The Collected Works of Billy the Kid by Michael Ondaatje Read Free Book Online Page B

them off on the tracts of spine down the cool precise fingers went into the cistern of bladder down the last hundred miles in a jerk breaking through my sacs of sperm got my cock in the cool fingers pulled it back up and carried it pulling pulling flabby as smoke up the path his arm had rested in and widened. He brought it up fast half tearing the roots off up the coloured bridges of fibres again, charting the slimy arm back through the pyramids uplocked in his fingers up the now bleeding throat up squeezed it through the skull bones, so there I was, my cock standing out of my head. Then he brought his other hand into play I could feel the cool shadow now as he bent over me both his hands tapering into beautiful cool fingers, one hand white as new smelling paper the other 40 colours ochres blues silver from my lung gold and tangerine from the burst ear canals all that clung to him as he went in and came out.
    The hands were cold as porcelain, one was silver old bone stripped oak white eastern cigarettes white sky the eye core of sun. Two hands, one dead, one born from me, one like crystal, one like shell of snake found in spring. Burning me like dry ice.
    They picked up the fold of foreskin one hand on each side and began the slow pull back back back back
down
like a cap with ear winter muffs like a pair of trousers down boots and then he let go. The wind picked up, I was drowned, locked inside my skin sensitive as an hour old animal, could feel everything, I could hear everything on my skin, as I sat, like a great opaque ostrich egg on the barebacked horse. In my skin hearing Garrett’s voice near me on the skin whats wrong billy whats wrong, couldnt see him but I turned to where I knew he was. I yelled so he could hear me through the skin. Ive been fucked. Ive been fuckd Ive been fucked by Christ almighty god Ive been good and fucked by Christ. And I rolled off the horse’s back like a soft shell-less egg wrapped in thin white silk and I splashed onto the dust blind and white but the chain held my legs to the horse and I was dragged picking up dust on my wet skin as I travelled in between his four trotting legs at last thank the fucking christ, in the shade of his stomach.

*
    Garrett moved us straight to the nearest railroad depot. We had to wait one night for the train that would take us to Mesilla where they would hold the trial. The Polk Hotel there was a bright white place with a wide courtyard and well. The deputies went down in the bucket and washed themselves. They removed Charlie off his horse. Garrett took over and washed the dried blood off the animal. Garrett ordered a box for Charlie Bowdre. Then he made me drink liquids and paste. They had to carry the three of us from the horses to the beds—we couldn’t walk after the week on horses. I was to share a room with Garrett and Emory.
    Your last good bed Billy, he said, pick your position. I did, face and stomach down. He chained me to the bed. He taped my fingers so thick I couldnt get them through a trigger guard even if they gave me a gun. Then he went out and looked after Wilson who had broken both ankles when the horse stumbled collapsing on his chained legs.
    It is afternoon still, the room white with light. My last white room, the sun coming through the shutters making the white walls whiter. I lie on my left cheek looking to that light. I cannot even see the door or if Emory has stayed behind. The bed vast. Went to sleep, my body melting into it. I remember once after Charlie and I stopped talking we could hear flies buzzing in their black across a room, and I remember once, one night in the open I turned to say goodnight to Charlie who was about ten yards away and there was the moon balanced perfect on his nose.

*
    It is the order of the court that you
be taken to Lincoln and confined to
jail until May 13 th and that on that
day between the hours of sunrise
and noon you be hanged on the gallows
until you are dead dead dead
And may God have mercy on