Written on the Body

Vintage Books USA

Excerpt

The interesting thing about a knot is its formal complexity. Even the simplestpedigree knot, the trefoil, with its three roughly symmetrical lobes, hasmathematical as well as artistic beauty. For the religious, Kind Solomon's knotis said to embody the essence of all knowledge. For carpet makers and clothweavers all over the world, the challenge of the knot lies in the rules of itssurprises. Knots can change but they must be well-behaved. An informal knot is amessy knot.

Louise and I were held by a single loop of love. The cord passing round ourbodies had no sharp twists or sinister turns. Our wrists were not tied and therewas no noose about our necks. In Italy in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuriesa favourite sport was to fasten two fighters together with a strong rope and letthem beat each other to death. Often it was death because the loser couldn'tback off and the victor rarely spared him. The victor kept the rope and tied aknot in it. He had only to swing it through the streets to terrify money frompassers-by.

I don't want to be your sport nor you to be mine. I don't want to punch you forthe pleasure of it, tangling the clear lines that bind us, forcing you to yourknees, dragging you up again. The public face of a life in chaos. I want thehoop around our hearts to be a guide not a terror. I don't want to pull youtighter than you can bear. I don't want the lines to slacken either, the threadpaying out over the side, enough rope to hang ourselves.

I was sitting in the library writing this to Louise, looking at a facsimile ofan illuminated manuscript, the first letter a huge L. The L woven into shapes ofbirds and angels that slid between the pen lines. The letter was a maze. On theoutside, at the top of the L, stood a pilgrim in hat and habit. At the heart ofthe letter, which had been formed to make a rectangle out of the double ofitself, was the Lamb of God. How would the pilgrim try through the maze, themaze so simple to angels and birds? I tried to fathom the path for a long timebut I was caught at dead ends by beaming serpents. I gave up and shut the book,forgetting that the first word had been Love.

In the weeks that followed Louise and I were together as much as we could be.She was careful with Elgin, I was careful with both of them. The carefulness waswearing us out.

One night, after a seafood lasagne and a bottle of champagne we made love sovigorously that the Lady's Occasional was driven across the floor by the turbineof our lust. We began by the window and ended by the door. It's well-known thatmolluscs are aphrodisiac, Casanova ate his mussels raw before pleasuring a ladybut then he also believed in the stimulating powers of hot chocolate.

Articulacy of fingers, the language of the deaf and dumb, signing on the bodybody longing. Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to useyour hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders,referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printingblocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body. Your morsecode interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady heart before I met you, Irelied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter itspace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut.

Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; theaccumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavilyworked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up awayfrom prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I didn't knowthat Louise would have reading hands. She has translated me into her own book.

We tried to be quiet for Elgin's sake. He had arranged to be out but Louisethought he was at home. In silence and in darkness we loved each other and as Itraced her bones with my palm I wondered what time would do to skin that was sonew to me. Could I ever feel any less for this body? Why does ardour pass? Timethat withers you will wither me. We will fall like ripe fruit and roll down thegrass together. Dear friend, let me lie beside you watching the clouds until theearth covers us and we are gone.

Elgin was at breakfast the following morning. This was a shock. He was as paleas his shirt. Louise slid into her place at the foot of the long table. I tookup a neutral position about half way. I buttered a slice of toast and bit. Thenoise vibrated the table. Elgin winced.

'Do you have to make so much noise?'

'Sorry Elgin,' I said, spattering the cloth with crumbs.

Louise passed me the teapot and smiled.

'What are you so happy about?' said Elgin. 'You didn't get any sleep either.'

'You told me you were away until today,' said Louise quietly.

'I came home. It's my house. I paid for it.'

'It's our house and I told you we'd be here last night.'

'I might as well have slept in a brothel.'

'I thought that's what you were doing,' said Louise.

Elgin got up and threw his napkin on the table. 'I'm exhausted but I'm going towork. Lives depend on my work and because of you I shall not be at my besttoday. You might think of yourself as a murderer.'

'I might but I shan't,' said Louise.

We heard Elgin clatter his mountain bike out of the hall. Through the basementwindow I saw him strap on his pink helmet. He liked cycling, he thought it wasgood for his heart. Louise was lost in thought. I drank two cups of tea,washed up and was thinking of going home when she put her arms around me frombehind and rested her chin on my shoulder.

'This isn't working,' she said.

Continues...
Excerpted from Written on the Bodyby Jeanette Winterson Copyright ©1994 by Jeanette Winterson. Excerpted by permission.
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