATE, WHICH ISN'T EASY WITH A BICYCLIST IN FRONT OF US. I HAVE TO SWERVE TO THE LEFT AND LEAN ON THE HORN AND BASICALLY BE OBNOXIOUS TO MAKE HER YIELD, AND I ADMIT I PASS HER A LITTLE TOO CLOSELY FOR HER COMFORT. WE'RE DRIVING DOWN PRINSENGRACHT, AND ALREADY ON EDGE BECAUSE I'VE MISSED LUNCH AND KNOW I WON'T GET DINNER UNTIL I GET HOME AND MAKE IT FOR BOTH OF US, THE LAST THING I WANT TO HEAR IS THAT I'M TOO SMALL. MAYBE I AM TOO SMALL -- O.K., LET'S SAY I AM -- BUT I'VE LIVED WITH IT, G
OTTEN USED TO IT, AND, UNTIL NOW -- WITH ONE OR TWO EXCEPTIONS THAT I QUICKLY PUT IN THE BACK OF THE CLOSET -- I'VE DECIDED TO FORGET IT. I MEAN, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, KILL MYSELF OVER IT? SIZE DOES MATTER. JESUS. SO WHAT ELSE IS NEW? AND WHAT EVER APENED TO SMALL IS BEAUTIFUL? SIZE DOES MATTER. THAT'S THE LAST PROBLEM I NEED. "SO TELL ME WHAT ELSE MATTERS, SINCE YOU'RE KIND ENOUGH TO BE HONEST WITH ME."
"O.K., COLOR.," SHE SAYS.
"COLOR DOES MATTER,"
"YUP."
"GREAT. NOW I'M THE WRONG COLOR." ACTUALLY, I'VE KNOWN THAT FOREVER, TOO. AND SO HAVE YOU. SO HAS ANYONE WHO LOOKS AT ME. WHEREVER I GO, THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD KNOWS I'M THE WRONG COLOR. BUT IT COULD BE WORSE. AFTER ALL, PEOPLE IN AMSTERDAM ARE PRETTY OPEN-MINDED ABOUT THINGS. . . PEOPLE. . . ME. MORE OR LESS. WITH A FEW UNPLEASANT EXCEPTION HERE AND THERE. I PUT THOSE IN THE BACK OF THE CLOSET, TOO. IT MUST BE BECAUSE OF MY PLUMMETING BLOOD SUGAR LEVEL, BUT I JUST HAVE TO DRIVE FASTER -- AND BRAKE HARDER. AND WATCH HER JERK FORWARD AND SLAM BACK IN THE SEAT WHEN I STOP. AND JUST TO PAY HER BACK EVEN MORE FOR HER HONESTY, I'M TEMPTED IN A PUERILE WAY TO MAKE AN ILLEGAL LEFT TURN UP NIEUWE SPIEGELSTRACHT. WHICH, ON SECOND THOUGHT, I DO -- HEH, HEH -- NO SWEAT. AND WITH TIRES SQUEALING. NOW SHE'S SURE AS HELL GLARING AT ME. "WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?" I SAY, IN RESPONSE TO HER STARE. "YOU TELL ME I'M TOO SMALL AND THE WRONG COLOR. ANYTHING ELSE?" NOW I'M HEADING UP KEIZERGRACHT, PAST BEAUTIFUL HOUSES WITH CURTAINLESS WINDOWS AND GUYS INSIDE FOR WHOM SIZE DOESN'T MATTER. OR DOES, BUT WHO DON'T HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT BECAUSE THEY'VE GOT IT. SIZE. FOR THEM, SIZE DOESN'T MATTER. NOT ONE GODDAMN BIT. AND THEY'VE GOT THE RIGHT COLOR, TOO. IN FACT, THEY'RE THE GUYS WHO HAVE INVENTED THE WHOLE SYSTEM. SO OF COURSE THEY'RE THE RIGHT SIZE AND COLOR. AND, OF COURSE, WHY WOULD THEY DECIDE THAT THE RIGHT SIZE AND COLOR AREN'T THEIRS, BUT MINE. NOW THAT WOULD BE NEWS. 'BIG GUYS WITH CORRECT COLOR AND SIZE DETERMINE THAT, IN REALITY, THEY'VE GOT THE WRONG SIZE AND COLOR. WHO, THEN, DOES HAVE THE RIGHT SIZE AND COLOR? HIM.' AND THEY POINT AT ME. AT MY SMALL SIZE AND DIFFERENT COLOR. THAT'LL BE THE DAY. AND ALL I CAN DO IS DRIVE BY THEIR CURTAINLESS WINDOWS WITH THE WARM LIGHTING INSIDE AND THE BOOKCASES AND THE FRAMED PRINTS ON THE WALLS AND THE MIRRORS THAT REFLECT THEIR CORRECT COLOR AND SIZE AND ACCEPT IT. OR NOT ACCEPT IT, AND TORTURE MYSELF. OR NOT ACCEPT IT AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. SOMETHING HORRIBLE. SOMETHING I'LL REGRET. SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE EVERYONE SAY: OH, HIM. HE'S THE GUY WHO WAS TOO SMALL AND THE WRONG COLOR AND WHO COULDN'T DEAL WITH IT. SIZE MATTERED TO HIM, SO HE KILLED HIMSELF. OR HE KILLED SOMEONE ELSE. OR HE SLAMMED HIS CAR INTO A CROWD OF PEOPLE WHO WERE THE RIGHT SIZE AND COLOR AND KILLED THEM AND HIMSELF. AND, THE CRAZY BASTARD, HE DIED SMILING. HE'S SMILING NOW JUST AT THE THOUGHT OF IT. "AND I SUPPOSE MONEY MATTERS, TOO," I SAY TO HER WHILE DOWNSHIFTING HARD AND SQUEALING TO A HALT AT THE RAADHUISSTRAAT INTERSECTION.
"NOT REALLY," SHE SAYS.
"IT DOESN'T?" I GUN THE MOTOR. NOT THAT I HAVE MONEY. I DON'T. THAT'S ALMOST
AS EVIDENT AS MY WRONG COLOR. BUT WHAT A JOLT. MONEY DOESN'T MATTER. I TURN RIGHT AND HEAD TOWARD THE CENTER. I'VE JUST LEARNED THAT I DON'T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT MAKING MONEY ANYMORE. MONEY WON'T MAKE MY WRONG COLOR RIGHT. MONEY WON'T MAKE MY SMALL SIZE BIGGER. I SHOULD FEEL RELIEVED -- BUT I DON'T.
"WELL," SHE SAYS, "MONEY DOESN'T REALLY MATTER. . . IN YOUR CASE."
"HOW'S THAT?"
"SEE, MONEY ONLY MATTERS IF YOU'VE GOT SIZE AND COLOR."
"WHICH I DON'T."
"SORRY."
"I DON'T GET IT. WOULDN'T MONEY COUNT FOR SOMETHING SINCE I DON'T HAVE SIZE AND COLOR? WOULDN'T IT MAKE UP FOR MY LACK OF SIZE AND COLOR?"
"OF COURSE IT WOULD," SHE SAYS. "BUT THAT'S THE POINT. A SMART GUY LIKE YOU WOULD KNOW THAT MONEY IS BUYING YOU WHAT YOUR SMALL SIZE AND WRONG COLOR CAN'T GET ON THEIR OWN. MONEY WOULDN'T SATISFY YOU."
"TERRIFIC. BUT WOULDN'T IT SATISFY YOU?"
"THAT'S PROSTITUTION."
"AN HONORABLE PROFESSION."
"YEAH, BUT BETTER NOT TO GO DOWN THAT PATH."
"WHAT? YOU MEAN THIS STREET?" WE'RE NOW ON PRINS HENDRIKKADE, AND I'M SPEEDING DANGEROUSLY. IT'S A SMALL CONSOLATION FOR MY SMALL SIZE AND WRONG COLOR. IT WOULD BE EVEN MORE OF A CONSOLATION IF SHE SEEMED SCARED BY HOW FAST WE WERE GOING.
"NO," SHE SAYS, "I MEAN YOU SHOULDN'T TRY TO MAKE A LOT OF MONEY TO COMPENSATE FOR WHAT YOU DON'T AND WILL NEVER HAVE."
"THANKS FOR THE TIP. SINCE WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT, WHAT'S YOUR VIEW ON GOOD TECHNIQUE?"
"YOU MEAN, MAKING HER FORGET SMALL SIZE AND WRONG COLOR? NOT IMPRESSED. SO MUCH OF IT IS PSYCHOLOGICAL."
"HEY, FIRST YOU SAY IT'S PHYSICAL, NOW IT'S ALL IN YOUR HEAD?"
"WATCH OUT!"
"JESUS, WHAT WAS THAT?"
"YOU JUST RAN OVER A CAT!"
"ARE YOU SURE?"
"YES!"
"WELL," I SAY, "THAT'S GOOD NEWS." IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR IT LOOKS LIKE A DOG. "I LIKE DOGS." WE'RE ON HERENSTRAAT, A LOVELY STREET WITH, UH, STRAY ANIMALS CROSSING IT CARELESSLY AT NIGHT. "SO TECHNIQUE'S NOT WORTH DISCUSSING."
"NOT IN THE BIG PICTURE.," SHE SAYS.
"SO IT ALL BOILS DOWN TO FATE."
"WHAT?"
"SIZE. AND COLOR."
"WELL, IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, I'D SAY THAT SIZE MATTERS MORE THAN COLOR."
"WHY, SINCE I HAVE NEITHER, WOULD THAT MAKE ME FEEL ANY BETTER?"
"BECAUSE SIZE YOU CAN HIDE, BUT COLOR YOU CAN'T."
"TRUE. I'M SO RELIEVED."
"IN OTHER WORDS, IF YOU WEREN'T SO SMALL, IT WOULD MAKE UP FOR YOUR WRONG COLOR. SO, SINCE MOST OF THE TIME NO ONE KNOWS YOU'RE SMALL, IF THEY ASSUME -- WRONGLY -- THAT YOU'RE NOT SO SMALL, IT MAKES YOU LOOK BETTER THAN IF THEY WERE SURE YOU WERE BOTH SMALL AND THE WRONG COLOR."
"UH, RIGHT. . . AND WHAT ABOUT THOSE WHO, ON SEEING ME, THINK THAT I'M ALSO SMALL?"
"THOSE ARE BOTH SKEPTICAL AND REALISTIC PEOPLE ."
"HOW SO?"
"COLOR AND SIZE GO TOGETHER."
"OH, I SEE. WHAT THIS ALL BOILS DOWN TO IS FATE. THIS IS MY DESTINY, RIGHT?"
"WELL, A LOT OF PEOPLE FIND ACCEPTANCE EASIER THAT WAY."
"OH MY GOD, NOW YOU SOUND LIKE A THERAPIST," I SAY, AND GLANCE OVER AT HER. IN THE SEMI-DARKNESS, SHE LOOKS SULLEN.
"IS THIS O.K.?" I ASK. WE'RE ON AN ANONYMOUS STREET. SHE CONTINUES TO STARE OUT THE WINDSHIELD. ON OUR RIGHT IS A CANAL. ON OUR LEFT, DARKENED LOW-RISES. HERE, PEOPLE HAVE CURTAINS, READ LESS, HAVE LESS ARTFUL TASTE, FEWER MIRRORS, AND GO TO BED EARLY. WITHOUT WAITING FOR HER RESPONSE, I PULL THE CAR OVER AND PARK IT NEAR THE CANAL, TURN OFF THE ENGINE, EXTINGUISH THE HEADLIGHTS. I UNBUCKLE MY SEAT BELT AND TURN TO UNBUCKLE HERS.
"DON'T," SHE SAYS, AND PUSHES MY HAND AWAY. I'M GETTING HUNGRIER AND HUNGRIER BY THE SECOND. I LAY MY HAND ON HER LEG.
"KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU BLACK BASTARD!" SHE SAYS, WITHOUT MOVING. I CAN BARELY KEEP FROM LAUGHING, NOT LEAST OF ALL BECAUSE, FOR ONE THING, I'M USUALLY NOT BLACK. I'VE ALMOST FORGOTTEN HOW HUNGRY I AM. I'D ALMOST LIKE TO SIT BACK DOWN, START UP THE CAR, DRIVE ON AND TALK ABOUT THIS NEW TWIST. BUT I HAVE A BUSY DAY TOMORROW. I DO PUT MY HAND BETWEEN HER LEGS AND SHE TRIES TO CLAW ME. I COUNTER WITH MY OTHER HAND, PIN HERS BEHIND HER HEAD AND AT THE SAME TIME PULL HER HEAD GENTLY TO MINE AND KISS HER. SHE STRUGGLES, BUT WITH ME UNBUCKLED AND HER STILL BUCKLED, IT'S A FOREGONE CONCLUSION. STILL KISSING HER, I NOW STRADDLE THE STICK SHIFT, CLIMB OVER TO HER SIDE OF THE CAR, RECLINE HER SEAT BACK AND PRESS MYSELF DOWN ON TOP OF HER. SHE TRIES TO KNEE ME IN THE GROIN BUT HITS MY STOMACH. THAT'S REALLY TOO MUCH, I WANT TO TELL HER. I CONTINUE TO KISS HER WHILE SHE STRUGGLES AND SPITS OUT INVECTIVE:
"MINABLE! IMPUISSANT!" AND OTHER INSULTS IN FRENCH. WHY FRENCH, I'LL ASK HER LATER. I'VE NO MORE INTEREST IN DISCUSSION. SHE, ON THE OTHER HAND, FINALLY WANTS TO EXPRESS HERSELF, BUT NOW IN A LANGUAGE THAT ONLY SHE BETWEEN US UNDERSTANDS. I REALLY DO HAVE TO UNBUCKLE HER SEAT BELT IF WE'RE GOING TO REACH THE NEXT LEVEL. I SCOOT UP ON HER AND BANG MY HEAD ON THE CAR CEILING. BY THE TIME IT'S ALL OVER I'VE ALMOST GIVEN MYSELF A CONCUSSION. SHE, ON THE OTHER HAND, IS A CHANGED PERSON: SHE'S BEAUTIFUL. I SLOWLY PULL AWAY, TAKE CARE OF MYSELF, THEN DRESS HER. SHE'S COMPLETELY DOCILE, CONTENT. NOW SHE WANTS TO EXCHANGE "CLINS," AS SHE CALLS THEM. I'M EXHAUSTED, STARVING, HAPPY MYSELF. I HELP HER OUT OF THE CAR, CROSS THE STREET WITH HER LEANING ON ME, AND TAKE HER INTO THE HOUSE.
"OH BABY, BABY, BABY," SHE WHISPERS TO ME.
