1913issue6online

208 and the construction metal—waiting for the Black Dress—a solitary gurney— Above in the hospital, she sits in her laboratory clean room— and on the street a cowboy, a cocker spaniel, an anonymous man crying—bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar—and the crying man is not very methodical, Bloom thinks—but all over the place—undisciplined, unattractive—the sidewalk is full of hideous men—and tongue on metal gasket— To subvert the following, Bloom thinks: falling in love as the unsolicited giving of one’s soul to destroy as the recipient sees fit; the Black Dress’s refusal to cry in public; the anonymous man’s unbound lack of self-discipline—and I wish I could allow myself weep on the street corner, Bloom thinks—to be abused and tested—and considering the possibilities—that the Black Dress will either destroy me or else she will not— To subvert the following, Bloom thinks: the odds of being de- stroyed by making myself more fashionable; David Patraeus as not the American spirit incarnate; and Rod Stewart has such a way with lyrics— It seems a poor conceit, Bloom thinks. And the Black Dress, while having killed a man, is all smiles and approachability—compassionate, charming—the Executive charming—and she approaches the Lincoln in her white hospi- tal uniform—flanked by two doctors—and I feel good about these men, Bloom thinks—to be terrified—their white jackets and white hands and white shirts—and stethoscope—waving with smiles as the Black Dress enters the Lincoln— The doctors waving as Bloom and the Black Dress pull away— to be close—to hold your face close, Bloom thinks—the doc- tors waving and smiling—white jacket—solitary gurney—ten meters, twenty—away and still smiling— The doctors smiling— Wave— And still smiling—

1913issue6online

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