90ways - Fiction

I went to Naples
because all the Italians told me it's where people go crazy
went thinking a real epic journey was ahead
British Admirals, well respected around the world for their tight upper lips
go to Naples my son
in the shadow of Vesuvius
grabbing at its parts
fat women cooking flesh
their hands scratching their pubic hair when a cat crosses the path
the finest Italian leather, cuffs on pants
a shirt pulled tight onto a young brown skin -- they put on lotion to make the sun burn them more -- that's backwards -- to burn them more -- not protecting -- it makes them more tan.
of course, shit, I thought, Naples, open, asking, of course, it eats the sun right up like this and the wind boo hoo ing all the time
British Admirals come to Naples
see churches with armed guards and bullet holes
all the dogs have balls
Padre, a cat crosses my path I grab between my legs
piazzas are enormous echo chambers late at night
a stone city, everyone sitting on stony ground carved out of a volcano, getting stoned
bones, dogs barking teeth
I sat down, there was a woman -- I don't think she came from Naples
selling books on the side of the street, it said
Lo Stato Sono Io
and the President on the cover was grinning.

1.

The Greeks came over here, thinking
they must have been thinking
it was magical. They founded Cuma, they settled on Ischia
There is a lake nearby that is so sulfuric that when birds fly over it they die
      can that really be true?
that can't be true -- oh we all thought that at some point, grin, that can't be true
no it's in the book, look at the next photo
a bird tumbling down, dying
The Greeks thought that the lake was an entrance to the underworld. Then the Romans
came and killed them. then Normans, Spaniards, Bourbons, Germans, Americans, now the Italians have managed to take it over... wait, what do you mean the Italians?
            was Napoleon ever here?
hell, anybody who's really worth anything has conquered the region... hey, how many Napulitanos does it take to defend Naples?                  No one knows, it's never happened, everyone just stomps their way through there            I'm such a stupid American kid      I thought      I'm too young for this shit, you wanna go modern, the Germans marched right up and down these streets, no -- we didn't need to be liberated from Mussolini, we believed in Mussolini -- and fuck me, who's my President? grinning on top of book covers around the world.

NATO's got a base right around the corner. American Admirals come here and go crazy, surprised that there's no place to hear good American jazz. The place has got the soul for it. Maybe we just can't find it.

Turn on the t.v. There's one American t.v. network that you can get. Guess which? FOX. hello, Bill O'Reilly. hello, Clueless.

So, I came here for all of this. Of course I'm going to go a little bit crazy right? I mean, I came over with the hopes of being jostled about, getting my ideology shook up a bit. You gotta travel man, you gotta travel. See something new.

2.

The girls
okay, fantasy number one...
this part is actually true, it's all true
okay, so I'm a waiter at a restaurant on a little tiny island right off the coast of Naples, it connects to the city with a short bridge. When I walk home late at night from work, I walk on that bridge and sometimes, I'm tired and I see the moon and I joke to myself that I'm a wolf. I'm at the edge of the world and I feel like howling.

The restaurant is open from 6:00 or 7:00pm 'til about 3:00 in the morning. None of the Napulitanos show up till around 11:00, and then it's packed. It's surrounded by the water and the crashing waves up against the castle that sits always in the distance. The last Emperor of the Roman Empire, Romulus Augustus was locked up in that castle, but I don't know who he is or really care that much.

okay, so at around 2:00am the Motorcycle Napulitanos start riding through. The little island has a loop that the Motorcycle Napulitanos ride on, circling around the island, motorcycling with helmuts of hair and slick European sunglasses. Women grab on. You can circle them, tightening up, till they smell you, ears dart up and they start reaching out. I'm just a lonely American with nowhere to go throw in a Mingus bass line I'm just a lonely American with nowhere to go. I came here because it's the capital of the world of beautiful women... I see that you're the Emperor. Lo stato sei tu.

It's almost sexual watching the Neapolitan Women get on and off of these motorcycles all night long. I think, "I'm a lonely American with no hopes, no aspirations, my jaw hanging to the floor." One of the Napulitanos grabs my ass, I turn around, he slaps me in the face and runs off laughing. A whole group laughs. I laugh. I don't know what else to do. I laugh some more, thinking about that American kid that laughs when you slap him. What a fool.
This is about the time that you enter my fantasy, my Napulitana, with short blond curls. I'm not sure how you got your hair to do that, but I know it's not natural. You walked right past me, got off one of the motorcycles, but I didn't see which one, you walked right past me, tight jeans, wide hips, a black shirt with its hands full. You were wearing those Italian leather boots that in any other country I would find overstated and foolish, but somehow, I came here to go crazy and they are just perfect.

But, it's the back that will make me remember you years from now. After you pass me, I see your back, completely uncovered and flexing, arched, a deep tan. It's the only part of you that I can see, your back, sweating just enough that it shines. My hands reach out through my eyes and think of all the things I could learn touching that back, that back, thick and strong, muscles and fat. I couldn't hurt you if I tried. I think of the shapes that our backs could make together. I get creative.

I think about you breaking my heart, and wonder if you already have. Muscles and fat, muscles and fat and that thin layer of sweat, so that it shines. You walk over to one of the Motorcycle Napulitanos. Italian eyes creep out from behind his sunglasses. (It is nighttime, you Italian prick. You are driving a motorcycle. I think that you could take the sunglasses off and stop looking cooler than me. At least for a second.) The eyes look at me and he puts his hand on the back, pushing hard enough that the flesh changes. In my head, he says, "First time in Naples, huh? You have no idea, kid. Go back to Iowa, or Texas, or wherever the hell you're from."

And then it's over. You go off with him and I think that's fine, that's fine... at least I saw something. That's a good reason to try and live somewhere else. At least I saw something that I can remember. I know something more, I must, the world must be a bigger place after something like this.

When I walked home across the tiny bridge that night I thought about how every time I think I know something it's just ignorance to my lack of knowing.