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By Root 163 0

his back like a bow. He had seen it so often on his friend that whenever he thought of him his body took on an outline which included the camera and the tripod. It was part of his bone structure. A metal animal grown into his back. He pulled him up the steps, through the doors. You’ve got to get up these stairs man. Bellocq already exhausted began to climb them with Bolden. Man what a wallpaper, giggling as he climbed along the carpet runners that would take him to the paradise of bodies. He brushed his free hand against the blue embossed wallpaper. He saw a photograph of a girl sitting against it, alone on the stairs, no one around. Maybe a plate of food. The wallpaper would come out light grey. Up one flight, then another, his legs starting to ache. This ain’t no joke is it man? No. One more and we’re there.

Let me go in and talk to her first. Her? I thought I was going to meet them all. Yeah yeah but I just want to talk to Nora first ok.

He left Bellocq outside resting on the top steps carefully removing the camera off its sling. Listen I’ve got this friend who wants photographs of the girls. Same price as a fuck you know that Buddy. Ok, but I want to tell you about him first. Willya call the others in I don’t want to say this more than once. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. He wasn’t even sure himself what Bellocq wanted to do. Listen this guy’s a ship photographer—a burst of laughter—and just for himself, nothing commercial, he wants to get pictures of the girls. I don’t know how he wants you to be for the picture, he just wants them. Nothing commercial ok. He’s not weird or anything is he? No, he’s a little bent in the body, something wrong with his legs. No one wanted to. Please, look I promised him, listen I even said no price this time, it’s a favour, see he did a few things for me. You gonna be around Charlie? No I can’t he doesn’t want me to. Two of them left the room saying they were going back to sleep. Listen he’s got a good job, he really does photograph ships and things, stuff for brochures. He’s very good, he’s not a cop, the idea coming into his mind that second as a possible fear of theirs. He’s a kind man. Nobody wanted Bellocq and more went away. I’ll give you a free knock anytime Charlie but not this. They went then and Nora shrugged sorry across the room. It’s morning Charlie, they were all up late last night at Anderson’s. All I could do was get them here. And they were watching the two of you arrive. He looked like something squashed or run over by a horse from up here.

Listen Nora you have to do this for me. Let him take some pictures of you. Just this once to show the others it’s ok, I promise you it’ll be ok. She had moved into the kitchenette and was looking for a match to light the gas. He came over, dug one out of his pocket and lit the row of hissing till they popped up blue, something invisible finding a form. He let her fill the kettle and put it on. Then he put himself against her back and leaned his face into her shoulder. His nose against the shoulder strap of her dress. Come out with me into the hall and meet him. Give him some of this tea. He’s a harmless man. He put his head up a bit and watched the blue flame gripping the kettle. He was exhausted. He couldn’t hustle for others, he didn’t know the needs of others. He was fond of them and wanted them happy and was willing to make them happy and was willing to hear their problems but no more. He didn’t know how people like Bellocq thought. He didn’t know how to put the pieces of him together. He was too shy to ask Bellocq why he wanted these pictures or what kind they would be. Three floors up on North Basin Street he was nuzzling this lady. That’s all he knew. His mind went blank against the flesh next to him.

What’s he got on you? Nothing. He separated himself from her, picked up a knife and trapped against the small window of the kitchen, looking out. It was cold out, there was steam over the river. He had tried to get Bellocq to wear a coat when he had picked him up, but they had gone on, Bellocq cold and so trying to walk