I One winter morning, watching Bein read his breakfast paper, Kohke decided to kill him. He stood behind Bein, aligned a pistol barrel with Bein's skull and worked the trigger. He had reasons for wanting Bein dead, but watching his lover shake about the floor, smearing blood on the linoleum, he could not bring those reasons to mind. pistol must have wavered when he pulled the trigger, for Bein did not seem to be dying properly. After a writhing agony he fell still, attempting to catch his breath. And then, calmly, he asked Kohke to call an ambulance. Unable to bear the thought of shooting Bein again, Kohke carried the pistol from room to room, finally submerging it in a pitcher of orange juice. He telephoned for help. Paramedics arrived, the police alongside. first extracted Bein. second discovered the pistol, remanded Kohke to custody. In an interiorly-mirrored room, Kohke began to lie. He had not known the gun was loaded. He had pointed it at Bein only as a prank. He had thought it a novelty cigarette lighter, not a real gun. He lied even about matters of no consequence. Slowly the lies accumulated, crowding each other awkwardly. Yet, when the police received word that Bein, rolling into surgery, had absolved Kohke of blame, they grudgingly released him. In this fashion a measure of uncertainty slipped into Kohke and Bein's relationship. Never having shot anyone close to him before, Kohke had difficulty unraveling post-shooting etiquette. Was the relation terminated? Kohke wondered, as he waited for Bein's release. Could they be said, now, properly, to have a relationship? Had the shooting freed him of sexual and emotional obligation to Bein? Or had any potential release been countermanded by Bein's refusal to blame him? What, wondered Kohke, did Bein actually know? Officially the shooting was classified as an accident. Perhaps even Bein himself believed it to be an accident: after all, he had not seen Kohke pull the trigger. Or perhaps, thought Kohke, Bein has only classified it such so as to be able, later, to avenge himself against me. Alone in the large bed, beset with uncertainty, Kohke had trouble sleeping. He would awake, the stench of gunpowder strong in his nostrils, feeling he had been shot. day after the accident he contemplated visiting Bein in the hospital, but he could not bear to see Bein so soon, partly from shame, partly from fear of violating post-- shooting etiquette. How does one apologize for shooting someone? Sorry to have shot you, Bein didn't ring properly, nor did My apologies for the accident, Bein. On the second day, he stayed away because he could develop no convincing lie to justify his first-day's absence. By the third day, the pattern was fixed. Visiting Bein now would seem unusual. He kept himself apprised, bribing an intern named Chur to provide him daily reports. It was from Chur he learned of Bein's transfer from critical to stable condition. From Chur, he learned that bullet fragments had lodged in Bein's brain, causing blindness. He was told that the second bullet The second what? asked Kohke. Bullet, said Chur. Bullet? of course, said Chur. Mr. Kohke, you fired Second bullet? He had no memory of firing a second bullet. In deed just the opposite: he remembered shooting once and not again. How had he managed to blot out this second bullet which, according to Chur, had rendered Bein immobile, paralyzed from the neck down? Presenting himself at the police station, he asked to examine his arrest report. sergeant assigned to the case chatted at him idly while Kohke thumbed through the file. Yes, he saw, there had been two bullet wounds, one in Bein's skull, the second in his back. Two cartridges were absent from the orange-juice drenched pistol. He had fired twice. His body had pulled the trigger while his mind huddled at a safe distance. …
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Sep 24, 2024
Diao Yang + 5
Open Access
