Middlesex

“Welcome to the family dynasty,” Gus joked, spreading his arms. He laughed too loudly. Seeming to realize this, he stopped. There was an awkward silence. Then Gus asked, “So, Milt, what’ll it be?”

“Two with everything. And what do we got that’s vegetarian?”

“We got bean soup.”

“Okay. Get my kid here a bowl of bean soup.”

“You got it.”

Milton and Chapter Eleven chose stools and waited to be served. After another long silence, Milton said, “You know how many of these places your old man owns right now?”

“How many?” said Chapter Eleven.

“Sixty-six. Got eight in Florida.”

That was as far as the hard sell went. Milton ate his Hercules hot dogs in silence. He knew perfectly well why Gus was acting so overfriendly. It was because he was thinking what everyone thinks when a girl disappears. He was thinking the worst. There were moments when Milton did, too. He didn’t admit it to anyone. He didn’t admit it to himself. But whenever Tessie spoke about the umbilical cord, when she claimed that she could still feel me out there somewhere, Milton found himself wanting to believe her.

One Sunday as Tessie left for church, Milton handed her a large bill. “Light a candle for Callie. Get a bunch.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

But after she was gone he shook his head. “What’s the matter with me? Lighting candles! Christ!” He was furious at himself for giving in to such superstition. He vowed again that he would find me; he would get me back. Somehow or other. A chance would come his way, and when it did, Milton Stephanides wouldn’t miss it.

The Dead came to Berkeley. Matt and the other kids trooped off to the concert. I was given the job to look after the camp.

It is midnight in the mimosa grove. I awaken, hearing noises. Lights are moving through the bushes. Voices are murmuring. The leaves over my head turn white and I can see the scaffolding of branches. Light speckles the ground, my body, my face. In the next second a flashlight comes blazing through the opening in my lair.

The men are on me at once. One shines his flashlight in my face as the other jumps onto my chest, pinning my arms.

“Rise and shine,” says the one with the flashlight.

It is two homeless guys from the dunes opposite. While the one sits on top of me, the other begins searching the camp.

“What kind of goodies you little fuckers got in here?”

“Look at him,” says the other. “Little fucker’s gonna shit his pants.”

I squeeze my legs together, the girlish fears still operating in me.

They are looking for drugs mainly. The one with the flashlight shakes out the sleeping bags and searches my suitcase. After a while he comes back and gets down on one knee.

“Where are all your friends, man? They go off and leave you all alone?”

He has begun to go through my pockets. Soon he finds my wallet and empties it. As he does, my school ID falls out. He shines the flashlight on it.

“What’s this? Your girlfriend?”

He stares at the photo, grinning. “Your girlfriend like to suck cock? I bet she does.” He picks up the ID and holds it over the front of his pants, thrusting his hips. “Oh yeah, she does!”

“Let me see that,” says the one on top of me.

The guy with the flashlight tosses the ID onto my chest. The guy pinning me lowers his face close to mine and says in a deep voice, “Don’t you move, motherfucker.” He lets go of my arms and picks up the ID.

I can see his face now. Grizzled beard, bad teeth, nose askew, showing septum. He contemplates the snapshot. “Skinny bitch.” He looks from me to the ID and his expression changes.

“It’s a chick!”

“Quick on the uptake, man. I always say that about you.”

“No, I mean him.” He is pointing down at me. “It’s her! He’s a she.” He holds up the ID for the other one to see. The flashlight is again trained on Calliope in her blazer and blouse.

At length the kneeling man grins. “You holding out on us? Huh? You got the goods stashed away under those pants? Hold her,” he orders. The man astride me pins my arms again while the other one undoes my belt.

I tried to fight them off. I squirmed and kicked. But they were too strong. They got my pants down to my knees. The one aimed the flashlight and then sprang away.

“Jesus Christ!”

“What?”

“Fuck!”

“What?”

“It’s a fucking freak.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna puke, man. Look!”

No sooner had the other one done so than he let go of me as though I were contaminated. He stood up, enraged. By silent agreement, they then began to kick me. As they did, they uttered curses. The one who had pinned me drove his toe into my side. I grabbed his leg and hung on.

“Let go of me, you fucking freak!”

The other one was kicking me in the head. He did it three or four times before I blacked out.

When I came to, everything was quiet. I had the impression they had gone. Then somebody chuckled. “Cross swords,” a voice said. The twin yellow streams, scintillant, intersected, soaking me.

“Crawl back into the hole you came out of, freak.”

They left me there.